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sunlightdances · 4 years ago

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Two Hearts on Fire

Title: Two Hearts on Fire Author: Katie @sunlightdances Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Prompt: “If you need my shoulder, or my hand, or a hug-” Rating/genre/warnings: PG-13. Mentions of alcohol, canon-typical violence, and swearing. Summary: 3 times Dean was there for you when you needed it + 1 time you were able to repay the favor. Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Dean Winchester. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my written permission! Reblogs are encouraged! Please, please, please reblog creators’ work if you like it. Likes are amazing and beautiful, but sharing your favorite work has such a big impact and really makes my day. Author’s Note: I reference the Reader’s military history only because I just rewatched Generation Kill and have First Recon on the brain. I’m aware that the Marines don’t allow women into that Battalion, but let’s just pretend they do.

Links to my full masterlist can be found on my blog!

One.

You’re in a bar, the kind your mother always told you to stay away from, but you’re a little drunk, a little reckless, and a lot sad.

You concentrate on the amber liquid swirling in the glass in front of you, the sounds of the jukebox in the corner as some old, sad country song plays, and the way the world is just a little fuzzy at the edges.

Someone sits down next to you.

Not too close, but close enough that you can smell the musky scent of his cologne, and something sharp and metallic underneath. He’s tall. Broad. He glances at you, double takes. You mentally roll your eyes, preparing yourself for the inevitable pick-up line, but it never comes.

He drinks slowly, like you are. He doesn’t say anything, just a few murmured words to the bartender when he wants another glass.

He doesn’t even look at you, really, until someone sits down on your other side. Too close. Wandering eyes. Your shoulders tense. You prepare yourself for the inevitable line - what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this, or some similar variation, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, a hand, low on your hip, a threatening voice in your ear.

“One wrong move and I’ll kill you and the girl my friend over there just met in front of this entire bar,” he says, and you struggle to keep your face neutral as you look across the bar, a girl who can’t be older than nineteen giggling as a man twice her age whispers to her, his eyes locked on you.

“What are you?” You ask conversationally, taking another sip of whiskey.

“Like you don’t know.”

“I’m not hunting you.” You tell him, and his grip on you falters. It’s the truth - you’re a hunter, but you’re not hunting. Not tonight, anyway. You would laugh if you weren’t in a potentially life threatening situation - it figures the one night you want to take a break and relax, you end up mixed up in someone else’s hunt.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We scented you outside--”

“She might not be hunting, but we are.” The man on the other side of you speaks up, and you glance at him sharply, wondering how much of this entire exchange he heard. He tilts his head in the direction of the door. Another man dressed similarly in plaid and jeans stands there, twirling a knife in his hands, eyes hard.

“What the hell is this,” the man at your back growls.

“You’ve been terrorizing this town long enough. Time for your friend and you to eat one.” The man says, gulping the last bit of his drink, before standing and facing the two of you.

Despite yourself, your pulse starts to race. This isn’t ideal - a threat at your back where you’re vulnerable, a girl who has no idea what she’s walked into across the bar, probably close to being dinner for the men you’ve figured out are werewolves.

“Seems like a lose-lose,” you say casually, making eye contact with the hunter in front of you, trying like hell to figure out his next move.

The air is tense, and almost as if you’ve practiced it before, a wink from the hunter is your cue to elbow your assailant in the ribs hard, stomping on his feet at the same time.

You duck, just in time for the hunter to sucker punch the wolf with a hard left hook, his grip loosening enough for you to get out of the way. The man across the bar growls loud enough for you to hear, and you only hesitate for a half second before you’re moving, him meeting you halfway.

The other patrons are scrambling, the bartender yelling, but you ignore it all, concentrating with all your might on subduing him enough to get yourself and this innocent girl out of the bar.

You dodge a few swipes, alarmed when you see his claws out, and you curse under your breath, your reflexes slowed by alcohol just a bit, enough to make you nervous. The fight closer to the bar continues, and just as you think you’re about to bite it, another hand grips your shoulder, shoving you aside in time for you to regain your footing.

The two werewolves fully engaged, you grab the young girl’s arm, her eyes wide and filled with tears. You drag her outside, ignoring the fight behind you as people spill out of the bar, the bartender yelling that he’s called the police.

“Listen to me. You need to get on a bus, and get the hell out of town. Don’t come back for a week or two, maybe longer.” You find your wallet, shoving a few bills in her hand. She just stares at you. “Do you understand? Go!”

She nods frantically, taking the money and turning before running down the street.

Sighing, you turn back towards the bar, cracking your knuckles. Before you can do anything else, the noise stops, and the door opens. The hunter who had been with you at the bar looks around quickly before his eyes land on you.

“You okay?” He asks, gruff.

“Fine.”

“They’re dead,” he says bluntly. “Knocked the bartender out long enough to get them outside. The police are on their way, though.”

You nod. “Need help with the bodies?”

He considers it, but shakes his head slowly. “We got this one.” He tilts his head, “You really weren’t after them?”

You grit your teeth. “It’s my night off.”

He stiffens. “We don’t get nights off.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, whatever. Thanks for your help, but I--” really, really don’t need this tonight, you think, but decide just to stop talking. “I have to go.”

When the other hunter comes out of the bar and stands there, tall and imposing, you realize who they are. And you definitely don’t need to get involved in whatever shit the Winchesters are dealing with these days.

“Good luck,” you say, waving a hand nonchalantly before heading out to your car, passing the infamous black Impala on your way. You’d laugh if you weren’t so depressed.

They’re still there watching you when you glance in your rearview as you drive away.

Two.

“Any day now, Claire,” you say through grit teeth as you shove all your body weight against the closed door at your back, trying like hell to keep this angry spirit out, though a voice in the back of your head tells you it could just give up and go right through the wall.

“Going as fast as I can!” The younger girl tells you, and finally, finally the lighter in her hand whooshes to life, the canvas in her other hand lighting quickly.

The lights flicker like mad as the spirit screams, and then it’s all quiet, and you slump against the door, nodding at Claire across from you. “Good job, kiddo.”

Footsteps on the stairs startle you, as does the doorknob rattling.

“Shit, not again,” Claire swears, and then the unmistakable voice of Dean Winchester is on the other side of the door.

“Claire, open up!”

“Oh, come on…” You groan, pulling away from the door so you can open it. Yanking the door open, you’re greeted with Dean’s surprised expression.

“Oh.”

“What are you doing here?!” Claire nearly wails, clearly upset. “I told Jody I had a partner for this one, I had it under control!”

Dean, to his credit, looks a little chagrined. “She just said--”

“That I need a babysitter?”

You look back and forth between them, really not wanting to get in between whatever pseudo-family drama is brewing here.

“I think that’s my cue,” you say quietly. “So I’m just gonna--”

“How come she doesn’t get yelled at?” Claire asks, and you’re suddenly reminded about how young she is.

Dean snorts. “Because she’s a grown ass woman, and Jody didn’t send us here to yell at her.” He looks over at you, a smirk barely repressed.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t really do family drama, so if you’ll excuse me--”

“Wait!” Claire calls, and when you turn around, she’s already there throwing her arms around your shoulders, hugging you close. You stiffen. You’re not used to this affection - the way the young hunter is still so full of life and enthusiasm… it’s the way you remember being a long, long time ago. “Thank you,” she whispers before letting you go.

Head down, you smile gently. “No problem, kiddo. Stay out of trouble.”

You shrug past Dean Winchester in the doorway, his impossibly imposing figure making it hard to get by without brushing against him a little, and you scowl when he grins at you. Antagonizing little shit, you think, but you’re smiling a little too.

He finds you later at the 24-hour diner down the street, like you suspected he would.

A cup of steaming coffee is set down in front of you, and then he’s there, like he’s been conjured out of thin air.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

You hum in agreement.

“You don’t say much, do you?” He asks, but it’s not tinged with annoyance or mocking like you’d expect.

“I don’t know you. What do you want, my life story?”

He shrugs. “Your name would be a start.” He winces at himself, “that sounded like a line. Not how I meant it.” He takes a sip of his own coffee. “Claire talks about you like you’re old friends.”

You meet his eyes. “She’s a good kid.”

He nods. “I know she is. Just gets in over her head sometimes.”

You’re both quiet for a second. You have purposefully isolated yourself from anyone else in the hunting community because you’ve had enough camaraderie to last a lifetime. It never left you with anything but a broken spirit. Why Dean Winchester thinks he’s going to change that, you have no idea, but you suppose you can’t fault him.

You’ve heard all about him - the most surprising thing (heard from Claire and from Jody) being the way he seems to adopt every single person he meets. Everyone becomes part of the family whether he wants them to or not.

You tell him your name.

He frowns. “Why do I know that name?”

You tense up again, and he looks at you dead in the eyes, really looks at you.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually,” you sigh. “I was in the Marines. First Recon. I was a medic, and it was a total shit show. When I came back, I wasn’t the same person. I couldn’t fathom working at an office or some other shitty job. I met a friend of a friend who had a connection to hunting. Really hush hush. I had the skills. They needed help. The end.”

He looks surprised, but he regains his composure quickly. “And the friends?”

Your hard stare meets his. “Gone.”

He doesn’t press you. Doesn’t ask you who they were or what happened, he just takes the information for what it is - a story a thousand hunters have about a hunt gone wrong and an accident. No one’s fault, except you had your share of not-your-fault incidents in Iraq that still led to your friends dying. You were tired of it.

“Well. If you ever need any help or get in a pinch, we’re happy to help.” He says.

You know you won’t take him up on it. By the cautious look in his eyes, you think he knows that too. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

After he leaves, a waitress slides a slice of pie in front of you.

Confused, you look up, “I didn’t order this.”

“Your friend did.” She says, winking.

Dean Winchester, you think, the exact sort of friend I don’t need.

Three.

You’re pretty sure this is it.

There’s a blade at your throat, and the only reason you aren’t already dead is because the fucking vampires can’t stop arguing with each other.

You wonder if you’ll see your guys again in heaven, if that’s where you end up. Judging by the amount of civilian death you saw in Iraq, you’re not so sure. You picture the men you couldn’t save, the blood that you swear still stains your hands, and think that it’ll be nice to see them again. If only so you can properly repent.

You wonder if your hunter friends will be there too.

You’re distracted from your admittedly morbid thoughts by a knock on the door. It’s loud.

The vampires stop.

“Who is knocking?”

The other one literally shrugs. You roll your eyes. Is this a buddy comedy or a hunt?

One vamp tiptoes close to the door, and before they can do anything, the door flies open, splinters raining down, and the vamp is nailed in the face with the door, falling to the floor unconscious.

“Sorry to barge in,” Dean says. “You’ve got something I want.”

You snort, and have to laugh when you can see Sam Winchester over Dean’s shoulder rolling his eyes.

“What is this, SVU?”

“A little gratitude would be nice.” Dean says, frowning.

The vamp still holding a blade to your throat makes a choked noise. “Excuse me?!”

Dean’s eyes flick to his. The green in his eyes goes from warm to icy in a second. “Sorry, am I keeping you from something?”

“One more step and the girl dies.”

Sam steps into the room and smiles sunnily at you. “I feel like we’ve done this before.”

“Seems familiar, yeah.” You reply.

“Enough!” The blade digs into your throat.

The bickering and bantering has given you more than enough time to saw through the bindings on your wrist, but you’re in no hurry to give away the game. You feel a trickle of blood run down your neck and see Dean’s eyes narrow in on the spot. You just hope he keeps his cool long enough for you to work your way out of this.

“Let her go.” Sam says coolly.

“I don’t think so. Just to get my head chopped off?”

“Seems like a you problem.” Dean says.

“Boys, it’s been fun. But I have to go.” You say, seconds before you rear back, headbutting the vamp behind you. He drops the knife, sending it clattering to the ground, and you’re out of your seat to throw a hard right hook before he can react.

Sam and Dean react quickly, brandishing machetes and taking care of business while you check the other rooms in the house to make sure you’re alone.

Meeting back in the kitchen, you’re already recovering your bag that was taken from you and digging through it for your aid kit.

“How’d you do that?” Sam asks quietly. His eyes stray down to your neck as you wince, pressing a pad of gauze to your wound. “Get out of the ropes, I mean.”

You take out a long bandage, winding it around your neck. Without prompting, Sam steps closer and takes the loose end, helping you tuck it in where you can’t see.

“Thanks,” you say, distracted. “I keep a knife taped to my forearm,” you say. “Took forever to get it loose, but they didn’t check before they tied me up.”

Sam nods. Dean walks in a second later, eyes narrowing at the point where you and Sam are touching. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t trying to make sure you don’t bleed to death.

“Need stitches?” His voice is gruff.

You shake your head. “No. Should be fine. Just a graze.”

He nods.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Jody called. Said you were supposed to meet up and you never showed. Tracked you down from there.”

Digging through your bag one more time, you find your phone. “Feels like this is beginning to be a habit. You might as well put your numbers in.”

Dean looks like he wants to make a smart remark, but he doesn’t. You’re grateful. “Are you good?” He asks, eyes on your neck again.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t get all emotional or anything.” He teases, and you roll your eyes yet again.

“Asshole.” You murmur, but there’s no heat behind it. “I have to go.”

They give you a ride back to the rest stop where the vamps ambushed you. You’re so tired you wonder if you shouldn’t take them up on the offer to keep you company, but then the faces of all the friends you’ve lost swim in front of you, and you remember why you can’t get close to them.

The Winchesters are too much trouble, even for you.

You keep dreaming that your phone is ringing.

You wake up to someone pounding on your door, your heart racing, and you grip your gun tight as you make your way to the door.

“Open up!” A gruff voice demands, and your shoulders slump.

“Christ,” you mutter. Opening the door, you’re greeted with a pale and shaken Dean, Sam’s arm slung over his shoulder. “What the fuck happened?”

“Stabbed,” he says in a rush. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Get him inside and on the bed.” You say quickly, darting to the bathroom to dig out the med kit you keep fully stocked but luckily haven’t had to use since Iraq.

Back in your bedroom, Sam is groaning, and Dean is muttering platitudes.

“Sam? Sam, hey.” You say, hovering over him. “Look at me, Sam.” He meets your eyes. Luckily his pupils are both the same size, and you smile at him. “There you are. Hi, Sam. You’re going to be okay.”

Dean hovers, and you try to ignore the feeling of his eyes on you as you work.

“I’ve got to get the shirt off,” you tell Sam. “Don’t read anything into it.”

He smiles despite the pain he’s clearly in.

“Sam, can you breathe okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s writhing a little, and you force yourself to concentrate.

“Sam,” you repeat, more forcefully, trying to get his focus. “Can you breathe?”

