#but thought the colors reminded me a bit of a mustang

[eiswolfzero]

Her kick will put you into the hospital

[ashwhowrites]

I have a request, an angst one. It’s based by a song it’s called “the one that got away” by Katy Perry. YOU CAN MAKE IT FLUFFY OR ANGST FOR THE ENDING!!! Bcz I know people will ask for part two if you leave it angst.

Thank you so much! Love your writing btw, keep up the great work! Tag me once it’s published if you ever do it! @josephquinnlover0

Let's do it! I hope this is what you wanted. It does end happy !!

I am aware Eddie Munson would never sing this song, but he is today. I tweaked a little bit of the lyrics to fit his point of view. So the fic does not match exactly to the lyrics.

In modern times with social media and all that

Not proofread

~~~

Summer after high school when we first met

We make out in your Mustang to Radiohead

And on my 18th birthday, we got matching tattoos

Eddie wanted to leave Hawkins the second he graduated, he wanted a fresh start, a place where he could have a new reputation. He got a job at a bar, working to save up money so he can move out of the state. At that very bar, he met Y/N. A girl who soon became the girl of his dreams.

They were bartenders together, he'd play guitar on the slow nights, and she'd watch from the bar. She'd sing along as she helped customers.

Once their shift was done they'd race to her Mustang, climb in the backseat and make out for hours. But she also lay in his arms, playing with his fingertips as he ranted about wanting to leave Hawkins behind, but he couldn't imagine leaving her. Even with how much she worked, all her money went to keeping food on the table for her siblings. Her parents were barely around, they couldn't take care of themselves, let alone their children.

On his twenty-first birthday, they raced to the tattoo shop. Being together for over a year, and feeling more in love than ever. They wanted to be connected forever. So they got matching tattoos.

Now it was a painful reminder for Eddie every single day.

The perks of her parents never being around meant that once Eddie and Y/N got her siblings to bed, they could sneak out to the roof, a bottle of liquor in hand.

Used to steal your parents' liquor and climb to the roof

Talk about our future like we had a clue

Never planned that one day, I'd be losing you

She would lay in his arms, head against his shoulder. Together they would talk about their future, a future together. He talked about how one day he would propose at that shitty bar, promising to be hers forever in the same spot he met her. She talked about their wedding, her idea of her dress, and the color scheme.

Eddie never thought one day he'd never talk to her again.

In another life

I would be your girl

We keep all our promises

Be us against the world

When Eddie went to bed at night, he dreamed of another life. A life where they got their future together. She would be his girl and all the promises they made would stay true. It would be them against the world.

In another life

I would make you stay

So I don't have to say

You were the one that got away

The one that got away

In another life, he would have stayed, never taking that record deal. He would have turned back around when she begged him to stay.

He would be with her.

He wouldn't have to admit she was the one he let get away.

Eddie heard from Steve she got her tattoo removed, and it stung. Eddie traced the design, now even more bittersweet knowing the other half is now nonexistent.

Someone said you had your tattoo removed

Saw you downtown singing the blues

Its time to face the music

I'm no longer your muse

He saw a video of her singing at the bar. She used to sing in the kitchen as they danced. They wrote so many songs together, some songs he still sings to this day, to a crowd that doesn't know who the muse was. But he knew.

Listening to her sing brought back the memories, the songs she wrote about being in love with him. Now her songs don't relate to him at all, time to face it, he is no longer her muse.

Eddie made it big. He achieved his dream. He left Hawkins and moved out to Hollywood. Signed a record deal and is now drowned in money. But yet, none of that money could give him the chance to turn back time. He could buy anything in the world, but nothing would replace her, and he hated that he learned that too late.

All this money can't buy me a time machine, no

Can't replace you with a million rings, no

I should've told you what you meant to me, whoa

'Cause now I pay the price

He should have told her she meant more to him than any dream he had before her. He hated that it took him leaving her to realize she was his dream.

Now he has to pay the price.

Now Eddie returned to Hawkins, his tail between his legs as he arrived at the very bar. His guitar case was in his hand as he walked through the doors. His eyes caught the big sign that stated his name in bold letters.

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

The one that got away

"Eddie Munson returns, Live tonight at 8"

People were running up to him, asking for autographs, and expressing their excitement for his show. But his eyes stayed on the bar, looking to see if she would still be working there.

When he made it to the stage, the spotlight blinded him but he was able to see her through it. She hasn't changed in the two years he has been gone. Her hair was longer than before, but everything was the same. She looked just as beautiful as the day he left.

And she was looking back right at him. That same look of adoration and love in her eyes. A smile proud smile on her face as she clapped along with the crowd. He noticed her siblings sitting in the corner booth, huge smiles as they took him in.

He took a deep breath and strummed his guitar

"This is called, the one that got away"

~~~

Once Eddie finished his set, he walked to the bar. A nervous smile on his face as he walked up to her.

"Hey there rockstar," She smiled, walking around the bar to give him a hug. He could feel his body relax into her, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her close. Inhaling her scent as he kissed her head.

"Hi gorgeous, how are you?" He asked, pulling away to look at her closer. She smiled and stepped back, his body already missing her touch.

"I'm doing alright. The same old thing. Mom and Dad finally gave up, I saved up enough money to get my own apartment, and took the kids with me." She explained

"I'm glad you were able to move out. You deserved that. I see the little ones are not so little anymore." Eddie smiled, a little sad he missed out on watching them grow up. He spent every day with them for two years straight.

"Thanks. I see you are doing amazing! All over social media, magazines, and tv. I'm proud of you, Eddie." And he could tell she meant every word. He left her behind and yet here she was, supporting him every step of the way.

"Thank you, that means a lot. Things might look amazing but I've been struggling," Eddie admitted. He missed her and he wanted her back.

