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underalt · 1 year ago

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The Altered Tale

This is written by @pennytoons as an official story for the AU of Underalt.

Chapter One

It has been quite some time since the barrier fell. As the sun rises over the forest village known as Revival Town, Mt. Ebott stands tall in the distance. The cozy cottages and simple buildings scattered about creates this thriving monster settlement. There is smoke coming from chimneys and distinct power lines connecting the buildings.

A strange bird monster sits along those cables. It is staring at the village as its people begin to wake and start their day. This crow-esque creature takes off into the town. Going past a brick schoolhouse, it squawks with delight. It sees Toriel making her way to the front gate, fumbling with her keys. She has too much on her mind to take note of the bird.

Continuing on, it passes a pub as Grillby sweeps up autumn leaves from the cobbled street in front of it. A group of young monsters walk past, going in the opposite direction of the bird. The group consists of quite a few young monsters. This includes dogfolk twins, the first of their kind born post-exile. A trio of bunfolk take turns trying to hop high enough to smack the sign hanging off of Grillby’s new restaurant. An Ursan boy reaches the sign with ease as he passes it. Their classmates stomp and huff in frustration at their classmate's height advantage.

Landing on a nearby mailbox, the bird tilts their horned head. Peering into a garage where a certain skeleton is getting into his shiny red sports car. The bird puffs its feathers with pride. The garage has shelves of tools and boxes of gears and pipes. Papyrus is quite the craftsman. If only he did more than make heavy medieval artillery to guard his backyard with.

Starting his car, the skeleton spots the bird and gives it a glare. Nothing worse than getting bird poop on your car as soon as you pull out of the driveway. This eye contact spooks them into flying off once more.

Flying past an upstairs bedroom, it glances at Sans rubbing his sockets as he sits on the edge of his bed. He’s had a long night and it will be an even longer day if all goes well. The stout skeleton notes the bird's visit by dropping a loose feather onto his windowsill.

As the bird flies high above, it peers down at the largest clearing of Revival Town. The town square. Market stalls are being set up at its fringes. At its center is a small clock tower to honor those who could not live to see the sun once more. It should make a nice clang at noon.

Fluttering down to the base of the tower, the bird takes a few steps. This is usually a good spot to scavenge crumbs. Even so, before it has a chance to find something, a large shadow is cast onto it from behind. They are hesitant to look up and behind them with fear in their eyes.

Looking behind itself, it sees the casual king of The Ebott Territories, Asgore. He's standing there smiling at the bird. He rips a bit off of his breakfast muffin for them. He offers it to them with a gentle toss.

As he throws the food, the bird flies off again. They go right past an electronics repair shop that Alphys is in front of. She's groggy as she opens the shutters of the business.

A few more students on their way to school strut along below the bird. This group has another dogfolk, who barks at the bird. A young Whimsum jumps, startled by their friend's outburst.

Not too far behind the children, Undyne is helping an elderly catfolk. She's carrying his various wares to the market square. He waves his cane as the bird tries to steal a shiny bauble from a crate.

Finally the bird’s trek ends as they land in a yard where a strange plant monster is photosynthesizing. His ruby thorns and golden petals stand out in the crisp green lawn. He does not notice the bird, but Frisk comes over and shoos it away.

At the noise of the bird's fluttering away, Flowey opens his eyes and lowers his vine-like arms.

"About time." He says to the human.

Frisk smiles at their best and worst friend. Holding up a cute little elephant shaped watering can, they step closer to him. The denim overalls and a purple t-shirt make the young adult look like some kind of farmer. They are outstanding in their field.

Flowey digs his twisted roots into the soft dirt as his friend waters him. “Going to see that freak again?”

Frisk gives the draconic blossom a disappointed pout and stops watering him. He’s grown quite well since being dug up and relocated to the surface. Asgore had trained several Royal Gardeners to tend to Flowey at first.

Few who’ve met the plant are part of the bite free club. Papyrus painted a lovely warning sign for the garden. It reads "don't enter the yard, no matter what the flower tells you.". This has kept the number of incidents down.

The front door to the cottage swings open. Walking out of the house and past the yard is Frisk’s partner in crime and life. Wyrm “Monster Kid” Wyvern has long outgrown his nickname. He might still keep his stunted wings hidden, but he’s gotten better at balancing himself with his tail.

“The doctor isn’t a freak.” He says as he bumps the mailbox to open it. Peering into it, he grumbles a bit. No local newspaper this morning. Wyrm then ponders the old doctor and looks to Frisk for help. “We can’t confirm much about him, that's all.”

Flowey huffs and flares his thorns. “Is he even a real doctor?”

Putting the watering can down, Frisk sighs.

Wyrm gives a weak smile. “He knows things. Things about...” He looks down as he tries to think about anything their anomalous friend has told him firsthand.

Frisk waves goodbye to Flowey. This doesn’t put anyone at ease. They only get a glare from Flowey. Walking off with Wyrm, the plant is quick to change temperament. He's now much more obvious with his worry for the pair.

With a swish of his tail vine, Flowey shouts to the young couple. “Don’t die!”

As they go down the road, Frisk waves again and Wyrm chuckles. “We’ll try not to.” The drake calls back.

The duo of Frisk and Wyrm make their way down the thin gravelly path from their home. Once at the main road, they see Papyrus is waiting for them in his car.

“Yo! You got here quick.” Wyrm almost trips as his long tail whips with his excitement.

The skeleton smirks to the pair as he leans back in his seat of the car. “No speed regulations in Ebott.”

Frisk looks hesitant to get into the car as Wyrm worms his way into the backseat. Papyrus laughs his signature cackling as Frisk looks on at him annoyed. They then remember that they were the one who asked him to be their ride for these trips.

It is so hard living out in the middle of nowhere without the ability to drive. Papyrus is the coveted friend with not only the ability to drive, but a great car.

Mustering up the determination to get into what will soon be a speeding metal death trap, Frisk gets in. They buckle up for the wild ride ahead of them.

After going at a good pace on the roads leading out of Revival Town, the car speeds down the highway. The sun has risen quite high at this point. It is nearing noon according to the car radio. The music Papyrus plays is from one of the few stations in range. It is weak and staticy, but all the young monsters of these parts can sing its station ID jingle. 96.9 GML, broadcasting live from Bigge City.

The bird monster keeps watch over the group from the trees along the cliffs. It is in a hurry to return to where it came from.

After quite the long drive, despite the speed they were going, the car parks at a parking lot at the base of Mt. Ebott, as noted by a sign at the lot entrance.

Wyrm yawns. “My wings are so cramped!”

Papyrus stops the car as Frisk gets out and smiles at him in thanks, but he is somewhat hesitant to accept.

“So I should admit something.”

Hopping out of the car with a clumsy flutter of his small draconic wings, Wyrm scowls a bit at the skeleton. “Do you not trust the doctor either?”

“No! I’d trust him with my life.” Papyrus says with such a determined look in his eyes. Frisk looks shocked at this serious behavior from him.

Wyrm looks confused as they both stand outside of the car. “What?”

“Trust me.” Papyrus says as he unbuckles himself. He looks a bit dejected.

Frisk signs to him. “Do you know what the doctor is?”

“I know what he was.” He answers.

Snowdin is lovely this time of year. Breezy season as those still living there call it. The small bird monster makes its way into a small house. The window is only open enough for it to glide through. It lands in a slumbering mass of darkness, merging with it.

After a few moments, the darkness shifts and churns as the true monster awakens. He stretches and yawns as he begins trudging out of his makeshift nest. He makes his way to the window of the decrepit cabin he lives in.

The road outside looks as busy as Revival Town’s market square. Most of the residents are still the usual bunnies and dogs.

The strange monster opens the window some more and waves to his neighbors. He speaks, but the words are not clear to those nearby. They stare in confusion or concern.

A bunfolk child shouts back. “What?”

A dogfolk vendor raises a brow. “Huh?”

The rest of the crowd mutter and mumble. They move on from the old doctor and his weird behavior.

The monster is quiet as he cusses incoherent nonsense as he slinks back into his house. Closing the window, he ruffles his thick darkness of a pelt in annoyance.

The old doctor decides it best to go on with his day. This starts with making some tea. He gets water from a sputtering faucet with his shaking hands. Setting the kettle on the stove, his form flows like smoke or sludge at its fringes. It looks almost like a lava lamp as he waits for the kettle to whistle.

The silent staring at the kettle is odd. The room dimming around him is even odder. The lack of movement from him is awkward. His eye lights dim over time as he stands there.

As the kettle whistles, it spooks the old doctor into making a ruckus. “SCREE!!!” His eye lights are bright and wide. His form also flares and flails.

Regaining his composure, he finishes making his tea. He takes the leaves from one of many jars in his only cabinet. The cabin isn’t that big, more of a glorified tool shed than anything.

Going back to his nest of old blankets and pillows, he settles into it like a beast. Circling the space, kneading and patting at things before plopping down proper.

As he drinks his tea, he seems to enjoy it. The soft chirps turn to a happy eldritch chattering.

He soon perks up, glancing at the window as someone appears to be outside of it. The stranger taps at the window twice. The old doctor doesn’t get a good look at whoever was at the window moves to the door. His form slims as he stands tall.

“Who’s there?” He squawks out. It sounds so unnatural.

It is then that the stranger knocks on the door. The old doctor looks excited. Well, it is possible that the tendril flailing means he’s happy.

The door opens and Sans walks in. “A bit out of order today, huh?” He looks happy to see the old doctor.

The mass of darkness and bones slumps down as the skeleton enters his home. He says something to his guest.

Sitting beside the old doctor, Sans leans against the soft pelt of unnatural feathers. The skeleton’s sockets dim a little as he sinks into the anomaly he’s come to visit.

“About one in the afternoon.” Sans answers.

Reaching a solid point in the majority ethereal body, Sans doesn’t seem to mind it. He pushes away a bit. The monster is trying to not spill his tea.

Sans’ sockets light up in surprise as he sits upright. “What? You’re comfy.”

Tilting his head quite far to show his confusion, the old doctor stares at the boy in awkward creepy silence.

Sans gets up with a huff. He readjusts his coat and glances at the old doctor. He is trying to show sadness as best as he can with his unmoving expression.

“I should get goin’ before Pap gets here.”

Sitting with his tea as Sans leaves the home, the old doctor seems disappointed. The door slams shut and the old doctor goes back to using a shadowy tendril from his maw to drink his tea.

Walking through the door exiting The Ruins, Papyrus leads the way for Frisk and Wyrm. Another of the strange small bird monsters watches from the trees.

As he steps in the fresh fallen snow, Papyrus looks at ease. “Is it so wrong to miss this place?”

Wyrm shivers as he steps out into the snow.

Frisk shakes their head in response to the skeleton’s question.

The bird flutters off towards town as the trio start trekking down the road. Papyrus notices it, but moves his attention elsewhere.

They make their way through the inactive puzzles much to the dismay of Papyrus. He becomes more bored and annoyed as they get closer to town.

As his guests finally arrive at the town entrance, the old doctor has trudged his way over there to greet them. He is smiling wide and he has his hands in T-rex posture under his wings.

Frisk comes up to him for a hug. The old doctor is brittle, but the darkness over him can be so soft. He chirps in surprise, but isn’t hostile or unaccepting in any way. Though, he doesn’t hug back and looks past the human and shouts something at Papyrus.

Coming up to the anomaly with more hesitance, Wyrm smiles wide at him and Papyrus gives an awkward wave.

“Hey Doctor!” Wyrm greets the weird bird man thing.

As Frisk releases their friend, he goes over to Papyrus and engulfs the skeleton in a hug.

“Greetings.”

This new behavior from the usually cautious doctor, there is a look of shock on Wyrm's face. Frisk has a stern look at this turn of events, crossing their arms with a pout.

Papyrus pats the back of the darkness of the old doctor who appears to be trying to suffocate him. The anomaly says something to Papyrus as they embrace.

Pulling away, the old doctor’s body flares with delight. He then smiles at the young couple and speaks in his strange words to him. “My son. I remember.”

Frisk recognizes the tone of what he said. He’s asking them something. They take something out of their pocket to show the old doctor.

The anomaly slumps down to get a look at the item Frisk is holding out. Wyrm tries to get a better look at the item as well. The item is a black crystal chunk.

“Woah! Is that the thing from that freaky portal?”

Frisk nods.

Taking the crystal, the old doctor’s first means of investigation is to bite it. Papyrus looks a bit surprised from behind him.

He stops chewing and licking the crystal after a minute. He holds it out to Frisk who is hesitant to take it back.

The doctor speaks once more. “Darkstone Remnant. Worthless to me.”

Papyrus ponders what his father said and then perks up with his eye lights brightening. “A remnant? So is it like inter-dimensional roadkill?” He looks proud of that quip.

Wyrm rushes over to Papyrus and gets in his face as he spurts smoke from his nostrils. “You can understand the doctor?”