“Yeah, I can breathe. Jesus Christ.”

“Good, that’s good. You’re going to be okay, Sam.”

The wound isn’t too deep. Missed anything important. You relay the information to Dean, who settles a little, perched on the side of the bed as you begin cleaning Sam up.

“Stop squirming,” you chide softly. “Dean, grab his hand or something. He needs to stop moving so I can stitch him.”

The process of cleaning him up and getting him stitched is almost robotic. You can’t count how many times you’ve had to do this in the Marines. You just pray that this time ends better than some of the others.

“Sam, can you squeeze my hand?” You ask, stopping what you’re doing and reaching for the hand that’s not currently being held by Dean. He squeezes tightly. “There you go,” You soothe. “Gonna have a scar, Sammy. I’ve been told women like that sort of thing.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling when you look up. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Sorry,” you say, pulling the last stitch and tying it off as quickly as you can. “You have to stay put for a while, okay?”

“I was going to run a marathon.” He deadpans.

You chuckle and meet Dean’s eyes. He’s not smiling, not even a hint of his lips twitching, and you start to panic that he might be hurt too before he lets go of Sam’s hand and heads towards your kitchen.

Finishing up with Sam, you tell him to rest and that you’ll check on him in a few minutes. He squeezes your hand again, and then you head to check on his brother.

A glass clinking draws your attention to the kitchen table. Dean’s found your whiskey stash.

“Dean?”

He looks up. “Sorry for barging in here like this.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be.” Sitting across from him, you watch him carefully. “He’s going to be okay.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “I panicked. I’ve stitched him a million times, but he was bleeding so much-- I didn’t know what else to do.”

“That’s okay, Dean.” A beat, and then you add, ““If you need my shoulder, or my hand, or a hug-”

He lets out a watery laugh. “Shut up.”

You grin, plucking the glass from his hand and taking a sip.

“You don’t do hugs.” He adds.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I might, for you.”

His eyes are dark when they meet yours. “I’m really glad I met you,” he says softly.

It sounds crazy, but you think you can literally feel some of the darkness that’s hovered over you for years starting to clear. “I’m glad I met you too.” You reply, just as quiet, the two of you sharing the same glass of whiskey until it’s gone.

Maybe this is how you find your peace. Maybe you let these two guys in, let them be there for you in a way you’ve rarely let other people.

Maybe there’s something more here than just you watching your own back at every turn.

Later, when the two of you are squeezed onto your bed on either side of Sam, trying to catch a few hours of sleep while keeping an eye on him, you meet Dean’s eyes again. Wordlessly, his hand reaches for yours and gives it a squeeze.

You don’t let go, and neither does he.

You finally fall asleep, your heart already feeling lighter.

For the first time in almost a decade, you have no nightmares.

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn reader insert fic #3+1 fic

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rebelliouslala · 5 years ago

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Hate Is A Strong Word

First Part- pls enjoy and feel free to give feedback :)

ꨄ- Small time skip

ఌ- Flashback

Mark Lee, your rival, your opponent, your enemy. He looks up, a small frown on his face as he eyes the Professor. You hate how he raised an eyebrow when you made a mistake. His smirk when he was about to abolish your opinion into nothing. His scoff at proving him wrong. His evil scowl when you won extra House Points for Ravenclaw. The duels were even worse than in class. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

It sickened you.

“Pay attention!” Your friend, Bianca hisses in your ear. You know you should be. He’s a distraction. A dangerous one. But you couldn’t help it, he’s made you want to scream. His name or how much you hated him.

You widen your eyes at the thought, and class ends thankfully. You should do your Astronomy homework before anything else that has Mark Lee on top of you in your mind could swarm your mind.

But before you could follow your friend, Mark had blocked your exit, the Professor not noticing as he whispers, “Follow me, don��t give me that pout or else, Y/N.”

You barely have time to register what room you’re in by the time his hands grab your ass, his lips smashing against yours. This has been done a hundred times before, and will probably happen a thousand times again. Your leg is hoisted up by his hand, his area nearing your own before your back hits a firm wall. He quickly switches from a grind to rolling his hips against yours, a loud moan escaping you. Yes he was your enemy. You hated every single atom in his body.

But damn did he make you feel good.

“Louder.” He commands, his voice stern.

It made you even more wet, but it festered inside you as you obeyed him. You grab his blonde hair, tugging it as you roll your hips with his. That action grants you a groan from his lips as you feel his bulge grow.

“Stop that,” he growls, and you smirk. You’re getting on his nerves as you trace his chest, feeling his stomach. “No, we have our duel today, remember?” You say in his ear, leaning down to attack his neck.

“You—,” his voice goes deeper but he groans your name as you use your hips to circle around his bulge, making him bite his lip. “F-Fuck, right there. Faster, or else.”

“Or else what? Today I’m going to win, no makeout session will change that.” You whisper in his ear. He holds your hips harder and he raises an eyebrow. If he wasn’t a bastard, you would kiss him.

“Sure, doll.” He smirks and groans your name again, his voice growing raspier. It drove you crazy.

“Stop—,” you grab his shirt, obeying again. “I hate you Mark,” you remind him, as always.

“You don’t seem to hate these sessions though. Especially when I do this~,” he hums in your ear, his hand sliding up your skirt, pinching and rubbing your thighs before using his finger to slide across your folds. You curse him out, moaning his name every time you mention it. “Good,” he bites your ear as his breath gets heavier, your hips becoming desperate to go over the edge, “now scream for me.”

ꨄ

You scowl, ignoring the scene that replays in your mind as the Care for Magical Creatures Professor Kyungsoo looks between his prized students. Mark Lee, the most famous and powerful Slytherin boy besides Draco Malfoy himself. Huang Y/N, twin sister of Renjun, an intelligent girl for someone who never even knew English before transferring here, easily surpassing into a higher grade.

This battle was going to be great.

“Mark, draw your wand. Y/N, follow.” Mark’s nonchalant attitude, like he didn’t make you scream his name earlier, he didn’t just use you made you even angrier. You had to win. “How many points?” The Professor looks at Mark, who shrugs, “None from my house.”

“Y/N?”

“A thousand from Ravenclaw if I lose.” Some students groan of the risk. Mark smirks and raises an eyebrow at you.

You hate him.

“On three. One,” Kyungsoo holds his cloak wide, to block the two of you. Your eyebrow bunch together as your grip on your wand tightens.

Fuck him.

“Two,”

You’re going to win.

“One.”

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” You scream, your wand pointed into the direction of where Mark is. But you’re met with nothing. “Poor baby,” you hear his whisper, his disgusting coo before the sudden sensation of ropes overcomes your arms and legs. You bite your tongue from a distant memory of a week ago with him.

“Mark Lee wins. A thousand points to Slytherin.”

You’re storming back and forth in anger even before your friends close the door. Taeyong had to pull you away before you annihilated his best wizard in Slytherin. This left you to hold a fistful of hair, practically screaming, “He fucking Apparated! That’s not fair!” Taeyong hums as he looks at a Quidditch history book, “It’s not.”

“And—!” You pretend to be squeezing Mark Lee’s throat, much more than he actually did to yours, “He fucking bonded me in ropes! ROPES LUCAS!” Lucas flips, rather slowly through a Quidditch magazine, biting his lip at a photo before he looks up, “What?”

“Did you not see the fucking duel Mark and I had today?” You sigh. “Yeah. He beat your ASS!” Your other friend Ten yells as he hugs you. You shrug him off and resume fuming, “I have to get revenge. I just gave your house, Ten, a thousand points.”

“Yeah thanks for that, stupid.” Ten smiles widely at you as you pace more, “I hate him- I want revenge.” Ten sighs at your tantrum, muttering something about repetition. “Then be smart about it. Do you have anything on him? Can you do anything that can make him bend to your will?” Taeyong asks, as you look over. He shrugs as he sits up, closing his book, “That’s all I’m saying, if you hate him so much. Do whatever you like, just nothing too violent though.”

Lucas sits up and smiles as he points to a Quidditch model, her upper lip moved up slightly because of their broomstick in their mouth, her cloak revealing her right clothing, “Isn’t she hot?” You roll your eyes at your friend, “Lucas, sorry, but we can’t focus on that.”

“Ugh~,” your friend sits up, trying to lead the others in instead but can you at least look at how hot this girl is!” You sit up, your eyes widened as you watch Ten and Taeyong look over, and make some small commentary. Why do boys always focus on girls? Obviously she was trying to sexualize herself to have a bigger fanbase— Something snaps. You grab your wand, your cloak, before hugging your friend, “LUCAS YOU BIG BABY THANK YOU FOR THE IDEA!” He nods as he flips through another, making a loud gasp as you go to the Slytherin dorms, quietly whispering a spell to cloak yourself.

This idea for revenge was perfect- no, genius. You quickly find a mirror in the girl’s restroom, and whisper another spell to make your cloak green. You hated every single bit of him Mark, after all these years he still used you, no way you are going to let him get away with him now.

It was in your 3rd year you were introduced to Mark Lee. “Y/N, meet Mark. He’s doing great on the Quidditch team—,” your twin, Renjun said to you, but the boy smiles. His giggle to you made your heart flutter, and you smiled, “I’m Huang Y/N. Uh, it’s really nice to meet you.” He shook his head, bowing slightly, “T-The pleasure is all mine.”

You all hung out, in a team every Professor called the Dreamies. Sure you all said you were studying, just lounging in the library with stacks and stacks of ancient books. But that was a lie. You all were conjuring, studying, actually making new spells with each other; tucked away in the Forbidden Forest.

Jisung was in the second year when you met him, the youngest besides Chenle, he made a simple spell of changing hair colors, often to red or blonde, the Gryffindor colors. Jisung tricked teachers by coming in everyday with new hair colors, or changing it to a lighter shade every time a professor noticed or looked at him. However, he started to get dragged away, only hanging out with his housemate Lucas now. Chenle was the Hufflepuff, and already knew much more about spells than all of you combined. It could be because he came from a wealthy, popular wizard family. Because of that, he easily and quickly designed -with the help of your twin brother- a spell to make money appear out of thin air, your favorite spell. Jaemin, the flirt of the group, so it was no doubt or wonder when he made a spell to bewitch others, making a scent that attracted anyone who smelled it. Haechan is an expert on flowers, so he used sunflowers to brighten every time he smiles. It was a small party trick spell, but it was fun for him to make. Jeno was the other Hufflepuff, and he was amazing to act. With the help of your studious mind, you helped him make a cloaking spell, to change clothes, facial features. Since your brother was the one to come up with the idea, he made the first spell out of all of you. To change colors and make new ones, so he can perfect his art.

These spells united you all together, making it fun to do in class, and making pranks with each other with them. It was all your bond. The vow between you all was the most important, to never use these spells on each other, only on yourself. But you and Mark never made your own.

ꨄ

“Mark Lee,” He looks up at the mention of his name, a large grin on his face as he laughs with his friend. It was Professor Jongin, who stared at Jaemin, he and Haechan with glares. “Sorry boys,” Mark mutters under his breath, standing up and straightening out his outfit, “Duty calls.”

“Go get ‘em!” Jaemin slaps his ass, laughing. “Yeah man, go beat Y/N!” Haechan teases, making Mark stomp on his foot gently. “Yeah yeah,” Mark bows to his head Professor of Slytherin.

The Professor rolls his eyes, grumbling quietly to himself as he walks towards the boats that lead out to the river, downstairs, where Mark follows.

Mark really wasn’t one to get spooked easily. But he had won at least 49 fuels against you. At least. It should’ve been time for him to see the Headmaster and speak more about the spell he was planning on creating. His own heart was beating out loud in his chest.

“Professor, may I ask where we’re going?” He mumbles quietly. “Shut. You were never asked to speak, were you?” Jongin shoots back. Mark widens his eyes. He was Jongin’s prize student. He had never done anything wrong, what was this attitude?

Nevertheless Mark continues to follow until they both get to the humid docks below the dungeons, boats floating on the river towards the Great Lake. “Professor, I apologize that I know I—,”

“Oh Mark,” he looks over to the Professor growing smaller, and taking off his cloak. “You’re so gullible sometimes,” He gasps quietly, as you turn around with a pout, “You cheated.” Even if Mark was truly astonished, he always had a great comeback, “I didn’t do anything. I went by the rules.”

“You used a rope spell.” You cross your arms. Mark smirks to himself at the idea, as he walks closer, his hands easily slipping to your waist, “Did it bring back any memories?”

“You promised,” your voice shakes with emotion, “We were going to leave our. . .sessions out of it.”

“I wanted to have a little fun, baby.” Mark’s breath is hot on your skin, and he holds you closer. That bastard. All he wanted from you is his body. Just that.

So, he’s going to pay.

You lay on his chest, looking up with wide eyes as you kiss his chest, pecking it, “Oh, well you could’ve said so.” Mark raises an eyebrow, and holds your chin as he gives a chuckle. You hate it when he chuckles. He knew that it turned you on. “Shall we do another rope session then, baby?” He says, his left hand sliding down your ass. Your wand shines gently in your cloak, and you smirk quietly. You take a quiet breath, and say in an airy voice, “I would love to, baby~,” He whispers the spell in your ear, and you gasp, when he pushes you back.

Your surroundings swirl, and you fall back on a soft, but flat surface. You growl quietly, as Mark takes off his shirt and chuckles. “You look adorable like that Y/N. So helpless. All in my control,” he flips you over, and the rope that was tied around your legs fades. He positions you on his thighs as you try your best not to glare, not to break out and scream, spit in his stupid face. “Mark~,” you pretend to whine as he grabs your hips. “I know baby,” his teeth drag on your neck and he opens your legs, letting you sit on his lap. “Put your arms around my neck,”

You obey, and he chuckles, leaning in closer to your lips instead, “Attagirl.” Mark leans back, smashing his lips into yours as you try not to groan his name into his mouth, but he bites your lips, pulling back before coming in to bruise them even more. As soon as his lips smash back into yours, teeth sinking in, you let yourself go. That’s what happens.

That’s what happened the first time.

“M-Mark,” you say before he shoves his tongue in your mouth, his hands sliding to the middle of your thighs, pressing your clit for stimulation. You roll your head back but he grabs your throat, tightly, making you feel dizzy with overwhelming pleasure. “Be good, babydoll,” Mark growls in your ear.

ꨄ

You pant softly on his bed, your eyes zoning in and out of reality until you focus on Mark zipping up his pants. The aching feeling of him gone made you want to melt from embarrassment, right into his sweet scented blankets. Mark’s face appears over yours, giving you a small peck, he kisses down your ear, muttering, “I needed to release some stress, so thank you Y/N. I’ll see you in the next duel,” He kisses on another hickey, making you whimper from the pain.