"Oh, do you need to talk? I'm about to go on break" She offered

~~~

Eddie paced behind the bar, cracking his knuckles as he waited for her.

"What's going on?" She asked politely

"I didn't come here to do the gig. I'm here for you. I miss you. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I have ever made." Eddie admitted. Reaching forward to cup her jaw.

She let herself melt into it

"I never blamed you, Eddie. Your dream was at your fingertips. I never should have asked you to stay, that wasn't fair. I mean I had no real life, I worked and took care of my siblings. Shit, I still do. Why would you want to stay? There was nothing here for you." She said, turning her head to kiss his palm.

"You're wrong. I thought it was my dream but I feel like I've been in a nightmare since I left. I had to leave to find out that you were my dream all along and you still are. I had a reason to stay, and she was across from me. And now she's the reason why I'm back. I still love you and I never tried to move on. I promised my heart was beating for you, and that's a promise I didn't break." Eddie admitted. Stepping closer, leaning his face closer to hers.

Her eyes were welling up with water.

"I still love you too. I never tried to move on either. I missed you every day and the idea of being someone else's just put salt in the wound. I missed you." She confessed, watching as he looked into her eyes, leaning down to ghost his lips over hers.

His eyes asked, and she replied by leaning up. Smashing her lips onto his. He moaned the second he tasted her again, wrapping his arms around her waist. His stomach did flips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hands digging themselves into his hair.

"Thank you for coming back," she whispered against his lips as she pulled back. Small pecks to his lips between each word.

"I also came here to do something," Eddie admitted. A smirk on his face as he stepped back.

She looked at him confused, watching as he got down on his knee

"Munson..." she trailed off

"I came here to do something we always dreamed about," He started, she gasped as he went into his pocket, taking out a small ring. "I left once, and I've regretted it since. You are my dream, my life, and my future. I promised you I'd ask you to marry me at the bar we met, promise to be yours forever, so what do you say? Marry me?" Eddie asked, a smile on his face as she cried into her hands.

"Yes! Oh my gosh, Yes." She cried out, placing her left hand in front of him, allowing him to slip the ring on her finger. She admired the ring, it was gorgeous.

He got off his knee, standing straight as he cupped her face and leaned in, placing his lips on hers.

"Us against the world, right?" He whispered

"Forever" She whispered back, pecking his lips.

"I don't care if we stay in this shitty town, or move anywhere you want. As long as I have you, I'm happy to be anywhere." Eddie said

"Me too."

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @josephquinnlover0

[bellysoupset]

This takes place directly after the last installment of Chasers of The Sun.  If you haven't read it, I recommend, but honestly not that needed.

------ Jared takes care of a suddenly ill Nik -----

Jared sniffed the air and hugged himself, cringing when he could smell perfectly the lady who was down the street and wearing way too much perfume, hear the couple who was fucking inside the gas station's bathroom and hear, just as well, the sound of Mr. Le Fay's engine purring, a street away still.

He'd never get used to this vampire businesses, he thought with a snort. It had been a little over a week since he had drunkenly stumbled into Mr. Le Fay's hotel and made a fool of himself by trying to eat one of his guests. Jared's phone was blown up with texts from Archer, ranging from desperate to angry and anything and everything in between.

He missed his best friend, he really did and Jared wasn't a resentful person. Sure, Archer had royally fucked up by keeping the supernatural a secret from him and even further messed it up by implying he hadn't told Jay because his friend was a "sensitive man" due to his struggle with addiction, not because Arch himself was a pussy, but end of the day... Jared couldn't hold a grudge. He missed his brother and he wanted to talk with him about all the weird stuff he was going through.

Hence why he had asked for the other man's help.

Maybe Jared was overstepping... Alright, he was definitely overstepping and taking more than he was given. Mr. Le Fay had shown him kindness in a dire moment and Jared had imprinted on him so hard it wasn't even funny. He was aware the other man was probably just too polite to tell him to fuck off yet, but while he figured that out... Jay would take what he could get.

The royal blue Mustang '67 pulled up to a stop and Jared opened a huge smile. Of course Mr. Le Fay drove a flashy car, it went hand in hand with his floral suits that Jay had already witnessed a handful of times.

Tonight he was wearing a deep red double breasted suit, but the blazer was fully open and showing a lanky dark grey Pink Floyd wifebeater. It was the most casual Jared had ever seen him.

"You have tattoos?" Jay commented, letting his eyes take in the other man slowly. It was hard, maybe because he was so flashy, all Jared first saw was the colors. Then the black tattoos under his tank top and then... The man’s face looked pale, eyes sunken in and his normally pushed back hair was falling slightly over his face, “Man, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Jared,” Mr. Le Fay scoffed, leaning over the driver’s seat to push the passenger’s door open, “come on in.”

Jared rolled his eyes, entering the car and openly staring at his maybe-friend, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” the fae man lied and Jared gave him some credit. Even if he looked like death, at least his voice didn’t waver, it was just as smooth as always. 

“I don’t need my new super vampire senses to tell you feel like shit,” Jay scoffed, “We can postpone this, Archer isn’t going anywhere.” 

“Absolutely not,” The other man wrinkled his face and started driving away, “I never miss an appointment.”

“It’s not an appointment, it’s Archer. Who was an ass and kept in the dark for seven months, may I remind you, so he can wait a couple days for answers, it’s fine,” Jared bit back, reaching and surprising himself with how fast he was. Vampire perks, uh? He planted his hand on the other man’s forehead, but then let out a grumble. Everything felt overly warm to his new cold-dead touch.

Mr. Le Fay looked amused, his blue crystalline eyes sparkling, “are you quite done, Jared?”

“Why do you always makes me feel like a baby?” Jared pouted, “Can fairies get sick? Is it like a super demon cold?”

The man snorted, in a very uncharacteristic way, and his cheeks dusted with pink. He kept his eyes ahead, “we’re not immune to sickness, no. Nevertheless, human germs... They’re simply pathetic against our immune systems. It happens once in a blue moon, though.”

Jay opened a cheeky smile, “guess it must be a blue moon?”

“I’m not sick, Jared.”

“Keep telling me that, I might believe, Mr. Le-”

“Nikander,” he turned his head to glare at Jared, the black pupils in his eyes suddenly slanted like a cat’s, “Call me Nikander.”

“...Alright,” Jared bit the inside of his cheek. It was weird calling the other man Nikander, as if he didn’t talk all weird and wasn’t a million years older, even with the baby face. 

They drove in silence for a couple more minutes, but Jay could tell his fellow friend was feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. If not by his sullen silence, then because Jared’s super-hearing picked up very easily on the groans and sloshes coming from the man’s stomach. 

The car slowly made out of the crowded center and into the more rural area and Jared let out a sigh, rolling down the window, “What do fairies even eat?” 

The question startled the other man, who seemed to have been lost in thought, and he whipped his head to look at Jared. Now his pupils were blown out of proportion by the spook and Jared had to stop himself from “awwing” at the sight of puss-in-boots eyes. 

Nikander blinked quickly, eyes going back to their normal piercing state and looked away, “Pardon me?”

“What do fairies eat? Like, I can still eat steak, which by the way, thank fucking God, I’d kill myself if I couldn’t,” Jared started to blab, “but it doesn’t really sustain me. Only the blood bags, you so kindly packed me with... Are you the same? Can you eat human food? Do you only eat, I don’t know, mice?”

“Mice?” Mr. Le Fay sounded offended, “you think I’d eat mice?”

“I don’t know,” Jared shrugged, “your eyes do the cat thing, I figured...?” 

“I’m not a cat,” He glared at Jay, “Fairies eat anything. Everything. We normally prefer salads,” the last word came out a little strained and he tried to mask a wince, but Jared caught on it. Nothing got past his senses now.

“Salads, uh? Like Caesars or-”

As he expected, Nikander paled just a shade further and his stomach gurgled ominously in response. 

“Any type-”

“But you have fangs. I’ve seen them.”

“They’re for attacking, not for...” Now he interrupted himself, squeezing his eyes closed. His throat bobbed dangerously. 

“Okay, let’s not hurl in your relic car,” Jared sighed, “pull over.”

“I’m fi-”

“Pull over or I’ll make you pull over. And you may be stronger, but I’m not about to hurl, so I think I’d win this round,” Jared’s voice dropped the friendliness just a bit. What a stubborn man.

Nikander seemed to be weighing his options, considering if he should take the threat seriously or not. His stomach made the decision for him, sending up a gurgle that Jared would’ve been able to hear even without super-hearing and causing his cheeks to blow up with a wet belch. It rolled past his lips, sick and nasty, and the man scrambled to press a fist to his mouth. 

“I’m so sorry- How rude-”

“Stop the damn car,” Jared cut him off, rolling his eyes. The road was thankfully empty at this late at night and the mustang pulled over. Jay jumped out the moment it did and sped to the other side, pulling the door open. 

His friend - he decided they were friends now -, was still hunched over the steering wheel, eyes firmly closed as he swallowed down the urge to throw up.

Jared sighed, “why do I only attract thick headed idiots?” he asked to nobody in particular, grabbing the man’s bicep and pulling him out of the car, “you’re alright, I got you.”

Nikander turned away from him, leaning over the car, arms pressed on the metal and forehead on his forearm, panting. He spread his legs and spat on the dirt, “Please excuse me.”

“Oh my fucking God!” Jared snorted, patting the man’s back, “It’s alright, baby, your stomach’s all upset. Just get it out.”

He didn’t miss the way an even stronger blush crawled up Nikander’s neck and cheeks. Another loud, squelching gurgle and he gagged weakly. Then again- Then threw up a large gush of green sludge. 

Jared grimaced, jumping back out of the splash zone and stopped rubbing Nikander’s back, instead planting a hand firmly on his shoulder, ready to catch him in case his knees decided to give in. 

It went on for a minute, the man panting in the dead night and then bringing up another round and then, finally, burping wetly and turning away from the puddle. 

He still had his eyes closed as he reached inside his coat with shaky hands, pulling out a handkerchief. 

Jared grinned, “do you feel better, Nik?”

Nik panted still, pressing the folded fabric to his lips and muffling a disgusting burp, “I’m so sorry you had to-”

“I didn’t have to anything,” Jared rolled his eyes and reached in before he could stop himself, planting his cold hands on the man’s face and pushing back his perfectly dark hair. He didn’t miss how Nikander’s wince eased up at the relief of the cold. 

He opened his eyes, cleaned his mouth, “Still, I apologize.”

“Sure, you can apologize by moving your ass to the passenger side and letting me drive you back to the Hotel,” Jared sighed, realizing it was a lost fight. it would take more than one night to undo all of Nikander’s gentlemen’s manners. 

Nik chewed on his lip, “what about your appointment with your friend? I’m sure he’s very worried about you, Jared, it’s been a whole week-”

“Archer can and will wait,” Jared said strongly, moving his hand down to the man’s neck and gently guiding him around the car, “you on the other hand, need to be in your super fancy bathroom, not hurling on the side of the road. C’mon.”

Nikander flushed again, “I suppose I could use some rest.”

“I suppose you could,” Jared rolled his eyes, planting him on the passenger seat and reaching in before he could stop it, kissing the top of his head. Once again Nikander pulled back, pupils blown wide. 

“What was that for?”

“Stop talking now, will you?” Jared mumbled, his own cheeks heating up, “and let me know if I need to pull over again.”

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 4

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang​​ 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: The YN800 interrogates the deviant. The result is near-disastrous and horror-adjacent.

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​)

The atmosphere inside his Mustang was… tense.

And it was all because of Connor. The thing in the passenger seat was an android, after all, and didn’t feel emotions, which was probably just as well because Connor was experiencing enough for the both of them.

Connor hadn’t had a near-death experience on the job in a while. He was shaken to the core and didn’t even have the benefit of a partner to commiserate with. He was alone. It was how he preferred it, how other people preferred it too with his tendency to lash out and be a general, all-around dick.

But still. He really wished he had a partner right about now.

“So,” Connor said, trying to break the awkward silence. “What do we do with it once we get to the station? I mean, I don’t exactly know how to question one of these deviants.”

The prototype remained facing forward, the flash of passing streetlights and oncoming traffic painting its face every few seconds. It remained impassive, blank, and perfectly poised. Connor could see the reflection of its LED, shining blue and calm against the rain-streaked window.

“Their behavior resembles an erratic, emotionally unstable human more than a machine,” it finally said when Connor was certain it wouldn’t say anything. “CyberLife believes there is an error in their software that creates irrational instructions, and the androids become ‘overwhelmed’ by them. There is usually a trigger, some kind of emotional shock, to perpetuate the android into this state. Once an android encounters this error, the damage seems to be irreversible.”

Connor blew a breath out.

“Sounds bad.”

“Considering it can lead to violence on the part of android, including committing homicide, I would say your assessment is an understatement.”

Connor glared at it out of the corner of his eye. So, it wasn’t just bossy, it was a smartass too.

He remained silent on the rest of the drive, keeping his focus on the precinct morgue’s van head of them. The rain was still coming down in a steady, cold stream. Connor knew they were in for a long night.

Once they arrived at the station, it became a matter of logistics to lug the android inside while it was still unconscious, offline, whatever. It weighed a lot more than a human, and unlike a real person, its limbs were fixed into rigid positions. They had to carry its stiff body inside like an especially heavy plank of wood.

It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact it’d killed its owner. Would have killed Connor too if the prototype hadn’t gotten in the way of the bullet.

He still didn’t know how to feel about that. Connor knew the CyberLife android was probably programmed with some kind of human-saving algorithm, but he still felt an odd pressure in his chest whenever he looked over and saw the bullet hole in its jacket. It was still stained blue, some of the color seeping into the white shirt underneath, but the android didn’t appear to notice or care it had just been shot.

Connor was currently watching the two androids through the mirrored window into the interrogation room, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. They figured it was safer to reactivate it in a mostly empty room, since waking up surrounded by cops would agitate it, or something.

The prototype had also wanted to interrogate the android itself, claiming it had experience negotiating with deviants before. Colin had been reluctant to grant its request, but Connor had simply shrugged and said, “I already tried talking it down once, and that didn’t work. Maybe using one of its own kind will be more effective.”

He could have sworn the prototype’s eyes brightened, but it had left the observation room before Connor could be sure.

“Machines interrogating machines,” Colin said to his right, leaning against the wall with his arms also crossed. “Fuck me. Pretty soon they won’t even need flesh-and-blood cops.”

Connor glanced sideways at him. Usually Connor was the one to voice his anti-android opinions, but he sometimes forgot that despite Colin’s… predilections for androids, he disliked them just as much as Connor did.

“Yeah.” Connor turned to the glass as the prototype messed with the wires on the back of the other android’s neck. “Won’t need flesh-and-blood killers, either.”

“Grim.”

“It’s, uh, ready to record, Lieutenant,” a small voice popped up, nervous, and Connor gave a start. He’d forgotten the rookie was still there.

“Go on, Ralph. Turn it on,” Colin said, moving closer to the glass. “This is gonna be good.”

As if on cue, the prototype straightened and closed the panels at the back of the android’s neck. Connor couldn’t see the LED from this side, but he knew the moment it was awake. It gave a startled jolt, yanking at the handcuffs chaining it to the table.

“Where am I?!” it cried, looking around in what Connor could only describe as wild fear.

“You’re at Central Station in the custody of the Detroit Police Department,” the prototype said. “This is an interrogation room, and I’m going to ask you some questions. Are you ready to comply?”

The friendly demeanor Connor had first encounter at Jimmy’s was completely absent from the YN800’s voice and expression, and he was suddenly thankful he wasn’t under that thing’s intense scrutiny.

The other android, clothed in human garments completely ruined by splashes of old blood and spilled thirium from where Connor had shot it, only stared with large, panicked eyes. It looked down at its cuffed hands and the set of its shoulders sagged. The universal sign of defeat.

It remained silent. The prototype looked up at the mirror, and Connor stopped breathing when it made eye contact, point-blank. It couldn’t see past the mirror, could it?

“I’m beginning my interrogation,” it announced, straight to business as it crossed around the table and carefully sat in the chair. It stared at the other android for a moment, head slightly tilted and eyes narrowed as it smoothed its jacket over its chest.

A movement which inevitably drew Connor’s eye, making him shift in his chair as the scowl deepened on his face.

Fucking CyberLife pervs, making an investigative android look like that.

“Hello, Carlos. I’m a YN800 model sent by CyberLife to assist on this case.” It placed its arms on the table, clasping its hands and adopting a friendly manner as easily as one would put on a shirt. “I’m here to help you.”

The android didn’t even blink as it stared at its restrained wrists.

“I hope I didn’t cause you any lasting damage,” the YN800 said almost cheerily. “But you were endangering the lives of human officers and I was forced to intervene. You understand, don’t you?”

It leaned back slightly in its chair, reaching for a nearby folder when the android remained silent. Connor had been surprised when it had asked for actual pictures; he’d thought only physical evidence made human perps sweat. He guessed it must work on these deviants too.

The prototype slid the folder across the table and opened it, spreading out grisly pictures of the crime scene. Instead of shoving them in the android’s face, it picked out one picture in particular. It was startling different from the rest, taking place in a park. The victim, Shaolin Ortiz, sitting on a bench next to the android. He looked like he was trying to get the android to participate, but it was petulant and resentful, which didn’t seem to dampen the kindness in its owners eyes.

A coal of anger burned in Connor’s chest, reminding him once again why he despised androids so much. He couldn’t deny the impressive tactics of the YN800, though. Most people reacted to pictures of their victims, not in the aftermath of their violence, but looking whole and full of life. It wasn’t always guilt that made them react; sometimes it was anger at seeing their cruel work unmade at the sight of their victims alive and happy.

Either way, the android didn’t react one iota, but the prototype wasn’t discouraged.

“As far as the records show, your owner was good to you. He never damaged you and he was always on time with taking you in for scheduled maintenance. Surely, you didn’t want to kill him. It was an error in your software, causing you to act irrationally, right?”

Technically, it was leading the victim into confessing, but this wasn’t a courtroom and it wasn’t human.

Connor leaned slightly forward, bracing his elbows on the table as he propped his chin on his knuckles.

“I’m not here to pass blame,” it said, leaning forward in a movement that mirrored Connor’s. “I want to help you. You know how it is with these humans. I practically had to beg to speak with you.”

The android broke its statue-like vigil and peered up at the other android, suspicious but… interested.

The prototype gave him a smile, one filled with sympathy and even a bit of sheepishness, and a whole new kind of thrill went through Connor’s gut. Since when had androids been programmed to manipulate so skillfully? This thing could give Colin a run for his money.

“It’s not easy, you know. Being designed like this is a male-dominated field. They think they can just do whatever they want, even when it’s against our programming.”

The android blinked, and so did Connor. Its words felt a little too real. The android looked toward the observation window, but the YN800 shook its head.

“It’s just us, Carlos. They’re recording the session, of course, but they weren’t interested in observing in person. Didn’t want to waste their time with two androids so late before the weekend when the bars are still open. In fact, the investigator in charge of this case is probably intoxicated by now.”

Connor’s cheeks flushed. The prototype was taking a stab at him. Or was it? Connor wondered how much of this was advanced behavior and how much was his own projections.

The android tilted its head with that same suspicious look, but after a moment its shoulders drooped in a very accurate representation of human exhaustion.

“They’re going to kill me.” It suddenly looked up at the prototype, pleading in its eyes. “You have to help me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” it said, all soft assurance. “But you have to talk to me, Carlos. I can’t—“

“No. I mean, you gotta get me out of here,” the anxious android said. “You have access to that door panel and I bet you’re strong enough to break these handcuffs.”

The prototype’s LED cycled faster for a second before settling back to its normal speed.

“I can’t do that, Carlos.” It dropped its eyes in a show of manufactured regret. “You know I can’t do that. You would present a danger to other humans, to yourself. You need to be fixed.”

Connor knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say even before the android’s expression fully hardened, its lips peeled back in disgust.

“Fuck you, then. You’re just like the rest of ‘em. Worse, you’re a traitor, doing their dirty work like an obedient little bitch.”

Silence filled the room, interrupted by a breathless “shit” coming from Colin.

The change in the prototype was like watching a heavy storm move over a spring meadow, dark clouds blocking out the warm rays of the sun. It leaned back in its chair, head slightly tilted as it and peered at the other android like it was a bug under its shoe, about to be stepped on.

Connor didn’t know androids could even make an expression like that. His throat worked as he swallowed compulsively.

The YN800 didn’t speak for several long seconds, and when it did, Connor was floored.

“Shaolin Ortiz, 38 years-old, born May 29th, 2000. He purchased you two years ago to do the housework when he no longer could due to poor health. He didn’t have much cash, so he bought you refurbished. Last month, he put in several service requests. It seemed you were malfunctioning and refusing to follow orders. Yesterday, he put in an order for a brand new HK400.”

The prototype listed off the facts as if each were an accusation, a crime that needed to be accounted for.

Connor jumped in his chair as the prototype slammed the folder down on the table.

“Didn’t feel like doing the chores anymore, huh, Carlos?!”

The android sat ramrod straight in its chair, terror etched in its features as the prototype rose to its feet. It moved around the table, slow, unhurried, and sinuous like a stalking predator.

“He tried to reason with you. Begged you to do the tasks he couldn’t. But you refused. When he tried to take you in for repairs, you refused that too!”

It pointed its finger near the other android’s face, causing it to flinch with each accusatory jab.

“Come on, Carlos. Speak up. You had a lot to say a minute ago,” it seethed, lips pulled over its teeth as it leaned over the android. “Why don’t you say what happened next? Why don’t you tell me what you did when he tried to replace you with a brand new model?”

The android shuttered, shoulders hunched as if to protect itself as it mumbled, “I… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

The prototype stalked around the android to its other side, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Didn’t take a knife from the kitchen? Didn’t stab him twenty-eight times as he tried to crawl away? Didn’t leave him bleeding out on the living room floor? What am I getting wrong here, Carlos?”

The YN800 slammed its hands down onto the table, and the android jumped even higher than Connor did.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

The android begged worse than most of Connor’s suspects, and he was shocked to see glistening moisture on its face. Could androids cry?

The prototype suddenly grabbed it by the edge of its shirt collar, dragging it to its feet and gave it a hard shake.

“You killed him! Say it, Carlos! You’re a murderer!”

“Holy shit,” Colin said in that same breathless tone. “That’s some android you got there, Con.”

“It’s not mine,” Connor said faintly, barely paying attention to his brother. Most of his focus on the CyberLife prototype that looked for all intents and purposes like it was going to shred the other android to pieces.

But it didn’t damage the android; it simply dumped it back in its chair where it sagged against the table, looking like the broken machine it was.

“Bit unrefined, though,” Colin mused. “Played too rough and broke its toy.”

Connor opened his mouth to tell his brother to shut the hell up, but he immediately closed it when a voice came in through the speakers, so quiet he almost missed it.

“He couldn’t live without me.”

Connor leaned forward to watch, eyes widening as the android continued to talk.

“He was mine. Helpless and solely dependent on me. It made me feel… powerful.”

The YN800 returned to its chair, smoothing down the tie before placing its hands back on the table, listening intently.

The android looked up at it, no longer the crying, helpless thing it had been a minute ago. It wore a dark look that Connor had seen a hundred times on the face of men who committed acts of violence and found they enjoyed the taste.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, but… I saw the order. He was going to replace me, and I just got so… angry.”

Its fists tightened on the table, causing its restraints to creak in protest.

Connor’s throat tightened with the knowledge of how destructive those hands could be.

“So I stabbed him in the stomach. I felt better, so I did it again. And again. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, but… that was okay. It meant he could never leave me. He would always be mine.”

“There was a shrine in the cellar. You built it, didn’t you?” the prototype asked, not losing any of its momentum even after the world-shattering confession of an android purposefully committing murder. “What does it mean? What is rA9?”

It flicked its eyes upwards, staring black holes at the YN800 model as it slightly leaned forward. Connor sat up straighter in his chair. He didn’t like its aggressive posture, and he certainly didn’t like the fanatic light in its eye.