The old doctor arches himself in anger. Papyrus has his hands up as if surrendering to Wyrm. The drake is quite frustrated with him.

“I have a name!” The old doctor shouts. Frisk can only note the anger in his voice.

Papyrus looks at Wyrm with his eye lights wide with surprise. “You don’t?”

Sighing, Frisk pockets the crystal again.

“Of course not!” Wyrm’s tail whips at the snow.

Papyrus tries to mediate the mood. “Good thing I’m here, heh.” He goes over to the old doctor and summons a bone attack staff. This gets the old doctor’s attention. His face lights up with delight. He summons his own attack, something Frisk recognized as soon as it appeared. It was much bigger and more detailed than the little spies he’s had on the surface.

Even so, this was some kind of draconic skull. It has fractures much like its caster. It sputters out flares of dark magic as it floats there, crumbling a bit from its scars.“So much has changed.” The old doctor says with such sadness. He then has a coughing fit.

Wyrm’s anger disappears as Papyrus hands his summon to the old doctor. It makes a good cane for the strange monster.

“It’ll be okay, Dad. How about we get something to eat?” Papyrus says to the old doctor.

The strange thing that the old doctor summoned looks around, almost as if it has a mind of its own. It follows the old doctor and Papyrus, whimpering in worry for its master.

Frisk is curious, but cautious of this new development. At least they don’t have to guess what their only expert on the anomalies is saying. But he has been otherwise troublesome. Grillby’s might still be open underground, but if the man himself is there, it is a rarity. The new staff there isn’t bad, but they’ve put a lot of effort into updating the menu.

As Frisk and Wyrm sit at a table there, Papyrus is happy to order for himself and decipher the old doctor’s order. The strange monster is quite particular in what he wants. He rattles off the specifics as if he had the whole spiel rehearsed.

Wyrm looks worried. He glances at his partner and whispers. “Is Papyrus also an anomaly? If he is the old doctor’s kid then-” The drake stops as he notices the old doctor staring at him.

The strange monster goes to sit across from the couple. He says something to Wyrm that sounds harsh. With Papyrus waiting for their food, the words lose meaning.

“Sorry?” Wyrm apologizes and that seems to calm the darkness flaring from the old doctor. His body has a certain instability to it. The shadowy pelt shifts with his emotions. It is much too easy to get him emotional.

Frisk smiles as Papyrus comes back to the table. He places a plate of the strangest burgers in front of the old doctor. It is more a plate of raw meat, thick tomato slices, and well toasted bread. This delights the demon, making him erupt with an eldritch screech of joy.

The sound is more like a feeling. A feeling that brings memories to mind. Memories of family dinners and eating out with friends.

It takes a few moments to process the experience. Papyrus almost dropped his milkshake. He sits down and clicks his teeth.

“So should we begin?” He says to the old doctor.

The anomaly nods. “I suppose.” He devours the meat from his plate like a ravenous beast. “But from when?”

“The beginning.” Papyrus sips his milkshake. “But it might be better if I give you a proper introduction first.”

Frisk pulls a notepad and pen from their pocket with such excitement. The old doctor’s scrawls were always too eligible to work with. So the notepad is more for their own notes on the strange monster.

Papyrus gestures to the demon nibbling on bread beside him. “This is Lord Doctor Wingdings Default Gaster. Former royal scientist, former advisor to the queen, and his most important title, my progenitor.”

“Progenitor?” Wyrm tilts his head. “I thought he was your father.”

“Well we call him Dad, Sans and myself that is. It isn’t like he needed help to make us. So that word is more fitting on a technical level.”

“No help? The labs! So much equipment.” The old doctor says despite only Papyrus understanding him.

“I was getting to that.” Papyrus responds. “But your tale starts much earlier, right?”

“Yes. The end of a century. A new world discovered. A war on the horizon. The beginning of my tale.”

#undertale au #underalt #lore #fanfiction

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dictionandrhyme · 2 years ago

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"Death of a Bachlor; or, a Leap of Faith"

by J.D. Dennis

He really needed the rain to calm the fuck down before his entire notebook dissolved in it.

Of course, Vince knew the rain was likely magical, and like many of the magical effects created around him, it was highly dependent on the emotions of the caster, which weren’t changing any time soon. And everyone that could have done magic that day had every right to be absolutely pissed. It didn’t mean he also couldn’t be mad about it, though.

He was sitting on what was left of the battlefield, on what was left of City Center Park, beneath a small umbrella that was mostly intact, trying to finish his book before he dove back in to assisting as best he could. The Park, the location of the final battle, once a square city block of green grass, with paths lined with thin, pretty trees that came together in a small canopy, and vibrant fountains, was a mess of burnt grass and shattered brick, downed trees and dripping, broken fountains. There wasn’t much left intact - not even the buildings around it survived. Crashed cars put out white smoke, and dust and rubble from a destroyed parking deck still hung lazily in the air amid the rain. There was still fighting, of course - they’d only done enough to punch a hole into the center, they hadn’t cleared the outer edges yet, and reinforcements kept coming in - but inside theParkwas calm. Like the eye of a hurricane, there was stillness, quiet.

Smoldering grass still smoked, long lines of dark gray breaking up the emptiness of the park, but there wasn’t fighting there anymore. Most of their friends lay, splayed, in torpor or unconscious, on the wet grass. Some had gone under to go and fight more elsewhere - others had just been absolutely wrecked in combat. Others, clearly injured, were still picking themselves up, trying to repair enough of the damage to get themselves to safety, or better yet, get themselves back out into the battle that still raged just outside the boundaries of the Park. Vince could still hear it, just off in the distance, not really very far at all - screams, crying, shouting, the wet sounds of objects making contact with flesh, the smell of blood, fresh and stagnant, recently flowing and half dead. Much of it was covered by the smell of burning flesh, fire, a thing his kind feared above all, being used to great effect all the same.

This entire battle was a testament to what one could put aside if the needs were great enough.

He paused to look up, scanning the battlefield for anything he might have been able to help with - that wasn’t a long list, honestly, but he’d try his damnedest all the same - but he couldn’t see anything needing immediate attention. There were still plenty of people fighting back the waves of bodies meant to stall them - that failed - even if the numbers were significantly thinner than before. They’d lost a lot, but the cost was worth it, as they’d lose even more just to let it be. He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the battlefield to go back to writing in his book. He couldn’t get too distracted on nothing - he had to finish what he started before he could let himself get lost on anything less than urgent. He needed to fill out this last page, put a final mark on the book before he could put it away. He didn’t want to leave this chapter of his life with a blank page. Something about that felt wrong, sat weird in his stomach that hadn’t been properly hungry in three years, making him feel almost ill at the idea. It mostly amounted to the fact that he didn’t want to die with things left unsaid, unwritten, unfinished. Especially since his book was so close to being truly full.

It wasn’t a book like a novel - trying to write a novel during this nonsense would have been all but impossible, and that would be for someone who was good at creative writing - but the book of notes he’d taken over the course of the few months they’d been working towards their goal. He’d started the notebook a year previously, buying a tiny blank book from Walgreens when he needed a replacement, and he’d kept it up through that adventure and the one that followed. They’d needed the notes, tracking their allies and keeping up with questions that would have otherwise been lost, holding all the relevant information in a place they could access it, and now, as the final battle drew to a close, at least on the material plane, he was trying to finish it. It wasn’t easy, as rain pounded down around them, the storm above hellish and hiding all the stars, the wind high and the rain coming in sideways, but he was trying. He had one page left, just one. He had one thin, flimsy, miserable page left, and the only thing between him and shutting the book on this part of his life, literally, was trying to figure out what to put on it.

He was alone, sitting under the umbrella on the table as the seats wouldn’t have kept him dry, solitude in his attempt at escaping the worst of the rain, tapping the pencil to the page like maybe it would start writing on it’s own, cigarette hanging from his mouth, unlit. Most of his friends had gone into the Shadowlands, leaving him alone with the injured or the inept, those that could fight reforming with the line that kept the park safe. Most everyone that remained wasn’t equipped - mentally or physically - to deal with the hellish realities of existing in the Shadowlands, even if they were decent enough or healthy enough to deal with a couple zombies or szlachta, and that was fair - Vince considered himself one of that group. He wasn’t there because he was a good fighter, or a smooth talker. He wasn’t there because he was strong of will or hearty of soul. He wasn’t there because he was particularly good at anything, honestly - he was there because he was lucky. He was lucky, and clever, and he took notes, and he’d fallen into the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d met the wrong people at the wrong time, and while he’d walked away from the encounter and he’d survived it, it had only spiraled down from there.

He paused, finally finding the thoughts to put on the final page like a lightning strike from the blue. His best words and plans came to him like a bolt through his brain, and he wasn’t going to let this one pass him by. He started writing, scribbling quickly, hiding the book from the rain with his own body. He started by explaining, carefully, to the page why he hadn’t gone to the Shadowlands - it was because he’d remembered. He’d been chasing a memory hidden deep in the wells of his thoughts for months, and finally, seeing the person that hid those memories from him had brought them back, little by little. He’d had them flood his senses, one moment at a time, suddenly so vivid in his brain when he couldn’t have recalled them before if he’d wanted to. He scribbled down the images that swam back to him, what he could describe, and then like the rest of his life he just kept going, unburdened by the concepts of editing or rewriting. He didn’t need it to be perfect, just full. He didn’t need it to be a novel, he just needed it to be there. He needed the sense of completion, not clarity of content.

He described how she looked, the night they’d met - cute, small, homeless, scared - and how he’d related. He’d been there, recently homeless, traveling, nothing to call his own but a pack of cigarettes and a leather jacket and a charming smile. He mentioned how she’d hung off his arm, how comfortable that felt. How he’d tried to buy her a drink and she wouldn’t follow him into the speakeasy. How she’d saved him, without a second thought, when she rightly could have left him to die of his own stupid mistakes. He paused there, the vivid call of her voice in his head -It’s going to be okay - before shaking the thought away. He couldn’t face her, not in battle - it was dangerous, too dangerous to do - but he could remember her. Fondly, even. He didn’t believe others like her would have been that altruistic if given the chance, and that was what inspired the fond feelings, because that felt… special. He wasn’t anybody to anyone then, not even her. He was a drifter, homeless, hungry, tired, running scared, and she’d cared. It was strange, remembering someone fondly that, not ten minutes earlier, had it out to kill him. But that was just who she was, really. That was just who he was. Heart too big for his body, brain too small to compete with the lingering affection.

It was strange that one of the people trying to end his very existence, and the world, was the same one that brought him violently into it with her compassion.

He huffed, writing faster for a moment, angry now. They were trying to end them all, all vampires, but he didn’t understand why. He understood at least the Baali’s deal - this was what they spent their lives aiming for. The end of the world, for them, was almost religious, and Vince never figured people that deep into religion to be particularly easy to change. But they weren’t the only ones who’d tried to kill all Kindred. The party had defeated the original orchestrator, Pip, the Bad Guy in their story, and his ideals - kill all vampires - were what had started all of this, and what made Vince so angry. He’d claimed that vampires were a net bad, that they were worse than they were good, that they only caused pain, but Vince didn’t believe him. Sure, it was a Kindred that forced him, rather violently, into their world and without his consent to boot, but ultimately, he’d made the choice not to walk away. Twice. And past that, he’d spent months talking to others, and they had a large group on that battlefield that night that gave a shit, and wasn’t that enough? They’d managed to take Kindred that would have, in normal circumstances, killed each other - hell, they’d managed to take Kindred that almost tried to kill each other in those circumstances, of all things - and gotten them to fight side by side, like friends. Why did it have to be that the only solution for bad Kindred was destroying the entire concept of them in the first place? It seemed excessive, and unfair, as at least some Kindred tried their best to be good people beyond their faults. Vince thought most about himself, and his group - they hadn’t wronged anyone, not really, not without being wronged themselves, but to Pip, they deserved to die as much as anyone else. Collateral damage, probably, something Pip considered worth it if the worst vampires also died.

Well, as far as Vince could tell, the worst vampire in existence had just died with a rocket to the face.

He signed off the book, closing the pages with reverence. He’d said what he had to say, and that was it. He’d put the final pin in a chapter of his life he was ready to have close. His last words, he’d called them. There was a subtle irony in those words, as part of him really thought they might be his last. He’d been told, at the beginning, from someone he still loved and trusted, that a choice he made would kill him - but he wasn’t even allowed that choice. The party had made it together, without discussion, and that was it. But that was also kind of Vince’s life - the things he probably should have had the biggest say in were things he didn’t even get to consider for himself. If the universe was as described, his death was guaranteed, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. But he’d gotten through the worst of it already - they’d done their fight, they’d killed their boss, and he wasn’t going any further. He was just helping clean up, now, which should have been the easy part. He didn’t know how that could kill him when the Devil himself had walked away without raising a hand to fight him.