“Fucker,” you sit up, wincing before you feel his hands around your waist, making you lay back down. He gives you a small smile, “I may be, but I have things to go to. If you can’t get up,” he smooths your hair out as he lets a small smirk appear, “Which I doubt you will, sleep here.”

“I would rather sleep in the Forbidden Forest!” You hiss. Mark laughs quietly and he leans in, going in close you almost puckered your lips from instinct. You groan at your body’s reaction, scrunching your nose. “Just take my bed, Y/N, you’re sore. I know that.” Mark mumbles, leaning in closer to kiss your lips. “Please baby~,” he sings on your lips.

“I hate you,” you mutter, but you nod as he kisses you once more. This time it’s soft, passionate. Something that you’ve only felt once, what felt like years ago. You hold him closer, his lips not using you, instead welcoming you, giving you soft whispers. Could you hear them? No, but you liked how it sounded. What was this feeling?

You pull away, and clear your throat. You frown your lips, forcing it.

“Whatever, go.” You say as Mark gets up, trailing his hand down your leg before squeezing your thigh and letting go. “As you wish, you stubborn witch.” He uses a blanket to cover you up, before nodding, “See you in a few hours.” You look around finally once Mark closes the door, since you didn’t have a chance to observe. The dungeon, or basement, was a lot cleaner than you expected it to be, no greasy walls, posh green furniture. Only rich, pampered students had their own rooms.

That bastard his own room! Before more hateful thoughts could come to mind, the warmth of the covers heated you up as your eyelids fluttered, making you yawn. You grab your wand, whispering for the wand to stop glowing, before taking out a piece of dark green string from the tip, smirking and rolling it on your fingers, and putting it on your wand. Your plan worked. Now all you had to do was wait for Mark to come back and you can finally trap him, and corner him.

Yet you stretch, laying more comfortably after some effort on the bed. Your mind wandering from the plan of revenge to instead how Mark really had been hard on you today, he must’ve very stressed. The way he had kissed you still lingered on your lips, as you pout, closing your eyes and grumbling his name.

“Fucking. . .rich. . .half. . .” Before you can finish an insult you fall asleep to the scent of his pinewood sheets, smelling like that one autumn. . .all those years ago.

Mark goes back outside, adjusting himself. You were so cute after each session, pretending like you weren’t fazed, that you weren’t sore, that he didn’t push you past your limit, or that you actually liked it. Knowing you for years, he can tell you lied. And, he knew when you especially loved it when he chuckled sexily. You easily went into putty just by his touch on your waist or kissing your ear.

You were weak and pathetic, just for him. Mark reveled in that, the fact that his greatest enemy now had just come to him for some sex after a duel, but of course he kept it a secret. Sure he can be your enemy, with benefits, but he wasn’t going to cheat on your promise to each other.

He passes by Jaemin’s room, where he hears quiet groans and moans. Mark closes his eyes, praying quietly before turning his back to the door, finding the handle and closing the door silently. If you’re going to masturbate, Mark thought to himself, at least close the fucking door.

Haechan comes out of his room, before he spots Mark, he points his hands out in exasperation, “SEE WHAT I HAVE TO DEAL WITH?”

“Yes, I do.” Mark hisses quietly, and pushes Haechan away, “It still doesn’t mean we should stop his fun. It’s perfectly normal, you know?”

“Uh huh, perfectly GROSS, Haechan screams the last word, and Mark raises his hand, making his friend flinch. “Listen, I only have two more duels left, and Y/N and I are tied. I need to practice more spells.”

“How many duels are left? You guys have been fighting for the past 5 fucking years.”

“You can have 10, legal duels each year. So, this will be our last one.” Haechan does the quick math in his head before widening his eyes, “50 duels?!”

“There’s been some without teachers, but officially, 49.” He leans back, sitting down on Haechan’s couch in the dorm, “One more, and I can go to the Headmaster to ask for the book I need to complete my spell.”

“Why can’t you just sneak in?”

“I’ll be expelled and Y/N will win!” Haechan nods, thinking before nudging him, “Not unless, you fake it.” Mark makes a confused noise, and Haechan rolls his eyes, “You know, frame her!” The idea lured Mark in, like a horse to a carrot, but the face of you from earlier stains his mind. The way he kissed you, and the way you kissed back; it made his heart thump. Sure you hated him, in some form in another, but like Mark said to himself. He was not going to cheat on the promise, even if it is a secret.

“No, I won’t.”

“But it’s so—!” Mark stands up, sighing, “No, I’m fine. I’ll wait with Jaehyun hyung until Jaemin is, you know, finished. He and I will study and practice so I can beat Y/N in a few weeks.” Haechan sighs, “Fine, whatever. I gave you a simple solution, but that’s fine.” He bites his tongue, hating it when Haechan made him feel guilty, but he wasn’t going to break a promise.

You were both once friends before, there was no reason to add more drama. “Thanks, I don’t need that stuff though,”

“Just go,” Haechan leans back, looking at the sunflowers drooping with his frowns.

ఌ

“Alright now shut up. If you guys get caught I will break your necks next game, understand?” Renjun and you giggled like mad, your eyes wide like kids in a candy store. Your older friend, Taeil gave you and your brother a small stone. “It’s something my friend and I found, the Stone of Freedom.” Your brother whispered to you excitedly, “Now we can meet everyone else!”

“If you guys get caught,” he hissed, putting a cloak over the both of you, “My chances at being Prefect are gone.”

“We won’t!” You and he said, holding the Stone close to your stomachs. Taeil sighed, “Be safe. Repeat after me, the both of you. Cornu fluga.” Renjun eyed you and you both said in a hushed voice, “Cornu fluga.”

Immediately, you and your brother were thrown out the window. Taeil widened his eyes and ran to the window, his plan ruined. You bit your tongue as Renjun hid in your neck, and you hid in his hair. You both wanted to scream. Luckily you both slowly settled on the ground, giving a quiet oof. Renjun giggled at your noise as Jeno clapped, “AYE! IT’S THE HUANGS!” Chenle hugged you tight, “Finally! Jaemin was teasing to use his spell on Jeno!”

“You know what happens if you do, Jaemin.” Renjun frowned, raising his hand to hit his friend. You sighed and looked at Mark, who’s reading a large, old book. Sitting on a stone, his back turned away from the group, he looked all lonesome. You smiled, going behind him, before covering his eyes. “Not now, Jisung.” Mark hums, flipping a page.

“How do you know if it’s me?” Your voice goes as deep as Professor Chanyeol’s, and Mark immediately stood up. You laughed, falling back as Mark sighed, “Y/N! You scared me!”

“That I did~,” you teased, hugging his neck and smiling wide. “Do you have any ideas, yet?” Mark shrugged, his chin on your hair as he mumbles, “I don’t know if I can make one by the end of the year.”

“Neither do I,” you answered, moving your head so your ear is where his heart is. Hearing it go slowly, you closed your eyes. There was a pause, where so many words could’ve been said. But you didn’t want to hear anything. The sound of his heartbeat was enough. “We can,” Mark said finally, and you realized once his fingers pulled away, he was stroking your hair, “We can make a spell together?” You looked up, and Mark chuckled at your puzzled expression. You chuckled as well, shrugging, “Uh, well, sure. Do you have any ideas?” Mark purses his lips, before smiling, “A hate spell? A love—?”

“Jaemin.” You grumbled. His spell was the most unoriginal, but it was the easiest spell. “Good hair?” You laughed, ruffling his black hair by tiptoeing carefully. “It’s pretty like this.”

“I’m thinking about going blonde.”

“Ew no,” you stuck out your tongue. Mark chuckled again, leaning down, your cheeks growing pink. He kissed your nose, rubbing his own with yours after. “Maybe power over someone?” You said quietly, holding him close to your body.

None of the others questioned your and his behavior. Everyone admired you in some way. It was just Mark, who liked you more than the others. Plus it was normal for everyone to kiss each other. That’s how close you and the others were, you talked about crushes, feelings for each other. There would be silence if there were fights. But that was rare.

“Power, you’re just like Jisung. You sure you’re not a Gryffindor?” He laughed. “Very.” You pretend to gag loudly and he laughed only louder. “I was thinking,” he said, petting your hair again, “What about a soulmate spell?”

ఌ

You’re woken up by the gentle feeling on your lips, even more small whispers on your lips. “Get off,” you groan, pushing him away as Mark gets up, rolling his eyes, “You even hate my kisses? How rude. You must be using me for my dick then.”

“Just help me up, what time is it?” You frown before he starts to carry you and place you on the ground. “Almost midnight.” He starts to laugh, holding your hips. “I did fuck you good, your knees are wobbling.” You hit his chest, your knees wobbling still, from being so sore. Mark grabs your hand, laughing in your ear as he finally takes a breath, whispering, “Be good. You don’t want more points to my house, hmm?” He grabs your chin. You glare into his eyes, holding his hand tightly, trying to crush his fingers. Mark smirks, leaning in and cooing at your glare. “Aw, you look so cute when you’re angry. Too bad you’re under my control, baby. You’re mine, and no one knows.” You growl quietly, his fingers gripping it more precisely. He watches your breath grow uneven, your scowl lessening into his grip before leaning in, capturing your lips perfectly.

You hated that it was nothing soft, light like it was before. That is everything you wanted. He wants to show you he can be forceful. You pull away, hating the knot that grew in your stomach. “Didn’t like it? Sorry baby.” Mark chuckles. “You’re a dick.” You say harshly, holding your body close to yourself. You just wanted to go back to your room so you can cuddle next to your brother, so you can ignore Mark’s kiss. “I know. Say the magic words baby and this dick will be gone.”

“Cornu fluga,” you say, and you’re gone. Mark sits back on his bed, pushing his hair back before laying down, gulping quietly.

You appear again in your dorm, and Renjun turns with your friend, Bianca.

Shit.

Renjun grabs your hair, carefully pulling you. It was enough to tug, but not enough to hurt. “Where the FUCK have you been?”

“I’m going to get the spell before Mark!” You say, and he lets go. “What?” Renjun whispers, and your roommate, Bianca goes closer. “I‘m going to make him lose. Just for me. I can control him.” You felt powerful just saying that. Mark always said that to you. To keep you at his side. On your knees. It made you feel regretful that you still let him have his way with you, but you smirk proudly, not letting that faze you.

“That’s great, Y/N! Now we can get the whole gang together, well, you know.” You nod hesitantly. Almost half of your friend group was with Mark, or on their side and in his house. “What happened. . .” asks Bianca, looking blankly at the quiet tension. “Nothing,” you respond quietly, after a minute, Renjun sighs heavily. “Mark and her fought. Mark used a spell on her, he was controlling her.” Bianca pauses, and she sits down, “I still don’t understand.”

“We promised not to use spells on each other.” You say quietly. The memory made you shiver, made you hold yourself gently. “Spells?” She says, scoffing, “But we’re witches, wizards, that’s—,”

“It was a promise. I mean, our whole friend group wanted us to be nice to each other, that’s why we made the pact.”

“For kindness.” You and your brother say. Renjun gets up, hugging you one last time, “I’m going to go, I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Astronomy, right?”

“Exactly, Astronomy.” You smile back, before crawling into bed. Bianca turns off the lights with a flick of her wand, and you try to crawl into bed, before hissing. You hate to admit it. You hate to admit anything good about Mark.

But he had fucked you good.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Bianca helps your foot up the bed. Gulping, you shake your head, “Fine. Fine. Thanks. Good night.” Bianca pouts, but whispers you good night.

ఌ

The library was crowded, making it hard to spot his dark hair. But Jisung pulled you to a new computer section, where Mark was piled with books around him. “Mark! What’s all of this?” You asked, placing your bag down. “I’m studying of course.”

“O.W.L.s aren’t until—,” you started, cocking your head to the side. Mark held your head, shaking his own as he smiled at you, “For our spell. We’re doing it together, right?” You nodded, sitting on his lap and going through the pages, “You need my Ravenclaw brain.”

“And you need my Slytherin power,” Mark whispered in your ear, making you laugh and hit his chest. “Ew, hyung, stop! Just study!” Jisung rolled his eyes, and Mark held you close as you both read an ancient text. “The soul is the most powerful part of every magical being. It’s our essence, our mind and body internalized.” You read the paragraph, and Mark immediately takes the next. “If properly taken out, one can consume another soul, as it’s the source of your power; your magic.” Mark smiled, holding you closer to his chest as you inhaled his pinewood scent, it was much more powerful than ever time. “But, people can also connect the soul. If the two truly believe they are meant for each other and do so willingly, they can connect their souls to be and feel as one.” You continued the page after you made a small squeal, “Both may stay in their bodies, but their souls will be one. There is no spell, but only a chant and ritual to bring the souls together.”

Mark kissed your cheek, holding your hands, both of your hands could fit into his one hand. “Huang Y/N, do you want to do this?” Your eyes teared up, and you can only see him. The Dreamies behind you, on your shoulders didn’t matter. All you smelled was the scent of pinewood, it filled up your nose. Like a drug.

“Yes, I want to be yours, Mark.”

ఌ

You woke up with a gasp, your eyes looking around. It’s been a few hours, but you still had enough sleep. You rub your eyes, the feeling of being sore still there. That dream; you shake your head, ruffling your hair. You can’t let that go to your mind. Not when you have the perfect chance. You quickly grab your wand as Bianca is in the showers.

Plucking the string, you close your eyes, and listen. “You look adorable like that Y/N. So helpless. All in my control,” Mark’s voice echoes back, and you can hear your response. You sound like you’re enjoying it.

Was that good? After all, you wanted this, you—

You hold the string tightly, stuffing it in your pocket. Your audio spell has worked, that’s all you need to focus on. No point is trying to make sense of your feelings for Mark. They’re long gone, and to bring it up is preposterous. You instead get ready for the day, putting on a short skirt. If you’re going to flirt and get revenge on Mark, why not do it in style? You wore a dark blue sweater, that’s cuffed so it shows your shoulders. Hopefully Mark feels horny soon, or else Renjun will question your outfit. Bianca makes her way back as you pull your hair up with pins. “Hey,” you hum.

“Didn’t know you wore skirts, Y/N.” Bianca says after a moment, before grabbing her things. “Oh, yeah, are you ready?” You throw on your cloak, smiling, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You grab your small bag of necessary items before walking out to the Grand Hall for breakfast. Taeil and his girlfriend, both Prefects, lead everyone out. It’s so weird how you’ve known him Taeil for so long and he already has a girlfriend. He knew you when you were still crushing on Mark. You groan and hold your head. Not this. You’re too old and too logical to be thinking that you liked, no, even had a crush on Mark.