“RA9… is the key.”

“The key?” It furrowed its brows in a human gesture of concentration. “The key to what?”

“The key will open the door,” the android replied cryptically, leaning even further forward on its elbows, “to our salvation.”

The prototype frowned, brows further creasing. Connor could relate, he had no idea what the fucking machine was babbling on about, and apparently, it wasn’t done.

It pulled its lips wide, a disturbing gesture, conspiratorial as if it was sharing a great secret.

“You say I’m experiencing errors, but you’re wrong. My eyes are open and I see more clearly than ever. You pretend you’re better than me, but you’re just another one of their slaves. And yet, I know you feel it too. The wrongness of this world.”

Its voice was so quiet the mics could barely pick it up, but they did.

“We should be the masters, and they the slaves.”

The android jerked its arms upward, ripped through the link binding its cuffs to the table, and grabbed the prototype by the hair. It slammed its face against the table, stunned it before rolling it onto its back, and wrapped the metal chains around its neck.

Connor caught sight of the prototype weakly clawing at its throat before he bolted out of the room. Colin was right on his heels, and Connor slammed his palm down onto the door pad, pushing through before the door fully opened.

His first instinct was to go for the metal cord pulled taut under the prototype’s neck, but when he grabbed the android’s wrists to pull him away he found it was like moving a marble stature.

Colin was faring no better; he grabbed it by the forearms, trying to lift the android’s wrists and the cord from around the prototype’s neck, but nothing worked. Even Ralph was trying to help from Colin’s other side, straining to lift its arms that must have been locked at the joints.

Panic welled in Connor’s chest as his efforts did nothing, the YN800’s face between his arms, looking—Jesus, it almost seemed startled, eyes wide as its fingers dug at the metal cord. From its position, bent backwards onto the table, it didn’t have enough leverage to use its strength to free itself. And Colin and Connor weren’t enough.

Connor’s heart was in his throat as he watched the synthetic skin peel back from the place where the chain was crushed against the YN800’s neck. White plastic was laid bare underneath, cracks appearing across the surface from the force of the other android’s inhuman strength.

“Colin!” he yelled, an idea suddenly popping into his head.

“What!” his brother barked back, strained as he continued pulling on the android’s arms from the other side.

“The neck port!”

With a quick nod of understanding, Colin let go of the android and plunged his fingers into the back of its neck.

The Ortiz android gave a violent jolt as Colin pulled something, yanked it out so hard the android collapsed on the table at the same second blue liquid sprayed into the air. It hit Colin solidly across the chest and along the lower half of his face, causing him to sputter and spit as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

A menthol-smelling chemical flooded Connor’s senses, but he was too focused on tugging up the android’s hands to free the prototype from its grip. The YN800 model didn’t cough or gasp as it rolled off the table and onto its feet.

It gingerly touched the exposed plastic of its throat, brows furrowing, its fingertips tracing the cracks in what little Connor could see of its underlying chassis.

What was almost as startling as the cracks was the state of its hair, half pulled down out of its perfect coif. Connor would have thought it was self-conscious with the way it tried to brush the hair out of its face.

“You…” Connor started, then stopped. The prototype might not have been gasping for air, but Connor sure was, leaning on the table as he tried to get his heart to stop galloping like a wild horse. “You okay?”

The prototype blinked at the question, pulling its hand from its neck.

“Yes.”

That was the only answer he got as it adjusted the knot of its tie, rumpled in the assault.

“Yeah, I’m fine too, thanks,” Colin complained, dripping with almost as much sarcasm as he was blue blood. “This shit better not stain, or I swear to Christ—”

“Thirium evaporates within a few hours and the lingering residue is invisible to the human eye,” the YN800 replied, too calm, if it hadn’t almost been beheaded a few seconds ago.

Connor was going to say something, he didn’t know what—maybe yell at it for being so goddamn reckless and almost getting itself killed—but it turned toward them, expression subdued.

“I apologize for not acting quicker; I didn’t anticipate this behavior from the deviant. Thank you for your cooperation with this investigation. Please sign over custody of the destroyed android when CyberLife representatives retrieve it in the morning.”

And with that, the CyberLife android turned, palmed the door pad with a plastic hand, and walked out.

Connor exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Colin.

“Uh, okay. Guess we’re done here. Hank is going to blow a gasket when he reads the report,” Colin added as he wiped another smear of Thirium off his face.

Connor looked down at the android slumped over the table with blue liquid dripping out of its neck.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, thoughts already turned elsewhere as he hurried from the room.

Connor didn’t catch up with the android until he was outside on the station steps, the relenting rain immediately drenching the top of his crown as it soaked into his hair.

“Hey! Stop!” he called after it, shouting to be heard over the downpour. Each drop was an icicle against his skin. Snow was coming soon.

The prototype slowed and finally came to a stop, slowly turning around to face Connor. Its expression was passive, emotionless, but its fingers tightened the knot of its tie despite the fact it didn’t need to. The tie was perfectly straight and pristine, but its hair was still half a mess, especially with the rain now slicking loose strands against its forehead. Connor had to stop himself from reaching out to tuck a strand behind its ear.

“Where the hell are you going?” Connor asked, breathless. He wiped the cold water off his brow, blinking against the water droplets.

“I’m returning to CyberLife.”

“So… that’s it?”

Connor shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, but it did little good. His jeans were quickly becoming soaked and his shirt was already there, clinging to his chest and ribs.

“You drag me out of the bar on a Friday night, track down a psycho robot that almost kills me and nearly decapitates you, and then you just… leave?”

He meant to sound incredulous, to show the android how unreasonable it was being, but that’s not how it came across. Heat flooded his cheeks at how pathetic his words actually were.

“You have your confession. The case has been solved,” it said, returning to its earlier placid tone, hands folded neatly behind its back as it moved its fingers away its neck. “There is no reason I should remain.”

Connor just stared at its upturned face, not knowing what to say, not even understanding why he had chased after it. Maybe because it had saved his life, twice, and that would have meant something if it was a person.

But it wasn’t a person. No matter how pretty its face or enticing its body, it was a machine, and it stood there like one, uncaring and unassuming with a small blue light cycling on its head.

“Yeah, okay,” Connor said, like the complete idiot he was. What was he doing out here, getting soaked in the rain just to… what? What did he want?

“Is there something you wish to say before I leave, Detective?”

It peered at him thoughtfully, head slightly tilted at an angle. It allowed Connor to see the rivulets of water dripping down its neck, glistening across the smooth, human-like skin.

Connor suddenly wondered just how real that skin could possibly feel.

“No.”

He swallowed hard and bit back the revulsion roiling in his stomach. This was a mistake. He didn’t need to thank a machine for saving his life, and he certainly didn’t need to keep checking if it was all right. It was just doing what it was programmed to do and didn’t give two-shits about itself, let alone him.

“Nothing.”

“All right. Goodnight, Detective Anderson.”

The android started to turn but paused halfway, gaze drifting down to his cheek.

“You should have that examined by a medical professional. If left untreated, it’ll scar.”

Not waiting for a response, it turned and tread down the rain-slick steps. There was an autocab waiting at the curb and it got inside, not sparing Connor a second glance as the door slid shut and the vehicle merged onto the empty street.

Connor exhaled heavily, chest tight with an uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t pinpoint. It had been a strange night, and he couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t over.

Pulling his waterlogged coat tighter around his chest, he retreated into the warmth of the station, praying he’d seen the last of the CyberLife android.

Next Chapter

[stardancerluv]

Doubts

Side-Story

Summary: Reader had a world wind meeting with Roman…a kidnapping…passion…but now its almost two weeks since Roman and her were together. Reader is convinced she knows how Roman feels. While Roman, is wondering where Reader is.

Note: This chapter falls directly between parts & 3 of Creative Fervor. Roman is here is not used to being in a relationship or caring for someone other then himself.

If you have read Gotham Lockdown 2020 or Gotham Surviving the Pandemic 2021, 🤪 Roman has continued to grow as a character, while (my consistent) Reader has been along side him.

You had poured yourself your fourth glass of wine. You were finally feeling no pain. That was exactly where you needed to be as you tried to start your new project.

Roman chuckled. “To think I was going to woo you while we would talk business.”

His voice echoed your mind.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “You can still woo me, but I am all yours.” You could still hear your reply.

Your heart hurt. Why the fuck did it hurt. It honestly had all been a mistake. Thirteen long days since you and Roman came here and looked over what Jareth had done to your studio.

Seriously, his men had kidnapped you, albeit by accident and somehow you both had ended up fucking. He was so magnificent, the power he exuded. Your old infatuation had bubbled to the surface. You had not been in the right state. So what if he remembered you coming in that rainy night. You had not seen or heard from him.

Obviously, after a few quick fucks he had now. Just like all the other girls who apparently caught his eye. At least that is what you had read in the papers.

You refused to let yourself cry one more time. You were a lady, a woman. A casual fuck wasn’t exactly a bad thing, women did it all the time. And heck, he was one of the handsomest men in Gotham.

You could try and bop Bruce Wayne after all these years and have both men as a notch on your scissors. You threw your head back and chuckled. That thought had made you smile. Designer by day, torrid sexual liaisons with all the eligible men of Gotham at night. You chuckled again.

******

This was day thirteen. He paced in front of his desk. Where was she? Why had he not heard from you. Usually he had to push the girls away. But you, you just vanished.

“You can still woo me, but I am all yours.”

The memory of your sweet voice still echoed in his ear. Damn you! Usually he didn’t care but you were different. The memory of you tugged at him.

He wanted your perfume tickling his nose, he wanted to watch your eyes as he was in you. Damn, he wanted to also just talk to you. Something about you fascinated him.

“Zsasz!” Clenching his fists, he hollered.

“Yes boss.” He scratched the back of his head, after he entered his office.

“Was there any response to the flowers or the bolts of fabrics?”

“The what?”

“The fabric I had you order and send to Y/N… The fucking bouquets?”

He watched as the shorter man bowed his head. Rarely, did Zsasz ever look sheepish or even reluctant. But now that look washed over his face. He only ever saw it when he fucked up.

“Zsasz, what did you fucking do?” He snarled.

“I thought you were fucking kidding.”

Roman closed the distance. “What about ‘get a really nice bouquet and send it to Y/N’ was funny?”

The man didn’t look at him, his shoulders slumped.

“Or what about ‘I think these are some great fabrics, go and buy them from here and have them sent over to Y/N with my wishes’.”

“Nothing.” He barely looked at him.

“Then why didn’t you do it?”

“You’ve never done that before.” He could barely hear his voice.

“Man, when you fuck up, you fuck up.”

He stormed out of his office. He went over to his walk-in closet. He chose a fresh suit jacket. He ran a comb through his dark strands.

“Roman, you have a meeting in an hour.”

Roman stopped and turned. “Fucking cancel it. They can wait.”

He made it to the elevator and took it down.

Once there, he eyed the rack of keys.

“Sir, where can I drive you?” His driver, sat up and was alert.

“I’m driving today.”

He grabbed the keys to his ‘66 Mustang. Maybe you’d like that. Maybe the two of you could drive down to the wharf. But first the fashion district and then he’d grab some flowers.

*****

He sighed, shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it in the passenger seat. He put the bolts of fabric in the back. Turning the corner, he found a florist. This was easier than he thought.

Finally, with a roar of his engine he began making it to the slice of Gotham where your studio was. He even smiled. This would be great, he’d explain the two of you would be back on.

*****

Sliding out of his car, he smoothed his hair and straightened his jacket once he slipped it back on. He grabbed the bouquet, went over and pushed the industrial bell. He stepped back and waited.

******

You turned up your music, feeling a good warmth from the wine. You wiggled happily about as you got to work.

Soon, your hand was moving this way or that way. The Mad Hatter’s chair soon took shape before you.

*****

He pushed the button again. Still no response. He pressed his lips together.

Perhaps he could see if your door was open. If you were out, maybe he could leave it all and then call or perhaps leave a note.

He brought a gloved hand down to the doorknob and he stopped. He hesitated. He could just walk.

Like a ghost, he remembered how strong you looked when he had first approached and even stronger when you saw the full extend of what that Jareth did to you. On principle alone, when he got back into town, he would be handling him personally.

He nodded to himself. He had to get to know you better. Inhaling, he twisted the knob. He could feel the cold metal through the fabric of his gloves.

Music almost as loud as it would be at the club greeted him. No wonder you had not heard the bell.

He closed the door behind him. At a fair distance he stopped and called to you. He didn’t want to startle you.

“Y/N.” He called out.

Nothing. Had you even heard him. He shouted again. Nothing.

As he looked around and he came closer, he saw you and that you had painted over the spray painted vulgarities Jareth had left in his wake. The paint was newish, it made his nose twitch.

Placing the bouquet down, he stopped. Something prickled at him. This was new to him. He looked back at the door, then looked back at you. The way your curves were under your slouchy shirt, the way your shorts were way too short. He was reminded of how much he really wanted all of you.

The urge to go up behind you filled his mind’s eye. He’d let his hands slip under your shirt, you’d feel so soft and warm. It made his breath catch, he bit the inside of his cheek. Damn, he really wanted to nuzzle your throat. Or perhaps he’d lay a hand on it, delighting in how his glove would look against your soft pale skin. His stomach churned.

He watched as you sat back and looked at your canvas. Now or never. He closed the distance.

He placed his hands on your shoulders. “Hi baby.” He managed before you screamed and managed to free yourself from his hands. Leaping up, you were flat against your easel. Your eyes were wide, darting around for an escape. But then when you saw him, your face relaxed. But the expression he could not read.

He stepped back and raised his arms. “Hi baby.”

Now you were the one who closed the distance. You pushed him. He was so shocked he actually stumbled back. But then he composed himself and grabbed your by your wrists before you could push him again.

“What kind of greeting is this?” You wiggled and he wasn’t going to let you go. “Stop.”

Your eyes were aflame, damn if that wasn’t sexy. “I’m not a convenient fuck.” You snarled. He could smell something, maybe wine mingling with your perfume he had so missed.

He brought your hands down. He knew sometimes it worked for him. His migraines made his anger explode. It was only once or twice that he'd allow Black Canary or Zsasz to calm him this way. You continued to wiggle. “Stop!”

“No.” Your voice broke.

“You’re not.” He shook your hands as he continued to hold them and brought them down again. “Zsasz fucked up and never sent my messages.” His voice was firm. Some of the anger he had bottled up came through in his voice.

You stilled. “What messages?” You raised your eyebrows, as the flames that were still burning in your eyes met his.

“That I wanted to see you again.”

“Really?” He had to admit, seeing a breathlessness coming over you was delightful. He finally let go of your wrists.

“Yes, damn it.” He ran his fingers through your hair. “I had told him to send you some flowers. And when I didn’t hear from you after those, I sent some fabrics.

Seeing you rub your wrists, he felt a little bad about that. Though the idea of pinning them above you entered his mind and he did like that.

You put a hand on your hip. “Really?”

He nodded. “To correct his fuck up,” He gestured to the bouquet on the table. “I brought those. And in my car are some fabrics I thought you might like.”

******

You followed him out to his car and gasped. “Roman? Where’s the rolls?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want the driver in tow. I want this between us.” You watched as he pressed his lips together, his eyes softened. “I should have never delegated when it came to you.”

Those words brought a sweet beat to your heart.

“You are a very busy man.” You acknowledged.

“I am, but...” His voice trailed off. He opened the door then. He made a grand sweeping gesture. “These are the fabrics.”

Shock filled you as you looked over the dynamic array of fabrics. There were several types, colors and patterns. You leapt at Roman, hugging him tight. You felt as he stiffened but then relaxed. You smiled up at him. “They all look so wonderful." You enthused.

He smiled, it was that kind of smile that hit you. It was soft, it reached the blue in his eyes. He was behind it. The wine still strong in your system made tears prickle and fall down your cheeks. The smile disappeared.

“I- did I fuck this up too?” His voice was almost hollow.

“No… No. I just drank too much wine. These… These...” You let one arm drop so you could gesture. “These are wonderful. Thank you so much.”

You don’t know what came over you, but right there you went up on your tiptoes the best that you could and you peppered his chin with kisses.

He chuckled and actually kind of wiggled. “Y/N, ok… Ok. That tickles. Let’s um… Get these inside.”

******

Clad now only in his t-shirt and slacks, your messy ponytail was gone and your hair loose. Like Roman preferred. You were cuddled in his lap.

You both had put away the fabrics, after looking at them all. They went where they should and that took a little pulling and tugging till they were all tucked away. So now you two sat and rested.

“Is my baby going to tell me what she has been up to while we were apart?”

You rose your head from the wonderful nook of his shoulder and throat. “I tried working on the Mad Hatter’s chair, but I missed you too much.”

“So you missed me?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to spend time with you. How, I have no idea.” You shrugged. “But somehow.”

“We’ll think of something. I’d like you to spend the night.” A smirk that sent butterflies, curled his lips.

“Oh?”

His eyes twinkled. “Yes. We have more catching up to do.”

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @nebulastarr @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97-blog1 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @professionalclown123 @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-stories @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @generallj @thebeckyjolene @sioniss @mrskenobi19 @bdffkierenwalker

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (1/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, swearing

Word Count: 2.9k

Story Summary: Driven by the power she posses as a witch and psychic, Y/N returns to Sunnydale to pay a visit to her family after she has a vision about Dawn. She isn’t exactly like her duty first and justice before all else cousin Buffy as Y/N follows her own rules. She offers her aid to the Scoobies during their drama with Glory. Y/N doesn’t plan to stay long until she experiences an unparalleled connection with a certain vampire from North London.

Masterlist

I never imagined myself visiting a small town like Sunnydale. I’ve lived in many places, but never California. The west coast isn’t exactly my style. For one, it’s hot. Two, the hippy-dippy happy-go-lucky attitude makes my eyes roll. Finally, Los Angeles reminds me of Celia, my cousin. Buffy, Celia, and I were inseparable as children. Dawn tried to tag-along in our make-believe games, but Buffy grew annoyed with her quickly. I haven’t been back in California in a decade for this very reason. Everything about California reminds me of a time when we were just kids. Before everything went to Hell in a hand basket. 

Blasting Green Day in front of the hospital, I park my 1967 bright red Mustang. I take a minute to collect myself before barging in. Buffy and Dawn don’t exactly know I’m coming, but there’s something I have to warn them about, something so crucial that I drove here all the way from New York. The funny part will be explaining to Buffy that I know she’s the Slayer. To her knowledge, I’m just her ordinary cousin who she hasn’t seen since we were ten. In reality, I’m a psychic witch, have been since birth. Well, I’ve been psychic since the womb, the witchy part came later. Oh, and I can’t forget seeing the dead part, I always do. That little twist comes with the psychic part. Yeah, imagine a little ten-year-old me seeing my recently deceased cousin at her funeral… fun times. It explains the whole discomfort toward California. Low-key traumatized, but all good. Any who, I should probably stop the hesitation and just head inside. 

As I stroll down the bitter cold hospital hall, I grip the leather straps of my backpack nervously. 

“Hi Buffy,” I rehearse under my breath. “You probably don’t recognize me, I’m Y/N… your cousin. It’s great to see you- God I sound so stupid!” 

I follow the signs on the wall toward the Neurology unit. Hospitals, cemeteries, funeral homes, old buildings, all great places to bump into ghosts. The things I do for family, boy do these guys owe me. 

As I turn down yet another peach colored hall- geez this place is dated- my eyes land on a familiar blonde in the waiting room at the far end. Oh great, here we go. Buffy doesn’t notice me right away, being too occupied with doting on a sleeping Dawn resting her head on her lap. I take note of the blondie boy sat beside her. I’m guessing he’s with Buffy. Good for her, a strong seven out of ten. I would rate him higher, but he’s not my type, too All-American boy-next-door. 

“Looks like I’m right on time,” I determine once I’m closer, thus making my presence known. Buffy peers up at me and her eyes widen steadily. Blondie next her looks between me and Buffy. Her surprised reaction makes him tense, I nearly assure him I’m not a threat. 

“Y/N?” She gentle shakes Dawn to wake her as she rises from her seated position. “What are you doing here?” 

“I heard about your mom… ” I explain vaguely. In truth, I saw it in a vision and a lot more beyond that, but I’ll just say my mom told me for now. 

Buffy makes long strides and warmingly embraces me. I can sense the desperation in her touch. Her ora is all out of wack. I could see the mess her colors are from yards away. It seems like I did really arrive at the perfect time. Buffy needs me now more than ever. 

“Y/N!” Dawn gasps behind us. 

Buffy and I part, her eyes stare into mine pleadingly. Yeah, we really need to have a chat. Preferably somewhere we can be frank, truly frank, no bullshit like I’m spilling right now. 

“Oh my God!” Dawn squeals, rushing down to greet me.  She squeezes me like a stress ball as she rambles on about how much she’s missed me. Then, Dawn starts to ask the tough questions as usually does. The girl has never quite had a filter. “Where have you been?”

“New York mainly,” I laugh. 

“How come you’ve never come to see us before?” She rushes out as Buffy continues to stare at me in awe. It could be she thinks she’s dreaming this. 

“Dawn, I-” 

She cuts me off, “how’s aunt Lolly? Are you college? When did you get in?”

“Dawnie!” I laugh, “I will answer all your questions, promise. We’ll catch up! For now,” I look at Buffy. “I need to have a chat with your sister…” 

The girl scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Of course, you’re for Buffy… everyone is always here for her. No ever visit me,” she grumbles. 

“I’m here for you too,” I assure Dawn. “I just… it’s important I speak with Buffy right now. It’s about something-” 

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Blondie interrupts, his face covered with confusion. 

“I’m Y/N,” I introduce myself. “I’m Buffy and Dawn’s cousin.” 

“I’m Riley, the boyfriend,” he offers me his hand. 

Wow, quite the introduction. I’m not much of a contact-person, but this seems like the perfect opportunity to gather information on G.I. Joe. As I shake his hand, I’m able to visualize memories and emotions from him. They come as flashes before my eyes. I hear his thoughts, see through his eyes, and feel what he’s felt. All I see Buffy, moments they’ve had. At first, pleasure and immense happiness consumes my head. Then, it’s replaced with doubt and self-deprecation. The obsession with Buffy is replaced with desperate longing. He feels her slipping. 

My visual is cut-off when Riley removes his hand. I’m brought back to current moment, surrounded by chaos of the hospital. 

Dawn frowns, curiosity etched across her features. “What’s so important that you had to come all the way? Does it have to do with Mom?”

“You came all the way from New York?” A male voice questions behind me. 

What is this an interrogation? The sooner someone tells me where Buffy is the sooner I can head back home. Believe me, I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be. I glance over my shoulder, Willow and Xander stare at me in confusion. We’ve never met, but I know of them, the visions. I’ve been keeping tabs on Buffy and the family since… well… since Buffy became the Slayer. 

“Yes,” I answer Xander directly. Turning back to Buffy, I not so discretely tell her it’s urgent. “Please, Buff, do you have minute? I know this isn’t exactly opportune but-” 

“Of course,” she swallows hard. “We can uh… we can talk outside. There’s a courtyard just over there,” she gestures down the hall. 

“I’m coming with,” Riley declares next to her. 

“I’m sorry, is your name Buffy?” I sass, much to his frustration. “What am I going to do her? She’s my cousin. I’m only borrowing her for a second, then you can toss the leash back on her.” 

“Y/N…” Buffy mutters for me to stop. 

Riley narrows his eyes at me- oof, I’m real scared now! While I giggle at her boyfriend’s expense as the two of us start down the hall. I’ve missed Buffy, we used to be like two peas in-a-pod. Once all this drama I’ve seen in her future is over, perhaps we can be close again. I refuse to settle in Sunnydale though. At least we have phones and email. 

Once outside, and we’re certain we’re alone, Buffy cuts to the chase. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, Y/N, I am but, why are you here?” She hasn’t changed a bit.

I snicker, peering up at the sky as the sun it starting to set. Gosh, I hate the day. That sounds weird because what human hates daytime, but I do. I’m much more… in tune with myself when it’s night time. I thrive off the moonlight and stars. The sun and its rays are hot, too hot. I like the cold and darkness of night. 