He just hadn’t been wrong before, and he’d learned not to doubt himself like that. Even when everyone else did.

He closed the book up, placing it and his jacket beneath the umbrella in an attempt to keep the notebook dry. The jacket was old, graying leather, given to him by Al years previously, and he pressed a hand to it fondly. It had been through a lot, and he loved it, and that's why it was staying with his notebook under the umbrella. Everything was much safer there than out in the rain, even if it meant he was more apt to get soaked. He tucked his jacket around the items there reverently, taking a moment to shake the rain from his hair one time. He didn’t feel cold, but wet was still uncomfortable, and being dry for even a moment felt nice. He was excited for all this to be over - he missed the small moments of feeling nice. He had left the rest of his things there, too - keys, an empty pack of cigarettes, a lighter with no flame - leaving him in just his jeans, his stupid t-shirt, and his sneakers, a damp and droopy cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his wedding ring on his finger, his rifle still slung over his back. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he’d be dumb to leave it behind. The t-shirt stuck to his thin frame like a glove, and his sneakers nearly had holes in them. He had boots at one point, but he wore right through them, which was kind of sad. He paused there a moment, looking at the collection that was his life sitting out in front of him like it could dictate the story he’d been through in just the visual, before shaking his head. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

He stepped back out into the rain, immediately soaked - ugh - looking around to see in what way he could actively help. The main fighting was over, and the park was ultimately clear, if highly damaged, and the only real fighting left was in the streets. It was a ruckus out there, blood and screams and gunfire happening with wild abandon. A few of the kids - and god, were they children, actually children, and Vince felt for them because he’d been there once upon a time, he’d been young and dumb and bumbling through the world - were trying to drag unconscious or torpored allies to an area under an awning where they could be cared for properly. There were far too many of those, and far too few people left to carry them, but they did good work. He scanned through those that were left in the park – there were the Lisowskis, two of them, standing, weapons ready, over the fallen forms of their friends, two others raising walls around the area to stop wandering szlachta from coming through the ranks; he saw Corryn and Rashida and Davis, carting the first of their allies over to the awning; there was one of the remaining Tremere, Weaver, checking over the bodies to see who was wounded and with what; the other, Caul, using magic to help create a better awning out of branches and leaves - and then scanned the battlefield, noticing that there were more bodies out there besides their friends. They weren’t allies, but the enemies, splayed out on the grass in the rain. Vince winced, because honestly, it wasn’t really dignified, and if they were supposed to be the good guys, the good Kindred, the people that deserved to be kept alive because they could exhibit compassion to others, they couldn’t just leave them like that.

Vince carefully trotted over to Molly, one of the other bosses they’d fought. She was tall, but she looked rather light, her dress pooling around her thighs, her limbs splayed awkwardly. Vince paused over her, just for a second, before reaching down and bundling her into his arms. He was gentle, picking her up in a princess carry, making sure he grabbed only dress and didn’t accidentally get handsy with her thighs. In that moment, looking at her face, her blond hair curled around her cheeks, pink lips and dark eyeliner and soft jaw, she looked so much younger than she had before. She looked almost like a child, sleeping. He shook his head, trotting back over to the awning, ignoring the look of fear or defensiveness he got as he did so. He moved past them, setting her gently under a different part of the awning, straightening her dress and making her at least look dignified in her torpor.

“What are you doing?”Corryn asked, watching Vince with concern. He turned to her, a sadness to his face, and he noticed that everyone had paused to watch him. Even the vines had stopped moving, Caul’s face drawn into a frown, though the leaves still wiggled in the rain slightly.

“Pip started this because he thought all Kindred were a net bad.” Vince stated, plainly, standing between Molly’s body and the others, preventing them from doing anything to her. “She was dominated by him; she wasn’t here because she had a choice, just like the rest of us. She deserves at least a little dignity, even in defeat. I refuse to be the kind of person Pip thought needed to die, even to the people that tried to kill us. Being a net bad is a conscious choice, and I won’t do it.” He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t stutter - it was the strongest he’d ever felt talking before. There was no doubt in his mind what was right, and what was wrong, and he wasn’t going to let himself fall into what was wrong because it was what was easy. The others seemed to accept this, accept that she was on one side of the awning and their people the other, and they didn’t say another word in question, because it wasn’t worth the fight. They were all tired.

“Weaver, can you contact the hotel?” Vince asked, stepping back over to the group. “Her secretary, Claire, the one we rescued, should probably know her boss is alright, if a little torpored.” Vince looked back over his shoulder, and Weaver nodded, standing up and pulling out her phone. Vince then turned to the others carrying bodies, looking at them for a moment before looking out over the battlefield at Ray. That man was too big of a guy for any one person to carry, regardless of how strong they were. “Davis?” Vince asked, and the Nosferatu nodded, no expression under the mask but no expression needed.

“Yeah, I’ll help.” They said. Vince smiled, a sad thing, reaching out to clap the other on the shoulder before leading them out into the rain. It was still pouring, and the ground was slick, but he thought the two of them could manage to carry Ray together. “Do you, uh…you really believe that?”Davis asked, softly, as they made their way over, their voice half hidden by the rain. Vince shrugged.

“Being a bad person is always a conscious choice. Just because we’re undead doesn’t mean we’re necessarily monsters, unless we choose to be them. And I’m not a monster.” Vince said, giving Davis a shrug. He approached Ray, standing over the man’s body, considering the challenge in front of them. Ray was a hefty son of a bitch, big and beefy, and while both of them could cart the man around, how was still a question. Davis went to Ray’s shoulders, and Vince went to the man’s feet, taking a strong stance in his attempt to lift the man, hoping their unsaid plan worked. They didn’t get a chance, however.

A shot rang out, the ear splitting vibrations sharp and loud across the open field. Davis’s mask shattered, the bullet creating spider web cracksacross the front. Davis fell, having no chance to react to what happened, body hitting the ground with a wet, sickening thump. Torpored. Vince felt like he was moving in slow motion in those moments, his body reacting on instinct rather than pure thought. He snapped to being invisible, his obfuscate hiding him from being otherwise out in the open. He spun, crouched in the middle of the park, pulling his rifle from his back and immediately up to his shoulder. He could see, in the corner of his eye, Corryn jump up and Rashida grab her, holding her back, hidden by the growing trees and the original awning. Corryn was screaming, but through the ringing in Vince’s ears, he couldn’t hear what she said, but he knew what was happening - if she ran out there right then, she’d get shot just as much. Vince couldn’t hear much at all for a long second as he pulled his rifle up, but when his hearing came back to him, everything seemed to fall in all at once. Davis had been shot from somewhere off to the side, and even the militia could tell, the first word Vince heard shouted initially in Romanian across the crowd before it was echoed again in English - sniper.

He scanned the rooftops, his hands clammy and steady. He would have been able to feel his heart thump wildly in his chest, but he had no heartbeat. He could feel slick wetness on his ear, which explained the ringing - the bullet had raced right past his face to hit Davis, the sound of it throwing off his hearing for just a moment. He looked first to where Al had been, a sick feeling in his stomach - did the blood bond not wear off? Did the ritual fail? Did Al take the shot? - but he didn’t see anything, or anyone. Al clearly had moved to somewhere, as snipers were supposed to do, and Vince had lost track of the man. Fuck. He couldn’t see anyone else, however, no matter how hard he looked, even checking quickly with Auspex, which sank a deep feeling in his gut that there was only one sniper, and that sniper was Al. A second from the first shot passed, and then another. His rifle scope flashed as lightning thundered overhead.

Another shot rang out, but Vince didn’t get to hear it.

The bullet raced through the wet air, finding home first in the glass of Vince’s scope, which exploded outward in sudden hot fury, and then further on, Vince’s eye. For a moment, there was only pain, pain racing up Vince’s entire body, radiating out from his eye, from his face, from his wound. His mouth opened in shock, dropped open as his jaw went weak, and then it was like the pain coalesced all at once in the outer edges of his body. He could, of all things, feel himself ash as he died, as the damage finally took hold in his brain, as the bullet put too much punishment into his system. He felt his hands go first weak, dropping the rifle, and then go entirely, the feeling in them vanishing as they turned to dust in the wind. It was surprisingly peaceful, dying, turning to ash. There was no more sound, just silence. It was quick, too, the moment lasting no more than a second or two. The pain subsided, vanished as his body stopped registering anything at all, and that last second of life was surprisingly calm. The strangest thing was that in his final second, he breathed out, exhaled, let go, even though he didn’t breathe. Sorry, Flid. Vince managed to think, the stray thought passing through before his brain gave up the ghost.

He was ash before he fully hit the ground. His ring tumbled to the grass next to his rifle, losing a little shine as the ash of his body settled lightly on it. There was nothing left otherwise, just the rifle, the ring, a wet pile of ash, and his cigarette.

And of all things, his cigarette didn’t fall – instead, left hanging, helplessly, in midair.

FIN

#original fiction #original characters #vampires #vampire the masquerade

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blossom-beast · 1 year ago

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Oh I feel so petty as well with my conplaints about the house but as a lover of farming sims and things like minecraft were you can decorate things SO WELL with some really limited materials it just, it SUCKED SO MUCH! I was so excited for it. Like I'd have even be happy with how skyrim did it where it's a base house that you can chose what to add where and everything is nice and detailed. You don't get to pick the plot BUT that means the devs can make the area all pretty!

But then you just get the flat green square to build on, there isn't even anything around it to make it look nice! A cliff side home? They could have made that so cool! Imagine a basement that then has a balcony coming out of the mountain! Sure that's a lot and it's a zelda game not a farming game, but my point is that if they were going to include it they should have done it properly, not just like idk what felt like childs shaped building blocks. Even when you completely max out the build limit it's so empty. I feel there's a reason you see like no one pointing about their builds and stuff. You could have gotten a house in the seaside village you repair instead, that would have been perfect for it.

As for horses vs cars, the cars were too big, huge in the way and couldn't set up anything, where as the horses auto follow paths, can go pretty fast, get up NARROW paths and hills. Also you can name them, dress them up and feed them it makes you CARE about them, they even carried over your old horses from the last game! Oh course I'm going to use my horse named cookie who I braided flowers into their mane from my BOTW file that I played for 300 hours instead of the house sized wheel beast that I need a full battery belt to even be used for a good amount of time(And don't even start me on the stupid fucking grind to upgrade the belt to full. Yes I DID cheat to get it because it was so fucking annoying to get all that damn ore and the weapons to break it, IT WAS SO LONG! And out of place from everything else with the amount of grinding! "Oh I have to stop this, the days rolled over I need to get the next batch of bits from the robots!")

Too many things felt half finished, like all the carts for the horses, I loved them so much as they were real cute but like I only used them maybe 5 times for an actual in game thing? Like what was it even for? I did use them outside of that for just silly little "I'm gonna fill this with fruit and play around". A lot of my enjoyment of TOTK/BOTW was getting INTO the world and not just "ok lets kill monster and win the game." The whimsy and lore was so important to me and well idk it just didn't feel there as much. And I KNOW you feel the same as me about the guardian stuff.

But yeah um, I feel they should have cut a least half the stuff out and then polished the rest instead.

seeing all the crazy stuff people build in totk kinda ... it feels like that is also a factor in why it turned out like this, like the insane things people did in botw and the (i keep saying devs when i actually mean the directors .. producers?) directors saw it and build totk just around letting people do it all 100 times more

to be clear, i think its impressive as hell what some people build (i just saw like .. a movie scene with a functioning mech gozilla and tanks made with totks building stuff ... what the fuck) and those things go pretty viral (understandibly so) but i also gotta question

as creative, free, and impressive as it is ... should that have been the focus in a zelda game? like .. is building mechas and tanks like that something that should be in a zelda game? can it be in there without inevitably sacrificing so much else? theres building games just for that? and if you want to make it zelda themed you can make it a spin off?

like i get it, people did crazy things in botw, they saw what people had fun with and dialed it up to a 1000 in totk, which in itself is not bad, even pretty good if you consider gamedevs and feeback and all that bc in general you should embrace what people had fun with in your game even if it wasnt the intent, given that nintendy listens to feedback (perhaps even a bit too much at times) and creative solutions was a central point to botw design philosophy but

i feel like totk kinda .. missed the balance?

if its really a reason why totk is build around enabling that in a purely player centered toy box kind of way without it actually mattering in the story .. or even themes ... was it worth it? not to sound like an oldschool boomer tm but in a franchise that iconic, lore and story focused, should you really abandon nigh all lore/story cohesion just to give the player a big box of toys in a world where i feel that doesnt ,, really belong? in a direct sequel in the same world with the same characters no less? that point is perhaps the biggest issue with it, bc again lots of games even if somwhat a sequel, had strange new tech or things in the world but in all of those cases it was some alternative universe, millenia after the other game, or on an entire different continent; while totk is supposedly just a few years after botw in the very same hyrule

(still doesnt explain the erasing of all shiekah things and replacing it with sonau- tho suddendly revealing the shiekah had actual rockets, wheels with suspension and grenade-launchers, might have been confusing too- you could have enabled the player creativity with shiekah too imo, and personally i would have found it way more fun ... lil guardian leg crawlies ..)

having thought about it feels rather logical why they did it in alot of ways, but also ... totk is build around it, while its also not build around it at all- its build around the PLAYER, not the world, not the story, not the theme, not the character, but YOU (especialyl those that dont realyl care about anythign story or lore stuff and just want to have fun with the gameplay loop, which isnt wrong, but i question whether thats the right kind if player to center in a zelda game .... also not saying all of those that build these crazy things are like that but- ... i hope you know what i mean)

(i know games are always build around the player, or should be, but .. do you get what i mean????? playing in a world that doesnt make sense anymore bc its all a box of toys yeeted into my face isnt fun to me, bc im here not only for gameplay fun but for the world .. theme .. characters, its something that has to be harmonical as a whole for me and totk just .. isnt)

i say it alot but i do really mean it, its very difficult to get my thoughts and feelings written out and to have them come across correctly

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carrepair101 · 2 years ago

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jackrudolph32 · 3 years ago

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avanatural · 3 years ago

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Something More

Summary: Based on 11x04 “Baby.” Dean and Y/N are on a hunt together. When there is no motel around, they spend the night in Dean’s precious muscle car. They talk about secret dreams and fears. Will it turn into something more than a late night talk between hunting partners?