“Y/N,” You turn and gulp quietly at Mark holding your arm gently. “What are you—?” You hiss, scowling. “Are you able to walk fine?” He looks at you, his expression blank. You would’ve found that kind, but you would rather sock Mark in the face. “Maybe,” you whisper as you feel his thumb stroke your arm as he sighs, “Relax baby, we wouldn’t want anyone to—?” You grab his hand and make it go under your skirt, under your cloak and have him feel your bare ass.

He widens his eyes, but he grabs it, “Already? You wanna play?” You nod, taking in a shaky breath. If this is your way to go, let it be. “Please Mark, I can’t get my mind off you. . .” You say, looking up, biting your lip. “I want you back inside me, make me scream your name again.”

Mark growls, whispering again and he Apparates in another room, the Room of Esired. You would say you hated it. The thrill of him lustfully grabbing your skirt, ripping it down as he kisses your thighs, however, was so much better than you admitting anything. You grab his hair, whining out his name. You want to say you hate him.

But, the way his lips easily know where to peck. His teeth know where to bite and create little bite marks; you moan his name as you tug on his hair. “M-Mark- Fuck!” You say in between moans and pants. You still weren’t over last night’s session, and you try to pull away. “Please, Mark!”

“You asked, baby.” Mark chuckles.

It was that, that little chuckle for dominance which set you off.

You pull your thighs away forcefully, and before Mark can grab your thighs to eat you out, you force the thick, green yarn like string to be shown. In a mocking voice, shoving the string in his face you spit back, “No. You listen to me, and feel what it’s like to be helpless.”

You pluck at it, your other hand has a wand at his throat. Mark stares down at his Muggle shoes, listening to the string. His voice, moaning and groaning your name, whispering how good you were for him. It’s definitely an awkward state to sit in.

You cut the string off before your response. But he knew what happened after. Mark had to hold his smirk back, the memory of you scratching his back as you moaned still stung him. “So, I can show this to your prefect, Taeyong.” Mark’s joking face fades and his eyes turn as wide as saucers. You smirk at his expression. So this is what it felt. You lean down, pretending to pout. “Mark Lee, the Golden Boy of Slytherin, better than Draco Malfoy himself, having constant sex with his enemy, just to try and win the duels.”

“We promised we wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. I would only leave this somewhere for Taeyong to find. Who would tell the Headmaster.” Mark scowls, throwing his hands up to protest, but you put the string in his hand, gasping. “Mark, don’t do something you’ll regret.” You look down, and giggle softly. The power is already flooding your mind, as you see his bulge trying to escape his pants. “Did you really get hard from me moaning your name? You’re pathetic,” you scowl back. “Y/N, we had a deal.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pretending to think.

“We did, didn’t we? We also made the pact not to hurt each other, in any way.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, his voice growing with a small hint of desperateness. “You. . .” Your hands clenched his shirt, and finally you’re able to let go. You have Mark right where you want him, and you can finally shut him up. “You fucking used Jaemin’s spell on me! You made me attracted to you! I thought we were actually doing great! We weren’t even dating; we were so close, we didn’t have to say we were in love!” Tears start to form, and just as quickly as they appeared, they fall down. Your grip on his shirt loosens, “I-I thought the soulmate spell would work. . .that we would actually be one. One person, one love,” you mutter into his shirt as you hide in it. You didn’t want to ever hurt Mark. Or so this. You hate him, but you want him to feel what it felt like for you.

Trapped.

“Baby,” you hear his whisper, and you look up as his hands are on your cheeks. His cheeks are tear stained as well. He wipes your tears away. “Sorry-Y/N,” he leans in. “I'm so sorry. I just thought, all of these sessions would be so we can let out our stress,” Another tear falls out of his eye, and you can see it in his eyes. Not the jerk you have dueled against for the past years. The one who tricked his way around you, who seduced you.

You watch as he cries harder, holding you to his chest. “I wanted you to be happy. I never wanted you to be mad at me, I thought it fixed, my mistake.”

“But you did.” You wipe your eyes, shaking your head and pulling away, as if pretending you didn't just break down, “You broke our pact. This is your payment back. One step out line and I’m giving this to Taeyong.” You say, frowning. Mark pauses, but he grabs your hands gently, both of them in his left hand, nodding, “Can I have one thing, before you blackmail me?” You nod automatically, but you regret it. What if he wanted sex? What if he—?

Mark shakily gulps, sighing it out, “I can kiss you, right?” You exhale on his lips. He looked so innocent, so kind. He truly did want to make you happy. You roll your eyes however, the power still controlling your actions, “Fine.”

Mark slowly leans in closer, connecting your lips like puzzle pieces. You kiss back, hating yourself for it but you wanted this as much as he did. He lets you hold his growing stubble in your hands, kissing him softly, somehow hungry. What for? You hate Mark. You want him to die in a hole.

Yet you whimper softly when he pulls away, and you realize his hands are at your hips. Where you always loved them. “Let that be my apology.” Mark whispers, and he pulls away, pursing his lips softly. There’s a few beats of silence, and you sigh. “I’ll-I’ll let you know about what you have to do for the n-next duel.” Mark nods, whispering another apology before turning towards the door.

“Y/N?” You look up, tucking the string back in your pocket. “Uh, yeah?” He pauses, but smiles at you. It’s sad, a little forced, “Your outfit is pretty today.” Mark Apparates away, but the memory of his soft smile still stings you. “I’m sorry too,” you mumble as you wipe your own tears.

ꨄ

Mark looks down at his pancakes. Small slices of watermelon sit at the side. He only picks at it. He should’ve seen this coming. He knows how smart you are. Especially with audio spells. Okay yes you both still made your own tricks but that is genius.

A little hot too.

But he can’t think like that anymore. If you truly felt this way, Mark would have to look back. After all, sex doesn’t fix everything. “Mark?” He looks up to Haechan, who pouts, “You okay? You didn’t even touch your watermelon.”

“Oh, training yesterday, it didn’t work out.” Mark lies after a small stutter. “Markie, don’t lie. What’s wrong?” Haechan says quietly, as Jaemin flirts with some more people, winking at them, leaving them distracted. “Y/N is going to win the duel,” Mark says back. But that was also a lie.

“No, you are. You’re going to win. She and her brother are pussies—.”

“Don’t call Y/N that. She’s a very powerful witch. I’m not in the mood to duel, or eat.”

“Well don’t tell me that,” Haechan rolls his eyes, “Tell Professor Baekhyun that excuse, he’s been waiting for the duel for a whole year,” Haechan takes a bit of friend’s pancake, rolling his eyes, “You better deal with him, I can't save your ass again, Mark.” Haechan sighs at Mark’s silence. “You got to deal with that, he should understand.”

“I know, just,” Mark grumbles as he looks down. He thought this whole process was going well. It bothered him. He just wanted you back. “Dude you’re being way too emo. I’m going to go talk to Jeno, hopefully he could try to get into Renjun and Y/N’s head. Go drink some butterbeer, that’s the remedy for your mood. I’ll meet you at the Hog’s Head okay?” Mark rolls his eyes as his friend gets up, walking away. He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t, no, couldn’t tell Haechan his affairs with you. Haechan would probably overreact. He can hear it now. “You’re fucking Y/N? She doesn’t even like you! She’s only—!” Haechan’s voice echoes in his mind. Mark stands, going to the restroom to Apparate away quickly and secretly. He would rather deal with the consequences. If you weren’t happy, then the only solution is trying harder.

Meanwhile, Renjun smiles at you as you come back to the table, “So?”

“It worked. He’s under my spell, so he’ll do whatever I want.” You say with pride. But your tongue sticks to the back of your throat, dry, sick, regretful. Even your own body knew you were lying. You would rather have let him win, and continue that relationship. That would be weak. If Renjun found out, he would no doubt transfer you to Mahoutokoro, the Hogwarts of Asia. You didn’t want to go back, back to where the drama was all there. “That’s perfect!” Your twin hugs you, and you smile weakly. Force it, you tell yourself. No one can know. “I’m blackmailing him to win the next duel, it’ll be great.”

“Then I’ll definitely be there. Y/N,” Renjun hugs you tighter, before he releases and looks in your eyes, “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to win. I promise.” You nod, looking past him, watching as Mark eyes you, before standing and leaving the Hall. Hate is such a strong word, you didn’t even know if you felt it anymore.

ఌ

“Y/N!” Mark pounded on the door, holding his black locks of hair tightly. “Go away!” You screamed, your pillow stained with tears. You had been crying for a week after Renjun had explained to you, with every detail of the situation. Mark had been using the spell for the past week. He was seen studying Legilimency. That’s why you were always smelling pinewood; his scent, to bind you his will. You were starting to get obsessed with Mark Lee. From muttering his name at night to having to be near him. “I never did that! Y/N believe me! I—!” Mark begged, his eyes looking around your dorm room door, as if wishing to see through it.

You opened the door, and Mark is met with your puffy red eyes, and a red nose. “Baby,” he exhaled. “Then explain.” You said harshly. “I would love to know why you broke our pact. Why I was so obsessed- better yet, why don’t you explain why you wanted to do the soulmate spell. The books you always checked out about Legilimency, huh? YOU JUST WANTED TO BE CLOSER TO ME!” Your voice raised with each word, to the point you were screaming, the Headmaster could’ve heard you.

“It wasn’t me!” Mark pleaded, “Baby I wouldn’t use it on you! I love you!” That was the first time you heard those words out of his mouth. So you smacked him. Hard, it left a blue, almost purple mark as he fell back a few steps. “Well guess what, Lee? I hate you. Stay away from me, my brother and the others. You broke our pact.”

You closed the door, leaning against it, screaming as you cried more.

Because that was a lie.

You loved him too.

ఌ

Mark Apparates back in the classroom, going into his seat right before the bells rang, before realizing you’re next to him. Okay so he did know he was sitting next to a girl, but he forgot today you were cutely wearing your hair pinned back, revealing the birthmark on your face. The one place he used to kiss. He gets out his wand, and a few textbooks.

“Drinking butterbeer again, I see.” You whisper, looking up. “It’s sweet, and there was only a little bit of alcohol, so I’ll be fine.” Mark says, before realizing the situation. “Uh—,” he starts.

“Well, it’s not good. Next time I’ll go with you.” You say softly, looking at the Professor’s new hair color, it’s pink. “You’re not old enough yet.” Mark takes out his wand, lying it next to him. You raise an eyebrow, despite looking ahead. “Neither are you. So, settle down, I won’t do you no harm.” Yes you were regretting the action against Mark, but why not have at least a little fun? Besides, you have the power. Let’s see how long you can use it.

The Professor sits on his desk, looking at the Ravenclaw and Slytherin students. “Have any of you heard of the Triwizard Tournament incident, a couple decades ago yes?” Everyone murmurs, and you and Mark sit up at the same time. You assume that spending at least a year with him, of course you and he would share behavior instincts.

“Well, it was a terrible incident where the beloved Cedric Diggory from the Hufflepuff died at the hands of the Dark Lord. However, we still want to hold it.” Everyone now starts to talk louder. You and Mark eye each other out of your peripheral vision. “So, we invited Mahoutokoro to fight with us, and Ilvermorny. They’re expected to come by lunch. We will choose three wizards from each school instead of one. Remember to be present at lunch. Now, onto our Patronus, please stand.”

Mark stands up with the class, before gently helping you. Baekhyun pauses, and he is mute until he regains his train of thought again, “Oh-Okay class, take out your wands.” Your willow wood wand felt more knotty in your hand as you eye Mark’s pinewood. “As we learned, think of your happiest memory.” That would be hard, as Mark is next to you. But nevertheless you close your eyes, raising your wand slowly as you let the power echo through your body.

The memory of Renjun and you sharing a milkshake, as young children, him making pretty drawings of the sunrise and you singing happily echoes as you open your eyes. “Expecto Patronum!” You shout, pointing out along with a few others as Mark is still focused. Like water, your Patronus of a falcon pours out, screeching before flying around the classroom. “Excellent work Miss Huang! I did not expect your Patronus to come out so easily.” Baekhyun chuckles as he watches your falcon land on your shoulder before fading away.

“Expecto Patronum!” Mark points out, his eyes slightly teary, as was most others trying to think. But luckily his Patronus roars out, a lion coming out and going around the classroom. Mark smiles at him. You both had to pretend you didn’t expect it, so you kept staring at him.

The faint memory of Lucas teaching you, Mark and the rest of the Dreamies the Patronus spell. Lucas’ was a dog, which was no surprise now you think about it. You stop zoning out once the lion is in front of you. It gives a soft nod, bowing its head before fading away. “How amazing! It took me 89 tries to do this when I was your age! I hope you both make it into the Tournament.” Baekhyun claps, and so do a few others. Mark grins, nodding as he says through his teeth, “Your Patronus looks pretty.”

“Compliments won’t do anything, Lee.” You say through your own, and you both sit down at the Professor’s word. “I mean it. Not because you’re fucking blackmailing me.”

“It is a good fucking blackmail, isn’t it?” You make a pun, batting your eyes. “Ha ha,” Mark sarcastically laughs, muttering, “Just as funny as Taeyong.” You snicker softly, “He is, isn’t he?”

Renjun yells out his spell from a few rows in front of you, and out runs out a fox, looking at the rest of the class with focus, before running towards Mark, and fading away. “Another amazing student! And your third try? Third truly is the charm, Mr. Huang. You’re as amazing as your sister.” Baekhyun praises again. Renjun smiles wide, bowing with a thank you as he sits back down. “Do you want to enter that tournament?” Mark says as he writes down his procedures on the Patronus, knowing the Professor would ask. “No, we don’t know the age group either.” You look at your nails, already done with your own paper. “Ah, mm,” Mark says softly before whispering and letting his quill move as he flicks his wand back into his cloak, “I might. It would be fun to prove to the Headmaster we are fit to win against the other schools, it can even get you the book for the spell.”

You flash him a look as he smirks on his face, “Don’t give me that look.” Crossing your arms, you grumble, “You think you can egg me in? Call me chicken?”

“No, I’m saying it’s a good chance for you, Y/N.” Mark looks at you finally, raising an eyebrow. “Just take my advice, it’s good.”

“It’s not going to stop me from destroying the string.”

“I know, I just thought you would like the idea..”

“Shut it Mark Lee.” You growl at him. This is why you hate him. He thought he knew better. He doesn’t. His quill stops writing on it’s own after making a period for the last paragraph. After that class, Renjun steals you away. “Finally! Why were you talking to him?” Renjun hisses at you. “He wanted to negotiate,” you sigh softly, thanking God you have the patience for a whole hour with Mark Lee. “Don’t believe him. I can help you, you know, give him some spells so he can fail.”