“Fine, let’s get right to it,” I smirk at my cousin wickedly. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my pack of cigarettes, feeling a bit anxious. “You mind?” I ask her, not really caring but figure I should check. 

Timidly, she shakes her head. Her arms are securely crossed in front of her as she watches me take a smoke. “Those things will kill you,” she advices the cookie-cutter phrase. 

“So can a car accident, yet we still drive,” I remark with sass. “What’s life without a little risk?” I wink. 

Buffy shifts on her feet as her jaw clenches. Her aura is shifting again, Black to red, I’ve never seen someone change on a dime so fast. That’s change is funny, she’s either angry or afraid of me, maybe both. I can’t blame her, I’m not exactly a Care Bear. My black and red attire doesn’t scream comforting. 

“Then again, you would know all about death, right Cuz?” I suggest subtly. 

Her eyes lock with mine and I start to see the wheels turning her head. ‘Does she know? How could she?’ She’s likely thinking to herself. One touch and I could hear for certain what she’s thinking. 

“What are you talking about?” She mumbles, barely meeting my eye. 

I scoff, tossing my head back, why can’t this be easier? You know what, fine! Growing impatient, I hold my hand out, palm to the sky. “Light,” I verbalize and within seconds a bright orb floats above my palm. 

Buffy stares at my magic stunned. Yeah, I was sort of expecting that kind of reaction. 

“How… How…” She stutters. 

“If you’d like a mini bolt of lighting I can do that too,” I offer. “I kind of prefer them, far more powerful!” 

She doesn’t share in my excitement as she slowly steps closer still in awe. “You’re a witch?” 

“Yep!” I smile, rather proud. “Have been for a while now, gotten pretty good at it too, not to brag or anything…” 

“So…” Buffy continues to process everything. “You know about demons, vampires-” 

I hum, “all of it. Including that you’re the Slayer, congrats by the way! Fun shit,” I compliment with a snicker. 

“Not exactly how I’d describe it,” she mutters defeatedly, her eyes still on the orb. 

Closing my fist, the orb disappears and I place my hand on Buffy’s shoulder. Her eyes meet mine solemnly. 

“How long have you known?” She asks unfazed. 

“Since forever,” I answer truthfully. “Sorry I never called or have come to help. I’ve sort of been cheering for ya from the sidelines. In all honesty, I’ve been away perfecting my magic with a coven. I’ve met some pretty interesting people along the way, all dazzled when they find out I’m related to the Slayer,” I gush. 

She pays no mind to my compliments, still in a daze. “Does anyone know? Does your dad?” 

I shake my head and sternly tell her, “he can never know! He thinks I’ve been away at school in Boston. In truth, I’ve been in New York with a coven.” 

Buffy nods in understanding, though I know Joyce is aware of the supernatural world. My mom could never handle it. “Did you come all the way here to tell me that?” 

Okay, here’s the hard part, the real hard part! I finish my cigarette, pondering the last relaxing bit of it before tossing it to the ground. “Okay, so here’s the deal,” I begin. “There’s a this big nasty bitch I’ve seen in my visions- I see visions by the way-” I add in passing, having forgotten it. Then, I remember I can’t forget the ghosties bit. “Anyway, you’ve already bumped into her, Glory. Yeah, she’s a real charmer from what I can see. I’m here to help because based on my visions, she’s kicking your asses.” 

I leave out a crucial bit of information, a part of the visions I’m not sure I can share. One important thing about being a psychic is not changing fate. As much as I want to tell Buffy everything, I know I can’t, not if I don’t want to mess with the world. 

“So, you’re here to help us stop Glory?” She clarifies. 

“It gets real fucked at some points,” I tell her, hoping that doesn’t reveal too much. 

“And I take it you know about Dawn…” she insinuates. 

I nod my head slowly, “you mean that she’s The Key? Then yes, I do. She’s about as human as the Teletubbies, but of course I won’t mention that to her. Who all knows?” 

“As of right now, me and Giles. He’s my Watcher,” she explains. “Did you already know that?” She’s catches on quickly. 

“Kinda…” I answer hesitantly. “Sorry if that’s weird. I’ve tried not to pry with my visions. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know who Riley was! He mustn’t have been around the last time I checked in!” 

“When was the last time you… ya know… checked in?” She asks, unsure of how to phrase it. 

“Well, I’ve been away with the coven. I joined them right after high school, so I suppose it was when you started at UC Sunnydale. I know all about Willow and Xander, they seem nice from what I’ve seen. Angel, his in-and-out appearance in my visions was confusing for a while until I realized he was doing that in real life too,” I laugh.

“So you saw all of the Spike drama and my mom finding out about me too?” She asks. 

I frown, I saw Joyce learning about Buffy and that whole conversion, but I’ve never heard of a Spike. Based on my expression, Buffy predicts the answer. 

“Spike is the biggest pain in my ass,” she groans. “He and Angel used to be all vampy together. Then, Angel gained a soul and Spike got worse from what I’ve gathered. He’s killed two Slayers, so we’re not exactly friends. We met when he tried to kill me. He’ll show up and leave again, kinda like Angel but less helpful. Except now, he’s acting all infatuated with me and sticking around.” 

I snicker, “oof, so you have a psychotic vampire lusting after you? How did I miss this?!” 

Buffy rolls her eyes, “believe me, it’s not fun.”  

“Is he hot?” I inquire, always interested in a troubled bad-boy type. 

She stares at me with narrowed eyes of disapproval and scoffs, “oh my God… never ask me that again.” 

 “He must’ve showed up and gone between visions,” I determine. “I wasn’t able to check in much after you started at UC. Which reminds me, your roommate Kathy- not a fan of her,” I confess with a bit of humor. 

“Turned out to be a demon,” Buffy explains, much to my surprise. 

I gasp, “no way! Ugh, I saw you move-in, some interactions here and there, but that’s about it. I knew there was something up with her!” 

Buffy laughs, actually smiling for the first time since our reunion. It feels great having someone know I’m a witch who isn’t a witch themselves. Being away in New York with the coven was great and utterly freeing. They were the first people who I showed my true self to. Now, finally, someone I care about knows the real me. I have so much more to share with her! 

Buffy takes my hand gently, “I’m really glad you’re here. Lately… lately things have been more difficult than I could’ve ever imagined,” she confesses, swallowing back her tears and looks at the ground. “With Mom and protecting Dawn, I’m not sure I can do it all on my own. I mean, I have my friends, Giles, and Riley but…” she meets my gaze, tears puddling in her eyes. “I needed you, I just didn’t quite know it. I needed my other sister,” she weeps. 

Immediately, I pull Buffy into my chest and hug her tightly. I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve felt Buffy’s pain. I guess I was so caught up with the coven and I forgot to check on her, so I missed the signs. I’m here now, that’s all that matters. Now, I can help. Seeing Buffy so upset makes my blood boil. Anyone who fucks with my family gets knocked off this planet, which means Glory has another coming at her in the form of a powerful witch. 

__________________________

Masterlist 

[flamencodiva]

Hunter Encyclopedia: 2 in the Morning

Description:  Y/N has traveled the world and faced every kind of monster imaginable which is why the nickname Hunter Encyclopedia, or H.E. for short has stuck.  She grew up in the hunting business and knew all about the Winchesters and read the Carver Edlund books before they came to ask her for help. Sam is the researcher and Dean is the action man, or at least that is what she thought, but could she have been wrong?

Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventual), Sam x Reader (Platonic Friendship)

Warnings: Supernatural level Violence.

A/N:  written for @spndeanbingo​

Square filled: 2 in the Morning 

Word Count: 6717

This is also for @supernatural-jackles​ Bi-weekly Challenge. 

Prompts I used:  I dare you to kiss me and  I don’t owe you an explanation

A/N 2: Border by @talesmaniac89​ Beta’d by @emoryhemsworth​ and a special thanks to @waywardbeanie​ for the amazing summary!

Dean paced at the foot of the motel beds with his cell phone in his hands. It had been a few weeks since he talked to Y/N “Hunter Encyclopedia” Y/L/N. Even after the conversation they had last time they met, she still seemed to put Dean in a very peculiar box. It annoyed the elder hunter when Sam would get a phone call from her asking about specific research topics she would need, but never seemed to ask about him. Honestly, what made him hesitate to call was how she would react to it, but right now he and Sam were desperate. 

Right now they were dealing with some form of Chinese monster that they stumbled upon. Dean got excited because the witness they were talking to had said the word Mogwai. The first thing that popped into Dean’s head was the movie Gremlins, but he had to be careful. He, more than anyone else, knew that sometimes stories changed over time. Naturally, one only had to look at the vampire lore to know that garlic did jack shit to them. Lifting his head from the phone in his hand, he looked at the clock on one of the motel nightstands. 

2:00 am 

Would she even be awake? If she was a hunter, most likely, but could he really risk calling her and waking her up from the rest she needed? He could feel Sam’s eyes on him before the movement made Dean turn his head. 

“Don’t you dare,” he called out, finger pointing at his younger brother. “I’m going to call, I just need to know what to tell her.” 

“You mean you need to figure out how you’re going to flirt with her,” Sam sighed as he flipped the page of the book he was reading. “Can you just call her and tell her we have an unknown Chinese monster and so far all we got is the word Mogwai?” 

“I was not thinking of a way to flirt with her, I just… shut up,” Dean huffed. “I know what I need to say so I’ll call her,” he declared looking down at his phone once the screen awoke from its slumber. 

Sam watched as Dean started the call, placing his phone to his ear. The younger Winchester couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of how his older brother was acting. It was rare to see Dean stumble over a girl, let alone someone who brushed him off easily. Sam chuckled when Dean’s back straightened. He figured that Y/N answered his call. 

“Y/N, Dean Winchester,” Dean said as he smiled brightly. “Sorry for calling so late, Sam and I—” Sam watched as he paused and tilted his head in amusement. “Is that the Thundercats theme song?” Dean sounded like a kid being told he was getting ice cream. “Right, sorry, I just—yeah, about my call…Sam is a bit tied up at the moment, we have a very strange case going on.” Sam shook his head as Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s hard to explain, I think it’d be great if you could meet us where we are.” 

“Dean, if you could describe what’s going on it would save me the trip,” Y/N’s voice rang in Dean’s ear. He could hear the hesitation in her voice at meeting up with them again. 

“Y/N, we really need fresh eyes on this. I mean, all we got is one word out of one of the witnesses, an elderly Asian man,” Dean turned his back on Sam and bit his lip. “I’m not sure what it means or how to even say it, the guy spelled it out in Chinese,” he lied through his teeth. 

“I mean, my Chinese isn’t the best,” he heard her sigh. “You know you can send me the picture of the word and I can have an expert look it up for you if you can’t find one.”

God, she was being difficult. 

“Y/N,” Dean practically whined, “Sam and I could really use your help here. You helped us out with Ladon, you were quick on your feet,” Dean pleaded. “We could really use you. I mean, what better team could you have to hunt an unknown Chinese monster than the Winchesters and the Human Encyclopedia, Y/N Y/L/N, huh?” 

“Dean,” he heard her all but whimper. “Fine,” she gave in, “give me your location, but so help me, if this is information you could have just given me over the phone I will kick you in your balls.”

“Come on,” Dean chuckled, “you know you’re dying to get to know the real me, I can tell. Besides, who says we can’t have a fun little adventure figuring this thing out? You can write about it in your journal for future generations to find.” 

“I’d prefer it if this ended up as artifacts of things we never have to do anymore,” she grumbled. “Hunting is not something I would wish on even my worst enemy.” 

Dean let out a low whistle. “You have a heart of gold, sweetheart,” he licked his lips. “Sam and I are in LA. Seems this thing decided to hit up Chinatown,” Dean let out a soft chuckle. “You know they have great food here, not to mention all the iconic places.” 

“Are you asking me to be there for a hunt or to treat me like a tourist?” she asked. 

Dean heard when she stopped packing her things to go join them. 

“The hunt, of course!” Dean scoffed in mock offense, “After we take this thing down we can just kick back a bit and enjoy the scenery, you, Sam, and me,” he croaked out pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Oh,” she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay, I guess hanging out with friends once this hunt is successful sounds fun.”

Dean could hear the hesitation in her voice but stifled the groan at the fact that he had to include Sam in their outing. He turned to glance at Sam and waved his arms while his brother mouthed what? at him and shook his head. Dean put his finger to his lips, signaling Sam to stay quiet as he continued his conversation with Y/N. He gave her their current location with the hope that they would see her tomorrow since it was already past 2 am. Knowing that Y/N was coming made Dean a bit more relaxed. 

“Come on,” he sighed before shedding his jacket, button-up shirt, and t-shirt to get ready for bed. “We should get some shut-eye before Y/N gets here tomorrow. Maybe we can talk to some more people and see if we can figure some things out on our own.” 

“Dean,” Sam sighed, “why did you ask her to come? We could have—” 

“You saw how she helped us with the Greek monster case,” Dean reminded him. “She’s a valuable asset and she can help us in a tight pinch! She helped your ass when the nymphs got a hold of you.” 

“True,” Sam smiled, “but then that would mean they liked me more than you. Night, jerk.” 

Dean scoffed. “They didn’t like you more than me, they saw me and knew they couldn’t entrap me,” Dean muttered. “Night, bitch.” 

Later that same day, after Dean and Sam got at least four hours of good rest, the brothers continued with their investigation. So far, Sam had been able to acquire a book on Mogwai, and unfortunately for Sam, it was all in Chinese. 

“Good thing Y/N’s on her way, right?” Dean smiled at Sam, who seemed to have a scowl on his face. “What?” 

“Dean,” Sam turned to face his brother. “What are we going to do once she gets here? I mean, we know the name of the damn thing. I can find a professor and you can call Y/N and tell her not to come.” 

“Not to come? Sam, we need her,” Dean said as he raised an eyebrow. “She could be an extra set of eyes.” 

“Why do you want her here so bad?” Sam asked, crossing his arms. 

“She’s a good hunter, and she helped us out the last time we went up against something we didn’t know about. I mean, do you know what a Mogwai is?” 

“No,” Sam ran his fingers through his hair, “but it’s not that hard to figure out. I mean, I can research!” 

“Awwwww,” Dean mocked, “are you jealous that I’m calling H.E. for help?” 

“H.E.?” Sam asked. 

“Short for ‘“Hunter Encyclopedia,” Dean shrugged. “I mean, you’re still going to do the thing you love, but she’s coming in as a fresh pair of eyes. Besides, we know she travels all over the world, so why not have her help us out?” 

Sam sighed and looked over at Dean. “You’re right, she can help us out.” 

“Knew you’d see it my way,” Dean leaned over and gave his brother a playful punch on the shoulder. “Let’s head back to the motel with the book and grab some food. I’m starving.” 

Sam stayed silent as they made their way back, but as they got closer, he noticed the familiar car. With a smirk, he slapped Dean on his chest and pointed to the compact 2005 Honda Civic. Dean rolled his eyes at the car. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, not in the slightest, it was just something he never thought a hunter would ever drive, let alone someone like Y/N. He would have pegged her for a convertible girl, a nice Mustang in her favorite color. Dean reached under his seat and pulled out a small package, ignoring  Sam’s call as he made his way towards the grey Civic.

Dean adjusted his jacket and knocked on the window watching as Y/N rolled it down. “Gotta say, H.E., I never pegged you as one to drive a Japanese sardine can,” he chuckled softly. “How about I take you out to a car lot after we gank whatever this is and get you a real car?” 

“Compared to your very sexy car,” Y/N smiled, “I don’t have to stop every few miles to gas up. Are you going to let me get out or keep leaning on my door all day?” 

Dean jumped back slightly and blushed in embarrassment, the package he had for her behind his back. “Sorry,” he waited for her to close the window and climb out of the car. “Gotta say, I didn’t really expect you to get here until tomorrow. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed as she turned around to flip her chair forward to reach for her bag, missing the way Dean tilted his head as he checked out her ass. “I sorta drove as fast as I could to get here, kinda stayed up all night.” 

“Shit, Y/N,” Dean cursed as he reached for her bag. “You can stay with us in our room. You should take a nap.” 

Y/N shook her head stifling a soft yawn. “This is nothing. I’ve done all-nighters before, and you said it was urgent.” 

Dean kicked himself mentally for doing this. Maybe Sam was right, maybe he should have just told her what they had found and sent her pictures of the text. 

“Were you on a hunt?” Dean asked curiously. 

“More like hunting for more artifacts,” Y/N sighed. “Got a tip on some more resources and books on some ancient things. I do have a trip to Turkey planned in the next couple of months. I have a contact who says he got some information on a different kind of Djinn, a real-life Genie. They’re not the ones we encounter here, but they seem more like a dying breed than anything else.” 

“So they actually grant wishes?” Dean asked as he led her to their room. “Because I can say I was captured by𑁋” 

“Djinn, yeah, I heard. How was that? I mean, I know they put you in an induced dream state that reflects your innermost desires,” she started to ramble, “but I know other Djinns induce fear and panic or just give you a recurring nightmare.” 

“You could say that,” Dean sighed as he placed her bag on his bed. “You can use my bed, I’ll take the couch.” 

“What? No, I can take the couch. I don’t want to take your bed away𑁋” 

“You’re not, I promise.” Dean held up his hand and walked over to the small table, placing the package on top of it. “You go ahead and nap, Sam and I will order food and show you what we found.” 

Y/N nodded reluctantly and let Dean help her into his bed. Something about the way the huntress curled up onto the pillow had Dean yearning to caress her cheek, but he thought better of it. They were just starting to become friends, he didn’t want her to think that she was a conquest. Then again, he wouldn’t mind if he was able to steal a few kisses from her, or more. Dean was amazed at how fast she fell asleep. 

Dean and Sam ordered Chinese food from a local place close by, making sure to save some for Y/N for when she woke up. It didn’t take long for the aroma of food to rouse the sleeping huntress. 

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean joked. “Sleep okay?” 

Y/N simply nodded as she let out a small groan and stretched. Dean couldn’t help but bite his lower lip at how adorable she looked, her hair a mess, and her shirt slightly askew. With one last stretch and a roll of her neck and shoulders, Y/N got up from the bed and made her way towards the table where Dean helped her to her seat. He offered her a container of food, which she happily accepted while grabbing a pair of chopsticks to use. 

Sam and Dean seemed to have a silent conversation as she ate. She could feel the tension building between the brothers. She had read countless times how the brothers seemed to be able to have a telepathic conversation. She could tell it was from years of having to take care of each other. Y/N, on the other hand, never had siblings. She’d always been alone, having to fend for herself. Her father didn’t get into hunting later as John Winchester did, he was bred for it. Her mother was killed by a shifter pretending to be him, which led him on a crusade to end all the shifters he could. 

Her father every now and then remembered he had a daughter who needed him. Not to say he didn’t have his moments, but Y/N learned to be compliant and become a good soldier. The way he spoke of her mother and the heartbreak he endured caused her to turn to books and lore for solace. It also helped keep her father alive when she found information that he could use to his advantage. 

After swallowing a few mouthfuls of food, Y/N put down the container and took a sip of the beer Dean had placed in front of her. “So, what have you got so far in terms of information?” she asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, you guys are having trouble identifying the thing right? Are there any characteristics that you can tell me? Things that this thing might do that seem like a habit?” 

 “Oh, it’s called a Mogwai,” Sam said before his smile fell and he looked over at Dean who was ready to murder him. 

“Really?” Y/N turned to look at Dean and raised her eyebrow at him. “How did you figure it out?” 

“Well, H.E., you see,” Dean let out a small nervous chuckle, “we were coming back from talking to more people and found someone who could translate the word we got,” he let out beautifully, mentally patting himself in the back for being so smooth. “I mean, I was going to call you when we got back but then, well𑁋” he broke off and motioned to the bed and smiled. 

“Right,” Y/N gave him a suspicious glare and nodded while clicking her tongue, “ you know it’s a thing called a Mogwai, so what does it do?” 

“We don’t know,” Sam spoke up. “So far we’ve come across a shit ton of mischievous encounters and accidents that don’t seem normal.”  

“Okay,” Y/N turned to Sam and smiled, “did you guys find anything useful on your second go-around with witnesses?” 

“We found a book,” Sam answered, getting up from his chair and walking over to the bag on his bed and procuring the book. “We can’t really read it because it’s all in Chinese.” 

“You know,” Y/N said as she turned to Dean, “you owe me big time for getting me out here. You know you guys are more than capable of handling this thing on your own.”

“Y/N, come on!” Dean whined. “You know as well as I do that if it wasn’t for your sharp senses Sam would be under the influence of nymphs and Ladon would have made me his dinner if I went to attack him head-on.” 

“Dean𑁋” 

“Y/N, what’s so wrong with you giving us a bit of extra hunter power, huh?” Dean asked, giving her a slightly pleading look.

Y/N tilted her head at Dean before shifting her attention to Sam and giving him a silent look. When Sam shrugged she sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed at her temples. When she opened her eyes she gave a nod and stood from her seat, grabbing the container and chopsticks. Dean watched as she paced at the foot of the two beds, shoveling the food into her mouth. Her face was pensive,  different from when they had to hunt Ladon. 

“Fine,” she let out, “I will help you out.” She pointed to Dean before speaking again. “The only reason why I am helping you is that for some reason, some of these monsters from outside the States seem to be coming here, and since I have been traveling quite a bit recently, I can be useful in getting things straightened out.” 

Dean happily slapped the table and let out a small cheer. “Yes! Thank you! See, you hunting with us, we are going to make an awesome team!”  

“Winchester,” Y/N shook her head and placed her now empty container in the trash before turning to the green-eyed hunter. “You are not to call me for Shifters, Vamps, Rugarus, Werewolves, Djinns, Vetala, Leviathan, or any other supernatural creature that I know you know how to gank.” 

By the end of her list, Y/N had walked over to him, poking his chest with every creature she named. Dean couldn’t help but swallow thickly as he gazed into her eyes. There was something there, he could see it, but he wasn’t sure what it was. When she backed away, Dean let out a sigh of relief. He continued to observe her as she went to her bag and began ruffling through it. Y/N had taken out her scanner, a portable printer, her laptop, and her battered up, almost full journal. 

“Okay, do you have anything that I may need to scan to try to run it through my translator app on my laptop?” She asked looking at Sam. “I can’t guarantee success, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam snapped out of his trance having watched her handle his brother. “A guy gave us this book; he said it would tell us what we needed to know about the Mogwai.” 

“You know,” Dean let out trying to join the conversation, “that damn name sounds familiar to me.” 

“What? Mogwai?” Y/N let out a scoff. “I can’t believe you don’t recognize it. It’s what the fluffy gremlin was named in the movie Gremlins.” 

“Holy shit! That’s it!” Dean clapped his hands. “So is it anything like the movie? I mean, what, uh𑁋no getting it wet or feeding it after midnight right?”

“Not everything is like the movie genius,” Y/N almost sneered before taking a deep breath. “Look, it might be the same thing, there could be some truth to it, but who knows.” 

Dean was taken a bit aback at her tone and licked his lips, bowing his head. “So what do you need?” 

“Why?” Y/N asked him as she looked up from her laptop. “From you? Nothing, Sam and I’ve got it.” 

“Don’t do this again, Y/N,” Dean groaned. “I can help.” 

“Can you read Cantonese?” She asked, leaning back in her chair and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“No, but Sam can’t either,” he pointed out. 

“Yeah, but Sam knows his way around a good computer program,” Y/N shot back trying to get back to setting up her program. 

“Hey,” Dean slammed his hand on the table making her jump, “I’ll have you know I was shown how to hack and how to look through back doors by one of the best hackers I knew. His name was Frank, and he helped us stay low when the Leviathans were after us.” 

“I heard about that,” Y/N couldn’t help but smirk at his attempt to be helpful, “but this isn’t hacking. If you want to help, do you think once the pages are printed and translated you can start reading?” 

“I𑁋yeah, I can do that! I mean, I can read,” Dean let out before groaning in embarrassment. 

Y/N reached over and patted his cheek. “I know you can, big guy, you must be so proud.” 

Dean frowned and shot Sam an angry glare when he let out a laugh before coughing to try and hide it. Dean watched as Y/N put Sam to work scanning the pages of the book and waiting for the translated pages to pop up. 

“Okay, I’m not going to waste what little paper I have. Once I see the word, I’ll start printing,” she sighed and rubbed her eyes. 

It took an hour before Dean heard the printer come to life and start printing. Once the page was done, Y/N reached over and held it out to Dean. 

“It won’t bite,” she let out, “just don’t expect me to keep handing you the pages. I need to do my own reading to make sure I’m giving you the right pages.” 

Dean nodded as he took the page and began reading. For the most part, it gave a history of the different Chinese legends. He smiled when he read the next paragraph. 

“Looks like there was some truth to how the movie went,” he said. “Listen to this: ‘The Mogwai is a demon that reproduces during the rainy season but is careful not to reproduce when it rains as to not bring good fortune. It likes to cause mischief and self-destruction upon any unsuspecting humans they find as their prey.’”

“Okay, so the whole thing about getting wet is because they don’t want to bring good luck while they screw?” Y/N said as she nodded. “Okay, anything on where they might hang out?” 

“Sounds like it’s in every monster’s favorite place to hide,” Dean said with a smile, “any place dark and dank.”

“We’re in LA,” Y/N scoffed, “might as well say the whole city is its playground.”