Pairing: Dean x female Reader

Category: Smut, angst, and fluff with a side of humor, 18+

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, squirting, penetrative sex, imperfect sex, Dean’s self-hate, swearing, mutual pining

Square filled: Sex in the Impala @spnmixedbingo

A/N: This story contains smut! Do not proceed if you are under the age of 18! I hope you enjoy!

Dean Winchester Masterlist

SPN Mixed Bingo 2021 Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean parked the Impala in a secluded, hidden area, sighing in defeat. He wasn’t ready to sleep yet, but he needed some rest from driving all day. His muscles felt stiff and sore. Just a few hours of lying down would be enough.

The green-eyed Winchester had a bad habit of not sleeping much. He was tired and troubled, especially due to the fact that he didn’t have many things in life to keep him happy.

Affectionately, Dean ran his hands across the old school steering wheel in front of him. Baby was one of the few things that made him happy. She was always there to bring him joy and distract him from the gruesomeness of life.

Dean peeked into the backseat. Curled up on the black bench seat was Y/N, his hunting partner for the week. She brought joy into his life, too. Her body was wrapped in a blanket, making her look like a cute, sleepy burrito.

He smiled at her sleeping form. By night, she looked so harmless and innocent. By day, on the other hand, she was a force to be reckoned with. To Dean, though, she was always gentle, always kind. It felt good to have her around.

Y/N had a smile on her face as well, probably dreaming about something more peaceful than her actual life.

Dean thought back to their almost-kiss back on their last hunt together. Fate clearly didn’t seem to like him very much. He couldn’t even get a kiss from the woman he’d had a crush on for two years without getting cock-blocked by the monster of the week.

As he chewed on his bottom lip, Dean’s mind went to that dark place where him and Y/N simply didn’t stand a chance. Not even as a hookup. He’d seen the other guys she’d gone out with. He couldn’t compare to them. Those guys had been more open, more educated, and more mature. All that Dean had going for him was that he could make Y/N laugh. It didn’t seem like enough.

Perhaps they were better off as occasional hunting partners, nothing more. But it only took one look at Y/N’s sleeping face, and Dean knew. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shake off that optimistic, greedy part of his heart that was keeping him tied to her.

Trying to get rid of his spiraling thoughts, Dean stretched out across the front seats, grabbing his laptop. Research was possibly the only way for him to stop thinking about Y/N and how beautiful she looked.

As he was in the midst of typing something into his computer, Y/N woke from her harmonious slumber, wiping her eyes. Dean noticed she was awake when her body emerged from the back, sitting up.

“Welcome to the Winchester Motel,” he announced, “We don’t have cable, but we do have room service.” He handed her a bottle of water.

She blinked heavily and took the bottle from his hand with a pleased chuckle. Dean always looked out for her. Whether it was backing her up on hunts, repairing her car, or offering her refreshments. He was always willing to help. “Thank you,” she said and opened the water bottle, “Couldn’t find a motel, huh?”

“No. And I thought we could both use some rest, so…”

“So, you decided to do research?” Her nose wrinkled, her eyes gleaming teasingly. “Should I worry about you?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “I just, uh… Can’t sleep yet,” Dean muttered, closing his laptop and putting it away.

She nodded in understanding.

“You, on the other hand…” Dean pointed his finger at her. “Seemed to be havin’ a good time in dream land.”

After quickly swallowing a few sips of water, she asked, “I slept like a baby, didn’t I?”

Dean draped his arm across the seat he was lounging on. “What were you dreamin’ about?”

A distracted, far-away expression appeared on Y/N’s face as she reveled in the memory of her dream. When she replied, she didn’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Do you ever… Want something more? Out of life?”

Dean got more comfortable against the car door, crossing his arms over his chest, the muscles in his biceps straining against his denim flannel. “All the damn time,” he confessed, “But, uh… It’s not like we can have more, right?”

Y/N found the confidence to look into his eyes, despite knowing that Dean would never be the kind of person to settle down. “I don’t know. A normal life sounds pretty tempting to me,” she admitted. Truth be told, she’d craved a normal life ever since she’d gotten revenge on the demon that had killed her family. “I, uh… I wonder what it would be like, you know? To work a nine-to-five job. To come home to someone who loves me. To have a family again. To get that normality back.”

“Yeah…” Dean nodded absentmindedly. “I wonder about that, too. I even dream about it sometimes. About what could’ve happened if none of this monster crap was real.”

“You do?”, she asked, her interest sparked.

“Yeah. It's usually the same dream, too.” He hesitated, gazing down at his scraped knuckles. Dean Winchester was not someone who opened up to just anyone. It didn’t come naturally to him. Y/N was the only person who could pull him out of his shell with a single look into his eyes. Dean could clearly picture his recurring dream as he recounted it for her. “I, uh… I’m in the car. I'm sitting in the driver's seat. My dad's sitting shotgun. Sam’s in the back.”

Y/N pushed herself up higher, leaning against the seat in front of her, her hands clasped underneath her chin. Dean’s stories never failed to draw her in, no matter if he was talking about a bloody vampire decapitation or an eventless supply run. His voice was like gravel and honey mixed together – rough yet smooth. The sound of it haunted her dreams frequently.

Y/N listened intently to Dean, eager to catch a glimpse into his inner world. The older Winchester could be such a riddle. He tended to bottle everything up. Every little piece of him that he was willing to share, Y/N was going to take.

“There are no monsters,” Dean continued, “There's no hunting. It's just… Dad's teaching me how to drive. I’m 16, and he's helping me get my learner's permit. Sam is begging to have his turn, but he’s too young. We pull up to a house – the house my family’s livin’ in – and I park in the driveway. Dad looks over at me and says ‘Perfect landing, son.’ I have that dream every couple months.”

With his brow furrowed, Dean stared at his knuckles again. There was always a thick sense of insecurity hanging in the air when he made himself vulnerable like that.

“That sounds comforting,” Y/N said, her voice soft and kind.

“It is kind of comforting, actually,” he agreed, lifting his emerald gaze again. “So, uh…” Dean cleared his throat, feeling the uneasiness fade away. “What were you dreamin’ about?”

Y/N smiled to herself, but her eyes radiated sadness. She, too, hesitated, bracing herself before speaking. “I’m with my family. We’re having a get-together for Thanksgiving. My parents are there, my siblings, everyone…” She paused for a moment and gulped. “It’s like the good old days. There’s music, and everyone’s chatting about simple, irrelevant stuff. My siblings are fighting, but I manage to break them up. The turkey’s terrible,” she chuckled shortly, causing Dean to smile along with her. “We’re all just… happy.”

“That sounds comforting, too,” Dean said, a caring sentiment evident in his tone. His voice never softened as much as it did when he spoke to Y/N.

“You were there, too,” she added, biting the inside of her cheek. By now, she was certain Dean had caught on to the fact that she fancied him. But nothing had ever happened aside from repeated flirting and that almost-kiss two months earlier.

Dean was genuinely surprised by her confession. He’d always wondered if he was on her mind while they were apart. She was certainly on his. “I was?”

“Yeah.” Y/N could feel her hands begin to sweat as her heart made the decision for her to be blunt. “When I picture having a normal life… You’re part of it.”

An intense glint of enchantment flickered across Dean’s jade eyes. He glanced at her for a long moment. Finally, he cleared his throat again. “I, uh… I dream about you, too.”

“Really?” Y/N leaned forward, propping her chin up on her hand.

“Yeah, but, uh…” Dean’s forehead twitched. He was already angry with himself for even bringing it up. But his mouth was faster than his mind. “Those dreams are not too happy.”

Her brows wrinkled. “Why is that?”

“Because you usually end up dead.” There was a lifeless, dull gleam in his eyes, and he cursed himself for taking their conversation into that direction.

A small, insecure laugh came out of Y/N’s mouth. “Well, that’s reassuring,” she tried lightening the mood. When there was no booze around, inappropriate humor was a hunter’s go-to coping mechanism.

“It’s not funny,” Dean stated weakly, “You know what? Just forget about that.”

“Hey...” She reached out to him, instantly feeling terrible, extending her hand.

He sighed, but took a hold of her hand anyway. Any touch he could get, he would take.

Y/N gave him a tight, apologetic squeeze. “You won’t lose me, Dean.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she replied and laced her fingers with his.

They stayed like that for a while, just feeling each other’s warmth.

As their tender moment was passing, a small, cheeky smile took over Dean’s lips.

Y/N arched an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“It’s just… How come we have all these chick flick moments, but we never had sex?”

Y/N laughed, the mellow sound echoing through Baby’s interior like a song. This was definitely the most straightforward Dean had ever gotten with his flirting. “We could try that sometime,” she said, her heart fluttering nervously.

He hummed, his tongue darting across his lips.

Y/N let go of his hand to give the bottle of water back to him. “We should lie down for a bit, what do you say?”

Dean took the bottle from her, putting it away. “Yeah… You’re probably right.”

His words about having sex replayed in Y/N’s mind, making her contemplate her next move. It was an understatement to say that she was curious about what could happen if she let her heart take the lead. After observing Dean for a few moments, she grabbed the bull by the horns. “Do you wanna… Get back here?”, she suggested, pressing her lips together in apprehension as soon as the words had left her mouth.

Dean stared at her face, trying to figure out her intentions. “To sleep, or…?”

Y/N shrugged. “We’ll see, I guess.”

A bashful grin popped up on Dean’s pink lips. He felt like he was a teenager that got to play spin the bottle for the first time. Only this was a million times better. “Alright.” He opened the passenger door to climb out while Y/N pushed open the back door for him.

Once he got into the backseat, Dean pulled the door shut behind him, careful with Baby as always. Y/N scooted backwards to make room for him.

Together, the two of them sprawled out against the leather seats. They faced each other, lying on their sides. Dean wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close as she draped the blanket over their bodies.

Once they were both covered by the blanket, all cozy and warm in the backseat, Y/N cupped his cheek with her hand and let her thumb sweep along his cheekbone.

Dean closed his eyes at the touch, savoring how caring she was with him. He wanted more of that in his life, but wouldn’t have dared to say it out loud.

When Dean re-opened his eyes, Y/N was smiling back at him.

“What?”, he asked.

She kept her hand on his cheek. “Just enjoying the moment, is all.”

The way her eyes drifted across his face made Dean forget to breathe for a second. He knew he was playing a risky game, walking that thin line between being flirty friends and being something more. But hell, he wanted to cross that line.

One more look into her eyes, and Dean took the leap. His heart rate picked up as he closed the small distance and cautiously laid his lips on hers.

Y/N didn’t appear fazed in the slightest, reciprocating his kiss.

It was as though their lips belonged with each other. Dean’s long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as his mouth molded against hers.

Y/N opened her mouth and poked her tongue against Dean’s lips. He was quick to grant her access, their tongues soon mingling.

Dean held her in his strong arms, digging his fingers into the blanket that was covering her back, and pulled her on top of him.

Y/N huffed out a quick breath at the sudden movement, soon relaxing and grinning against his mouth. “I didn’t expect this to happen tonight,” she uttered.

“Me neither,” he breathed in between soft pecks of her lips.

As Y/N deepened their kiss, moving her sultry mouth against his, Dean pulled the blanket off of their bodies. It landed somewhere on Baby’s floor, quickly forgotten.