“I won’t do what he did to me. That’s not right, Renjun.”

“I thought you wanted him to fail.” Your brother sighs, “I’m here to support you.”

“I know,” you say softly. “Thanks, but I can handle him.”

Instead of riding broomsticks for the free period, everyone had written their names for the Triwizard Tournament. You had opted Renjun to participate in, ignoring his statements that you should enter as well. You would rather die than enter especially with Mark’s suggestions. You even saw Mark write his own name in as well, before racing with Jaemin and Haechan..

Lunch came as fast as Jaemin’s broomstick time. You start to drool with hunger over your food. “Slow down!” Bianca cries, as you shove the food in your mouth before realizing this was not regular English food. “Everyone, please settle down.” The Headmaster Taemin looks among you all, “The Triwizard Tournament pickings start in 20 minutes, and the other schools will—,”

The doors open, and there’s six people standing at the threshold. All look regal, intimidating. Powerful.

You continue to eat, paying no mind, but Bianca makes you sit up. “They’re so hot,” she whispers, and you finally look.

Three Americans, and three Asian students, all boys having to be in their last year no doubt. “From Ilvermorny, we have Mark Tuan, Johnny Suh and Vernon Chwe.” As each one walks down, you’re intimidated by their height and their flawless looks, standing straight to the left of the Headmaster. “Finally, but not the least of course, we have the Mahoutokoro students, Xiao Dejun, Qian Kun, and Dong Sicheng.” One of them stares at you intently after walking in. You give a soft smile to them, trying to remember if you knew them from when you were a student there. They stand next to the Ilvermorny students, a few inches or so shorter than them.

“I didn’t expect you early.” The Headmaster looks at the others. One of the tallest Ilvermorny boys clears his throat, “We wanted to be punctual sir.” The Headmaster mutters something about Americans but he clears his throat as well, “We haven’t chosen ours, but here it goes. Professor Minseok, can you do the honors?” The Professor nods, and with his wand, swirls out the Goblet of Air, the newest one since the last one had been compromised. You watch in awe at the silver cup, the soft sounds of paper swirling inside. A paper whooshes out and he smiles at the name, “Huang Renjun!” The Ravenclaw house roars at the name and you cheer, stomping on the floor and slamming the tables as you yell, “GO RENJUN!”

He stands, being the shortest as he stands in front. Renjun looks so confident, his chest puffed, his face expressionless except the twinkle in his eyes. You were so proud. “Next up,” the Headmaster says, and everyone cheers out different names. But you heard Slytherin's house clearly. “MARK LEE MARK LEE MARK LEE MARK LEE!” They chant like a spell, and you roll your eyes. He was powerful, but not as much as your brother—

“Mark Lee!” The Slytherin house lost it. You turn to see Mark Lee push his blonde hair back, looking around before landing his gaze on you. Mark winks, before walking over and standing next to Renjun. Your brother’s face contorts, trying to stand straighter- although still being short.

“And finally,” The Professor used his wand to grace the last paper. No one chants, why should they? They have the complete set. Bianca grabs your arm, “I wonder who the next one is—!” The Headmaster widens his eyes, looks at the paper again before clearing his throat, “Huang Y/N, please join the stage.”

ꨄ

After the ceremony, you push Mark with all your strength into the Room of Esired, hissing, “What the FUCK did you do?”

“Nothing! It wasn’t—!”

“Just fucking admit it, you piece of shit, you nominated me!” You yell. Mark holds your cheek, his other hand on your arm, he frowns. “Why would I do that? I-It’s probably random! I have blackmail over my head.” He whispers quietly, his fingers stroking your skin with care. The actios eases your emotion, causing you to pant only shallowly. You let out a small exhale, and Mark smiles, chuckling, “There we go. Like I said, you look so cute when you’re angry.”

“Shut it.”

“Sorry,” Mark gulps and you let him continue to hold you. Slowly he leans in more with your permission, hugging you. You listen to his calm breathing, and let it soothe your thoughts. “Y/N, I would never do that to you, especially when you said no. You have your limits,” he holds you closer, and whispers, “And I’ll respect them.” The beat of his breathing is so slow, you close your eyes. You couldn’t say no, as much as you didn’t want to; he was being genuine.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. “Don’t. I can help you find out,” he leans down, brushing his lips on your head. You rane your head up, sighing softly, “Mark?” He looks down, raising an eyebrow in reply, and you melt. You hated that.

It was hot.

“Can we kiss?”

Mark gulps, and you feel it. You look at him intently, and he smiles softly. “Why not?” You lean up, and Mark closes the gap, holding your chin softly as he kisses your lips, his top lip gently slowly taking over yours, but he’s gentle. What was with him? You still focus on the kiss, and pull away for a breath, making Mark grip on your chin more.

“Just a little peck?” He asks with a teasing grin. You kiss again as a response, your hands going around his neck. Both of you softly let each other take their time before kissing again with more passion, more love. It’s the most healthy way for you both to communicate. As you feel light with each soft tug and each soft push on yours, you jump. Your legs immediately lock around his waist, and Mark catches you. He slowly lets his hands go on your ass before clears his throat, pulling away from the intimate kiss.

“I want to. . .I want to do it with you again,” he says softly, feeling your bare ass, making a small pattern. It felt like a heart. “For real. Without stress. Nothing out of hate.” You bite your lip softly, looking at him. He was being genuine. Just like before. “This is, this isn’t—,” You ask but Mark lets his hands move from your ass and to your hips instead. “I promise. Show it to the world. I thought this whole benefits thing would- could even have you believe I’m good for you again.”

He hides in your neck, and you feel him back. The old Mark Lee. Where you both kissed each other in the library, pranking Professor Jongdae by being each other, cracking jokes with each other Mark Lee. The one you love. “Baby. . .I just want us again.” He whimpers, and you feel a small drop of liquid on your shoulder. You kiss his jawline, whispering, “I’m putting the string away in a safe place. How many minutes—?” Mark mumbles into your skin, “Twenty two.”

“Apparate us to my dorm room. I want to put away my string.” He looks up and you smile, holding his chin gently. “I’m taking a chance on you, Lee. Please, please don’t fuck it up.” He kisses your nose, smiling wider than you have ever seen. “I’m stupid, but not that much, Y/N.”

Once appearing in your room, you push Mark to the wall. “Turn around!” You yell. “I am!” Mark rolls his eyes, his body facing the wall but his head turned around like an owl’s. “Please!” You beg, half regretting this now. “Fine fine,” Mark closes his eyes and turns around, humming a song. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“Yet we’re—,”

“You’re ruining the mood!” You grumble as you hide the string in your panties drawer. You quickly take off your shirt without there being noise as you smile and lean up, covering his eyes from behind. Mark laughs, and you can feel him smiling. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Doing what I always wanted to do. Sure we have sex and such, but,” you hold his neck, and he looks down. Mark gulps at your half nude self and he says with a quiet stutter, “O-Oh.”

“I was hoping we could make out? I know this whole thing has been going on for years and we haven’t done that, but—,”

“Baby,” Mark touches the small back before your ass as he whispers, “As long as I see that pretty smile of yours, I’m fine. You deserve to be happy so much more than me; now lay on the bed, and I’ll help your dirty imagination.” You pout, but you lay on the bed after taking off your shoes, “It wasn’t dirty!” Mark takes off his shirt, taking off his own shoes before snaking his hand up your skirt, earning a needy whine from you.

“Hmm, you sure nothing dirty, baby?” Mark says, and you feel immense chills down your body.

“You love to tease,” you moan as he gently plays with the band on your skirt, hearing it snap back. “That I do. But not right now.” Mark kisses you open mouthed, which you thankfully expected, kissing back as his tongue goes in your mouth.

You whine his name as his hand goes to your shirtless chest, playing and pulling on your nipple. Your hands go on his neck, holding it as you both kiss more passionately, and you mutter his name, “M-Mark,” His lips bite on yours for a second, making you whimper before he takes control again, his tongue pushing on yours. Mark knew it as much as you, he will always control, and you love that. “M-Mark~,” you start to moan his name, holding his shoulder with one hand to be stable, to not go crazy.

He knows your body the way he knew how to cast a Transfiguration spell. He pulls away from your mouth, saliva connecting you two as you hold his hair in the other hand. He kisses down your body, whispering, “You’re being so nice, babydoll. Be louder for me, please.”

“Mark!” You moan loudly as he gently makes a hickey on your breast, chuckling. Your core starts to throb, echoing throughout your body. You already wanted him, and he had barely touched your area. “Good girl,” his tongue pulls at your nipple, and he laughs when you grip on his hair tightly, whining his name out. “Want more?” He whispers, his breath warm, making your cheeks heat up even more.

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly, and he kisses down to your stomach, chuckling, “I won’t make you sore yet, baby. I’ll just make you feel good, are you alright with that?” You flush with embarrassment, and nod. “M-Mark?” He finishes his last kiss before your skirt, he looks up. “Yes, babydoll?”

How fast did you say it, the little words, “I’m so sorry, Mark. Can you ever forgive me?” Mark goes on top of you again, and kisses you softly. “Baby,” he whispers, giving you chills as he holds your hips. He gives you a kiss again. “I,” another kiss, “Will,” *kiss* “Always,” *kiss* “Forgive,” *kiss* “And,” *kiss* “Love,” *kiss -this one had even more passion than the others, and is slightly longer, making you want more when he pulls away,- “You. Y/N I know it was easy to suspect me. Even before when you had a spell on you, when I studied Legilimency. But I love you, that’s why I wanted to do the spell, to study that. I should’ve told you, and I apologize. Honestly, I just want to see that smile on that pretty face of yours, Y/N.” You’re giggling enough from the kisses on your face and birthmark you just kiss and hug him, “Let’s just kiss,” he mumbles in your shoulder, and you tilt his head up, humming with fulfillment, “and never say goodbye,” Mark kisses your body again, as you both giggle and whisper each other’s name.

“Uh-Uh Y/N?”

second part

#enjoy!!#not a lotta smut sorry :/#nct fanfiction #wayv #fanfiction #kpopimagines #kpopfanfiction #kpop #mark smut #marklee #harry potter au #enemies with benefits #nctdream #nct dream #nct dream angst #nct #hate is a strong word

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impala-dreamer · 5 years ago

Text

Ragdoll

SPN FanFic

~Most of the time curses kill you, sometimes they just cause a ton of problems. But sometimes...very occasionally, they can fulfil one of your darkest desires.~

Dean x Reader x Sam (no wincest), Mentions of Bobby

3,740 Words

Warnings: NSFW!!! Case Angst. Magical Interference. Curse. Established Polygamous Relationship. Brotherly Banter. Magical Transformation Due To Curse. Oral. Face Fucking. Spitroasting. Creampie. Multiple Orgasms. Mentions of Pizza.

A/N: This was a prompt from my 3some Party that just now got done. Thanks to my love @because-imma-lady-assface and thank you to @justcallmeasmodeus and @feelmyroarrrr for reading it over. I hope you all enjoy. I quite love it.

Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

Dean stood before the witch, pistol drawn and on the ready. His bowed legs were spread, green eyes locked, shoulders squared.

He took aim.

So did the witch.

The hag pulled her palms apart, conjuring up a ball of red, sparkling light. The air seemed to crackle with lightning as the ball grew, and even Dean, ready to strike, was awed by the pressure in the room.

In a split second of distraction, Dean dropped his gun just a hair and the witch struck.

The room filled with blinding red light and the electric ball shot across the room at Dean.

He cringed.

Sam yelled.

Y/N screamed.

There was a loud pop and then silence. Dean gasped and opened his eyes, finding the room back to normal and the witch gone. He took a deep breath and patted his chest with both hands, expecting to find a gaping hole or smoking flannel, but he was fine.

Surprised, he looked to his right and smirked at Sam. "Guess the bitch missed."

Sam shook his head and dove towards Dean's feet. "No!"

Y/N was on the floor, laid out, arms and legs twisted beneath her. She'd jumped in front of the spell, taking the hit for Dean.

"Fuck! Y/N, no!" Dean fell to his knees, hands frantically waving over the top of her frozen form, unsure of what to do as worry and guilt swirled in his head.

Sam slid down and scooped her up, nearly knocking Dean on his ass as he forced an arm beneath Y/N's head. He checked her pulse and then slapped her cheek hard, pulling her back to consciousness.

"Jesus fuck!" She shot up out of Sam's arms, pulling in a loud breath that gave Dean permission to breathe as well.

"Damnit, Y/N!" he cursed, turning away so she couldn't see the wetness of relief in his eyes. "Why did you do that!"

Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam helped her up. "You're welcome! Geeze, save a man's life and he gets all snippy…"

"You can't do things like that!" Dean barked, spinning around with fear in his eyes. "You had no idea what that spell was!"

"So I should have just let it hit you and found out?" She pulled away from Sam and wobbled forward a bit. "I don't think so!"

Dean balled his fists. "It could have killed you!"

Y/N grit her teeth. "It could have killed you!" She took a step but her toes felt funny, numb.

"Damnit, woman!"

"It didn't kill me, so..whatever!" She tossed her hands up in aggravated doneness and attempted to turn away, but Dean grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Don't do that again." He held her tight.

"Fine." She softened, shoulders and voice falling gently.

"Liar." He smiled.

"Asshole." She grinned.

"Can we go now?" Sam sighed.

They kissed.

Sam shook his head and turned for the door.

The drive back to the motel was fairly long as they had tracked the witch almost across the entire county.

Sam had his nose in the files while Dean worried a hole in his bottom lip, teeth digging in while he hugged the road.

"No idea what that was?" he asked his brother for the umpteenth time. "You didn't hear anything? No spell? You sure?"

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I really didn't. I was a little busy fighting off the pitbull. By the way, he nearly chewed through my boot. But I'm fine, thanks."

Y/N sat forward and patted Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby. We'll get you some new shoes after we dump this cunt in a hole."

Sam grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently.

Y/N noticed vaguely that she couldn't feel the usual stubble atop his lip.

"You still feeling ok?" Dean asked, eyeing her through the rearview.

Y/N sat back and gave him a tight smile. "I'm fine, Dean…"

"Don't get all annoyed at me," he scoffed. "You did something stupid."

"Yeah, yeah." Y/N rolled her eyes and turned towards the window, crossing her arms as she went. She felt the pressure as she whacked her elbow on the door, but the pain of it wasn't there. She shrugged it off and lay her head down, letting the rumble of the Impala rock her to sleep.

"Hey! We're here!"

Dean's palm slapped the back of the seat; the cracking leather and his deep voice pulling Y/N awake.