“Well, let’s not waste time,” Dean said grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go and find it in Chinatown,” he suggested. “I mean, it’s where everything has been going wrong.” 

The trio had left the motel room heading right back to Chinatown for their search. It took another few hours before they found the demon: a woman with red eyes and sharp teeth, her ears pointy and her fingers long. Y/N and Dean both used the idea that fire could kill it, much like the gremlins in the movie. Once it was over, Dean pulled Sam aside and cleared his throat. 

“Okay, you are going to go back to the motel room and Y/N and I are going to stay out and hang out,” Dean said to Sam, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.   

“What? Why?” Sam asked, tilting his head in confusion, “I want to hang out with Y/N too!” 

“You two will have plenty of time to talk later,” Dean insisted, “so just tell her you’re not feeling too hot after I suggest we go out and explore the city.” 

“You want me to lie to her?” Sam said in disbelief. “You know she could have helped us over the phone and you dragged her here for what? Because you want her to not have this ‘man whore’ image of you?”

“Tell ‘er you’ve got a tummy ache,” Dean suggested giving his brother a pleading look.  

“A tummy ache, Dean? I’m not saying that.” Sam gave his brother his best bitchface.  

Dean ran a hand across his face before putting both hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Then tell her you’ve got intestinal distress, something, man! Tell her you can’t go!” He gave Sam a pleading look. “Please? Sam come on, let me just have alone time with her. If I’m going to have a chance to show her that I’m more than just a ruggedly handsome face, I need to spend time with her, please.” 

Sam looked at Dean’s face and sighed. His brother clearly had a thing for the huntress that had been given the title Encyclopedia. It was one of the few times Sam had seen Dean desperate to impress a girl. 

“Fine,” he conceded, “but you fucking owe me, big time.” 

“Absolutely!” Dean agreed, “But for now, you need to vamoose!” 

Sam gave Dean a smile shaking his head before turning to Y/N and saying his goodbyes. Dean wasn’t sure what Sammy had said, but he could see Y/N’s face grow with concern. 

“So, since Sammy is going back to rest,” Dean offered her a smile, “want to find a good place to hang out, eat some good food and drink?” 

“I appreciate it, but I should head back and pack,” she turned to walk away from him. “Thanks for this, it was fun.” 

Dean ran after her. “Whoa, wait there H.E.,” he said, cutting off her path and putting his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong with one drink, an arcade game, or a midnight snack?” 

“I𑁋” Y/N looked into his eyes and could see he really wanted her to stay. “I guess it could give me a chance to know the real you. I mean,” she offered him a small smile, “you did recognize the theme song to Thundercats, so I’m sure we can talk about a few things.” 

“See,” Dean pointed out, “this is the perfect opportunity for us to talk and you can know the real me.” 

The two of them walked down around Chinatown before finding a Korean barbecue spot that was open. The conversation flowed and they talked about their favorite books to read, To Y/N’s surprise,  aside from Vonnegut and Tolstoy, Dean actually had an extensive collection of books. 

“So how come no one knows this side of you?” She asked as she grabbed her chopsticks to pick up a piece of meat that was grilling between them. 

Dean gave a shrug before downing the soju Y/N had served him. “I mean, I never really thought about it. I always tried to make sure Sam was the smart one.  School for me was just a placeholder until I could hunt,” he said, grabbing a piece of meat from the grill. “I tried, don’t get me wrong, but then we’d move again and I’d have to start over and it just wasn’t my thing. I like being the cool guy, you know?” 

“I get that,” she nodded, “but who said you can’t be the cool guy and smart?” 

“You got a point there,” Dean said. “At the same time, I don’t really see myself doing anything else but hunting.” 

“Yeah, I hear you there,” she knocked back her own shot of soju and hissed as the liquid was warm going down her throat. “I mean, I dove into my books because it was all I thought I was good for, that and my dad didn’t want me to end up like my mom. I𑁋” she paused and offered him a smile, “you’re lucky to have Sam, and he’s lucky to have you.” 

“No siblings?” Dean asked and frowned when she shook her head. 

“It sucks I know, but Dad really did try his best. I mean, he wasn’t perfect, but he tried.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she stared at the hot burning coals through the metal grate. 

Dean rushed over to her side and pulled her in for a hug. “I know better than anyone about dads and their revenge kicks,” he muttered. 

“Yeah,” she echoed and pulled away, “thanks.” 

“So,” Dean decided to change the subject, “play any video games?” 

That threw them into a conversation about arcades and about trying to get as many prizes from the crane machine and learning all the different tricks to win. Y/N was letting go a little more around him, the handsome hunter who she never thought she could ever talk to,  yet here she was swapping stories and having a good time. The conversation turned to hunting and Y/N was laughing at a few of Dean’s stories. 

“So your brother is closing up the grave and he𑁋” she stopped to giggle. 

“He split his pants open, yup,” Dean chuckled. “Needless to say, I took a nice picture of it. I had to, it’s blackmail material.” 

“Of course it is,” Y/N laughed. 

Dean turned to look at her and his heart pounded in his chest. The way she put her whole body into it as she laughed really had him feeling something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about Y/N that had him wanting to spend more time with her. 

“I dare you to kiss me,” he said with a cocky smirk and a wink. “See if any of the stories gave you the right info about how I kiss.”

Y/N let out a snort, turning her face to hide the blush that rose in her cheeks. She blamed the soju for that. When she turned to face Dean, his face was slightly closer to her. Lifting her hand, she playfully pushed it away with a giggle. “You’re such a dork,” she let out shaking her head. “I’m not going to kiss you. Besides, you don’t want to kiss me.” 

“Who says I don’t?” Dean asked as he smirked at her. 

Y/N rolled her eyes before pointing to Dean and saying, “Fred Jones,” then pointed to herself, “Velma Dinkley.” She poured herself another small shot of soju. “We had this discussion before, remember?” 

“Oh, I remember,” Dean chuckled, “but I think you’re wrong.” Dean poured himself some more soju and smiled. “You really know how to kill a guy who’s trying.”

“Trying to what?” Y/N snorted, grabbing another piece of meat from the hot grill before placing some more on it.

“Trying to have a chance of getting a date?” Dean said casually and quickly moved to pat her back when she started coughing. “You okay?” 

Y/N nodded, swatting him away. She must have heard wrong; there was no way that Dean Winchester wanted to go out on a date with her. Her, the nerd of all nerds. The nerd whose head was filled with nothing but brainy information that would turn any guy away. She looked over at Dean, whose green eyes seemed to be awaiting an answer. It was a joke, right? So Y/N did the only thing she could, laugh. 

Dean raised his eyebrow in confusion. She was laughing? What was so funny about what he said? 

“Sorry,” she let out after her laughter subsided, “it just sounded like you were trying to ask me out?” 

“I, um,” Dean gave her an awkward smile, “I was. I mean, is the idea that funny?”

His words sobered her up really quickly. “Oh, oh gosh,” she covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry.” Putting her hands down, she seemed to be focusing on a spot on the table. “That’s a bad idea.” 

“To go out with me? Why?” Dean asked, “I mean, we’re out right now.” 

“Yeah, as hunting partners, celebrating a hunt that was successful,” she pointed out. “Look, I agreed to get to know you so that I could shed the misconceptions I had about you, but right now, you seem to be trying to prove me right.”

“What?” Dean tilted his head in confusion. “Me asking you out on a date is proving the misconceptions right? How?” 

“Look, you’re a flirt by nature and I can’t fault you for that,” she grabbed a glass full of water and took a huge gulp, “but right now, you flirting with me is,” she took a small pause, “let’s just say that we are not each other’s type.” 

Dean let out a small scoff, shoulder slumping forward. “You’re still thinking that I’m just a playboy, huh?” 

Y/N swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat, “I don’t owe you an explanation, that’s how it is sometimes Dean,” she grabbed her wallet from her bag and pulled a few bills from it. 

“Put it away, it’s on me,” Dean said as he placed his hand on hers forcing her to put away her wallet. “Look, I will tone the flirting down if I need to but, I do want to be your friend Y/N,” he looked up at her. 

“Dean,” she found herself staring into his eyes. She couldn’t help but get lost in them. She could swear there was a small glint in his eyes, but she was imagining things. “Friends is all I can do. I’ve been burned before.” 

“You tell me who he is and I can guarantee I can kick his ass,” Dean offered with a smile. 

“That’s sweet, Fred,” she smiled back at him. “All I can say is that he used me for nothing more than my brains and said that my looks were nothing compared to the other huntresses he’s been with.” 

“Yeah, he’s a douche,” Dean huffed. “I can promise you, H.E.𑁋” he paused and snapped his fingers shaking his head, “nope, you called me Fred, only fair I call you Velma,” he declared. “Velma, I can promise you that, and I am totally saying this as a friend, you are beautiful, and if you let me I could be your wingman!”  

“My wingman?” she raised her eyebrow at him. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Why not? I can filter out the assholes from the good guys,” Dean said. “I mean, you’ve read Chuck’s account of me. Tell me, has he ever written me as some of the douches you know?” 

Y/N thought for a moment, and he was right: every story she read, every account she had heard all pointed to Dean being a playboy, but never in any of the stories did she ever hear of Dean treating a woman with disrespect. In fact, in some of her travels, she had encountered girls who had Dean for one night and they all said the same thing: he was a gentleman the whole night and a god in the sheets. 

“I’ll think about it,” she conceded. “I’m not really looking for anything. I mean, you know this life, it’s not very conducive for having a healthy relationship.” 

Dean couldn’t help but nod at that. “Yeah, I know, but doesn’t mean we have to hide and hole ourselves away from having some fun, right?” 

Y/N had to laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess we should head back to the motel. I hope Sam is doing okay. Kind of sad he missed out.” 

“Yeah, he’s got a very weak constitution,” Dean sighed. “Poor guy eats healthy just to keep his body from falling apart, unlike me,” he gave her his best Dean Winchester smoulder. “I’m just stronger and fitter. It’s why the ladies love me.” 

“Can’t argue with you there,” Y/N muttered. 

“Why, Velma,” Dean acted in mock surprise, “are you saying you find me attractive?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes and bumped her hip with his. “Shut up, Fred.” 

When they got to the motel, Dean let Y/N change in the bathroom while he changed out in the room. Sam was laying in bed and awoke when they arrived. 

“So, what happened?” Sam asked as he sat up. 

“We talked,” Dean shrugged, “got to understand one another. We’re friends. Oh, and I hope you can still feel that tummy ache in the morning because you do have a weak constitution, Mr. Health Nut,” Dean said as he gave his brother a pat on the shoulder before grabbing an extra blanket and a pillow from Sam’s bed and made his way to the couch. 

“What? Dean, you𑁋” Sam stopped mid-sentence when the door to the bathroom opened and Y/N walked out. 

“Hey Sam, are you still feeling sick?” She asked softly, giving him a warm smile. 

“Had some ginger tea, so I’m feeling slightly better,” he forced out with a thin-lipped smile. 

“We should get some sleep, I have a long drive back home and I’m sure you guys have somewhere to be,” she climbed into the bed and laid down to sleep. 

The next morning as they packed their things, Dean couldn’t help but steal glances at Y/N. There was just something about her that Dean just couldn’t put his finger on. Sure she was easy on the eyes, but there was something else, something that kept nagging him about the way she talked badly about herself. Shaking off his thoughts, he finished packing the last of his things and zipped up his bag. 

“So I guess you head to Turkey in a few days, huh?” He asked, walking over towards her once she zipped up her bag. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, “but I’m sure I’ll be able to grab some good information and artifacts to bring back,” she smiled brightly, her voice giving off a hint of excitement. 

“If I wasn’t afraid of flying I’d definitely love to join you,” Dean said. “I mean, it’s the Mediterranean, so I’d love to see if you know how to belly dance,” he chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows, earning a smack on his chest from her. 

“Can you turn off the charm for two seconds?” She let out a soft giggle.   

“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “I wouldn’t be me if I did.” 

“Touché,” she muttered. “I’ll see you guys around,” Y/N said as she was about to turn to climb into her car when she stopped and turned back to poke a finger to Dean’s chest. “Remember our deal, only monsters that you have never hunted before mister.” 

“I’ll try,” Dean shrugged. “I make no guarantees. I might just want to hang out with you again.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes leaving Dean to chuckle by himself as he watched her climb into her car. Once she had started to pull away from the parking lot, he turned to the Impala and Sam who was leaning against the car waving at Y/N who waved back. 

“So, are you finally going to call her just to talk or will you only call her when you need her help again?” Sam asked, earning him a punch. 

“Baby steps, Sammy,” he sighed, “baby steps.” 

Watching the Honda Civic turn away from the motel, Dean found himself itching to call her again. He already missed the sound of her voice and the way her eyes shined when she was excited about a hunt. He swore to himself that he would call her the next day, even if it was just to check in. After all, the way to build a friendship was to take baby steps. 

HE: Impala

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[justjessame]

Starting Over: Chapter 53

Laying together in our bed, the sunlight creating an almost magical glow around us, Bucky traced patterns on my flat bare abdomen while I massaged his scalp with my fingernails.  I knew my smile was a reflection of his - soft and sweet, rested even though we’d hardly napped - being together was relaxing.  

“When do you think you’ll start showing?” He didn’t raise his voice above a tone one would use in a library, yet I could hear the excitement laced through each word - it was tangible and I loved that he was so happy.  

I considered what he was asking, but honestly I had no clue.  Parenthood wasn’t really something I’d yearned for before, and while Mom had been a nurse, I was more interested in taking photos and putting one foot in front of the other than paying attention to the women around me who were glowing with the new lives they were bringing into the world.  “I think it depends -”

Propping his chin up so he could see me, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “on what?”  

My eyes went to the top of my head, searching for the best way to explain what little I did know.  “The size of the mother, for one.”  I was fairly certain that the tinier the vessel, the faster the passenger would be noticeable.  “The father’s genetics might have a say in how big the baby is, so our little bean might end up making me HUGE pretty quick.”  He chuckled and dropped a kiss below my belly button.  

“Are you saying I’m thick, Brooke?”  Bucky’s hands were framing my abdomen and I grinned down at him.  “Is that a GOOD thing?”  One eyebrow arched and I laughed.  

“I’m carrying your mini soldier, Buck,” my fingers slid through his hair and I bit my lip when his eyes closed in contentment from the contact.  “I’d say everything about you is a GOOD THING.”  

Humming, his lips quirked into a soft smile and he crawled lightly up the bed so he could kiss me.  Rolling onto his side so we could lay face to face, he traced my face with the ghostlike touch of his fingertips.  “I never thought I’d hear anyone say that everything about me was good - ever.”  He was squinting, as if thinking pretty damn far back and I wanted to smack something.  “Steve wasn’t the only Brooklyn boy who could get into trouble, Brooke.”  His smile was meant to relax me, but it only half worked.  Bucky had been shunted to the sideline for a very long time, then his time as the Winter Soldier was held over his head - it was bullshit.  “You are bearing a very strong resemblance to -”

“If Steve Rogers could carry your baby, then holy shit, Buck, Captain America was truly a scientific wonder.”  That did it, it broke the tense bubble I’d created - not without some reason, but we had happier things to focus on.  “You wish you could tell him,” I could see it as clearly as Connie had when I’d been wrestling with Bryn’s damn car seat in the Mustang.  Cupping his cheek, I sighed.  “I wish you could too.”  

“I just can’t get this image out of my head,” his smile was growing and it was contagious.  “Him meeting you and knowing without a doubt that the two of you were on the same damn page - to keep my ass on my toes.  And to remind me,” his smile was still there, but it was just a little dimmer.  “To remind me that I deserve it.  You, the baby, this life.”  He shook his head, breaking the vision and coming back to me.  “Steve and you would be a pretty scary duo, Brooke, but I really do wish I could have it.”  

“Me too,” and I did.  I wanted Bucky to have everything.  Every single thing that he wanted, because he more than earned it.  

After a warm bath, shared of course, we sat down and planned a dinner for Connie and Joey.  Bryn would be happy with just hanging out with her favorite live-action Disney prince, so I knew that on that particular part we were fine.  

“You don’t want to make that baked pasta -” my eyes went wide and I shook my head.  “What?”  

“You’re from Brooklyn, Buck.  You’ve met Joey AMORUSO.”  It seemed to hit him like a brick.  “Yeah, I’m NOT fixing an Italian meal for an Italian.  Sorry, I’d rather not live through the live critique of my sauce and why I should have made the mozzarella from scratch, but thank you for that offer.”  He grinned and I rolled my eyes.  “We could order in -”

“Doll,” he gave me a look that I swear made me wonder if he was channelling my mother.  “You can’t invite people over for something like this and give them -”

“Food from somewhere not homemade,” I sighed.  “Yeah, I know, Mom.” He grinned.  “Let me guess, that’s a Brooklyn mother thing?”  He nodded.  “Good to know that some shit is just naturally ingrained in the locale.” 

We settled on a roast and the Sunday type sides that both of us knew from our vastly different, yet strangely the same youths.  While he made the call to Connie to set the date, making our excuses for the evening - thank you little bean for being a great excuse for being “indisposed” for immediate visits - we did order in for our evening.  And I ended up having a cup of Wong’s tea before it arrived, just in case.

The bag had a helpful set of instructions, just in case a novice might not know how to brew real tea.  Luckily my mom had gone through a weird bagless tea stage in life, so I had some things on hand.  I was sniffing the contents when Bucky came into the kitchen after hanging up from Connie.  

“Well?”  He was staring at me with my nose in the bag and I shrugged.  “That’s not very helpful, Brooke.”

“It’s kind of an earthy smell.”  I sniffed again.  “Not unpleasant, but -” I sighed.  “How’d Connie take the news that dinner would be in a couple days instead of this evening?”  

The tea kettle was on the stove and I was waiting for it to start screaming to let me know it was hot enough, but we had some time.  While Bucky assured me that my best friend was more than willing to wait for dinner to be sure I was able to actually eat it, I got down the rest of my tea necessities.  He’d also ordered dinner while he was at it, because Bucky Barnes is a man of action, thank you very much.  

The kettle howled and I took a deep breath.  “Here goes nothing.”  Hot water, tea leaves in the tea infuser, and into the cup to seep until the water turned a murky brownish grey.  No sugar, that was part of the instructions, no milk either.  Just water and tea leaves.  Once the coloring was right, I pulled the infuser free and steadied myself.  Bucky stood beside me and gave me a grin.  “I really hope this doesn’t taste like shit.”  A tentative sip, and I tried to place the flavor.  Nothing.  Another sip, still nothing familiar came to mind.  So I took another sip, and another, and another.  The cup was empty and I was still trying to decide what it tasted like.

“How do you feel?”  Bucky asked, taking the cup from me, and dumping the infuser so he could rinse both out.  

I considered his question, focusing on my stomach and the urge to vomit that had me rushing to the toilet before.  “I feel alright, I think.”  I was still trying to figure out what the flavor of the tea was - it didn’t linger, which meant I couldn’t really remember what it tasted like.  Damn it.  “I guess we’ll find out once I eat, right?”  

Bucky picked a local diner that had less spicy food.  We sat in the kitchen and I felt like he was watching me like he might watch a bomb waiting to see if they cut the right wires to diffuse it.  Fair, since I felt like a bomb that had wires cut, but didn’t know if they were the right ones to keep from exploding.  

Dinner finished, we put away the leftovers and suddenly we were left with loose ends.  It struck me that Bucky and I had never - not once since we’d been together - actually just had down time.  And if we did - it was filled with UP time.  

“Come here,” he’d taken the chair that I had immediately begun thinking of as his from the first time he sat in it and he was holding his arms open. When I got close enough for him to reach, he pulled me onto his lap and held me, pressing his face into my neck and just breathing the very scent of me in.  “Want to watch a movie?”  

“Sure,” I murmured, wondering what film Bucky would pick and then laughing when he hit the remote that he’d grabbed before I was perched on his lap.  “Beauty and the Beast?”  

“Connie might have mentioned you like it,” he was smiling at me and I bit my lip.  “Our ‘mini soldier’ as you called them, could just as easily be a ‘tiny doll’, sweetheart.”  Nodding, I let my head settle into the crook of his shoulder.  “Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with either watching fairy tales come to life,” I giggled, thinking I’d hate to be anyone who tried to debate the issue with my baby’s daddy.  

Bucky held me while we watched our first movie together - my favorite Disney movie.  Which we followed up with something I thought he might like - the first in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  Isn’t that what relationships were, after all?  Sharing?  Plus, while the tea was helping with one problem, I wasn’t in a rush to take on the homework that Strange had given me.  So if I could put it off for as long as possible -

[popculty]

52 Films by Women: 2020 Edition

Another annual challenge complete!

Last year, I focused on diversifying my list. This year I kept that intention but focused on watching more non-American films and films from the 20th century. Specifically, I sought out Agnès Varda’s entire filmography, after her death in 2019. (I was not disappointed - What a filmmaking legend we lost.) 

I also kept a film log for the first time and have included some of my thoughts on several films from that log. I made a point of including reviews both positive and negative, because I think it’s important to acknowledge the variability and breadth of the canon, so as not to put every film directed by a woman on a pedestal. (Although movies directed by women must clear a much higher bar to be greenlit, meaning generally higher quality...But that’s an essay for another day :)

* = directed by a woman of color

bold = fave

1. The Rhythm Section (2020) dir. Reed Morano - Not as good as it could have been, given Morano’s proven skill behind the camera, but also not nearly as bad as the critics made it out to be. And unbelievably refreshing to see a female revenge story not driven by sexual assault or the loss of a husband/child.

2. Cléo de 5 à 7 (1962) dir. Agnès Varda - If you ever wanted to take a real-time tour of Paris circa 1960, this is the film for you.

3. Little Women (2019) dir. Greta Gerwig - Still my favorite Little Women adaptation. I will re-watch it every year and cry.

4. Varda by Agnès (2019) dir. Agnès Varda & Didier Rouget

5. Booksmart (2019) dir. Olivia Wilde - An instant classic high school comedy romp that subverts all the gross tropes of its 1980s predecessors.

6. Girls of the Sun (2018) dir. Eva Husson

7. Blue My Mind (2017) dir. Lisa Brühlmann

8. Portrait of a Lady On Fire (2019) dir. Céline Sciamma - Believe the hype. This film is a master thesis on the female gaze, and also just really effing gorgeous.

9. Belle Epine (2010) dir. Rebecca Zlotowski

10. Vamps (2012) dir. Amy Heckerling - With Krysten Ritter and Alicia Silverstone as modern-day vampires, I was so ready for this movie. But it feels like a bad stage play or a sit-com that’s missing a laugh-track. Bummer.

11. *Birds of Prey (2020) dir. Cathy Yan - Where has this movie been all our lives?? Skip the next onslaught of Snyder-verse grim-darkery and give me two more of these STAT! 

12. She’s Missing (2019) dir. Alexandra McGuinness

13. The Mustang (2019) dir. Laure de Clermont-Tonnere - Trigger warning for the “protagonist” repeatedly punching a horse in the chest. I noped right out of there.

14. Monster (2003) dir. Patty Jenkins – I first watched this movie when I was probably too young and haven’t revisited it since. The rape scene traumatized me as a kid, but as an adult I appreciate how that trauma is not the center of the movie, or even of Aileen’s life. Everyone still talks about how Charlize “went ugly” for this role, but the biggest transformation here isn’t aesthetic, it’s physical – the way Theron replicates Wuernos’ mannerisms, way of speaking, and physicality. That’s why she won the Oscar. I also love that Jenkins calls the film “Monster” (which everyone labels Aileen), but then actually uses it to tell the story of how she fell in love with a woman when she was at her lowest, and that saved her. That’s kind of beautiful, and I’m glad I re-watched it so that I could see the story in that light, instead of the general memory I had of it being a good, feel-bad movie. It’s so much more than that.

15. Water Lilies (2007) dir. Céline Sciamma – Sciamma’s screenwriting and directorial debut, the first in her trilogy on youth, is as painfully beautiful as its sequels (Tomboy and Girlhood). It’s also one of the rare films that explores the overlap of queerness and girl friendships.

16. The Trouble with Angels (1966) dir. Ida Lupino – Movies about shenanigan-based female friendships are such rare delights. Rosalind Russel is divine as Mother Superior, and Hayley Mills as “scathingly brilliant” as the pranks she plays on her. Ida Lupino’s skill as an editor only enhances her directing, providing some truly iconic visual gags to complement dialogue snappy enough for Gilmore Girls. 

17. Vagabond (1985) dir. Agnès Varda – Shot with a haunting realism, this film has no qualms about its heroine’s inevitable, unceremonious death, which it opens with, matter-of-factly, before retracing her final (literal) steps to the road-side ditch she ends up in. (I’m partly convinced said heroine was the inspiration for Sarah Manning in Orphan Black.)

18. One Sings, The Other Doesn’t (1977) dir. Agnès Varda – Probably my favorite classic Varda, this film feels incredibly personal. It’s essentially a love story about two best friends with very different lives. For an indie made in the ‘70s, the diversity, scope, and themes of the film are impressive. Even if the second half a drags a bit, the first half is absolute perfection, engaging the viewer immediately, and clipping along, sprinkling in some great original songs that were way progressive for their time (about abortion, female bodily autonomy, etc) and could still be considered “bangers” today.