Y/N caught Dean’s bottom lip between her teeth, giving him a playful bite. He moaned, chasing her mouth and paying her back by nipping on her lower lip. He could feel her grind against him, making his half-erect member harden. His jeans were becoming too restrictive.

“Damn, Sweetheart…,” he murmured under his breath, his fingers looping around the back of her neck to pull her in for more kisses.

“I want you,” Y/N muttered in between swipes of their tongues.

“Want you, too,” Dean slurred, his hands tangling in her shirt, pushing it up around her waist. He needed to feel her bare skin. Letting his palms glide along the hot patch of skin on her lower back, Dean felt his dick twitch in his pants.

Y/N placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself away from him.

Dean frowned as her lips left his, his mouth forming a perfect pout. His pout changed into an expression of pleasure as Y/N sat up on top of him, giving him more friction.

“Allow me,” she said.

Y/N pulled her shirt over her head while Dean gawked up at her with anticipation, refusing to miss a single second of the gift she was giving him. She wore an old, simple sports bra underneath.

Dean licked his lips at the sight of her smooth skin. He had never seen anything more gorgeous. Reaching out, he slid his hands up her waist.

“Your turn,” she insisted, fumbling with his t-shirt.

Dean sat up as well, using his arm to secure Y/N in his lap, and scooted backward. He brought her with him, resting his back against the door.

Impatiently, Dean shrugged his flannel off. It got stuck on his watch, making him cuss under his breath. Y/N shook her head in amusement, chuckling slightly, and jumped in to help. She tugged the flannel over his wrist until Dean could fling it to the side.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to pull at his t-shirt. He raised his arms to help her, the black fabric soon dragged over his head, leaving his hair even spikier.

Dean only hoped she was going to like what she saw. Once the t-shirt was off, he paused and held his breath, gauging her reaction to his body. To his relief, Y/N’s face brightened as she took him in. The corners of her lips turned up, her eyes glimmering with mischief.

What he didn’t expect was for Y/N to lean down and run her tongue along his left nipple. She then caught the pink nub between her teeth, biting gently before letting go.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, getting more turned on by the second. He let his head drop back against the window.

Y/N took her chance to press her lips to his neck and pepper his skin with soft kisses. Dean’s hand wandered to the back of her head, his fingers disappearing between the Y/H/C strands. Her hot lips were scorching him in the best way imaginable.

After delivering a lengthy suck to his pulse point, Y/N skimmed her lips down his torso. While her mouth was occupied with the delicious skin of his chest, she opened the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper.

Dean felt himself twitch once more, needing to be freed of his confines. Y/N kissed his stomach and started to pull down his jeans. He lifted himself to help her take them off. Within a matter of seconds, his jeans disappeared in the darkness that was Baby’s floor.

As she grabbed the hem of his boxers, Y/N’s mouth stopped moving across his skin. Her lips rested on his stomach. Her eyes were looking up at Dean, asking him a silent question.

He grinned at her, in awe, threading his fingers through her hair.

The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Still, she waited for his permission, which he uttered soon after.

“Go ahead.”

Y/N’s eyes shone up at him with desire. Another lasting peck to his stomach, and she tugged down his boxers. Once his underwear hit the floor, she scooted backward across the leather seat, kneeling on it comfortably. Taking Dean’s length into her hand, she tentatively licked the head, watching him.

When Y/N’s tongue dipped into the slit, Dean took a deep inhale, unable to believe his luck. He shakily released his breath as she closed her mouth around the tip and sucked.

Taking more of him into her mouth, she licked the vein on the underside of his cock. Once he hit the back of her throat, she sucked her way back up.

Dean sunk his teeth into his lower lip, watching closely as she started to bob her head up and down. Y/N hummed, sending little sparks of electricity through his member. Her hand came up to fondle his balls, making him feel like he was on top of the world.

“Fuck, that feels so good…,” he rambled under his breath.

Y/N gazed up at him, smiling around his length. After releasing him with a gentle pop, she planted a kiss on his tip. Moving down, she started to lick his balls.

Dean gulped, breathing heavily. Y/N’s hand closed around his dick, pumping slowly, tilting her hand on each upstroke. Dean let his head fall back against the window once more.

Y/N observed his reactions closely, with each passing second figuring out more and more what he liked.

For the first time in a long while, Dean felt himself relax. The muscles in his upper body were able to just let go, while the muscles in his stomach and thighs tightened at their own accord. What Y/N was doing to him sent him into a headspace of pleasure and devotion. She wasn’t just fulfilling his needs. She was taking care of him. He let his guard down, knowing that he was safe with his hunting partner.

Y/N was jerking him faster now, egged on by the moans that were leaving his mouth. “Y/N…,” he groaned, his hand cupping her cheek, “Wait… Wait, you’re gonna make me come.”

She released his member and tore her mouth away from his balls, sitting up to wipe her mouth.

Dean was still breathing heavily, beaming at her. “That was… You’re… Wow.” Placing his feet on the ground, he slid across the backseat to get closer to Y/N. He circled his arms around her waist, pulling her in for a deep kiss.

As she placed a hand on his jaw, Y/N felt the slight stubble that was growing on his skin.

Dean’s fingers went to her sports bra, curiously fumbling with the worn fabric.

“Go ahead,” she whispered into his kiss.

Dean took a hold of her bra and started to pull it up. She broke away from his mouth and held up her arms, letting him pull it over her head.

As soon as Y/N’s upper body was bare to the sight, Dean took his sweet time eyeballing her.

She drew her lower lip out between her teeth, hoping that Dean liked what he saw. The way his eyes darkened gave her the impression that he did. His tongue was stuck between his teeth as he met her eyes again.

Y/N couldn’t contain her luscious grin, the butterflies in her stomach growing twice their size.

Dean spread his palm out on her chest and collar bone. By applying a bit of pressure, he pushed Y/N backward, making her lie down against the leather seats.

She knew it was going to be a tight fit, the two of them in the Impala, but her cautions had been thrown out the window the second she’d first felt Dean’s lips on hers.

His hands couldn’t resist, cupping her breasts as he hovered above her. His thumbs brushed along her nipples, his touch light as a feather.

Y/N could feel goosebumps erupt on her skin, the hair on her arms standing up, a tingling sensation rushing up and down her spine.

Dean bent down and kissed her briefly. “Gimme a sec…,” he mumbled, pulling back.

Y/N waited, watching as he collected the blanket and his clothes from the ground. He then rolled them into a messy ball of fabric. “What are you doing?”, she wondered out loud.

“Sit up.” Dean tilted his head, gesturing for her to get up.

She propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes narrowed questioningly. Her confusion was soon replaced by a feeling of gratitude as she realized he was creating a pillow for her.

Dean crammed the pile of different fabrics into the corner between the seat and the door, waiting until Y/N laid her head back against the makeshift pillow.

She felt her heart thump happily against her chest. “Thanks.” Placing her hands on his cheeks, she pulled Dean down for more kisses. His lips felt full and voluptuous against hers, making her want to devour him.

He allowed her to peck his lips a few more times before descending to her jaw and throat, lining her skin with sizzling kisses. Y/N tilted her head back, desperate to give his mouth more ground to cover. He unbuttoned an unzipped her pants just like she’d done with his.

Once her jeans were discarded, Dean’s fingers disappeared into her panties, running up and down her slit. “You’re so wet,” he spoke into her ear, his low, raspy voice vibrating through her entire body.

Y/N hummed from deep within her chest as he started to rotate his fingers around her clit, using her wetness to smoothen his movements. Every time her muscles twitched, Dean made sure to repeat his movements. He wanted to study every inch of her, get to know what she liked.

“Feelin’ good?”, he asked, his breath fanning against her cheek.

“Very good.” A moan escaped her lips as Dean pushed a finger inside of her. She gripped his wide shoulders, almost questioning whether this was really happening.

A second finger joined the first, Dean steadily pumping them in and out of Y/N. He could feel her getting wetter by the second, making him wonder how much longer either of them could wait to get to fourth base.

Dean had wondered what she would feel like ever since he’d seen her for the first time. But the more their friendship had progressed, the more unattainable it had felt. And now, he was knuckle-deep inside the woman of his dreams. ‘What a lucky bastard,’ he thought to himself.

When he curled his fingers, Y/N’s back arched, the pads of his fingers brushing against that magical spot. “Dean,” she whined.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathed, nipping on her jaw and paying extra attention to the spongy texture inside of her.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Dean, her hands clinging to his shoulder blades while he brought her closer and closer to release. “Oh God, yes.”

His hand moved faster, plunging his fingers in and out of her. His free hand pushed down on her lower stomach as he kept rubbing that spot.

“Dean… Dean, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna make a mess,” Y/N warned, her voice strained.

His head perked up at her words, his fingers slacking slightly, his green eyes focusing on her with astonishment, “You gonna squirt?”

“Uh-huh…,” she croaked, “So, unless you-“

“I wanna see that,” he declared, a sly grin spreading on his lips, “Please.”

A small, disbelieving laugh escaped Y/N’s mouth, but it was soon turned into another whine.

Dean went back to vigorously rubbing his two fingers against her g-spot. The squelching sound of her wetness only spurred him on.

Soon after, Y/N’s insides tingled and she could feel herself gushing over his fingers. Her thighs were trembling and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her vision went white for a second, making her feel like she was floating on a cloud.

Dean watched her come undone with amazement, eagerly drinking in every bit of her response to the pleasure.

Y/N opened her eyes, her chest moving up and down with harsh breaths.

“Damn, that was hot,” Dean uttered, nuzzling his nose against Y/N’s. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips and broke away from her. After retrieving his boxers from the floor, he used them to dry the seat and wipe away her juices.

“Do you have a condom?”, Y/N asked, still catching her breath.

For a second, Dean actually considered pinching himself. Never in a million years had he expected to ever get that question from her. Was this actually happening? “Yeah, sure.” He tossed his boxers back to the floor.

With a slight grunt, Dean leaned over the front seat to reach the glove compartment.

Y/N lied back against her makeshift pillow, studying Dean’s body as he continued his search for a condom. His broad back was shielding her view of the front seat. She could see the muscles in his arms move as his hands rummaged through the glove compartment. Every part of his figure was truly stunning. Her eyes lingered on his firm butt for a moment. Definitely stunning. Smiling to herself, she ripped her gaze away from Dean to stare at the ceiling of the Impala.

As she waited, her mind began to wander. She knew Dean was not the type of guy to stick around after a hookup. Not that she was expecting him to. She knew the life, knew what it was like. But tonight, Dean Winchester belonged to her. He held a special place in her heart. That one special place. It was an experience she was going to cherish, even if she was one of many.

Y/N came back to the present moment when Dean climbed into the backseat again. He ripped open the foil packet and threw a wink at her. Once he’d rolled the condom on, he crawled on top of her body, one of his hands resting on the leather backrest.

“Hey,” she whispered, hooking her arms around his neck.

“Hey.” He scanned her face, taking in every single detail. A strange feeling caused his heart to swell. He hadn’t felt this sensation for so long that he almost didn’t recognize it. “Ready?”

Replying with a hum, Y/N pulled him closer. Dean grabbed himself and lined up with her entrance. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down her wetness several times.

“Dean,” Y/N huffed out a complaint.

He snickered, faint dimples showing themselves on his cheeks. Carefully, he pushed the tip through her lower lips. Dean held his breath as he drove himself deeper into her.

Y/N, on the other hand, inhaled with a small hiss.

Dean’s lips grazed her jaw. “You good?”

“Yeah. Give me a minute.”

He moved his head in understanding and distracted Y/N from the stretch with attentive kisses and experimental thrusts.

Her bated breaths soon turned into moans, giving Dean a signal to give longer, deeper strokes. “Fuck, Y/N, you feel amazing.” He dropped his head to her shoulder, relishing in the feeling of her tightness around him.

“Mhh, Dean…”

He grasped her thighs in his hands and pushed them up, making them rest against her chest. As he bent her in half, he bumped his cock into her sweet spot.

“Right there,” she moaned, throwing her head back against her pillow.

Getting lost in her, Dean grunted and released moans of his own. His thrusts sped up, the sound of skin hitting skin soon echoing through the car. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel good, to give her a night to remember.

His thrusts conveyed his need and craving for her. Each one of his movements was calculated. He was determined to make her see stars tonight.

As Y/N climbed higher and higher on the ladder to bliss, Dean pulled out of her.

She breathed heavily, searching his eyes for an explanation.

Dean offered her his hand. “Turn around.”

Y/N caught his drift and let him pull her up. Swiftly, she got up on her knees, turning her back to him. She braced her forearms against the car door, bending over.

Dean’s hand closed around one of her hips. With his other hand, he lined himself up again.

They sighed in unison as his long dick penetrated her from behind. The two lovers became consumed by their raw longing for each other.