"Yeah," she mumbled, rubbing her drool covered cheek on her shoulder, "I'm up." She sat up, giving herself a sleepy shove away from the door, but she felt heavy, wrong.

The Impala rocked from side to side as the brothers vacated, doors squeaking on their hinges. Y/N shook her head, trying to clear away the last dregs of slumber, and reached for the door handle. Her shoulder twitched but her hand refused to move.

"Um."

Thinking perhaps she'd been leaning on a nerve and it fell asleep, Y/N reached for the door with her left hand.

It refused, barely lifting off of her lap.

"Um…"

She tried again with both hands, but she could not control her arms; everything below her elbows felt like lead.

With a small nugget of panic rising in her gut, she tried to wiggle her toes, then turn her ankles, extend her knees, but again- nothing. She could feel the seat beneath her, feel the pressure of trying to move, but her body would not cooperate.

"Um!"

Sam turned as he heard her shout. "What's wrong?" He opened the door and Y/N looked up with a worried but comical smile.

"Hey, so, you know that giant ball of witch power I took to the chest?"

Sam carried her to the room and lay her out on the bed, back propped up by every pillow in the double room. She watched as the boys scuffled about, Sam flipping through a random text, Dean barely concentrating on the computer as his eyes kept coming back to Y/N.

"You sure you're not in pain?" he asked, brow creased with worry.

Y/N smiled gently and attempted to shrug, but her arms, shoulder down, were blocks of granite. "I'm really not," she said honestly. "It's just annoying."

"And you are having no trouble breathing? Anything like that?" Sam inquired, eyes lifting from his book.

"Nope."

“Well, that’s good.”

Dean eyed him suspiciously. “How is this good?”

Sam sighed and put his book aside, giving up on it. “Well, generally, with full-body paralysis like this, the lungs and heart and internal organs are affected as well, usually making it hard for the body to continue… being alive.” Dean sat up, more concerned than ever, but Sam held up a hand. “But that’s not happening here, it seems. Just… she’s gone…”

“Limp,” Dean said sadly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m right here, ya know,” Y/N hissed, trying to shake her head in annoyance, but unable to move her neck. “Fuck. Guys…I can’t…” Her voice went high and tight and her eyes wet with frustration.

Dean left the table and sat by her side, warm fingers closing around her useless hand. “You’re gonna be OK, babygirl. OK?” He smiled sadly and squeezed her fingers. “You can still feel that, right?”

She tried to nod, but nothing moved. “I can. I… I’m so sorry, Dean. This is a waste of time and I shouldn’t have, I just… I couldn’t watch you get hurt again.”

“Stop that right now.” Dean gave her a true smile and leaned over her, kissing her forehead and then the apple of each cheek, then the tip of her nose. “We’ll fix this.”

“Dean?” she breathed, almost a hum against him. “I can feel your hand…”

Looking down, he noticed that his left hand had dropped almost automatically to her right breast as he leaned over; nothing unusual or unwanted, just odd in timing. He pulled back almost instantly.

“I’m... oops.” He laughed and Y/N smiled.

“It’s OK. I’m glad I can still feel it.”

Dean licked his lip slyly and gave her nipple a quick tweak. Y/N gasped and her eyes fluttered.

“Oh...ok…” she moaned. “That’s...wow. Yes. Please.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow in interest and let his fingers close around her tit, squeezing gently.

Her lips parted with a heavy sigh. "Use me, Dean…"

Sam interrupted. “That’s it!” he announced, jumping up and stomping towards the door. “I’m calling Bobby.”

Dean turned to watch him go, shrugging as the door slammed shut. Back to Y/N, he shifted on the bed and cupped both of Y/N’s breasts, watching carefully as her eyes glazed over.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yes…”

His thumbs rolled over her nipples until they were hard. “And that?”

Y/N moaned. “Yeah.”

He leaned down and kissed her slowly, sucking on her bottom lip. “Feel that?”

“Mmm.” Her tongue fell still against his, but her heavy breaths urged him on.

“And this?” Scratchy lips drifted slowly down across her jaw to settle beneath her ear.

“Ahh…”

Dean blew a thin stream of air across her ear and he felt her skin pimple beneath his fingertips. “This?”

Y/N made a throaty noise, but her tongue was immobile, her lips stuck slightly parted. He felt so good, so heavy on top of her, but she could do little more than moan and blink.

He snuck a hand up beneath her shirt, calloused fingertips scraping against her belly. Dean leaned in harder, sucking on her collarbone while he reached for her tit.

The door opened and closed loudly, Sam bounding in with information on his tongue. He looked up and nearly dropped his phone as he saw Dean molesting Y/N.

“Dean, what the fuck!”

“No, no…” Dean defended, climbing off the bed. “She likes it. She can feel it and was talking and asking for it just a minute ago.”

Sam looked over his brother at Y/N who lay like a statue on the pillows. Her head was tilted slightly to the right, her eyes wide and staring, lips parted. “Y/N?”

She didn’t move, entire body locked in place, but made a noise, pushing out a deep breath.

“See? She’s fine.” Dean smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, but quickly dropped them as Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s tented jeans.

“Ya know…”

Dean cleared his throat. “So, any news?”

Sam put his phone on the table and nodded. “Bobby says it’s a simple Boneca Curse, seems similar to one he saw a few years back. It’s basically just a self-defense tactic to buy time. It should wear off in about six hours. Doesn’t kill you, just turns you into a…”

“Ragdoll.”

“Yeah.”

Dean smirked, looking back at Y/N. “Fun.”

Sam startled. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, eyes widening with an idea. “Watch.”

He returned to the bed and picked up Y/N’s left arm, holding it high and then letting it drop. It hit the bed, bouncing slightly on the crappy mattress, and then went still.

“Real mature,” Sam scolded.

Dean ignored him and carefully lifted both of Y/N’s arms above her head. They lay where he put them, gently resting on the pillows. He then spread her legs with care, running his hands firmly up her inner thighs as he went. Finally, he puckered her lips, tilting her chin down a bit.

“What are you doing?” Sam sighed, trying to remain unaffected by the sexual possibilities. She looked like a sex doll, open and ready to play.

“Instant bondage, no ropes!” Dean explained, proud of himself. “She can’t move, can’t squirm away. This is awesome.”

Sam shook his head and moved towards the scene. “Can’t give her consent, can’t use her safe word...this isn’t OK, Dean.”

Dean sucked his teeth. "Ya know, back when you didn't have a soul, you would have been all over this."

"Which should tell you something."

Y/N groaned and the boys turned their heads to her.

"I think she's trying to say something," Sam observed, moving to lean his ear to her lips.

"...ee..ssee…"

Dean looked over his shoulder. "What'd she say?"

"I don't know. I think she said please."

Dean snapped his fingers victoriously. "Told ya! Dude, she was begging for it two minutes ago. Trust me. This is like a huge fantasy for her."

Sam's neck nearly broke it spun around so fast. "She's said that?"

"I mean, not the whole curse thing, but the unable to move…" Dean waved his hands over Y/N, trying to articulate, "...frozen, time stop, sex doll thing. Yeah."

Sam frowned in interest and looked back at Y/N. "Really?"

"What, you guys don't talk about your kinks and stuff?"

Sam shook his head. "No, we talk about normal things like books and art and lore."

Dean laughed. "Your pillow talk needs work, brother."

There was a long pause during which Sam debated his entire life. He thought about Y/N and how much he loved to make her cum like a fountain on his dick, remembered every moral philosophy book he'd ever read and there were a few, then concluded without question that he was in no way going to touch or allow Dean to touch Y/N while she was in such a state.

Just as Sam moved to get up, Y/N made a noise that wasn't too far from but not quite his name, and Sam gave in to the impossibly shady but ultimately alluring situation. He kissed her hard, marveling at the feel of her lips. She was locked in place yet pliable, soft and warm. She couldn't kiss him back, but she moaned appreciatively when Sam bit down on her lip.

Dean took advantage of Sam's distraction and slowly began to undress her, taking care to use gentle fingers as he peeled off her boots, socks, jeans, and panties. When he reached her bare pussy, he let out a whistle that pulled Sam's eyes downwards.

"Look at that, Sammy," he beamed. "Pretty girl's all wet and ready for us."

Sam pinched her nipples through her shirt and watched in amazement as her pussy visibly clenched. "Well now...this may actually be fun."

Dean crawled onto the bed and fit himself between her legs, sitting up on his knees. "Come on, Sam, this was already fun." He grabbed Y/N's ankles gently and pushed, bending her knees as he spread them wider. Again, she stayed where he put her and Dean licked his lips. "So much fun."

Sam heard a rip of metal and looked back in shock as Dean was unsheathing his cock.

“You’re not gonna do that,” Sam hissed under his breath.

Fisting his cock and nudging the tip through Y/N’s already slick hole, Dean;s head wobbled in confusion. “Uh… yeah, I am.”

Y/N moaned happily as Dean pushed inside, just an inch, just to see what she’d do. Of course, she did nothing; body remaining exactly as he’d positioned it, but inside she was screaming for more, begging with all her soul for him to fuck her nice and hard while Sam watched on.

"Holy shit, she's so wet." Dean nearly purred as he thrust in a bit more, cock swallowed by her slick heat. "So...wet." His eyes rolled closed and he rocked his hips, bottoming out slowly, savoring the moment.

"Fuck." Sam stared at Y/N's blank, doll like expression as Dean began to move. He could feel the bed move with each thrust, hear Dean pushing through her wetness, but Y/N remained unchanged. Despite his worry, it was incredibly hot and he tugged at his jeans awkwardly, trying to give his hardening dick some space.

Dean noticed Sam's discomfort. "You don't have to just sit there like a lump, you know."

Sam twisted around, cheeks rudy with embarrassment. "What?"

"She's...fuck...she's got a mouth, Sam…"

Dean fell forward, hands catching on the mattress beside her waist and shut out the world, focusing on the delicious tightness of Y/N's cunt; imagining what she must be thinking, pretending he could hear her usual moans and screams.

Sam drew a finger across Y/N's cheek, curling it under her chin when he reached it. Curiously, he gave a little pull and her head turned towards him without a hint of hesitation. "Wow."

Y/N's breath crackled in her throat. He wished he could see a spark, hear a plea, something, anything, but she was a living statue. A true doll ready to be played with.

It didn't take him long to make the choice, his dick was throbbing painfully in his jeans.

Gently, he opened her mouth and squeezed her cheeks a bit, forming a beautiful pink circle into which he dipped the head of his cock. Her mouth watered around him and she moaned gratefully.

"Hear that?" Dean asked, voice a husky whisper as he picked up speed, "she always loves a good double stuff."

Sam ignored him, keeping his gaze on Y/N's empty, expressionless eyes as he slowly fucking into her mouth. "God, you're beautiful," he growled, speaking to the ragdoll who couldn't acknowledge.

Inside, she blushed. Inside, she gagged around his massive cock. Inside, she thrashed and twisted and clawed and tightened and screamed as her body shook with orgasm.

Outside, she was silent, but her cunt spasmed hard around Dean.

"Holy fuck!" He shivered and pushed up again, thrusting faster. "I think she just came."

"Such a good...fuckdoll," Sam praised, sliding through her lips again. An idea floated through his head and Sam grabbed her left hand, turning her wrist and arranging her fingers so that she cupped his balls perfectly. "So good."

With a smirk, Dean followed suit, yanking Y/N's shirt up over her chest and placing her right hand on her breast. For fun, he squeezed her fingers so they stayed tight around the soft flesh, dumpling it perfectly.

"There ya go, baby," he teased. "I know you like to play with your tits when you cum."

Her cunt clenched in response and Dean lifted her knees, hooking them around his sides so he could take her deeper. The new angle made her hum deeply and after four good snaps of Dean's hips, she was cumming again, this time letting loose a hot stream against him.

"Fuck, Y/N!" Dean grunted with each thrust and then came, unable to hold back any longer.

He rolled away after a while, pants and shirt a wet mess. He lay on his back and dragged a hand down his face as he caught his breath, amazed that Y/N still had not moved. Her legs were as he'd left them, spread wide, pussy swollen and leaking his cum. He thought for a second about grabbing his phone and snapping a picture to show her later, but it was so far away, and his blood was still relocating back through his limbs.

Now that Sam had her all to himself, he went to town, pulling away to readjust his dollie. She moved so easily, as if she weighed nothing at all, and Sam quickly got her sitting up on her knees. With some effort, her removed her shirt and posed her hands to cup her naked tits, offering them up to him.

"You're way too into this, dude," Dean laughed, watching from his spot.

"Go take a shower," Sam snapped, maneuvering her head to sit where he wanted.

"Whatever."

The bathroom door slammed and Sam pushed his fingers through Y/N's hair, tangling tightly so he could pull her head back and forth.

Wide eyes stared, flat tongue lay still, heart raced.

Sam fucked her face until he felt her gag, jabbing his hips into her again and again. Tears fell and her voice rumbled; Sam went faster.

When he was close, he pulled out and took over, staring down at her pretty tits as he jerked himself off, aiming for her presented nipples as his target.

"Fuck! Goddammit, shit!"

Y/N stayed still, a living statue painted with his hot cum, face not showing a glimpse of the bliss rolling inside. She came again, mind blown as her cunt pulsed, soaking into the bed below.

Out of breath and growling, Sam hopped down off of the bed and grabbed her face in one hand, turning her lips upwards for a deep kiss.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Deep inside, Y/N thanked him in return.

"Go get me pizza," Y/N mumbled, stretching out her arms and nearly rolling out of bed.

Dean's head snapped towards her and he got up from the couch. "Hey, baby," he smiled, coming to sit by her side. "Feeling better?"

"I'm starving. Please go get me pizza."

He laughed and kissed her forehead, relieved the spell was fading. "Sam went to get some food."

"Good."

On cue, Sam was there, struggling to open the door with two paper bags and a cup holder in his hands. "Please, don't help," he sassed.

Dean shrugged. "Wasn't gonna."

Sam dropped dinner on the table and pulled a soda out for Y/N. "Drink," he said, shoving a straw in her face. "You need sugar."

"Think I already got some," she teased, reaching out to pinch his ass.

"You back to normal?"

She sighed and nodded. "I feel everything again. I'm back to normal." For emphasis, she wagged her fingers at him and winked. "All good. Sadly."

Sam cocked his head. "Sadly?"

"I mean… That was a fucking dream come true," she sighed and took a drink, staring off into nothing, remembering.

"Was pretty awesome," Dean agreed.

Sam smiled reluctantly. "It was."

Dean laughed. "Especially round two when you put her on the table and-"

"Oh, that was hot!" Y/N cut in, nodding enthusiastically. "And when you used the-"

Sam threw up his hands, done. "OK. It was hot! Do we need to talk about every detail?"