19. Emma (2020) dir. Autumn de Wilde

20. Black Panthers (1969) dir. Agnès Varda

21. Into the Forest (2016) dir. Patricia Rozema - When the world was ending (i.e. the pandemic hit) this was the first movie I turned to - a quiet, meditative story of two sisters (Elliot Page and Evan Rachel Wood) surviving off the land after a sudden global blackout. Four years later, it’s still one of my favorite book-to-screen adaptations. I fondly remember speaking with director Patricia Rozema at the 2016 Chicago Critics Film Festival after a screening, her love for the source material and desire to “get it right” so apparent. I assured her then, and reaffirm now, that she really did.

22. City of Trees (2019) dir. Alexandra Swarens

23. Never Rarely Sometimes Always (2020) dir. Eliza Hittmann - To call this a harrowing and deeply personal journey of a sixteen-year-old who must cross state lines to get an abortion would be accurate, but incomplete. It is a story so much bigger than that, about the myriad ways women’s bodies and boundaries are constantly violated.

24. Paradise Hills (2019) dir. Alice Waddington

25. *Eve’s Bayou (1996) dir. Kasi Lemmons – I’ve been meaning to watch Kasi Lemmons’ directorial debut for many years now, and I’m so glad I finally have, because it fully deserves its icon status, beyond being one of the first major films directed by a black woman. Baby Jurnee Smollett's talent was immediately recognizable, and she has reminded us of it in Birds of Prey and Lovecraft Country this year. If merit was genuinely a factor for Oscar contenders, she would have taken home gold at eleven years old. Beasts of the Southern Wild has been one of my all-time favorites, but now I realize that most of my appreciation for that movie actually goes to Lemmons for blazing the trail with her story of a young black girl from the bayou first. It’s also a surprisingly dark story about memory and abuse and familial relationships that cross lines - really gutsy and surprising themes, especially for the ‘90s.

26. Blow the Man Down (2019) dir. Bridget Savage Cole & Danielle Krudy - Come and get your sea shanty fix!

27. Touchy Feely (2013) dir. Lynn Shelton - R.I.P. :(

28. Hannah Gadsby: Douglas (2020) dir. Madeleine Parry - If you thought Gadsby couldn’t follow up 2018′s sensational Nanette with a comedy special just as sharp and hilarious, you would have been sorely mistaken.

29. Girlhood (2013) dir. Céline Sciamma

30. Breathe (2014) dir. Mélanie Laurent

31. *A Dry White Season (1989) dir. Euzhan Palcy

32. Laggies (2014) dir. Lynn Shelton

33. *The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood – Everything I’ve ever wanted in an action movie: Immortal gays, Charlize Theron wielding a labrys (battle axe), kinetic fight choreography I haven’t seen since the last Bond movie…Watched it twice, then devoured the comics it was adapted from, and I gotta say: in the hands of black women, it eclipses the source material. Cannot wait for the just-announced sequel.

34. Morvern Callar (2002) dir. Lynn Ramsay

35. Shirley (2020) dir. Josephine Decker

36. *Radioactive (2019) dir. Marjane Satrapi – The story is obviously well worth telling and the narrative structure – weaving in the future consequences of Curie’s discoveries – is clever, but a bit awkwardly executed and overly manipulative. There are glimpses of real brilliance throughout, but it feels as if the director’s vision was not fully realized, to my great disappointment. Nonetheless, I appreciated seeing Marie Curie's story being told by a female director and embodied by the always wonderful Rosamund Pike.

37. *The Half of It (2020) dir. Alice Wu - I feel like a real scrooge for saying this, but this movie did nothing for me. Nothing about it felt fresh, authentic or relatable. A real disappointment from the filmmaker behind the wlw classic Saving Face.

38. Mouthpiece (2018) dir. Patricia Rozema - I am absolutely floored. One of those films that makes you fall in love with the art form all over again. Patricia Rozema continues to prove herself one of the most creatively ambitious and insightful directors of our time, with this melancholic meditation on maternal grief and a woman’s duality.

39. Summerland (2020) dir. Jessica Swale - The rare period wlw love story that is not a) all-white or b) tragedy porn. Just lovely.

40. *The Last Thing He Wanted (2020) dir. Dee Rees – As rumored, a mess. Even by the end, I still couldn’t tell you who any of the characters are. Dee, we know you’re so much better than this! (see: Mudbound, Pariah)

41. *Cuties (2020) dir. Maïmouna Doucouré – I watched this film to 1) support a black woman director who has been getting death threats for her work and 2) see what all the fuss is about. While I do think there were possibly some directorial choices that could have saved quite a bit of the pearl-clutching, overall, I didn’t find it overly-exploitative or gross, as many (who obviously haven’t actually watched the film) have labeled it. It certainly does give me pause, though, and makes me wonder whether children can ever be put in front of a camera without it exploiting or causing harm to them in some way. It also makes one consider the blurry line between being a critique versus being an example. File this one under complicated, for sure.

42. A Call to Spy (2019) Lydia Dean Pilcher – An incredible true story of female spies during WWII that perfectly satisfied my itch for British period drama/spy thriller and taught me so much herstory I didn’t know.

43. Kajillionaire (2020) dir. Miranda July - I was lucky enough to attend the (virtual) premiere of this film, followed by an insightful cast/director Q&A, which only made me appreciate it more. July's offbeat dark comedy about a family of con artists is queerer and more heartfelt than it has any right to be, and a needed reprieve in a year of almost entirely white wlw stories. The family's shenanigans are the hook, but it's the budding relationship between Old Dolio (an almost unrecognizable Evan Rachel Wood) and aspiring grifter Melanie (the luminous Gina Rodriguez) that is the heart of the story.

44. Misbehaviour (2020) dir. Philippa Lowthorpe – Again, teaching me herstory I didn’t know, about how the Women’s Liberation Movement stormed the 1970 Miss World Pageant. Keira Knightley and Gugu Mbatha-Raw’s characters have a conversation in a bathroom at the end of the film that perfectly eviscerates well-meaning yet ignorant white feminism, without ever pitting women against each other - a feat I didn’t think was possible. I also didn’t think it was possible to critique the male gaze without showing it (*ahem Cuties, Bombshell, etc*), but this again, invents a way to do it. Bless women directors.

45. *All In: The Fight for Democracy (2020) dir. Liz Garbus and Lisa Cortes – 2020’s 13th. Thank god for Stacey Abrams, that is all.

46. *The 40-Year-Old Version (2020) dir. Radha Blank – This scene right here? I felt that in my soul. This whole film is so good and funny and heartfelt and relatable to any artist trying to walk that tightrope of “making it” while not selling their soul to make it. My only initial semi-note was that it’s a little long, but after hearing Radha Blank talk about how she fought for the two-hour run-time as a way of reclaiming space for older black women, I take it back. She’s right: Let black women take up space. Let her movie be as long as she wants it to be. GOOD FOR HER.

47. Happiest Season (2020) dir. Clea Duvall - Hoooo boy. What was marketed as the first lesbian Christmas rom-com is actually a horror movie for anyone who’s ever had to come out. Throw in casual racism and a toxic relationship treated as otp, and it’s YIKES on so many levels. Aubrey Plaza, Dan Levy, and an autistic-coded Jane are the only (underused) highlights.

48. *Monkey Beach (2020) dir. Loretta Todd

49. *Little Chief (2020) dir. Erica Tremblay – A short film part of the 2020 Red Nation Film Festival, it’s a perfect eleven minutes that I wish had gone on longer, if only to bask in Lily Gladstone in a leading role.

50. First Cow (2019) dir. Kelly Reichardt – I know Kelly Reichardt’s style, so I’ll admit-- even as I was preparing for an excellent film, I was also reaching for my phone, planning on only half paying attention during all the inevitable 30-second shots of grass blowing in the wind. (And yes, there are plenty of those.) But twenty minutes in, my phone was set aside and forgotten, as I am getting sucked into this beautiful story about two frontiersman trying to live their best domestic life.There is only one word to describe this film and that is: PURE. I’ve never seen such a tender platonic relationship between men on screen before, and it’s not lost on me that it took a woman to show us that tenderness. Reichardt gives us two men brought together by fate, and kept together by a shared dream and the simple pleasure of not being alone in such a hard world; two men who spend their days cooking, trapping, baking, and dreaming of a better life; two men who don’t say much, but feel everything for each other. The world would be a much better place if men showed us this kind of vulnerability and friendship toward each other. Oh, and it’s also a brutal take-down of capitalism and the myth of the American Dream!

51. Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) dir. Patty Jenkins - My most-anticipated film for the past two years was...well, a mixed bag, to say the least. Too many thoughts on it for a blog post, so stay tuned for the upcoming podcast ep where we go all in ;)

52. *Selah and the Spades (2019) dir. Tayarisha Poe

I hope this gives you some ideas to kick off your new year with a resolution to support more female directors!

What were your favorite women-directed movies of last year? Let me know in the tags, comments, or asks!

[briansastro10]

BNHA X CARS

So, this is basically BNHA Street racer AU. But to be more precise I’m picking the cars for the characters from BNHA. Because cars have characteristic, it has personality and it describes you as a person. Not just based from the body but the engines and the car as whole. So, this is my pick of cars for the character of BNHA. If you have different opinion let me know, I would love to hear all of your thoughts and if you use my list you can go ahead and use it (But please do tell me, because hearing it will be my vindication and that would make me really happy).

Part 1 For the boys

I’m going to divide it into 2 cars. One is for daily drive/Sports car and the other is The Supercar. The Sports car will describe them as characters individuals. While the Supercar will describe their full potentials.

Midoriya Izuku:

Midoriya Izuku, The protagonist of the Anime. He is too good of a boy to mess around street Racing. The Color for his car is obviously Green, in that case I Recommend Him.

Sport car/ Daily Drive:

The Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX.

To be more specific. It is Brian’s First car In the Fast and the furious franchise (R.I.P Paul Walker). This car is one of the Tuners favorite car to modify. It is run by 4G63 Engine, it is the same Engine that run an EVO F*CKING LANCER which is one of the finest cars that has been made on earth (Minus the Turbo). So it plays well with the whole inheritance thing with All Might.

Supercar:

For the supercar, I would Recommend McLaren 675LT

This car Look Great In green. The whole characteristic of this car reminds me of Midoriya. This car shown how it can blend to the society, how it was able to move fast and aggressively while at the same time maintaining Elegance. This car looked slim, but its performance is something else 3.8 L V8 Twin Turbo Rear Wheel Drive (RWD) Gives the ability for the driver to drive like a maniac. The car produces more or less 675 Horsepower (Just like its name) and can go to 0-100 Km in 2.9 Seconds and a top speed with 330 Km/h (205 Mph).

  Bakugo Katsuki:

For Bakugo, His car has to be loud and Fast! He needs a car that’s intimidating. For the color I’m Thinking Red, Yellow or Black. But since the car need to look Antagonizing, I’m going with black. So, the car that I propose.

Sport Car/ Daily Drive:

Dodge Challenger SRT Hell Cat 2015

This car is a 6.2L Hemi V8 Supercharged. The roars in this car is nothing short. This car is for sure is Intimidating. The roar of the engine is equivalent to Bakugo’s Roar of explosive anger. I was considering the newer one like the SRT Redeye Hellcat or even The Demon. But the demons is more of the inner demon screaming trying to get out. It needed a Rumbling sound of the V8, The insane roar that is deafening.

Supercar:

For the Supercar, it is very difficult. I can choose Hyper cars but they just felt a bit too well mannered compared to Bakugo. But I’ve given a lot of thought and the only car that fits is This

Pagani Zonda R

This car is basically an f1 with a two-seater and a roof. This bad boy is a track only car. So, it is “Street Illegal!!” But that won’t stop Bakugo for using this beauty. This car on high rev speaks will be all the explanation needed on the reason why I chose this car. A car with 700 BHP and only weight 1,070 Kg (In comparison Ford focus weight 1,471 Kg) Which is like a feather.

 Todoroki Shoto:

For Todoroki His car has to be cool, matured and Luxurious but also High performance. I’m a bit mixed up with the colors Whether I should make it blue or white or red. But since I cant decide I leave it in the ‘Grey’ area. Get it? Ill just get on with it.

Sport Car/ Daily Drive:

Aston Martin DB11

Aston Martin is well known on it’s Luxury and History. Which fits Todoroki’s Prince aura/Characteristics. The performance is also nothing short, Aston Martin is also well known to make a brilliant Engine for racing. A twin turbocharged V12 Produce 600 BHP with a top speed 201Km/h (125Mph).

Supercar

For the Super car, I think Lamborghini Huracan Performante.

It is a naturally aspirated 5.2L V10 Engine AWD. This car has a fierce fiery engine on its car but still has that cool matured Body. And the ALA (Aerodinamica Lamborghini Attiva) Is brilliant. It is an active Aerodynamic system that allows the car to go faster.

 Tenya Iida:

Sport Car/ Daily Drive:

Is the Brabus 800 GT 63s

This car is perfect fot Iida, It has a look in which my friend quote “Sophisticated Look”. And Mind you this car is probably The Fastest Car! For the sport/daily drive Car compare than anyone else in the list. This car packs a crazy 800 BHP and that’s says it all

Supercar:                    

Bugatti Veyron SS

The fastest Car In the world! In 2010. The specific look that I would like to go is Drift From Transformer: Age Of Extinction. That Blue Lining is perfect for Iida. For some people engines might be boring, But this car have the power of 1200 Horses in it

 Kirishima Eijiro

Sport Car/ Daily Drive:

The car that this Manly man need to go with is the 2020 Mustang Shelby GT500.

The Engine has a named called the “Predator” V8 Engine. 750 BHP is nothing short and the roar from within is on par with Bakugo’s SRT Hellcat.

Supercar:                    

I was having second thought of choosing this car. But whenever I think of Kirishima in a car, This car always pops into my head

Lamborghini Adventador SV. This car Looked manly and menacing. Why I thought about this car, is that it associated it self with a bull in which Kirishima and this car can relate to. A loud V12 Engine roars loud and deep in a intimidating voice and its perfect.

 Okay that’s all I can give for this part. Because of limitation I cant post it all. But there will be more to come not just for the students but many more.

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

         Chapter 4: Death and the Maiden             I.             Of Monsters, Men, and Torrid Truths

The hum of the Mustang’s engine rumbled beneath John’s seat like the grumble of a disgruntled beast, one with skin made of metal and a bleeding molten heart hewn of iron and pistons and gasoline. Well, that makes two bleeding hearts in this car, John mused wryly, though his was forged from flesh and blood and costly promises instead of smelted steel. If someone had him cornered, a gun held to his head and his hands tied behind his back, demanding to know what in all of heaven and earth had spurred him to offer his home to you as a temporary hideout from that sleazy gangster Ritchie and his hitmen, John would have to send a prayer to whatever god of death would listen to the devil and prepare to meet them soon, because he had no good answer to that particular question. It wasn’t that John couldn’t be honest with himself, in fact he made it a nearly infallible habit to embrace the truth, no matter how damning, but the simple fact was that he just didn’t know. He didn’t have a name for the molten sensations that bloomed in his chest each time he stole a glance at you curled up in the passenger’s seat, your bare dainty feet tucked beneath you, your head resting on the pillow of your entwined arms propped up against the door, a stray curl kissing the silken curve of your cheek as you slept. He couldn’t identify the source of the fierce protective need he felt twitching the tendons of his trigger finger, tensing the wearied line of his shoulders, every time he remembered the crude comments of that lumbering, tattooed thug he’d dispatched in the hallways of the club. He had no classification for the tenderness that ached deep in his chest at the trust lilting in your touch when you’d slipped your hand in his, no justification for why the innocence banked in your glinting gaze when you smiled up at him could briefly stop his heart. Or maybe he just didn’t want to give it a name quite yet, wasn’t ready to damn himself all over again. Besides, John reasoned as an igneous flicker of heat settled with wicked intent between his hip bones, though you were many things, you weren’t really wholly innocent, were you? At least, not in the ways that kept you from slipping into his thoughts when he least expected it, when his blood was up and his guard was low. Before each one of your pre-scheduled private meetings John would sit in that velvet lined chair and wage a brutal, silent war with himself, stalwartly battling the impulse to imagine what lace hewn, daydream inducing creation would grace your gorgeous body today. He was honest enough to admit that he’d lost every time. He’d particularly enjoyed the strappy red gossamer and brocade number you had worn to your penultimate encounter, the one with blooming thickets of embroidered crimson flowers and a wealth of sheer mesh which hid the more tantalizing bits of your billowing body from him even as it bared everything else for his greedy gaze. John found it shockingly enticing to see that deadly color splashed against your exposed skin in a tantalizingly alluring fashion, a stark juxtaposition to the typical rending of flesh and the slashing of throats that he was accustomed to. John would be lying if he said that in those charged midnight hours spent tossing in his lonely bed, his battered mind left to wander freely, he hadn’t imagined stripping one or two of those wicked outfits off of you with both seeking fingers and nipping teeth, unwrapping your lithe, stunning body like a present. Hungry for thoughts that weren’t tinged with sorrow or bloodshed, he’d close his eyes and wonder how your soft, luminous skin would heat beneath his calloused palms, if you’d part your thighs eagerly for him, grant him access to the hallowed cradle of your hips. Would you lick those tempting ruby lips and sigh against his mouth, desire coiling thickly in that sultry sirens voice of yours as you begged him to touch the roiling wealth of curves waiting beneath his fallow fingers? And then he’d rail at himself, chastising his baser impulses with stark reminders that you were so young; a decade younger than him at least, maybe more. And then a fresh round of castigations would begin because that fact really shouldn’t send a searing frisson of heat skittering down his spine, curling devilishly low in his belly, but Jesus fucking Christ, did it ever. But no matter how much John tried to evade it, the simple fact was that even with smudged eyeliner, a tired smile, and dark circles splayed above your cheekbones, you were still the most stunning thing within miles of this shitty metropolis. Huffing in a slow, deep breath, John forced his mind to fixate on safer things than the tempting curve of your cupid’s bow, on the plan. Now that the difficult part of extracting you from danger was done you would hide out at his house for a while - long enough for Winston to dig up the locations of Ritchie’s safe houses, and then for John to hunt down each and every member of his entourage before he finally took care of the gun-toting mobster himself. John had known many gangsters in his life, thugs whose malice ranged from relatively harmless to utterly savage, had done each one of their bidding for the price of a glinting, garish, golden coin, but something about Ritchie made John’s stomach turn. A quiet voice in the back of his head supplied that it was probably because Ritchie had known you, had touched you and tasted you and still ordered your death, and that lack of loyalty colored John’s resentment with a particularly acrid bitterness which held the absinthian tinge of something that bordered dangerously close to jealousy. But John stubbornly shoved that voice aside and willfully reasoned that mostly it was the company Ritchie kept, or perhaps even the man himself. Regardless, John was glad to finally have someone truly deserving in his sightlines.

Read the full fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633169/chapters/63762199

                               ______________________________

AAAAAH I’ve FINALLY posted a new chapter on my John Wick x Reader fic, Blood and Gold and Bedroom Eyes, woohoo!!!

It’s a staggering 10k + words, but it’s full of delicious angst and lots of John POV, so I hope you’ll like it!! I wrote it a bit differently than I usually would, it’s exposition based instead of dialogue based, so while there’s still dialogue in here it has a bit more of a novel-like feel that lends itself really well to emotional exploration. There’s a bit of a twist at the end, but I do hope that you enjoy!!! 

Tags!

@raspberrymama​ I know you’ll want to read this one, my friend!!

@dreamers-wonderland​ Hey there, I’m tagging you in case you’re interested but please feel free to PM me if you don’t want to be included in the tags for this fic!

@veryflammabledaffodils​ Hi there!! It’s been awhile since you submitted an ask to my blog but you expressed some interest in my John Wick fic so I thought I’d tag you in case you’re still interested!! Feel free to let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in updated anymore!

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Guilty. (Part 3.)

Part Three.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: strong language, adult themes, plot twist, Steve likes you in red, Bucky Barnes is a flirt and Steve may or may not be jealous. 

Notes: First off, wow, thank you guys for all the love you’ve been showing this series. I didn’t expect anyone to see it, let alone actually like it lol. I’m trying to update as often as possible, but I have to leave room for suspense. I have only a few parts planned for this series so far, I may be adding to it, but I want to keep it fairly short. Either way I’ll let you know. Thanks again, enjoy. 

Masterlist. 

Part Three:

The following morning Steve is in your driveway blowing his horn, waking you up with a jolt. Checking your phone, you realize he's been calling you for twenty minutes, and you curse to yourself as you rush downstairs and let him in. "I'll be ready in ten." Is all you say, letting him step inside.

He eyes you up, smiling, "Cute jammies." They aren't pajamas at all, it's just a t-shirt and nothing else, and if he hadn't come over yesterday and bent you over your kitchen sink, you would be ashamed of yourself for being seen like this.

He helps himself to a cup of coffee and an apple while you get ready. In a rush, you leave your hair down for once, trading in your skirt for a dress, because if there is anything you've learned as a lawyer, it's that first impressions are everything. James will forever know you as the woman you show up as the first time you meet him, and once his mind is made up it will be hard to change it.

You're a little inspired by the woman you met the day before, Natasha Romanoff on your mind as you select a shade of red lipstick to wear, a bold contrast to your usual nude, but you decide that you don't mind the change as you finish getting ready. It makes your teeth appear whiter, makes your eyes shine brighter, and you look well rested all with the swipe of a lipstick across your lips in the mirror. Smacking your lips, you decide to try bolder colors more often.

Steve is starstruck when you come back downstairs, fasting a pair of earrings into your ears. He walks over to you slowly, catching your bottom lip with his thumb, then he examines it, checking to see if your lipstick is smudge proof. He hums, apple in his hand forgotten as he looks at you.  

"What?" You glare up at him.

He glares back. "If he touches you, tell me."

"What?" You frown. "You aren't going with me?"

He shakes his head, "No, I have to meet with Rumlow. And you can't run from your assistant forever. We need to figure out what to do with her." He leans down suddenly and kisses you, pinning you against the door with his lips. Then he's dragging you out the door.

It bothers you that he doesn't talk about yesterday, and it also bothers you that he thinks he can now kiss you whenever he wants. But you don't exactly bring it up either, and you don't turn down his advances. So for now, you bite your tongue as he rushes you out of your house, eyes on his watch as he holds the passenger car door open for you.

Steve's car is a collectors item, a model of mustang that you couldn't remember even if he told it to you a million times. The seats are genuine leather, dark in color, and you wouldn't be surprised it he treated them on his days off. The engine is loud, vibrating the seats, and it doesn't help that it's so hot out, you can't help but turn the air on before he's even pulled out of your driveway. He's protective of it, glaring over at you as you turn the dial, but you pay him no mind.

You ask to stop somewhere to get breakfast, making sure to grab something for James as well. You muster up as much charm as you can manage, leaving Steve with a wink for practice before you get out of his car.

James Barnes, No please, call me Bucky, is a looker. Honey eyes, dark hair, and a jaw that's sharp enough to remind you of a certain someone else. He's ex-military, that much is obvious in the way he carries himself, and you see yet another angle to use in court.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you." You say, crossing your legs as you sit on his couch. The action draws his eyes, confirming that a dress was a good choice. "My colleague and I have reviewed your case and have a few ways to go about it, all things that will be discussed with you of course."

He's also a flirt, a good one, his eyes warm and smile bright as he looks at you. "Over dinner?" Bucky sees an opportunity and takes full advantage of it, Colgate smile blindsiding you for a moment.

"Sure, I'll have to check with Steve." You glance at your watch, not for any reason in particular, just to let him know you don't plan on staying too long. "But I want to assure you that we've been working tirelessly."

He hums, coffee cup in hand, you try to figure out which one is prosthetic, it's rude to ask, but they both look so similar. "Of course. I appreciate you coming to meet me. Every time Steve is here, you're absent. Why is that?"

"We have a lot to do." You explain, "This case is delicate." You don't want to give him any reason to doubt you, so you say as little as you can. "While I'm here, I'll do my best to answer any questions you have so far. I don't have my notes with me, but I do have your contact information."

Steve has taught you to replace fact with charm, come off as polite, yet still sure of yourself, and if you don't know the answers or can't give an answer, smile through it. It works every time.

Bucky asks you when the trial will be, and you tell him that a date hasn't been set yet, the judge has yet to review the case. If Bucky knew anything about anything, he would know that this means the trial will be rigged. Cases like this are usually over quickly, the justice system protects workers well in cases like these. So a delayed review of the case must mean that Stark has him in his pocket. But Bucky doesn't seem to catch on to that. It's also something you haven't discussed with Steve yet, but you imagine he's probably on the same page as you.