Dean used her waist as leverage, gripping it to pull her back against him as he shoved himself into her. Y/N pushed herself back onto him, trembling with passion.

Neither of them could recall when the windows had started to fog up. Or when the Impala had started rocking in sync with their movements. If anyone had stopped by, they would have been able to tell instantly what was going on inside the vehicle.

On the spur of the moment, a dull banging sound rang through the car. Y/N placed a hand on her head instinctively, feeling a quick, sharp pain.

By delivering a particularly rough thrust, Dean had caused her head to collide with the glass of the window.

“Oh, crap,” Dean exclaimed, pulling out of her, his eyes wide. He quickly collected Y/N in his arms and tucked her against him.

Lucky for him, her body was shaking with breathless laughter. She turned around to look up at Dean, soon dropping her head against this chest as another burst of giggles spilled from her mouth.

He couldn’t contain himself and started to chuckle along with her. Of course, he had to go and ruin his chance at blowing her mind. “You okay?”, he inquired, his upper body vibrating with laughter.

“I’m good,” she assured him, still cackling, meeting his eyes. “It sounded a lot worse than it felt.”

Their laughter slowly died down, the goofiness fading away. “I’m sorry.” Dean gently brushed some hair out of her face, his fingertips barely grazing her cheek.

Y/N shook her head, not wanting him to feel bad. Sex wasn’t always perfect, and that was fine. It couldn’t get better than Dean Winchester, anyways. “It’s fine, really. Come on.” She placed her palms on his bulky shoulders and made him sit in the backseat, his feet planted on the floor.

Effortlessly, Y/N swung her leg over Dean’s thighs and straddled his lap. As he ogled her body, he fell in love with every single part of her physique. He could definitely get used to that sight.

Y/N let her forehead touch his as she sank down on him. Dean gritted his teeth, focusing on her eyes. They were dark and filled with yearning, matching perfectly what he felt for her.

Placing her hands on the leather behind him, she started to move up and down.

Dean caught her lips with his, one hand holding the side of her neck while the other found her thigh.

He clawed at her thigh with his fingers, squeezing her flesh with desperation. His greedy touch made Y/N move her hips more forcefully. Before long, she was bouncing up and down on Dean.

He threw his head back against the leather seat, knowing that he was nearing his ecstatic end.

The Impala was silent, save for the low breathing that came from Dean and Y/N.

Y/N’s leg was hooked over his thighs, her head resting against his chest. As Dean ran his fingertips up and down her arm, she closed her eyes. A strong feeling of comfort and contentment overcame her, making her wish the night was never going to end. Dean’s heart was beating steadily, the low sound of it pulsating through her ear.

As soon as the sun would rise to introduce a new day, they were going to be hunters again. They were going to risk their lives to save strangers. Y/N wished she could just get out of that life and experience euphoria like this every day.

“You still awake?”, Dean mumbled, gently caressing her hair.

“Yeah.”

“We should try this in a bed one day.”

An automatic smile appeared on her lips, his words leaving her breathless with hope. After pecking the spot right over his heart, she nodded. “We should.”

“I promise I’m not gonna bang your head against the headboard.” He glanced down at her with an apologetic yet cheeky expression.

Strings of laughter soon echoed through the interior of the Impala, both their torsos jerking with amusement.

For now, all they had was the sweet memory they’d created of their first night together. Perhaps one day, they could have something more.

Tag list: @eevvvaa @waynes-multiverse @myloversgone @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @alagalaska @woodworthti666 @deanwanddamons @libre1rose8 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @awkward-and-indecisive

#dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #impala sex #reader insert #supernatural imagine #spn imagine

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msmarvelouswinchester · 4 years ago

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Ever Been In The Backseat?

Summary - Your fantasy involving a certain green-eyed actor, yourself and a certain classic, black car comes true.

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Warning - Smut 18+, Unprotected sex (y'all are better than that), Oral sex (fem receiving), bearded!jensen, fluff, a little mention of Dom!Jensen (this fic really got out of my hand), just pure filth, PWP.

Word Count - 1890

Square Filled - Shirtless!Jensen ( @spndeanbingo )

Written for @anaelsbrunette's Yas 20th Birthday Bash. HAPPY BIRTHDAY IN ADVANCE YAS! Hope you like this <3<3 Prompt is in bold.

I blame this fic idea entirely on @jawritter but I don't think she is sorry, neither am I.

Beta'd by the lovely @deanwanddamons. Before writing this, I went through her fic "The One With Baby" to get an idea of the smut so she deserves a double shoutout!

I love the Ackles fam but for the sake of this fic, Jensen is not married to Danneel. This is only a work of fiction.

All the adult stuff is mentioned under the cut. So if you're under 18, DO NOT read any further!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Looking up from your book, you realized the house was incredibly quiet. This was very unusual considering your husband was home. Normally you could hear his deep voice from his office on the other side of the hall or hear him strumming his guitar, humming along to an unknown song, but today the house was quiet and Jensen was nowhere to be found.

As if on cue, your four legged, fur baby walked into the room. Putting aside the book in your hand, you extended your arms to beckon the dog.

“Where's Dad?” You asked him as the German Shepherd walked up to you, wagging his tail. The dog tilted his head, looking up at you. “Even you don't know, huh?” You got up from your seat, kneeling down in front of the dog and gently patted his head. “Come on. Let's go find him.”

Noticing the door to the garage was open, you went in. Since the arrival of Dean’s beloved Impala, Jensen had been spending an ungodly amount of time in there, repairing and oiling the parts of the classic car and right now, the said actor was standing there in front of Baby with hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork.

Smacking your lips, you let your eyes roam over his body, taking in how his jeans clung low on his hips, the black shirt fitting his toned body perfectly, his piece of flannel lay abandoned on the garage floor. Your lips parted, a small sigh leaving them as Jensen's hand went up to his face, scratching his scruffy beard. You shivered ever so lightly at the memory of last night - the sweet burn of that beard you had felt as his sinful mouth was devouring you. The thought itself made a light blush creep up your neck, but you gathered yourself and asked, “How long have you been down here, Mr. Ackles?”

“Hey.” Jensen looked up at your words, smiling when he saw you. “Kinda lost track of time. Miss me already?”

“Mhm.” You slowly approached the man. Pecking his lips, you asked, “Is she all set for a ride?”

“Oh you bet she is.” Jensen smirked, quickly catching on to your innuendo. You let your eyes travel south of his body as he bent over to pick up a rag cloth and his black shirt rode up a little, giving you a glimpse of his stomach. Your mind instantly ran wild with thoughts involving a certain green eyed man and you in the backseat of a certain black car.

“Eyes up here, missus.” Jensen's voice pulled you out of your explicit thoughts and your eyes snapped up to meet with his green ones. Cleaning his hands, he threw the rag on the floor. “So what brought you down here, sweetheart?” He husked.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you heard his pet name for you. Very often, you had noticed that the thin line between the actor and character had started getting blurred even when Jensen was home - this was one of those times.

“You look very….Dean, you know.” You said, ignoring his question, “Except this.” You touched his bearded face to emphasise your words. Jensen made quick work of shutting the hood before looking at you again.

“You didn't seem to mind it last night when you were begging me for more.” His lips tugged up in a smirk. “I bet you are thinking about it right now, aren't ya?”

‘Fuck, how did he know?’ You wondered, but all your rational thoughts flew out of the window when he took your hand in his, entangling his fingers with yours. Jensen's other hand moved to your waist, holding you tightly, pulling you dangerously close to his body. You placed your free hand on your husband's shoulder to steady yourself when he leaned in, claiming your lips with his pink, plump ones, his beard tickling your face a little. Jensen's fingers untangled themselves from yours and his other hand left your waist and both moved up to cup your face.

Moaning, you hooked your hands behind his neck as his teeth grazed your lip. Your knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into your mouth . Your whole body tingled , your eyes slipped closed, and your toes curling as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. You felt your lungs screaming for air until Jensen finally let go of your lips. You opened your eyes and saw him staring at you, his eyes blown with lust. He slammed you against the door of the car.

You gasped when his hands sneaked under your shirt. With one swift movement of his hand, Jensen lifted your shirt over your head, throwing it on the ground, leaving you in just your bra. His hands pinned yours down to the side as he moved closer to you, his growing excitement pressed against your thigh. He hungrily attacked your lips once more. You had barely caught your breath when his mouth started to move downwards.

“Jay-” you whined when he nipped on the pulse point in your neck, Jensen let go of your hands, cupping your face as he whispered against your neck, “Jay what, baby?” The feel of his lips sent shivers down your spine. He ran his hand down your body, stopping at the waistband of your slacks.

“I-” you sucked in a deep breath when his fingers dipped below the waistband of your slacks, brushing against your already dampened cotton panties, pulling a soft whimper out of your lips.

“Baby, you're soaked.” He husked. “Tell me sweetheart, how long have you thinkin’ about getting fucked in the backseat?”

“L-long-” the words got stuck in your throat when he pinched your inner thigh.

“Didn't hear you. Say it louder.” He growled into your ear, his beard grazing past the skin on your neck. “Say it, baby.”

“Long e-enough.” Jensen hummed as his hand teasingly circled around your clothed core, pinching and squeezing the skin of your inner thighs.

“Fucking tease.” You whined at the sudden loss of touch when he pulled out his hand.

“What do you want? Tell me.” He smirked, looking into your eyes.

“Fuck me.”

And that's all it took for Jensen to open the door to the backseat of the Impala before nudging you to go in. You did so in with shaky legs and slid across the seat. Jensen lifted his shirt over his head with one swift motion of his wrist before undoing his belt. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your slacks and pulled them off, along with your ruined panties. Smirking again, he climbed into the car beside you, closing the door behind him. Unhooking your bra, Jensen's hands moved up to your breasts, kneading and massaging them. His fingers caressed your stiff nipples before his mouth latched onto one sensitive bud. He flicked your nipple gently while his fingers worked on the other one.

“Fuck-” you moaned aloud, your voice bouncing off the closed doors of the Chevrolet. Stopping the assault on your nipple, his mouth started to move down after placing a kiss on the valley between your breasts. He caressed your entire torso, his mouth trailing kisses down your body before he gently pushed your legs apart, dipping his head down to your heated core. He left a trail of wet kisses up your thigh, his beard leaving a sweet burn on your skin in its wake.

His hot breath fanned against your throbbing pussy. He looked up at you before pushing one of his fingers inside you, eliciting a moan out of you. He pumped hard twice before adding a second finger.

“Fuck-” you moaned.

“That's exactly what I'm planning on to do.” Jensen rasped, as he increased the pace, curling his fingers inside you, brushing past your g-spot repeatedly. You sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled out his fingers and his mouth latched onto your aching pussy. You arched your back at his action. Your hands moved down, fingers getting tangled up in his long hair, pulling a low growl out of him, the vibrations of it edging you over.

“Jen-oh shit!” You exclaimed as he hungrily devoured you, his tongue repeatedly assaulting your sensitive pussy, sucking needily on your bundle of nerves. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over you.

“Shit!” You gasped as Jensen’s tongue lapped your juices hungrily. Panting, you tried to come down from your high as you saw him lift himself up slightly to get rid of his jeans. Your eyes were drawn towardson his noticeable bulge. Moving your hands near him, you reached out to palm his hardened cock through his boxers.

“Fuck baby-” Jensen groaned before grasping you by your wrist.

“If you keep doing that, I won't last long.” He purred, pulling his boxers down and discarding them somewhere on the front seat. His erection sprung free from his confines. Taking his hardened cock in his hand, he gave it a few strokes, running his hand up and down his shaft, the tip beaded with precum. He lined himself with your dripping entrance. His swollen tip teasingly nudged at your opening before he pushed himself into you.

“Oh-” you hissed, the sensation painful at first, but your mouth fell open in an inaudible moan as that pain turned into pleasure. “You need to m-move.” You said. He lifted himself up, pulling out of you leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside you, before pushing back in again, deeper than before. You bucked your hips to match with his rhythm. Locking his fingers with yours, Jensen kept thrusting deep into you as you finally settled in a sync with him.

With every thrust, you inched closer to your release as both your breathing became ragged. The car’s confined space was filled with needy moans and deep breaths. Jensen buried his face in the crook of your neck as you felt the coil in your stomach tightening once more. He nibbled on your skin. You freed your hands from his grip and placed them on the small of his back as your nails dug into his skin.

“Fuck-Y/N!” He exclaimed and your nails dug deeper, his breath tickling your neck along with his beard.

“‘M close,” you breathed out.

“Mhm. That's it, baby, just like that, let it go.” Jensen rasped, as his thrusts became sloppy. Your coil finally snapped as a wave of sheer ecstasy washed over you.