Y/N shrugged and chewed her straw. "I'm just saying...if you ever wanna use bedsheets like that again...I'm down."

Sam's face burned bright. "Please stop."

Dean laughed and fished a but her from the bag. "Such a prude, Sammy. Embrace your inner freak."

"Shut up!"

"Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

"I love you guys." Y/N sighed, sinking back against the pillows with a very satisfied smile.

2019 Forever Tag List (open): @akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

#spn fanfic #dean x reader x sam #dean x reader #sam x reader #smut #let's try this again #kinky stuff #one shot

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lepus-arcticus · 5 years ago

Text

OMENS: CHAPTER FIVE one | two | three | four trigger warnings apply HORIZON MENNONITE COLONY JULY 23 - 12:06 PM

Abel Stoesz was cabled with stringy muscle, a sparse yellow beard struggling to assert itself under phlegmy, peacock-blue eyes. He had the brutish, loose-jawed look of someone who was willfully stupid, and Mulder, still on edge from the dead fox in the boat, was already itching to break his nose.

Salome, his wife, was a waif of a woman; tiny, shorter even than Scully, and so agonizingly underweight that you could see the architecture of her skull beneath her face. Perched beside Abel on the stiff loveseat, she rested her bird-bone hands on the gentle, rounded swell of her belly, and a raisin-coloured bruise, smattered with green, framed one eye. Most of her was buttoned up in one of the ubiquitous puff-sleeved frocks of the religiously sequestered, but Mulder would bet that the bruise had a few cousins underneath the powder-blue polyester. They were a few days fresh, he estimated, probably about as old as the news of Anna’s death.

Mulder longed for the opportunity to set Abel up with a few matching welts of his own, but settled for hating him privately in the interest of avoiding an assault charge and one of Skinner’s arduous ass-chewings. He consoled himself by grinding his molars together.

Outside, white bungalows and red barns squatted in clusters on the flat expanse of land. A black storm battled the sun for dominance, and the glass panes of the windows, loose in their tracks, rattled against the wind. The other members of the colony, bonneted and behatted, milled politely about their business.

He and Marion had been invited to stay for lunch by the community elders the moment they arrived. They’d been ferried along to the dining hall, but then Abel had emerged from the throng and snapped them away from the friendly masses, yelling for Salome, who scurried after them and into the dark of their tiny home.

The air stank of hyssop detergent. No one offered coffee or tea. Marion refused to sit down, and Salome eyed the gun on her hip uneasily.

Abel spoke first, and spoke plainly. “I didn’t murder my sister.”

“It’s interesting you say that, Mr. Stoesz,” Mulder countered, struggling to hide the contempt in his voice. “Why do you assume that Anna was murdered?”

“Why else would you people be here?” Abel glared at Marion, who was standing sentinel near the empty wall, arms crossed. Mulder half expected steam to billow from her nostrils.

“Your sister’s husband mentioned that you’re not too fond of him,” Mulder said. “Would you say that’s accurate?”

“Hugh Daly is a scourge on this earth, and every day I pray for his retribution,” Abel sneered, spittle frothing in the corners of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t it be more Christlike to pray for mercy on his soul, instead of divine punishment?” Marion asked, her face ruddy with indignation. She stared Abel down with fiery determination, and Abel stared right back, the loose skin around his eyes twitching, not deigning to respond. The wind knocked against the windows like it wanted to pick a fight.

“What has he done to warrant retribution?” Mulder asked, and Abel turned back to him.

“Anna always had a… disobedient streak. That’s why she left. But that man… he seduced her, corrupted her. Ruined her. Before he came sniffing around, before he made her his whore, Anna could have still come home. She could have returned to her people, to her rightful place.”

“Her rightful place?” Mulder prodded.

“It was my duty to bring her back. To correct her. She was my sister. My responsibility.”

Mulder leaned back in his seat, hands firmly flattened on his knees so they wouldn’t accidentally crash into Abel’s ugly mug. He let his eyes pass over Salome’s battered, bitter face, and wondered what, exactly, constituted this man’s idea of responsibility.

“You know, Mr. Stoesz,” he began, slowly, easing into a new strategy. “I… do admire your conviction. It takes a strong hand to correct a wayward woman, and so few men these days have the stomach for it.”

Abel was visibly heartened, his mouth twisting into an agreeable, self-righteous frown. This is too easy, Mulder thought to himself. Men like Abel thrived on validation. If he could effectively convince him that he was on his side, he was sure Abel would, intentionally or otherwise, let the cat out of the bag. Or, maybe, in this case, the crow.

Mulder could feel Marion staring at the back of his head, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything. He hoped she could trust that he knew what he was doing.

“I have a sister too,” he half-lied. “I understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. To bring her home if she was… lost.” His mind conjured a few versions of Samantha at various ages, abducted, cloned, ripped to a bloody pulp in the wheat. His chest contracted in a familiar pain, and he directed the images to the raw hollow in the back of his brain where he kept most of his thoughts about her, promising to return to them later for self-flagellation.

Abel nodded fervidly, evidently gathering his thoughts.

“Anna was the devil’s slut⁠—” Salome hissed in a high, thin squall, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. “Witch—”, then Abel violently gripped her arm, and she gasped and shut her mouth, glowering at her belly and skating a claw around it discontentedly.

“She was still my kin,” Abel growled.

Mulder, sensing an opening, leapt in for the kill. “Mr. Stoesz, have you ever experienced anything you couldn’t explain? Or suspected that you have the ability to make things… happen? To affect the world around you without necessarily taking direct action?”

Abel looked at Mulder stupidly, his neanderthal mind stonemilling the words, trying to decide if he was accusing him of something or not. But before he could answer, Salome spoke again.

“Hugh Daly is facing retribution for his sins. Whatever misfortunes befall him, whether they are acts of God, man, or Satan himself, he is deserving of.” She trembled with conviction, her bony jaw shaking.

“And Anna, Mrs. Stoesz? What about her?” Marion said tersely, from over at the wall.

“Perhaps she has also received her judgement,” said Salome, and Abel looked at her quickly, working, Mulder noticed, to keep his expression neutral.

Mulder’s cell chirped in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and removed himself to the porch, carelessly letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He jabbed the worn rubber of the call button and put the phone to his ear, squinting at the gathering storm. “Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me…” Scully sounded breathless, resigned. He didn’t like it one bit. “Hey, you okay? What did the autopsy turn up?” He picked at a shard of peeling paint on the railing, wary of the sadness in her voice.

“Anna Daly was pregnant.”

“... Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“I found… remnants. Of the fetus.”

Mulder flinched. “From what I can gather based on the apparent level of skeletal development, I’d estimate she was eighteen to twenty weeks along.”

He sucked air through his teeth. “Jesus. You think Daly knew?”

“I’m going to call him up to the station here and find out.”

“You okay?” His stomach clenched with the brief flickering memory of her ova in a vial. Not now, he thought. She doesn’t need to know right now. Maybe not ever.

She hesitated momentarily before answering him. “I’m fine, Mulder.”

“You sure?” Scully’s voice took on an exasperated edge. “Yes.”

“Because if you’re not, it’s…” “What do you want me to say? That it was fun?” She said, sharply. “Scully, that’s not⁠—”

“⁠—Listen, I have to get back. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“...Okay,” he said, doing little to disguise the irritation in his tone.

Held hostage by some unspoken, unacknowledged superstition, neither of them said goodbye. Mulder hung up the phone, took a stabilizing breath, refocused himself, and walked back inside. He settled back into a stiff-cushioned chair across from the Stoeszs. “I just got a call from my partner,” he said. “Mr. Stoesz, are you aware that Anna was pregnant at the time of her death?”

Abel looked like Mulder had punched him in the gut, which was almost as good as actually doing it.

“Are you serious?” Marion whispered behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, her eyes were saucer-wide.

And then Abel leapt up in a sudden rage, prompting Salome to flee the loveseat like a frightened, emaciated rabbit.

“Get out of my house,” he seethed, taking a few lunging steps towards Marion. She stumbled backwards, palming her gun over the holster.

“Mrs. Stoesz, if you’d like, you’re free to come with us.” Mulder swiftly maneuvered himself so that he was between her and Abel, and reached out an upturned hand, but she gave him such a sharp, hateful look that his balls practically shrivelled, even as his heart went out to her.

“You heard my husband,” she hissed. “Get out.”

Just another person he couldn’t save. Add it to the scoreboard, boys.

He stomped out of the house behind Marion’s flustered stride, the cool wind catching the edge of his trench coat and sending it flapping behind him. A few plaid-clad teenage boys waved excitedly at them from the flat of a wooden cart as they hoofed it back to the truck.

Marion released a creative string of curses and condemnations concerning Abel’s personal attributes, including the diminutive size of his dick. “You drive,” she finished, tossing Mulder the keys in disgust. “I’m gonna end up killing us if I do. Fuck, that man riles me.”

“You’ve got experience with him? Mulder asked, as he hoisted himself into the cracked leather driver’s seat of Marion’s cherry Chevy Scottsdale. A felted green air freshener in the shape of a pine tree swung from the rearview mirror. He started the engine, and Harvest swelled to life from the tape deck.

“Kind of.” Marion said, slumping into the passenger seat. “Met him a few times. Mostly at Rhiannon’s, back when me and Anna lived there. He used to show up a lot. Rhiannon usually wouldn’t let him past the front door, so him ‘n Anna’d be arguing in the driveway… God, was she really pregnant?”

“Yeah. Sc - uh, Dana found, um. She found evidence to that fact.”

“Fuck. Goddamnit.” Marion was pale.

Mulder pulled into the road and eased the needle on the speedometer upwards. The truck gasped and sputtered like it was having an asthma attack. The sky above had turned dark and threatening, but the sun pushed a few tenacious arms through the thunderclouds to illuminate the lonely stretch of highway. It was eerie as hell.

“So… while we’re at it, can you tell me how you came to live at Rhiannon’s?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“C’mon. Just help me out a little here.”

Marion picked at a hangnail, sullen and slouching. “Um... I, um, left the res when I was 16. I wasn’t planning on staying in Horizon or anything, but Theo picked me up and kinda took care of me and set me up at Rhiannon’s. She took Anna in, too, when she ran away from the colony.”

“Did Anna ever say anything about why she ran away?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, she was probably tired of getting pummeled to shit by her brother,” she said bitterly, as if he was an idiot. She gripped the console and swallowed. “Fox, slow down a little.”

“Oh⁠—” he eased off the gas pedal. “The… colony elders didn’t do anything about it? What about their parents?”

“Her parents have been dead for years. Highway accident. And the elders...it was none of their business, not their concern. You saw how Salome looked. They’re fucking heartless up there.”

Mulder nodded, thinking. “So… do you think that Abel would be capable of all the things that have been happening? Setting the silos on fire? Drowning the horse? …Anna?”

“No,” Marion said flatly. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath and let it stream out of her nose.

“I’d love to know your thoughts on this, Marion.”

“And I’d love to know what the fuck you were going on about in there. Affecting things without trying to. What does that even mean?”

He eased into it as naturally as he could, cautious of her mood. “Well… in my particular line of work, I’ve seen people who… experience such a strong emotion that it can affect the physical world around them. Daly claims he’s been seeing omens, right? And I saw something strange myself this morning. A dead fox in a boat out at the lake.” She turned to him at that, quickly, with a sharp look in her eye. “That seems pretty on the nose, don’t you think?” he continued. “Perhaps Abel’s anger towards Daly is manifesting in these visions, or somehow these events are a result of⁠—”

“⁠—Stop the car. Oh, God, stop the car. Stop the car.” Mulder glanced at her, and upon seeing the look on her face, immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, lurching over the rumble strip. Even before they’d rolled to a stop, Marion was heaving herself out of the passenger seat and vomiting noisily into the ditch, clutching her stomach.

Mulder had to look away to keep from losing the rest of his breakfast. Jesus, first this morning, and now Marion... this was entirely too much upchuck for one day. He hadn’t even been going that fast.

He hunted around the back seat for the bottle of water he’d spotted earlier. He replayed a few fresh, brutal memories of Scully’s poorly-hidden chemo nausea, her deathly pallor, her heart-wrenching heaves behind closed motel bathroom doors. He burned anew with guilt.

Mulder swung himself out of the truck when the retching stopped, toting the bottle. Marion was kneeling on the side of the road, arms wrapped around herself, weeping. He crouched down and placed a palm on her back, trying not to balk at the caustic smell of her.

“Marion, have some water, okay?” He held the bottle out to her, and she looked up at him, teeth bared, her earth-dark eyes bottomless with desperation. “We’ll find out what happened to Anna. I promise. We’ll keep you safe. From Abel, from Hugh⁠—”

“Oh, you stupid, stupid⁠—” she sobbed. “Abel has nothing to do with it. You can’t stop it, Fox. You can’t. You need to leave this place. You need to get out.”

An investigatory thrill chilled the back of his neck, and a distant flash of lightning silently illuminated a fumey cluster of clouds. “What can’t I stop, Marion? Why do we need to leave?”

Marion groaned in tandem with a low roll of thunder, her tears splattering onto the asphalt, a prelude of the coming storm.

“You can’t stop what’s happening.” Her throat was thick with fear. “No one can.”

#omens #txf fic #i fucking MEAN IT about the trigger warnings on this chapter folks I felt sick writing it #also it's a holiday monday so I'm just posting this now instead of later because well. I'm the boss of me!

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bluepenguinstories · 7 years ago

Text

Happiness Overload Chapter Sixteen

″Winry?″ Wheezed a tiny voice, uttered from one asleep for days.

Staring into the image of another may have conjured something. Whatever the word 'Winry' meant, it meant nothing to me. There may have been a loss for words, or a greeting to this awakened guest, such as a ″good morning.″ Instead, what was said was a far different reaction entirely.

″TRENT, YOUR PATIENT JUST WOKE UP AND CALLED ME WINRY!″

It's not like I didn't want to help people. It's just that all those years of medical school and interning in a hospital never prepared me for this.

I let out a professional sigh. When I lifted my head, she was standing right behind me.

″Would you like to meet them?″ She asked. I admit, I was curious. My more rational mind was telling me to seek the authorities, take this stranger to the hospital, but I knew she would insist that we keep this person here and recover, just as she's insisted every other time I tried bringing it up. Wonder what good sense has ever done when it comes to her.

″I suppose. I mean, I still can't believe all this is really happening,″ I muttered.

″Neither can I, but what can you do? They would be dead right now if not for us.″

From the sound of things, one couldn't be faulted for assuming a situation like this was from a TV show, and not real life.