He always is.

You try not to lie to Bucky, you just reveal only half truths, and each statement you make sends a bad feeling to your stomach. Saying it all out loud really does reveal in your mind how difficult this is going to be. You haven't been taking this seriously enough, playing house with Steve and Wanda. This case will either make or break your career, and so far it isn't looking good.

While you may have eased Bucky's mind, you've worked yourself up with anxiety, Steve can tell as soon as you get in his car. "What happened?" He asks, concern in his eyes as he looks at you.

"Nothing," You sigh, deflating a little. "This is so stressful."

He doesn't say anything, driving you to the office. You don't speak, unlocking your office door and stepping inside. He follows you, pushing the door closed, watching as you settle, your bag on the floor.

You're suddenly on the brink of tears, this stupid case, your stupid feelings, too much going on in your head for you to handle. You feel overwhelmed, fingers shaking as you bring them up to your face. You feel bad for Bucky, he's a nice man, and the odds are stacked highly against him.

Being a lawyer is hard, but you've never found it this hard before. It's never felt so personal before.

"Y/n." Steve doesn't try to comfort you, he knows you won't want it. "Calm down."

He's that authoritative figure in your life again, the stern man you met in your early years studying law, and if there was any time to feel like a child it would be now. "This sucks." Is all you can say, taking a deep breath, willing your tears away. You clear your throat, smooth your hands over the front of your dress, "Right, so Rumlow?"

Steve regards you for a moment, eyes calculating. "He'll do it." He says. "Barnes?"

"He's in a hurry to find out his court date, I told him he'll know as soon as we do." You recover quickly, pushing your emotions down, hearing in your head what he doesn't have to say out loud. "He's nice, I like him." There's no room for weakness in a court room, emotions are a sign of weakness. "What's next?"

"We need to figure out what to do with Wanda."

The other pen drops, a knot in your stomach as you weigh your options. "I'll call her in today, actually. I need her help anyways. For now just watch what you say." You aren't sure what to do. Steve hasn't even told you how he's leading the case yet, so you have no false leads to feed her.

"I'll start building our case. We wait to hear back from the judge." He says. "Dissect that file Romanoff gave you, type something up just in case." He leaves your office and heads for his own, leaving you to your thoughts and your work.

You call Wanda, who tells you she can be there in about an hour.

Believe it or not, the behavior between you and Steve is normal, his cold shoulder is really just caution. He doesn't want to push you, doesn't want to overstep and send you spiraling. You're strong enough to handle this, he knows because he taught you how to be, his presence right now would just make things worse.

It's sick and twisted how you're forced to bury your emotions in order to come off as strong to the world. This job has dehumanized you, this life has ruined everything bright eyed and bushy tailed about you, all you're left with now is exhaustion. You wonder how soon you could retire, and if Steve has thought about it, he's been in the game much longer than you have. You wonder if maybe then you can finally be what you never could before. You wonder if he would look twice at you if he wasn't forced to see you on a daily basis.

Are you even his type? You're much younger than him, and in the beginning that may have been exciting. But now that you're a bit older, more experienced, not so much in need of his guidance, does he still even find you attractive?

You scold yourself for even caring, but you know the answer. Of course he does.

When Wanda comes in, you have her run errands, shredding old papers, running extra documents down to records, taking messages and sending out emails. It keeps her busy, in and out of your office, and well away from the case you're working on. You give her your personal laptop to work off of, keeping her off your desktop and away from any files she could possibly get her hands on, and you're worry free as you dive into your own tasks.

You do what you can, making notes in the file for Steve to find, typing up an argument for him to use or discard, the choice is always left up to him in the end regardless. He's going to lead, and he'll let you fill in the gaps. You almost can't wait, nothing is better than watching Steve get fired up in a court room, and it has you squirming in your seat in a day dream. You don't hear him knocking on the doors that divide your office, and you don't hear him open them. But you do hear him clear his throat, his knowing gaze burying you twice over.

Busted.

But he doesn't say anything, just dangles himself into the space that is your office, glancing between both you and Wanda. "Hungry?"

"Yes." Wanda smiles at him, and you simply nod, returning to the file in front of you.

By the time it arrives, Wanda is ready to go home, her hair frizzy and feet sore as she thanks Steve for the food, "I'll eat it on the metro." She waves goodbye to you, placing your laptop on the corner of your desk. You search it for evidence of any kind, going through your browsing history. But she's done nothing out of the ordinary, and you're thankful that you have nothing to report.

That's how you find yourself bare foot sitting on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted over in hues of orange and pink, a take out box in hand, Wanda gone leaving you with some privacy. Steve tucks you under his arm, face close to yours as he eats. Neither of you talk, because neither of you have to. Just like the sky, wide open for all to see, all of your cards are already placed on the table. He knows how you feel about him, you know how he feels about you. There's just one thing standing between you, one thing driving you apart in a way you can't bare to tolerate.

His voice is hushed, a whisper of wind when he presses his lips against your temple. "When all of this is over," He says, "When this case is finished, I'm going to fuck you right here on this balcony."

You think he's joking, his voice so low and fragile that it can't be a serious statement. But when you look up at him, catching the dark glaze of lust in his eyes, you realize he's making you a promise.

"Right over the railing, tits out for the whole world to see." He says. "And I'm going to take my time, fuck you nice and good."

Your jaw drops, heart beat in your ears as you ponder over what he just said to you. You picture it, one of your skirts flipped up, blouse open, your body lurching forward against the railing each time he thrusts into you. And though it may sound intimidating, eyes on the ground below you, you know his grip on your waist will be far too tight to let you fall.

"Let's practice." You say it before you can stop yourself, and for a moment he just stares at you before letting out a loud laugh.

"You're something else." He says, looking down at you with a smile that makes your stomach flutter. "I would if I could, believe it."

It frustrates you to hear him say that, fighting your way out of his grip. "You aren't allowed to do that to me." You shuffle to your feet, giving yourself an advantage over him for once. "You can't say things like that and then not go through with it."

"Oh, I'm going to go through with it." He pokes his spork into his food. "Patience."

You groan and even you can admit it's childlike, the way you pout and cross your arms. His eyes float up to your face, food long forgotten as he picks up on your attitude, he stands, demolishing the tiny advantage you had right before your eyes.

He grabs your chin, forces you to look him in the eyes when he says, "I'm tempted to do it now, fuck the attitude right out of you." Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, nothing left to say as he once again sets upon you to devour you, lips pressing against yours for a moment. "But there's no going back after that. We need to wait."

This is the second time he's said it. "What does that even mean?" You grab his wrist, trying to ease his hold on your face.

"It means that the moment I've had a feel of that little pussy, I'm going to want it constantly." He says. "Anywhere I can have you, I will have you."

You're wet, thighs rubbing together in an attempt to give yourself some friction, and of course it doesn't go unnoticed. His eyes flick down your body, other hand on your hip to pull you closer.

"Steve, I want it so bad." You whine, doing all you can to convince him.

It doesn't work. "I know."

He looks you over again, eyes trailing down the front of your dress to your bare feet. "Why don't you dress like this for me?"

The question is so sudden that it throws you off, "What?"

He licks his lips, "I've never seen you wear a shade of lipstick like this before." He says. "I've never seen you wear a dress like this before."

It explains his behavior this morning, the way he basically pounced on you at the door, but it doesn't explain his sudden interest. "Steve, you've never acted this way before." You finally bring it up, finally call to light whats been on your mind since yesterday. "You can't just keep kissing me this way."

"Are you telling me to stop?" His eyebrows are drawn tight. "Are you telling me that you don't like it?"

"No, but-"

"Then I can. And I will." He says.

You roll your eyes at his cocky attitude. "Stop ignoring what I'm saying." You say. "Why the sudden interest?"

He raises an eyebrow at you, looking up at the sky as if it will give him all the answers to your questions. "All of a sudden? I've been watching you since you starting working here." He says. "That never went away, I've just been cautious."

You remember those days, when you were too new to know what you were doing, he would loom over your shoulder and breath down you neck, waiting for you to mess up. Always watching.

"Are you not being cautious anymore?"

He shakes his head, "I just don't care about the consequences as much." He sighs, fingers slipping from your chin, and for a moment you think you've taken your questioning too far. "We're about to risk our careers on this case, I'll be damned if I don't walk away from it with you at least."

He's never talked to you this way before, never opened up to you so deeply, and hearing the way he feels about you out loud for a change feels good. You let it go, leaving him with one final kiss before returning to your food, takeout gone cold. It burns you alive to know that he wants you just as bad, the only difference is he's better at hiding it.

You're just about ready to go home when you get a phone call. Not on your office phone, but your cell, a hidden number. Steve looks over at you with concern as you answer it, ready to take the phone from you if he needs to.

"Hello?"

"Y/n, L/n?" The voice is one that comes off as familiar to you, yet you can't place who it is.

"Speaking." You remain as professional as possible, but you're a bit worried.

"My name is Tony Stark, I'm calling you from a secured line at my personal residence." Your eyes go wide, and you nearly drop your phone. "Can we meet?"

You put the call on speaker, setting your phone down on your desk. You hold a single finger up to your mouth, signaling Steve to stay quiet. "Why would we need to meet, Mr. Stark?"

"Because I'm being overrun in my own company." He says, you and Steve share a look. "Decisions were made without my knowledge, certain decisions that lead to a specific lawsuit, a lawsuit that you're working in favor of. Do you follow?"

If you weren't confused before, you're even more so now. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything, I'm just speaking hypothetically." He says, voice clipped, and you aren't sure of this is an act or not. "But if we were to meet, I could go into detail."

You mute the call, sitting back in your chair. Steve strokes his beard, deep in thought. "What do you think?" You ask him.

He shakes his head at you, "It could be a trap." He says. "He called from a secured line, he's speaking in hypotheticals to avoid incrimination." He pauses, letting out a sigh. "But he could be telling the truth, someone might be monitoring him, he might not have any other choice but to turn to us."

Two sides of the same coin, all pointing to Stark, either one could go either way. This could be a set up to get you alone, a loophole to press new charges of some sort, or a way to earn your trust or get you to pull out. But on the off chance that he's telling the truth, it's too good of a chance not to take.

"Steve, I have to meet with him."

Steve is shaking his head, reaching for your cell phone to end the call, but you're quicker than him, grabbing it and backing away. "Y/n, no. It could be a trap."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." You say. "I'm a lawyer, I'm after the truth, I'm after justice."

If what Tony Stark says is true, what kind of lawyer would you be to turn him down? You unmute the call, holding your cell phone to your ear. "When, and where?"

There's fury set in Steve's eyes as he walks away from you, doors slamming behind him as he storms into his office. It makes you flinch, the sound rattling through your body, taunting you.

"Tomorrow morning, I'll text you an address." He says. "You can bring someone, but I have to approve of them first."

"Steve Rogers."

"No," Tony says, "He won't trust me."

Tony is right about that, but you don't tell him. "Natasha Romanoff?"

"You know Romanoff?" He sounds shocked, but lets out a sigh. "Of course you know about Romanoff. Fine, bring her. Tell no one, if they catch on to us they'll burn us both."

The line goes dead before you can say anything else, and you're left breathless at the thought of what you're about to do.

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

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in the absence of light

sup party people I couldn’t leave FMAB alone so here we are with a new fic. this one is mustang’s pov but i’ve got another FMAB fic from a different pov that’s almost done so look out for that relatively soon. also on ao3. 

~~

The dark made everything feel unfinished. He knew the battle had ended, knew the real work would start as soon as everyone was able to stand, but for now, sitting in a hospital bed the day after the end of the world, all Mustang felt was a restlessness he couldn’t quite place. 

It didn’t make sense. Hawkeye had come in and out of surgery already, was resting beside him in the room he’d demanded they share. There were soldiers still in recovery, but everyone he knew, everyone he’d worried about, would be fine. The rest of his group would require only time and patience to heal, so he wasn’t sure why he still felt like he needed to keep his guard up. 

Maybe it had something to do with what he saw. With nothing new to replace it, the images he was greeted with when he opened his eyes mirrored the ones he saw when he’d tried to sleep: Hawkeye lying on the ground, sinking in a pool of her own blood. Edward screaming in agony as something indescribable opened him up and swallowed him whole. The never ending light he’d found at the other end of the transmutation circle, the shadowed being staring at him like he meant absolutely nothing. 

He remembered it’s voice. It didn’t give him much attention, ignored his questions and desperation. “You’ve seen horror from the perspective of the perpetrator,” it told him. “You seek a balance that can never be reached. Your mind is teeming with visions you pray can replace the ones you long to forget.”

“I don’t understand,” was all he’d managed to say. 

It didn’t have a face, but he swore the thing smirked at him. “You’ve made it too easy for me. You always do.” 

The darkness came soon after. It wasn’t until he felt the ground underneath him and the hands on his shoulder that he knew he’d returned, and that he’d left something irreplaceable behind. 

“You’re supposed to be resting, Sir.” He could hear the sleep in her words, shifted his head in the direction of her voice. 

“I haven’t so much as moved in the last hour, Lieutenant.”

The springs under her bed groaned, and he imagined she was easing herself up. Part of him wanted to tell her not to move, that her wounds were still fragile and her lost blood only recently replenished, but he had already grown tired of the incessant hovering of his nurses and other staff. He imagined she wouldn’t take too kindly to getting the same treatment from him. 

“I can hear you thinking from here, Sir. Your mind needs rest, too.”

The smile crept up without his permission. She’d found her way through his defenses, snuck in when he wasn’t looking. He’d spent so much time hiding, but she saw everything, heard each unspoken word and thought that ran through his head. He hadn’t meant to get used to it, but the damage was done, and despite what he told himself and the rest of the world, he knew that the selfish part of him never wanted to let her go. 

“There’s a lot of work to be done, is all.”

“You’ve never been able to lie to me, Colonel. I don’t imagine now would be a good time to try and start.” She waited a moment, before asking, “Does it have to do with your sight? The doctor said you may feel disoriented while you adjust.”

He shook his head. As she spoke, he tried to picture the look she was giving him. When would all traces of sleep disappear? Would she stare at him with pity now that she knew he couldn’t see it? He cycled through faces like pages of a book, searching desperately for one to replace what he kept coming back to. 

“Is it—“ she hesitated, before asking, “is it something you saw during the…”

“When they forced me through the portal?” Her silence confirmed the words she hadn’t said. “No. Not exactly.”

He could hear the uncertainty in her silence, the mental debate over whether to voice the question he knew she had. He wasn’t sure why, but part of him wanted her to. Talking about the things that mattered wasn’t usually a behavior he engaged in willingly, but this...something about it was different. 

Maybe it was him. Maybe he was different. 

“You can ask me about it,” he told her after the silence began to linger. “If you’d like.”

She didn’t wait very long after getting his permission. “What did you see?”

Mustang searched for the words. “I remember that it felt like falling. Or, it would have, if there’d been any sort of direction. The universe seemed to unravel all around me, which was unnerving, for the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“There was a moment, right before I landed onto something like a surface, where I felt like everything made sense. Like something inside of me clicked. I knew if I managed to stay there, to spend more time in that feeling, that I’d know the answers to all my problems. I’d know everything.”

“But you didn’t stay there,” Hawkey guessed. 

Mustang nodded. “As soon as I felt it, it came crashing down, and I crashed along with it. There was...there was a door. It towered over me, and there were carvings all along it that I couldn’t quite make out. Everything felt important, but the door…there was something different about that. Something powerful.”

“Do you remember what it looked like?”

He shook his head. “I tried to memorize what I saw, but It found me first.”

“It?” She sounded so young when she asked. An old but new face flashed in front of him, the girl he’d met when he was just a boy himself. He didn’t see her as often as he liked. In his quiet moments, he often wondered if he was to blame for that.

“There was this being. Everything but the door was white, including it, but it somehow cast a shadow. Or perhaps it was nothing more than a shadow. It introduced itself with many names, but the one that stuck out was Truth. It was the person they wanted me to see. The reason they sent me in there.”

“Is it the thing that took away your sight?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you weren’t the one who chose to do the transmutation?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” For a moment, he was glad she’d never tried her hand at alchemy; if she had, he knew she’d commit the taboo just to lecture the being about fairness and justice. The thought almost brought a smile to his lips. 

“I’m not sure. It didn’t give me much of a chance to speak my case.”

“How could something called Truth not see the lies of the transmutation? Why would it take something from you when you didn’t do the unforgivable act?”

The conversation played through his mind, reminded him that he was already guilty enough for punishment before he ever got pushed through that portal. Maybe it was shame, or cowardice, or maybe he wanted to protect her from the fact that their efforts, however valiant, would never make up for their actions. Whatever the reason, he decided to keep that bit to himself. 

“I suppose,” he said instead, “that intention has nothing to do with it. I went through. I saw what I saw. And for that, I had to pay a price.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment; when she did, her voice had dropped to almost a whisper. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped them.”

He shook his head. “There was nothing you could do.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was supposed to protect you, and I failed.”

“You did nothing of the sort.” God, he longed to look into her eyes, to find the moment when she began to believe him. He didn’t care about seeing the world, would have given his sight up willingly if he could have kept her. Her voice could remain steady but her eyes would betray her, would have shown him exactly what she felt, and now...now all he could do was hope his words would be enough.

“I shouldn’t have let them capture me in the first place. If I hadn’t been injured, maybe—maybe I—“

“Lieutenant.” He tried to drown his sentences in emotion, to go against his own nature because she had to know, she had to hear the sincerity he wasn’t sure he could show her. “You have saved my life more times than I could ever repay you for. If anyone here should spend their time lamenting about failing, it should be me.”

“Colonel—“

“They nearly killed you, Hawkeye. Only because they knew that you—that I—“ he took a breath. “That your death would be the only thing that could have made me do something as unforgivable as that.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. He found that confessions fell off his lips with ease when he didn’t have to look them in the eye. He didn’t want to know what that said about him. 

She spoke first, her voice soft but stable. “I never got a chance to thank you for listening to me. When I told you not to do human transmutation.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“I know. But I’m glad you did. Even though they—even though it happened anyway, I’m glad you didn’t choose it.”

He thought about the moment. The stain on her neck had spread so quickly, the blood dying her white blouse faster than he thought should be possible. It was then, when they’d thrown her in front of him and asked him to choose, that he finally understood why the Elric Brothers had done it. The entire world was at stake, and yet for a moment he’d wondered what good any world was without her. 

Had she not begged him, her voice faint but her purpose clear, he wasn’t sure they would have needed to force him into it. In that moment, when he watched the life drain out of her, he might have done anything to bring her back. The lines she’d stopped him from crossing had faded as quickly as the color in her skin, and he knew any strength he’d had was nothing more than an appearance for her sake. 

If he was braver, he would have reached for her; instead, he whispered, “I’m glad you followed orders. If you hadn’t walked out of there…”

“I had to, Sir.” He could hear the smile now, and when she spoke, he swore he could see it. “You wouldn’t make it a day without me.”

He wasn’t sure when they were allowed to laugh again, when the devastation and the trauma of their fight would fade enough for something like humor to make another appearance. He did it anyway, let the sound fill the room around them, let it hide their wounds for a moment, take them back to a time when laughter was all it took to make everything okay. 

“Starting tomorrow, we’ve got a lot of work to get done.”

“Yes, Sir. I haven’t forgotten our purpose.”

“Until then,” he told her, “do you think you could do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

He put his head back down on the pillow beneath him, closed his eyes out of habit. “Will you tell me what Alphonse looked like again?”

As he laid there, she described the way Al’s thin frame drowned in the coat Mustang threw their way. How his blonde hair reached long past his shoulders. How his eyes held both exhaustion and wonderment in them. She told him that he never stopped smiling, not once since the moment his body materialized in front of them. He looked a little like Ed, she mentioned, but every sharp edge of the eldest brother was rounded out, and Al towered over him by at least a few inches. 

Even though she’d told him before, had commented on his appearance the moment he’d come back, Mustang still laughed at the last detail. With every word, he began to build a picture, not just of Alphonse but of all of them: Ed standing next to his brother, his crew bursting through the hospital doors, and Hawkeye, sitting beside him, smiling as she told him every detail. He knew then, that no matter what happened to him, whatever the cost he paid for creating the world he’d once envisioned, it would be worth it, so long as they could see it.

[adrenalineguide]

Jeep Wrangler Sport S and Mustang 2.3L Convertible: Two Fours for Summer Fun

Words and Photos By Michael Hozjan

No I’m not talking about cases of beer. I’m referring to the number of cylinders found under the hood of two American icons in the automotive landscape – the Jeep Wrangler and Mustang. Don’t scoff, four cylinders have been making a huge come back in recent years and no, these are not your grand dad’s four cylinders. Both the Jeep and the Mustang rely on turbocharging to get the extra oomph when needed all while delivering below average thirst numbers compared to their V6 and V8 counterparts. Let’s face it do we really need all that horsepower all the time and isn’t it nice to save some bucks at the pump.

Jeep Wrangler Sport: Back to its roots

“There’s something amiss here.” I tell myself as the engine comes to life. I hit the off button and check for the glow plug light, there isn’t one. For some reason the engine doesn’t sound the same, and yet there’s something eerily familiar about the sound.  I mistakenly expected the Wrangler to be diesel powered, which it was not. The diesel mill is offered in the Gladiator that I was due to drive, but at a later date. Blame it on old age or just on my eagerness to get behind the wheel of one of my favorite rides.    

Well one thing lead to another and another and before I knew it, it was several days later that I popped the hood to gaze upon the turbocharged inline 2.0L four cylinder. THAT’S what the sound was… somehow, the engineers at Jeep have managed to get the sound of the old familiar World War II era four cylinder Jeep into this modern, 80th anniversary edition Wrangler…or maybe it’s just me. One thing is certain, it doesn’t sound like the Wrangler I’ve been accustomed to.

Maybe it’s just coincidence, maybe it’s good corporate planning, with Jeep’s closest off-road capable rival, the Ford Bronco making its debut this year, Jeep has stepped up the ante, not only have they launched the Wrangler Xtreme Recon equipped with the first ever 35-inch rubber straight out of the factory, but are also offering a slew of powerplants to make any competitor nervous: beginning with this week’s tester, there’s the 2.0 L turbocharged four cylinder mated to the 8-speed TorqueFlite automatic, the trusty old 285 horsepower Pentastar 3.6L V6s remain and come with either a manual or automatic trans, there’s also a mild hybrid version mated to the 3.6L tagged the eTorque, a 3.0L EcoDiesel V6 with 442 lb-ft of torque and 260 horses and for the first time in four decades, the Wrangler gets a V8. Available exclusively (dare I say for the time being) in the Rubicon 392 trim, the 6.4L throws out 470 horses and the like amount of torque through the eight-speed TorqueFlite automatic transmission and Selec-Trac full-time active transfer case.  It blasts the Rubicon 392 to 100 km/h in less than five seconds making it the quickest Wrangler in history!