“Fuck! Fuck! Jensen!” You cried out as you felt yourself coming undone. A few more thrusts and Jensen spilled himself into you, a grunt falling out of his lips, as his seed coated your walls. He collapsed on top of you, trying to catch his breath. Pecking your lips, he pulled out of you. You stared up at the foggy glass windows as Jensen reached for his boxers. Opening the door, he stepped out in all his naked glory. You sat up in the seat, also naked, as you watched him pull his boxers and jeans back up, leaving his belt unbuckled.

As Jensen turned his back to grab his shirt, you whispered loud enough for him to hear, “The backseat of Baby surely now has some stains and stories.”

Feedback is highly appreciated!

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen x you #jensen x y/n #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles #supernatural #dean winchester #YAS’SBIRTHDAYBASH #jensen fic #jensen ackles fic #pwp #smut #spn fanfic #spn rpf #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic

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architectuul · 3 years ago

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The Story Of The Abandoned Car Factory Pragovka

Prague is a city of postcard-perfect architecture: from immaculate works of Gothic beauty – like St. Vitus Cathedral and the 13th century Old New Synagogue in Josefov – to the statue-lined Charles Bridge, or the monumental neo-Renaissance building of the National Museum looking out across Wenceslas Square. It is not a city that most would associate with industrial decay, however Prague’s former palaces of industry are no less grand, even while history is in the process of burying them.

The Praga Car Factory Pragovka. | Photo via E-Factory.cz

The Praga Car Factory Pragovka on the city’s eastern edge was once the beating heart of the Czechoslovak manufacturing industry. It played a significant role in the city’s 20th century history, but it was here at the Prague’s darkest days was set into motion. In 1968 workers at Pragovka sent a letter to the Soviet Embassy requesting support in the fight against liberalisation. This letter, published in Pravda, would then be used as justification for the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia.

The Praga Car Factory today. | Photo Katka Havlíková

Pragovka is abandoned since the turn of the 21st century and is now a sprawling ruin, its extravagant factory halls succumbing slowly to time and nature. In 2017 I went to explore what was left of it. The Car Factory was founded in 1907 as a manufacturing site in the eastern suburbs of Prague, with just 30 employees. Two years later, its parent company adopted the name ‘Praga’ – the car brand used the Latin form of the city’s name in the hope of sounding more international. During WWI the Praga factory (then known as the First Czech-Moravian Machine Factory) supplied the Austro-Hungarian army; then after 1918 and the independence of Czechoslovakia, it began to focus more on passenger cars.

The main hall of the Pragovka factory in 2017. | Photo Katka Havlíková

The large, angled windows allowed plenty of natural light to enter, reducing electricity costs. | Photo Katka Havlíková

In 1927 Praga was incorporated into the new ČKD (Českomoravská Kolben-Daněk) group, one of the largest engineering companies in Czechoslovakia. Among other vehicles (including tanks, locomotives, tractors, motorcycles and metro cars), ČKD produced cars under the Praga, Škoda and Tatra brands, and was famous for making the Tatra T3 tramcar – a design which would sell almost 14,000 units, and become an iconic sight on the streets of socialist cities from Sarajevo to Tashkent. Meanwhile as many as half of the taxis on Prague’s streets had rolled out of this factory.

Left: Cover of a 1962 sales brochure from Strojexport, featuring the Tatra T3 tramcar. Right: Vintage poster featuring the Tatra T77.

In recent years, the Pragovka complex has been recognised as a heritage site and some of its spaces have been developed into an arts district. There is a retro-themed ‘Pragovka Cafe,’ and the place hosts film screenings, concerts and festivals. Reportedly as many as a hundred local artists have studios now on the former factory grounds, while the large E-Factory building has been converted into a gallery space.

Some outer buildings still remain, linked by covered walkways. Other buildings have been bulldozed. | Photo Katka Havlíková

There’s talk of building apartments here too in future, a trendy new community rising up amidst the industrial decay. A large part of the complex remains off-limits for now though – and it was here that we entered. During the visit of Prague was fortunate enough to be offered a tour of its best ruins the local photographer Katka Havlíková.

Raised gas pipes above an overgrown courtyard. | Photo Katka Havlíková

The factory has been abandoned long enough for creepers and graffiti to cover many of its surfaces. | Photo Katka Havlíková

Katka picks a careful path through the debris-field, towards the first of the factory’s grand production halls. | Photo Katka Havlíková

She led us around the back of the factory where we scrambled up a slope of rubble to reach a promontory at the corner of the former yard. Ahead of us lay a sea of green. Thick vegetation hid the concrete courtyard, with only the occasional street light, rising like drowning hands from water, to suggest that anything unnatural lay beneath. The main buildings, those still standing, were just visible through the trees and so we cut a path down through the overgrown wreckage towards the old factory halls.

The largest of Pragovka’s manufacturing halls looks no less grand today with its full-height windows. | Photo Katka Havlíková

After poking around in a few of the outer buildings that rise now out of bushes and debris, we made it finally to the main manufacturing halls of Pragovka. It was strange to see a building this grand left to ruin. The complex was built back in a time when factories and power plants were temples of the people – places of pride, not merely function, their spaces defined with grand architectural flourishes. This main hall could have been a train station, not a car factory. Natural light illuminated the hall from floor-to-ceiling windows (much of their glass still intact), while pillars supported an arched ceiling high above.

Nature creeps into Pragovka – vines find a way inside through broken window, letterboxes, or any other breach in the outer wall. | Photo Katka Havlíková

We didn’t see the new arts district at all – a fact indicative of just how large this complex was – but it was hard to imagine how any small business or community project could successfully take over a space like this. The factory halls were beautiful, but built on such a scale that maintenance and repairs would be an extraordinary burden, particularly after all these years of decline.

Two levels of offices lined the wall. | Photo Katka Havlíková

A staircase connects floors inside the main building. | Photo Katka Havlíková

The seeming inevitability of this factory’s ruin cast a melancholy mood over the few hours we spent wandering the halls of Pragovka. Right now, like this, with the warm sun slicing in sideways through the dirty glass windows, and the greenery of nature’s scouts – along with bursts of bright graffiti – lending fresh colour to the otherwise muted palette of pastel-painted walls and pillars: Pragovka might never look this good again.

Old ledgers amongst broken glass in the courtyard.| Photo Katka Havlíková

When Pragovka falls, much of its history will be buried with it; and perhaps for some, that might be for the best. Pragovka is remembered not only as the heart of the Czechoslovak manufacturing industry, but it is also a place where the communists made their stand – forever linking these buildings with a historic victory for the pro-Soviet movement. In 1968 the Soviet Union and its allies led an overnight invasion of Czechoslovakia – to suppress the Prague Spring, a growing liberalisation movement under First Secretary Alexander Dubček. Although history remembers the event as an act of totalitarian foreign aggression, that invasion was not, in fact, universally unwelcome.

A wall has collapsed to reveal the stairwell inside. | Photo Katka Havlíková

Numerous workers’ unions in Czechoslovakia supported Soviet intervention in their country, and one of the key triggers of the invasion was a letter of invitation, that was written here, at the Praga Car Factory. In 1971 the Czechoslovak journalist Josef Maxa authored A Year is Eight Months, which recounts the events of the Prague Spring and leading up to the invasion. “Moscow’s Pravda published a letter from ninety-nine workers in the Pragovka factory in Prague to the Soviet Embassy,” he wrote. “The letter denounced the Czechoslovakian enemies of socialism and of the Soviet Union.” That document was known as the “Letter of the Ninety-nine Praguers,” and it warned the Soviet Embassy how: “the manifestations of the democratisation of society in our republic threaten the building of socialism and in so doing, attack the blood-hardened friendship between the Czech and Soviet peoples” (as paraphrased by Martin Půlpán).

Rooftop above one of the manufacturing halls.| Photo Katka Havlíková

The letter claimed that all honest citizens of Czechoslovakia felt safer in the presence of Soviet and Warsaw Pact troops occupying their country. When Pravda printed the letter, on 30 July 1968, along with all ninety-nine signatures, the document would be used as justification for the swift invasion that followed in August. The incoming normalisation government that subsequently took charge of Czechoslovakia would valorise the authors of that letter – raising a memorial plaque at the main entrance to Pragovka, that read: “In the revolutionary tradition of this great workers’ nation, a letter with ninety-nine signatures was sent to the USSR in the critical year of 1968, requesting support and assistance in fighting anti-socialist forces.”

A bright and airy side room near the main factory floor. | Photo Katka Havlíková

Nowadays that plaque is long gone. The gates of Pragovka stand barred, and the halls where the letter was written are lost to a maze of rubble, weeds and graffiti. The factory’s decline today is an inevitability – it is a temple to a lost industry, a relic displaced from its time and no longer fit for purpose in the new industrial landscape of the Czech Republic.

The wall in a former office space. | Photo Katka Havlíková

Though Pragovka’s political history likely doesn’t help to endear these halls to the citizens of contemporary Prague – and it’s hard not to read some level of symbolism as this celebrated factory, once enshrined like a victorious battlefield in Czechoslovakia’s communist historiography, is slowly carved up, and crushed, by the oncoming future.

by Darmon Richter

[adapted with permission from an article at Ex Utopia]

#foma

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years ago

Note

Isamu and Aruto, 15

Hon, you get to cheat and get a fourth prompt in for this round because I really wanted to write some Fuwa. Big thanks to my husband for workshopping Bad Aruto Jokes with me over 1. a long car trip and 2. a shared diner milkshake.

15. "Why are you staring at me?"

The lab is quiet but for the hum of machinery. Aruto sits at his grandfather's work table, tools gleaming like jewelry on a square of green velvet next to his elbow. In front of him is one of his grandfather's notebooks, an engineering textbook, and a partially-disassembled Humagear forearm and hand.

It is, if he's being perfectly honest, the creepiest thing Isamu's ever seen. Just...a hand, lying there. It's even got painted nails.

Not looking up from...whatever he's doing, Aruto says, cheerfully, "So what can I do for you, Fuwa?"

Isamu coughs nervously. "I, uh. My ShotRiser needs a repair and Yaiba's busy, I thought you might. Help."

"Oh, sure, I mean, I'll take a look, I'm just in the middle of something--do you mind hanging out? I could kinda use the company, Izu's busy and it feels weird being by myself."

I could watch you for hours--not saying that. "No problem, I have time. What are you--" The fingers of the hand Aruto's working on twitch, and Isamu suppresses the urge to jump. "What, what are you working on?"

Aruto flashes him a knee-weakeningly sunny smile. "Studying. I'm still new to a lot of this engineering stuff, really. I didn't go to university, you know? All of this--" a vague gestured toward the general lab area, "still getting the hang of it even thought it's been, like. A year."

Isamu swallows hard. "I bet it's...complicated. Whyyy, why a hand?"

"Well, Izu was having some technical issues the other day and I couldn't help her and it bugged me." The manicured fingers curl and flex. "So I had We're make me up some practice pieces to work on."

It's hard not to stare--at Aruto, at the hand, at the way Aruto's hair flops over his ears, he is not staring at Aruto. Or at the hand. He is looking safely at a point over Aruto's head where there isn't anything either alarming or distressingly attractive. "That's good of you, to study for her."

Another flashed grin. "I want to be useful, you know? Not just a figurehead." He lifts the forearm up, squinting into an open panel just past the wrist, and then blinks. His face lights up. "I want to arm myself with knowledge."

Isamu thinks, Shit, and chokes back a giggle--

"Actually, hang on, I think I can--" Aruto starts fiddling in the open panel with a tiny screwdriver, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. "Who else..." he mutters, "but..." and, with a final, triumphant twist of the screwdriver, "...Aruto!" He looks up at Isamu, beaming.

And.

The hand points at Isamu, palm down, thumb out to the side, in Aruto's unmistakable gesture.

Isamu whirls around and stares fixedly at the wall, teeth gritted and neck tense as he desperately tries to fight off laughter.

Behind him there's some rustling, and then Aruto says, hesitantly, "Fu...wa? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Isamu grits out. "Everything's peachy. I can feel you staring at me, why are you staring at me, don't--" He suppresses another wheeze of laughter. "It's fine."

The rolling sound of Aruto's chair pushing out from the desk, footsteps behind him. "No, seriously, are you hurt or something? Is that why you didn't go to Ms. Yua? I guess she would probably scold you." Aruto lays a hand gently on his shoulder. "Will you show me what--"

Think fast, Fuwa Isamu, or he's going to realize you've been losing your head over his terrible jokes this whole time. You need a distraction.

He turns, grabs Aruto by the front of today's tacky, adorable hoodie of choice, and kisses him.

Too fast, genius, says another part of his mind, the one that sounds like Yua and Naki had a kid. He doesn't respond to it, because arguing with yourself is what crazy people do and also his tongue's kind of in Aruto's mouth.

After a moment he lets go of the hoodie and backs off, and Aruto, pink-cheeked, says, "Uh."

Isamu coughs. "I'll. See myself out."