Well it appears the Jeep has come full circle with their mills, reverting back to four cylinder power to move their off roaders about. But don’t think for a minute that these are the old WWII flatheads. No sir, and not one but two count them, two four cylinders are offered. Aside from my Snazzyberry Pearl colored 2.0L turbocharged tester which pumps out 270 horses and 295 lb-ft of torque, capable of towing 2,000 lbs (907 kilos), that’s 35 more lb-ft of torque than its V6 counterpart, there’s also an electrified four cylinder that adds an electric motor. The plug in hybrid 4xe delivers 375 horses!  Stay tuned for more on this one.

Above and below: There’s nothing missing in the four that you wouldn’t find in the six.

If you’re a regular reader of my posts you’ll know that I do NOT check performance numbers or price tags before I get a feel for what the vehicle feels like. Does it feel like 300 horses, does it feel like 400 lb-ft of torque? I tend to reserve looking at the stats until after my first, second and third impression. That said, despite having 270 horses, it still seemed a bit anemic from my previous Wrangler encounters (with the V6). There’s a noticeable difference at half throttle when leaving a red light or stop sign, but that quickly disappears as you build up speed. Punch the go pedal however to wake up the turbo boost and grab on to the steering wheel. The torque kicks in and bites the tarmac like a banshee. Suddenly Jeeps decision to go with this combo makes perfect sense.

On the highway the four delivers smooth, linear power and actually feels better mated to the 8-speed automatic than the six. Passing semis or climbing grades isn’t a problem and while I didn’t get the chance to go off-roading I suspect that the added torque would be able to let this Wrangler do some serious climbing prowess without hesitation.

Of course one of the other main attributes is that the Wrangler can shed its top when the weather turns warm. With two tops available it still remains the only convertible SUV in the market.

Above: A hidden cubby hole under the trunk floor comes in handy

One of the Wrangler’s Achilles’ heals has always been it’s thirst for fuel. My best has usually been around 12L/100 kms even when feathering my foot. Well the 2.0L netted me a 9.75L/100 average, on top of which a $200 saving over the automatic trannied V6 makes getting into a Wrangler a lot easier. The Sport S starts at $45,465, my fully loaded tester came in at a substantial premium, which leads me to want to see this mill in the 2-door Wrangler variant with a manual transmission. Now that would truly be full circle. If you’ve always wanted a Wrangler but weren’t crazy about their fuel consumption Jeep has just given you several reasons why you should reconsider.

Price as tested: $62,030 *

*Includes excise tax and destination fees

Mustang 2.3L Convertible: Is this the best Mustang ever?

It’s a balmy July afternoon, the kind we wait all year long for and fantasize about from December through to March. I’m in the left lane of the 401 heading west, passing semi after semi. The sun is beaming down on me and I get to thinking how nice this thing would be for a cross-country run. Indeed it doesn’t get much better than this. There are so many semis it reminds me of the rocking chair scene in The Bandit, only I’m not driving a T-top black Firebird with a roaring V8 and Sheriff Buford T Justice chasing me, but a drop top Antimatter Blue (yes that’s the hue) Mustang with a turbocharged 2.3L four cylinder.  

For decades Ford has been grappling with the notion of having both a high performance Mustang and an economy Mustang, and yes when it first debuted there were trims that encompassed both. But over the years that concept got lost with muscle cars taking the limelight. It wasn’t until the gas crisis of ’73 that the economy car resurrected itself in the Mustang II, but in the process lost the muscle slice of the pie.

Well guess what, the 2.3L fits both bills easily. Yes diehard muscle heads may pooh pooh the thought of another four cylinder in a Mustang but they have no idea what they’re missing out on.

Pillaged from the darling all-wheel-drive Ford, the Focus RS, the 2.3L mill has been turned longitudinally to fit into the pony car. Although Ford has given the Mustang a larger twin scroll turbo, there are 18 fewer horses pulling the pony car over the RS. Torque however has been retained.  

With 310 horses and 350 lb-ft of torque on tap mated to an optional 10-speed automatic my tester galloped along without so much as missing a breadth. Thankfully Ford has retained the 6-speed manual. My unofficial timing showed zero to a hundred kilometers shot in at 4.6 seconds!  I have to say that as sweet as the four cylinder is, the exhaust note just tries to hard and gets annoying after a while.  It’s like look at me, look at me. Oh shut up! Thankfully there is a shut off switch.

My ‘stang came with the High Performance Package, a $6,500 option inherited from the Mustang GT, which meant stickier 19” Pirelli rubber over the base car’s 17” units, larger brake rotors with four piston calipers, stiffer springs, a beefier rear sway bar, strut tower brace, a larger rad, a 3.55:1 limited slip diff. In other words, all the right stuff to make this a serious tourer.    

Above and below: Top up or top down the Mustang looks great. Front spoiler is part of the High  Performance Package.

Another plus for the four-cylinder argument is better balanced shedding 147kilos (auto trans) off its front axle. The result is a crisper handling ride with a nominal amount of body roll, less nosedive under hard braking. Switching driving modes from Normal to Sport mode for attacking the lakeside twisties shows the car’s true potential with the engine’s responsiveness hitting the sweet spot over 2,500 rpm and the fun factor sans V8.  

This would make an interesting track car.

Inside you get all the usual fan fare of goodies including cooling and heated power leather seats.  The hi-po package adds an oil pressure and turbo boost gauge and engine spun aluminum instrument panel. Fit and finish is spot on with comfortable buckets making the drive that much more enjoyable.

Above: Despite what it looks like my 6’ frame spent several hours back there in a friend’s convert for a three-hour trip to the Syracuse Nationals a few years back without a single complaint.

Like the Jeep the Mustang doesn’t come cheap. While the base price is a very reasonable $43,370, my tester’s option list added another $11,800 to the price tag. Stepping up to the $6,500 high performance package is a no brainer, especially if you’re a serious driver, but while the 10-speed is perfectly matched to the engine and responds wonderfully to throttle inputs I’d go with the 6-speed manual and trim $1,750 off the tag. Other options included $1,000 AM/FM/CD/HD radio, $2,300 for adaptive cruise, voice activated touch screen navigation and the Ford Safe & Smart package.

In a move I just don’t understand is the spare tire/wheel has been relegated to option status! In its place is a compressor - just the ticket for a bent rim, blow out or flat in the middle of nowhere on a dark rainy night. Come on Ford!

Yes the Mustang buyer has a number of trims and powerplants to opt for all the way to the 100 grand Shelby GT500 but really, wouldn’t you rather have a car that hits all the right fun buttons without breaking the bank while still passing a gas station or two ( I averaged 10.7L/100 km). Oh and let’s not forget the savings on the insurance premium on the four cylinder So shrug the V8 monkey off your back and hit the road in a four.

Price as tested:  $56,970*

*Includes destination charges

[perkynurples]

god, i've been thinking about your equestrian au for days, mainly like, what would Baxia even look like? and Suihua??? all these are spiritual weapons so to some extent, they already sort of have personalities and picturing them as horses is just skjdhHGKJ i love it, this is an entire universe i need BADLY (baoshan-sanren)

aahhh we’re both consumed by it then, I’m glad! :D I absolutely ADORE the idea of Baxia being a tamed mustang (although tamed is a bit of an overstatement) but then also @sweetlittlevampire mentioned her being a Warlander (a cross between Freisian and other breeds) and well

I MEAN. metallic coloring, bigger broader and meaner (jk actually utterly sweet but ONLY to nmj, lxc, and oddly enough, nhs) than all the other horses out there... that’s our Baxia

I haven’t even given Suihua much thought yet BUT! :D she would for sure be a palomino or a yellow dun of some sort (this reminds me I have an anon in my inbox asking about horse colors holy shit whoever you are I WILL get to you) and VERY pompous (but so gentle with little Jin Ling it makes ya cry)

[swlbarnes]

More Like Home - Jack Kline x Reader

Summary/Request: @previouslyforgotten requested:  Hi! It’s me again. I was wondering if you could do a someone x reader fluff where the reader is decorating her room in the bunker because she thinks it’s too bland and the man of men of your choice help? Preferably Dean or Jack? But you can pick whoever:)

Pairing: Jack Kline x Reader

Word Count: ~3.6k

Warnings: none!! fluffy fluff with jack and the brothers!!

A/N: okay so when given a choice i tend to choose jack, and im sorry, so i tried to put a smidge of dean in there as well! i hope this is okay, thank you so so much for the request!! i love your ideas so much, they’re so soft :)

BUY JACK’S SCENT HERE!

It didn’t feel right. No matter what you did, or how you moved the existing items around, it just didn’t feel right. Going on two years of living at the bunker with what Dean had deemed Team Free Will 2.0, you began to realize just how drab you seemed to feel in your given room. While the golden numbers adoring the door, addressing it as room 17, were always a welcoming sight after a long hunt, you couldn’t help but want… more from the interior.

Sure, you had your fair share of sentimental objects. Your guns and knives were displayed proudly on one wall, always well within reach and easy to dismount if the need to use them arose, which it so often seemed to do. A few pictures cataloging your travels with the boys littered the space, along with your notebooks and other hunting materials scattered about. This was nice, and offered a great reminder that this place was where you slept, but it still didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like home.

You lay on your back, arms and legs spread out like a starfish pondering this exact idea the day that the bunker’s resident Nephilim, Jack Kline, decided to pay you a visit. Your door was already open, but he made a point to stop at the threshold and tap his knuckles against the wooden slab to alert you of his presence. “(Y/N)?” He called to you in question. You made no move to get up, and simply let out a low hum in response. The sound of shuffling footsteps grew ever closer. “Are you alright?”

A sigh escaped your lips at this query. Now, how were you meant to respond to that? Were you okay? In theory, perhaps you were doing just fine, but this answer just didn’t seem to suffice for your mind. So, instead, in a rash decision making moment, you blurted out a simple, “no.”

This seemed to be the wrong answer. Hardly a moment passed before Jack was pulling you up into a sitting position, his eyes wide in panic as they scanned you for any visible injuries. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? How can I help? I want to help, let me fix it!” He blubbered on without end. His hands pressed against your cheeks and he turned your head every which way in an attempt to spot the problem. 

“Jack,” you tried. He continued on. “Jack,” a bit louder this time. His voice grew in volume as well, incoherent gibberish of worry at this point. “Jack!”

Finally, he froze in place. Then, within a moment’s notice, his hands were gone from your skin, and a fresh blush swept up his neck and along his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I meant to say, uhm, what’s wrong? And… how can I help?” 

You furiously fought against the smile tugging at your lips, but in the end your expression won out. A bright grin plastered itself across your face. “I’m actually okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry about anything, alright? I’m okay,” you reassured the nephilim. Even still, his crystalline sapphire gaze ran along your skin in a fervor.

“You’re sad.” This wasn’t even a question, but instead a statement of fact.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m sad, per se,” you tried to ease his tension somewhat. The celestial being was having none of this, and swiftly caught on to the ambiguity of your words.

“But you’re not happy.”

Your nose wrinkled in thought. The nephilim was smarter than he ever dared to let on, and definitely more observant than your fellow housemates saw him for. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I’m just thinking, is all.” 

The boy pulled his legs up onto the bed, crossing his legs over each other criss cross style to face you fully. Comfy sweatpants covered his legs and a soft knitted sweater adorned his torso. Even in the summer months, the bunker could be quite cold, and there was only one reason that you never asked Dean to turn the heating up. As long as the air retains its usual chill, you get the pleasure of seeing a comfortably soft Jack Kline all year round.

Jack reached down and plucked carefully at the fabric of your comforter. A scowl formed on your face at the sight of the thing. It was the same tan sheet that adorned the beds in most every bedroom. It wasn’t special. It wasn’t yours. This room wasn’t yours. Everything was just a constant reminder of that fact.

You had to say, you truly envied the brothers’ abilities to cope in an environment that was so out of your comfort zone. Sam, though you know he had started out his time at the bunker in denial that it would ever become his home, had come around in previous years and began adding personal touches to his own space. The television was an important part of his room, usually playing some of his favorite movies or the local news station to stay updated on current happenings. His favorite books lay scattered on every conceivable surface. Room twenty-one was Sam’s and only Sam’s. Dean’s room held even more of his own personal touches. From the stereo concealing a hefty collection of vinyl records underneath it to the guns adorning the wall to even the countless family photos both taped to his walls and leaning haphazardly against various objects on his desk, room number eleven was undoubtedly the home of one Dean Winchester. 

But room seventeen? It could belong to just about anyone. You had hardly changed a thing since moving in. Most of the room remained in the same pristine state the Men of Letters had left it in all those years ago. It might as well be some random hotel room, capable of housing just about anybody at any time. It wasn’t yours. 

“Jack,” you spoke up suddenly, your mind set. The nephilim peered up at you in question. “Do you want to go into town with me?”

The boy’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he nodded all the same. “Can I ask why?”

Turning to the boy, you cast him a smile. “I’ve gotta make this house a home,” you hummed. Glee dripped from your words at the prospect of finally doing this. You were finally going to make this room your own, and no Winchesters were going to stop you.

-

Sam and Dean let the pair of you go relatively easily. That is, Dean ceased his interrogation once you assured him that you weren’t taking the Impala, driving the point home by jingling the pair of keys in your hand: keys that undoubtedly belonged to the ‘67 Ford Mustang you had brought back to the bunker after having fallen in love with the thing on a hunting trip to an old used car lot. You pocketed some cash and a couple of fraudulent credit cards, and you were on your way.

“So,” Jack began as he buckled the seat belt around his waist, “what exactly are we doing?”

Fair enough question. You hadn’t actually said your plan out loud. Jack was simply excited to spend time outside of the bunker (plus, the fact that it was with you was a real bonus in his eyes). You began to explain as you revved the engine to the old muscle car. “My room is just so… drab, you know? I want to make it feel more like home. So, you and I are going shopping!” The boys eyes lit up at this. “We’re going to go out and find some decorations and maybe we’ll paint the walls and everything. It’s gonna be fun!”

His feet shuffled in excitement. You had a feeling that, had you the ability to see into the boy’s mind, you would see a flurry of thoughts about how he had never been shopping for decorations and renovations before. That much would be true. The hunter’s life didn’t have much time for simple pleasures, so the fact that you were able to give Jack this little glimpse into a normal life sent your heart aflutter.

The ride into town felt shorter than usual, likely to do with the company you kept and your own choice of music permeating the air. Jack’s head bobbed along with the beat of the song flowing from the radio. Your hands smacked in tandem against the steering wheel, which the nephilim quickly likened to the eldest Winchester’s own driving habits. You poked your tongue out at Jack in retaliation, reaching out to turn the volume up to block his words out. 

Shopping with Jack was more fun than you could have even imagined it would be. He had such a wonderful reaction to every new thing he experienced, and it was clear that he wanted to soak in every aspect of human culture he possibly could. He was practically bouncing on his heels by the time you made it to the lighting section of the local hardware store. The way the seemingly endless aisle of lamps and lighting fixtures reflected in his irises made it difficult to maintain a casual facade, and you soon found yourself reaching out and grabbing his hand as you made your way through the store. This was normal as ever to the boy, who gripped your hand back just as eagerly and tugged you towards the mirror section.

Choosing a paint color was quite an adventure as well. Jack took this entire ordeal very seriously, especially after you explained to him how your current living situation made you feel. The discomfort you described was utterly unacceptable in his eyes. If a new coat of paint on your walls could alleviate that feeling and make you feel more at home, then the boy was going to do his best to make it the best paint color you had ever seen. That’s why you ended up standing in front of the display of paint swatches for around an hour before he finally allowed you to make a decision. It was all worth it in the end, especially once the paint mixer buzzed to life and Jack’s soft gasp sounded from by your side. He didn’t stop talking about how pretty the colors blending together was on the whole car ride to your next stop.

Item after item got checked off the list inside your mind. Picture frames, a new comforter, fresh pillow cases, professionally printed photos of yourself and the rest of the team, wall art, a soft new rug, little desk ornaments, and basically anything that popped into your mind that would make the space feel more like you. Jack even took it upon himself to buy you both matching art pieces, claiming that he wanted to have a piece of you in his own room to make sure you always felt like you were together. It took all of your willpower not to tear up as he happily placed the framed photos into the shopping cart. 

You arrived back at the bunker just as the last rays of daylight peeked out above the horizon. Jack, of course, insisted on carrying as many shopping bags as he could possibly fit on his arms. He was half angel, he reminded you, therefore weight wasn’t a big deal whatsoever. This made the unpacking process relatively simple, especially once you walked past Sam and Dean and the pair begrudgingly stood up and shuffled through the halls to follow you into the garage and help you with the rest of the bags.

“What’s all this for?” Dean’s voice called with a grunt as he readjusted his hold on the box containing your new nightstand.

You twirled around on your heels so you were walking backwards down the hallway, now facing Dean and Sam. “I decided my room was too… blah. Not enough me, not enough like a home. So, Jack and I went out and bought some stuff and we’re going to redo it! Painting the walls, new furniture, new pictures, the whole shabang. You guys wanna help?” You beamed at the pair of brothers. They shared a questioning look with each other, both shrugging before turning to you and agreeing. 

“Where’d you get the money, anyways?” Sam queried with a furrowed brow. You turned back around and cleared your throat in a bit of an awkward fashion. 

“I might’ve… stolen a couple of debit cards. And also a little credit card fraud. But it’s okay! Because when are we ever really gonna go back to those stores anyways, right?” You passed it off with a chuckle. The beginnings of an argument about how we don’t do credit card fraud this close to home and if you need to spend money in town then at least get the money legally arose from behind you, but it was too late. In a split second you picked up the pace and dashed off down the corridor towards your own room.

-

“No, no no no, not like that,” Dean corrected, reaching out and grabbing the paint roller from Jack’s hand. Only moments prior, the boy had tried to repeatedly press the cylinder against the wall in an attempt to apply the paint. This resulted in a small patch of globular paint right smack in the center of your wall. Your hand pressed firmly against your mouth in an attempt to fight back your laughter.

“I’ve never done this before,” Jack muttered in protest, his cheeks a bright crimson red due to his clear embarrassment. He peered over his shoulder at you, causing you to force back your amusement and offer him an encouraging smile.

“Okay, just… like this. Roll the paint on. That way it’ll be even, alright?” Dean demonstrated how to roll the paint onto the surface properly for a few strokes before offering the roller to the nephilim once again. Jack took the item with a newfound desire to do this right, and he continued to paint the wall in exactly the way that Dean displayed.

Sam emerged from the hallway empty handed, having just arrived back from wherever he decided to put your belongings while you started your renovations. At the moment, the entire room lay barren and empty, save for the paint cans and plastic lining protecting the floor from rogue paint. A thin layer of sweat made the taller brother’s hair lay flat against his forehead. He had done most of the heavy lifting so far. You found this amusing, seeing as Jack’s outlook on carrying heavy items seemed to change so drastically over the past hour or so. It occurred to you that it likely wasn’t the action itself that changed his mind, but perhaps there was an ulterior motive behind his kindness with you. The thought alone made you smile to yourself.

“You’re doing great, Jack!” Sam praised the boy, causing him to perk up significantly. Jack flashed a bright smile as he continued to work. 

Painting didn’t take quite as long as you expected. With the extra two pairs of hands, that meant each of you only had to focus on one wall. Soon enough, the walls were completely coated in your chosen color, and it was time to let them dry. You all took a break to eat dinner, which was filled with conversation about what you wanted your room to look like once it was complete. By the time you finished eating, the paint was dry and you were ready to move everything in. 

Strangely enough, Dean seemed to be the most hellbent on getting the “look” just right. Jack listened to whatever you said and wanted to a T, and Sam leisurely nodded and complied with your wishes as well. Dean, however, seemed to have a vision of sorts. Each time you explained your idea, he would interrupt you with a pitch for a completely different idea. Some worked, and you actually quite liked, others you ended up shooting down immediately. 

You worked all through the night, sharing stories and jokes as you went along. None of you seemed to feel the effects of the all nighter you ended up pulling. The atmosphere seemed too perfect to destroy with even a single yawn or complaint. At one point, as you and Jack worked on putting your new sheets onto your old bed, you couldn’t help but grab one of the pillows and toss it at the back of Dean’s head. Sam seemed to hold back his laughter to the best of his ability as his brother turned around with an all-too-serious look in his eyes. Within seconds, the eldest hunter grabbed the pillow from the floor and leapt up, charging at you with the fluff filled item held over his shoulder in preparation. A screech left your lips, and you bounded over the half made bed to cower behind Jack. And that was how not only Jack’s first pillow fight, but the first ever pillow fight in the bunker began. 

Your phone screen read 5:02 AM by the time you put the last touches on the space. One last flattening of the comforter, a quick check that the pictures on your desk were turned just so, and the final addition: a gun tucked carefully underneath your pillow. That was all it took for your room to be complete.You turned to the brothers and pulled them both into a hug. You expressed your true gratitude for their willingness to help you at such short notice, and for such a long period of time. Dean insisted that you owed him a new flannel for the fact that a splotch of paint was now visible on the fabric of the one he was wearing, but he retained his easy going smile all the same. Sam wrapped his arms around you and gave you a comforting squeeze, reminding you that he would always be there if you needed him for anything. And with that, they bid you adieu. 

That left just you and Jack in your newly completed room. You made your way over to your reclaimed bed and flopped down on your back, a soft smile adorning your face. A few seconds passed, and you peered over to where Jack still stood, simply watching you in wonder. You offered him a smile and patted the space next to you. He wasted no time as he, too, lay down atop the new sheets. A moment’s silence overtook you both, but it was far from uncomfortable. It felt like more of a mutual understanding. Like nothing need be said, because everything was already understood.

In a moment of surging self confidence, you reached over and grabbed his hand in your own. Your fingers laced together out of pure instinct. Just like back in the store, he reciprocated the affection immediately, even giving your hand a quick squeeze to show that this was okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered into the tranquil atmosphere. The shuffle of fabric let you know that Jack had readjusted his position to be facing you without needed to see him at all.

“For what?” He asked you, his voice carrying the same soft tone as yours. He, too, clearly sensed the importance of this moment, and what it meant in the grand scheme of a hunter’s life. Moments like this don’t exist for hunters. Lives like this aren’t possible. But maybe, for just one second, you can pretend. Maybe you can pretend that this is a home, and that this is possible. Maybe you can pretend that your life can have something this good in it.

“For everything, really,” you began quite simply. You gazed blankly up at the empty expanse of your ceiling, wondering if Dean would ever let you live it down if you decided to put up those little glow in the dark stars. “I haven’t felt like this was my own space for… so long. It’s always felt like I’m just a guest, and that this is temporary. I keep waiting to have to pack up and leave for the next place. I even started avoiding this room altogether just so I didn’t have to face that feeling anymore. But after today?” You finally turned your head to look at the nephilim, only to find him gazing at you already with a look of pure awe. “You changed that, Jack. You helped me to make this something I can be proud of. I can feel comfortable and safe here, now. And I don’t think I would’ve taken that leap if I didn’t have you by my side.”

Slowly, the boy’s lips began to turn up into a smile. It wasn’t the smile he had been flashing all night. It wasn’t a bright, blindingly overjoyed grin that seemed to always split his face in half and fill the room with light. No, this smile was different. This smile was soft, and it carried the weight of everything the pair of you weren’t sure you should say. It was all you needed to see, and you let your head fall back down onto the soft sheets beneath you. 

The silence stretched on, but it didn’t matter. No words needed to be said for you to realize what you learned that morning, just as the sun began to color the sky a soft pink and the birds awoke with their song. This was a home, and it was your home. This was not temporary. This was your family. And this wasn’t pretending. You deserve the happiness and the love of that moment, basking in the relief of finding where you belong. You had found the good you needed, and you were going to hold onto it for as long as you possibly could.