"I, you, but--no?" Aruto grabs his wrist. Somehow this leads to them kissing again, possibly because Aruto decided that it needed to happen. This is fine.

This time, when they stop kissing, Isamu says, "I don't actually have a problem with my ShotRiser, I just wanted to see you."

"You could have said that, you know."

"I really couldn't."

"Right, I guess that isn't really...you." A beat, and then Aruto lights up again and Isamu feels dread coil in the pit of his stomach. "Well, I figure this wasn't quite the shot you were looking for, but I hope I managed to rise to the occasion."

And he winks. Isamu can feel himself blushing. It's terrible. But even worse is that the laugh is coming and he's not going to be able to stop it and Aruto will see and know and--

Aruto's lifting his hand and saying, "Who else but A--mm," and that last bit is cut off because apparently the answer to all of Isamu's problems has become, "stick your tongue in his mouth again and see if that fixes it."

#hiden aruto #fuwa isamu #fanfiction #askrikkaiandhyotei

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fanficparker · 3 years ago

Text

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER FOUR

“The life that you seek you shall never find. For when the Gods made man, They kept immortality to themselves.” - The Epic of Gilgamesh

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.47k words

Warning: Swearing, knives, anger issues, guns, handcuffs, kidnapping (kind of?), Harrison Osterfield (Yeah, that's a legit warning)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

<< THREE [ MASTERLIST ] FIVE >>

Sandhya parked the car at the rear side of an autobody workshop next to a white pickup truck that resembled closer to junk than any actual mode of transportation. It was past ten when she pulled there, and the three people Harrison spotted in the shop were on their way to shut it down for the night's call. He had managed to keep a careful eye at what turns she took as the roads forked or what landmarks she crossed on her way, only to achieve practically nothing. He was a stranger to this place and she being the wicked witch she was, had driven in circles so many times that he was sure, she had managed to complicate the path for him in manners that his head failed to unravel.

"We are here, homies." She announced, yawning at the last part, tapping her palm over the dashboard, tugging the keys from the ignition and then pulling the hand brakes.

Kevin groaned, shuffling in his seat, eyes half-lidded, voice groggy with sleep. The women sitting beside him plucked off her earphones, shutting her laptop. Harrison, on the other hand, chose to inspect the unfamiliar surrounding in the comfort of the car, eyes sceptical and narrowing. He ignored the thud of car doors opening and closing only to be disturbed by a sharp noise of metal keys hitting the window on the other side.

He squirmed at the unpleasant sound and turned to look at the intruder as she leaned across from him, on the opposite side of the car, the neon signboard of the car workshop flashing red light over her face. She looked like an angel from hell.

"Are you moving out? Or should I rather lock you up here?"

Harrison tamped down the urge to roll his eyes and stepped precariously out of the car, rolling up his sleeves and buttoning them near his elbows. He followed the three people as they walk down a slope that connected to an underground parking lot. There were a few cars and motorbikes parked there, most seemed to be in a dire need of repair. It took him roughly two minutes to figure out that it was no underground parking. It was a whole ass hideout disguised on the front with unused motors. They walked into a narrow alleyway, passing through several closed doors of what he assumed were rooms to a living area attached to a kitchen. It wasn't well furnished but furnished enough for a stay. Gray unpainted walls, sofas, tables and chairs, fridge, microwave, a small but flattering shelf full of wine bottles and a CCTV monitor to the top corner that covered the outside of their hideout, all the necessities one needs to survive.

"Hey, we will need your phone and your watch." The other woman he didn't know the name of yet, matched his pace, her laptop tucked below her arm, her green hair shorter than his with a cool undercut to the sides. She looked equally chill and nerdy in her baggy checked shirt, a mixture foreign to him.

He paused on his way, casting her a scathing glare, a bored look wiping over his face the next instant, "And why would I give you that?"

"Because Holly needs to encrypt them," Sandhya replied for her, standing beside the taller girl.

"So that it isn't traceable." Holly reluctantly but quickly added. She was younger than them, probably around Harry's age. Harrison could feel an undercurrent of fear floating through her voice.

"Thank you very much, but..." Harrison replied, not missing a beat, shooting a bitter smile at Sandhya before facing Holly, uttering: "No," his lips forming a proper 'o' as he took a step away only to be stopped by Sandhya's hand grabbing his wrist.

"It's not a choice, Harrison." She asserted.

An order.

Something sour lathered at the back of his tongue. A vein in his forehead twisted. Anger? Resentment? Malice? You just name it. He felt all of them at once.

He jerked away from her grip, releasing his arm. When he turned to face Sandhya again, his entire aspect had changed. His shoulders were square and broad, posture imposing, features stone, eyes icicles. They exchanged a long, threatening glare, eyes never wavering. He took a step ahead, expecting her to step back but she didn't recoil, holding her ground. She had the sort of personality you associate stereotypes with: high cheekbones, tall stature, sharp features but she somehow managed to defy most of them. Without her heels and now wearing some flat running shoes, she barely reached his chin, there was something warm about the softness of her features hidden beneath her belligerent attitude. The little baby fat her genetics had blessed over her face, provided her preys with false hopes of mercy. Betrayal at its finest.

He looked down at her and she looked up at him, their shoes bumping, faces inches apart. Realisation ticks through her mind when she looked a second deeper into his eyes.

He was, perhaps, stalling.

Her neck snapped to the monitor embedded at the top corner of the living space.

Shit.

A car had stopped outside their hideout and two armed men emerged from the car, strolling towards the basement.

She identified one of the men. His men.

"Look ou--" She tried to yell but Harrison didn't allow even an ounce of air to escape from her lungs. He'd grabbed her shoulders swiftly, taking advantage of her diverted attention, squeezing her shoulder blades and twisting her body. Her back flushed against his chest.

Both Kevin and Holly grabbed their pistols, the clicking sound of safety pins dropping echoed in the enclosed space. They pointed the weapon at Harrison but he already had a pocket knife pointed at Sandhya's throat while his other arm was pressed beneath her neck, holding her still.

"Keep your guns down or this floor would bathe in her blood." He warned, poking the tip of the knife into her skin, eyes focused on the pistols.

Kevin and Holly hesitated, their eyes flickering at Sandhya's face. Something passed between their eyes, some sort of permission and they threw their guns down, sliding them away from their reach.

"Hands above your head, quick." Harrison added, "And place them on the wall, face the other side."

Holly and Kevin obeyed without questioning, pressing their palms to the walls, while Harrison bent to pick up their pistols, shoving them at the back of his pants, holding Sandhya on a chokehold.

"I'd warned about your men's involvement in Clarke's murder," she whimpered when he placed the blade near her skin again, getting to his feet, "Yet you let them trace our location," she somehow managed to finish the sentence.

"You speak a lot for someone millimetres apart from dying."

"You won't kill me." She said, gritting her teeth.

"Yeah, but I can hurt you," he whispered near her ear, "And we both know how much I'd like that." His warm breath fanned over her cheek as he dug the pointy edge of the blade to the pulsing side of her neck, pressing not enough to cut her but enough to terrify her.

"Arsehole." She muttered, sucking in a breath.

"Tell me something new." His lips twisted into a devilish grin as he dragged her outside, her loose hair tickling under his chin, his arms clenched so tightly around her that she was sure she would still feel them tomorrow.

"I am telling you..." She tried to breathe and speak.

"Sssh..." Harrison interrupted with a shush, the vibrations moving through her flesh, echoing through her bones.

She tried to ignore the effect of his voice on her spine, suppressing the chilling sensation. "We are on the same team," she whispered softly and carefully as if trying to lull a toddler into handling back their parents' important work files.

"Oh well, then I should be the one giving orders."

They walked to the front of the basement. She could spot the shadowy outline of the two men waiting.

She started trying to resist, wiggling her body in his grip.

"Hey, Hey! Behave. This blade won't spare. Don't blame me."

"Let go, Harrison. Your life is on the edge!" She wiggled harder.

Edge.

He couldn't stop but laugh at the irony in the metaphor she chose.

They reached his men and she stilled in his grip. A white man, she identified as Tom (as Harrison had previously pointed out) and the other man she didn't identify was black and taller than all of them, both standing like soldiers in front of her.

"This is Tom. And this is Tuwaine," he introduced his men.

"This could be dangerous for both of us." She was almost pleading now, eyes pooling with tears of irritation and of failure.

"We don't want to kill her," Tom said, passing Harrison a pair of handcuffs.

And here she thought she had the lead.

"Why do y'll keep telling me that?" Harrison groaned at Tom's advice. He had repeated it over, even Sandhya has said the same thing, twice.

"Do I look like a psychotic killer on a killing frenzy?" He grabbed her wrists, fastening the cuffs behind her back, gripping her upper arm. "I know well who and whom I am supposed to hurt, how and where." He clarified, gently pushing her to sit on the back seat of the car. She obeyed this time, having no choice.

"It's not easy to trust you," Tuwaine added.

Harrison nodded, trying to look offended, "Thanks Tuwaine, I needed that," getting into the car, along with her, keeping a good distance between them. He snorted when she swirled her neck to the other side, refusing to look at him.

Tom settled himself on the driver's seat and Tuwaine sat beside him as the car drove off.

***

The giant gates of the mansion she'd only seen from far away opened like butterfly's wings, welcoming the car where she sat as a hostage.

"Aren't you delighted seeing this place?" Harrison asked in a tone that was closer to mockery than curiosity.

She still refused to look at him yet could hear the smirk in his voice.

"The place you won in the lottery? Or shall I say, cheated--"

"Fuck off." She interrupted but he went on like a guide, ignoring the cuss—

"The second luxurious property in England, just next to the Buckingham Palace."

She chose to ignore too. The main doors to the estate were wide open. Two women came rushing out when the car came to a halt. One of them opened Sandhya's door, pulling her out, holding her forearm, the other pulled a pistol and a knife from her dress.

"Release her," Harrison said nonchalantly, tossing the keys of the cuffs to the first woman. She unlocked the metal and Sandhya pulled her hands from the woman's grip, rubbing her fingers around her wrists.

She walked in, eyes in the front as Harrison and the crew accompanied her.

"Take her to the guest suite." He said and the same woman nodded.

Before she could grip Sandhya's arm, she moved it away, rushing to Harrison, grabbing his shirt collars with both her hands.

"I'd planned everything so intricately and you... You just ruined it all." She spoke with clenched teeth, eyes glistening with emotionless tears. "Do you--Don't understand the gravity of the situation? We are literally playing with fire." She exhaled forcefully.

He chortled.

Playing with fire?

He had committed various mistakes today, more mistakes than he could recount, more mistakes than he could afford. He had let his emotions get the best of him. He had not inspected Clarke's body, then went to beat Dino's men without even being careful of the various other dangers he could cross paths with, then chose to accompany Sandhya alone, got into a life-threatening car chase, had a sniper pointed to his head.

On top of that, he had also failed to consider the disastrous change the mafia world would go through upon the King's death. Damn, he had already played with fire and it was enough for him.

With Clarke's death: The mafia world has never been so free and so trapped. So vulnerable yet so lethal.

Harrison had discovered that for himself. He fucking knew the gravity of the situation! And that's why he chose to take matters into his own hands. He could trust nobody. Especially her.

"You really need to stop with your habit of holding collars." He held her hand in his, thumbs tracing circles over the back.

She continued to search his face, dark eyes filled with disbelief.

"We will work my way. And..." his face hardened at the conjunction, his thumbs stopped their ministrations as he squeezed her hands tighter. "And when I find your involvement in Clarke's murder, I would not hesitate to put a bullet through your skull."

She snorted this time, pulling her hands back.

"This is what you concluded? This? After everything?" She burst out into a peal of bitter laughter, the one that twisted Harrison's gut.

Her eyes hardened again as she jabbed a finger into his chest.

The next words came out as an unchecked storm out of her mouth, "The life you want, you will never get." Her words were merely whispers but worked their way through his gut, burning his chest, crawling through every fibre of his body and she never seemed to stop.

"You'll never be the next Clarke, you'll never even be half of him. Maybe," she hiccupped, "Maybe, he knew that and that's why he chose me, he chose me over you because he knew how incongruous you were."

She took a step forward, her chest pressing against his, standing on her toes, directly meeting his eyes and raising her voice beyond the point of normalcy, "How you were an insult to his legacy!" Pausing to exhale, she continued, her voice back to low, "It was a pity that he gave you half of his kingdom. You didn't even deserve that. You'll never be him. You are nothing like him."

Harrison bit back his tongue, his icy eyes burning from the lack of blinking. The mansion was dead silent, no one had dared to speak or react. He clenched his fists tight, feeling his nails digging into his palms.

"Take her to the room." He instructed, voice barely above a few decibels. He didn't wait for his words to turn to actions, rather he turned on his feet, striding towards his room, jaws tensed, nerves popping through his burning flesh.

His footsteps echoed behind him.

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…TO BE CONTINUED…

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