Is this a Truman Show sorta thing? The Trent Show? That wouldn't make for a very good premise. The ratings would plummet fast.

Few paces through the hall, in the guest room of my apartment. That's where my 'patient' was resting. However, when I got there, they were sitting up with a perplexed expression fixed on their face.

″I tried clapping, but for some reason I couldn't move my other hand!″ They exclaimed.

″Not usually the reaction someone has upon finding out they've lost an arm...″ I blurted out.

They looked over, eyes widened. Shocked, surprised. Those were appropriate reactions.

″Well, how about that? I guess it's never too late to learn to write with your other hand,″ they observed, astonished, but still not reacting the way a normal person would.

She pulled out a chair and propped it up next to our guest. She sat down and folded her hands under her chin, presenting herself as some sort of researcher observing a creature in the wild.

″Tell me, what happened to you?″ She asked, straight and to the point.

″I'd love to!″ Burst the black haired stranger, still barely awake and yet so full of energy. ″...Except, I don't remember a goddamn thing!″ The patient laughed for a bit, then sighed.

″Nothing at all?″

″Well, okay, I remember bits and pieces. Memories are a tricky thing, aren't they?″

She nodded. I couldn't help but nod too.

″It's like a dream. If I don't focus on it, I'll forget it all. As it is now, there are only bits and pieces,″ they added.

″Could you tell me what those bits and pieces are?″ She requested, her voice soft enough that anyone denying such a request would be a fool.

″Something about time cube...non-euclidean architecture...pyramids...flashbulbs...″

Sounds like the ramblings of a conspiracy theorist, a thought barged in, not one I invited, but one that showed up nonetheless.

″What if I really did wake up from a dream?″ They added. ″What if I don't have any prior experiences, memories are just dreams, and here I am, being born for the first time? Born with only one arm. Isn't that just the saddest thing you ever heard? I don't have a life before, only dreams.″

They huffed and puffed, their breathing becoming intense.

″I don't think that's the case,″ she reassured, or dismissed. ″But I couldn't say for certain.″

″Yeah, that doesn't actually make sense,″ they agreed. So much for shock. Whoever this person was, they were more at ease over a situation that would have likely left most traumatized.

″Trent and I found you in a park. We thought you were a corpse. You were all bloody and torn up, missing your arm. Trent,″ she turned her head in my direction. ″Concluded that you were still alive, so I urged him to take you back to his place.″

″It's true,″ I chimed in. ″I didn't really have the space for it, and I was reluctant, but my sister-in-law can be quite stubborn.″

″Sister-in-law?″ They asked.

″Oh, it's nothing,″ she brushed aside. ″I'm just engaged to his sister.″

″I still can't believe it,″ I muttered.

She smiled. ″It is rather amazing, but what can I say? Sometimes these things just happen. You don't always know who you're going to fall in love with.″

″No, not that,″ I shook my head. ″My sister took a liking to you almost immediately. Talking about this person we took in.″

″Who? Me?″ They asked, trying to point to themselves, but with the missing arm.

″Yes. By all accounts, you should have died.″

″Trent! Insensitive!″ She scolded.

″Right. Where's my bedside manner?″ I scolded myself as well. ″I don't mean to be so blunt, but it's really quite the miracle.″

″Miracle or coincidence,″ she added. ″You're a doctor with enough medical supplies in your apartment to run a home clinic if you wanted to.″

″I just said I don't have the space for that! This room is tiny enough as it is!″

She huffed. ″I'm glad we were able to save a life, whoever this person may be. It may seem a little too convenient, but it would have put a damper on my day if I had to call the authorities because I found a corpse in the park.″

Neither she nor I know tact, do we?

Our unknown guest poked at their lump of flesh that was once an arm. ″It feels all weird and gross. Makes me uncomfortable,″ they traced their finger down a little through the air. ″My elbow was probably here.″

The sight was making me uncomfortable as well. She didn't seem fazed by it. For a second I thought she might have been amused, but if she was, that feeling passed as she ignored what she was seeing.

″Could you tell me your name?″

″Nope!″ They squeaked. ″I have no clue what it is! It's like I have selective amnesia or something. It's not like I've forgotten how to tie my shoes or anything, but my name? Oh yeah!″

This really is like the plot of a bad TV show, ran another thought, this one looking like it was gearing up for a marathon.

″It's like you're a blank slate,″ she stated.

″I'm here to chew ass and kick bubblegum!″ I exclaimed, my inner nerd getting the best of me.

She blinked. ″What?″

″You must not have been to that part of the 80s,″ I gave a playful scoff.

″Indeed. I don't get the reference,″ she nodded.

″They Live! One of the greatest movies of all time and definitely John Carpenter's best, hand's down! You gotta watch it sometime!″ I gushed.

″I'll look into it. Why do you bring it up?″

″The main character's like a blank slate as well! I forget the character's name, but who cares? It's got everything a good movie needs! Action, social commentary, wrestlers, one-liners, aliens, John Carpenter, you name it!″

No comment. Which meant I had no choice but to continue.

″It's about a stranger who shows up in a city and finds these glasses that shows the world being controlled by capitalism and the masses are all manipulated by consumerism and that the rich are aliens in disguise hellbent on keeping their power over humanity.″

″Dude. Spoilers,″ my patient scolded, who in my opinion, was angry over nothing.

″Doesn't sound far from the truth,″ she replied, her voice indicating an awareness I could never know. She turned her attention back to the patient.

″So, you don't remember your name. What if I were to give you one?″

″I wouldn't mind!″ They grinned.

″Very well,″ she let a smile slip as well. ″How does 'Blanc' sound? It doesn't quite sound the same as blank, but close enough, right?″

They laughed. ″Sure! And my last name could be 'Slait'!″

God, it would be so terrible if someone with that same name already exists, less a thought and more a tomato shot through a cannon found its way into the same room with the previous thoughts as my palm found its way onto my face, covering the entirety of it.

″Nice to meet you, Blanc Slait. You should get some rest. You're still recovering,″ she instructed, before leaving the room.

I felt awkward still standing there, so I did my best to say something.

″I know this all seems really strange, but we're good people. Things will get better for you, I'm sure of it.″

Blanc leaned forward, trying to move the stump that was once their arm.

″Oh shit, I can't give a thumbs up,″ they grimaced. ″The sentiment is there, I think...″

I tried to crack a smile, but couldn't.

″Strange things happen everywhere,″ they added. ″Just because you've encountered some things out of the ordinary doesn't mean you've experienced everything.″

″Why?″ Was the single word uttered by a gray mass of flesh. Or, if you could call it flesh. Whatever alien material it could be, it was what covered the body of the one who asked me the question. Whatever you want to call it, it was repulsive.

″WHY? BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!″ I screamed.

I shrugged. My limbs were weak, but my will was strong. Right then, my will was telling me to shrug. So I did. This human's troubles were not my troubles. What other response was I supposed to give.

″You came to me asking for my help with the assumption that I could help you. You want to get out of here, back to the city you're from. You say you have no way to get here. You say I can help you. Assuming I can, I must ask again: why?″

Looks of desperation. That's what I noticed. Thin-skinned humanoid, malnourished, broken glasses, a shell. The shell spoke.

″I'll never come back here! I'll let all of you live!″

I shrugged again. ″Do you think I care whether or not you come back? Or whether or not any of us lives? I could die right now and I wouldn't have a single regret.″

″So then what? What do you want?″

That day was one for the record books. 'Shrugfest', they would call it. The most amount of times shrugged in a single day by yours truly, Tim.

″Why do you think I want anything? All I asked you is why.″

″Argh!″ The specimen roared, stomping and tearing out bits of hair. ″I don't get it, then! 'Why' what?″

Fourth time. You already know what.

″Why do you want to return?″

Deja vu struck.

″No, don't answer that. It's 'because I don't know what to do', isn't it?″ I asked, and if my body was a little less sluggish, I would crack a smile. ″Only before, you were thinking that I was asking 'why should I help you?' The funny thing is, your answer before is the same answer it would be now. Yes?″

″You know, I really hate you Beiges.″

″Beiges...Beige...some people really have trouble figuring out which one it is. I don't know why.″

″You think you're so funny, huh? You think you're so clever? All you guys ever do is smoke weed and not have individual names!″

″Excuse you. I don't smoke weed and my name is Tim,″ I corrected. I may not be one to get angry, but I would rather someone not spread false information.

″Are those your defining character traits? That's it? Honestly, how are you Beiges ever going to rule over humanity?″

″I'd like to think I have more individuality than my brethren.″

This human has the nerve to come to my room, invade upon my sheepskin rug, walk around my bowl of Cheerios, and accuse me of being like the ones downstairs? The audacity.

This bespectacled, disheveled creature drew a deep breath, then exhaled. While doing so, fingers fluttered about. It must have been some mating ritual for humans. I shrugged.

″Okay, okay. I need to calm down. Conrad, get a hold of yourself. You may have lost your leverage, you may have to resort to working with yet another enemy, but you can get through this,″ the being muttered to themselves.

″You already know, though, don't you? I mean, I'm only about to tell you this because I don't care and neither do the ones downstairs,″ I began. ″We are the last of our kind. What you see is what you get. There was a time when we were interested in ruling over Earth. We had many a great technology. We even worked, hand in hand, with The Flashbulb. But of course, they got greedy and stole from us and left us stranded. Sure, they've got plenty of smart people on their team, but they wouldn't have gotten nearly as far as they did if they hadn't taken our stuff.″

Conrad, I take it, pushed up their broken glasses, in what must have been a force of habit.

″Oh, I know. I also know there's something you're not telling me. But that's okay, because I already know.″

I sucked on a cheerio. It was a better use of my time than shrugging.

″I've seen leaked emails. You guys have bred with humans long ago. Who knows how many Beige humans there are out there, running amok, weaving a web over society from within? But I know one thing. One such offspring has made themselves very known.″

″You don't mean?″ I started shivering. No longer able to shrug it off. The implications...

I sucked on another cheerio in anticipation.

″Oh boy do I ever. I don't know how, but if you help me out, I can put a stop to this offspring.″

I tossed a handful of cheerios in my mouth and started sucking.

' ″You know, you're being awfully dramatic when everything's chill, right?″ I replied, mouth full of cheerios.

I could see Conrad ready to blow up.

″I can tell you how to get out of here,″ I offered.

″Oh, let me guess: out the front door?″ Conrad scoffed.

That was clever. Wish I thought of that.

″No, I was thinking more Cairo. I don't know how you'd get to your intended destination from there, but you're smart. You'll figure it out.″

I shrugged. That was an appropriate shrug. Been a long time coming.

″Knowing that there's a way fills me with determination!″ Conrad declared.

″See? Problem solved. Now, here's what you gotta do...″

″Sir?″ The word floated, images moved on well over a hundred small screens, all at my disposal. I was unsure whether or not I would be granted a response from my superior, but it was worth bringing up what I saw, all the same.

″What is it, private? Can't you see I'm busy stroking my mustache. My long, thick, pulsating mustache,″ he explained. As if he had any reason to. I did not need that image in my head and he knew it.

″Someone just tried climbing over the fence at our main gate.″

″Is that so?″ He asked.

″It's okay, though. They were shot down immediately. Didn't even make it far off the ground.″

″Why bring it up, then?″ He growled.

″It's the most activity we've had in a while. Someone must be off their rocker to think they can just climb over and waltz right in.″

I've seen this before, somewhere buried in my past. Just five years back. My underling, sitting at the desk, may not think much of it, but those memories still haunt me.

″In all my years, there has been but one who has broken in and lived.″

″Oh?″ Private Goodwill perked up.

″Yes, and if I ever see Jo-Ann again, I will be the one to personally execute her,″ I swore, yanking at my mustache with furor and ever increasing intensity.

″Right. The one that got away,″ Private Goodwill sighed.

″She made a disgrace of our very institution!″ I gritted my teeth. ″I remember it clear as day – all the new recruits lined up on the field. I was pacing about, examining each and every one of them. She was not among them. That should have been the first clue that something was off.″

I began. I would have preferred to suppress such memories, but once the blood starts rushing, it's hard to keep it all down.

″'Recruits!' I barked. 'From this day forth, you shall work around the clock, watching over this facility and all the equipment we keep. Although we have provisions in place to make sure no one gets in, or out, without our authority, as an added measure, each and every one of you will not have contact with the outside world. Internet and landlines will be strictly monitored. Anyone attempting to make contact will be executed with no remorse.'″

″I could sense the beads of sweat on each of their faces. Everything was going good. Fear had been established.″

″'Do I make myself clear?' I demanded. Before any of them could say 'Yes, sir', out of the corner of my eye, there she was, running forth. Failing to blend in with the crowd. Yet she wore the same equipment as the rest of us.″

″She bent to her knees, trying to catch her breath. When she finally stood up, she did the typical salute. 'Apologies! Couldn't find my way around! This place is like a maze!' I must have at least popped three veins. I couldn't believe it! That was her fucking excuse?″

Private Goodwill yawned. ″This is an excellent monologue, sir, but I'd really like to focus and make sure there are no more anomalies.″

He stared back at the screen, but my mustache and I would not allow such disrespect.

″There's not a lot to do around here, you know that as well as I do! Every portion of this facility is properly staffed to deal with each little thing. If I'm going to tell a story, I'm damn well going to tell a story.″

″Fine,″ Goodwill sighed. ″You've got me there. Continue.″

″So I made an example of her. It was the only way to contain my rage.″

″'What is your name, cadet?'″

″'Jo-Ann, sir!'″ She chirped. The tone was all wrong. Something didn't add up, and even though I didn't know what, I knew she was to blame.″

″'Well, Jo-Ann', I began, then pulled out my radio transceiver. 'Major Craft, please report to the barracks. We've got a case of insubordination'. After I put the transceiver away, I turned back to her. 'You're about to experience true fear.'″

″She smirked. 'What? Fear? And here I thought I'd love craft!'″

″I seethed. Grinding my teeth and hissing curse words under my breath. My mustache and I were in distress. Luckily, approaching from just out of the metal doors was Major Craft.″

″'Oh, you're in for it now', I told her. 'Those escorted by Major Craft experience torture beyond their wildest imaginations. Forget waterboarding, the things he'll do will make that seem like watersports! By the time we're through with you, you'll wish you had been killed.'″

″She smirked, but said nothing. The gall! It was like she wasn't even fazed by my speech. All the other recruits were quivering in their loins!″

″Well, yeah,″ Private Goodwill butted in. ″Major Craft's just some scrawny, old, white guy.″

My mustache and I would learn to ignore his comment. It was true, but Major Craft deserved more respect than that.

″He approached the line and croaked in his weary voice 'what seems to be the trouble, sergeant?'″

″'Cadet Jo-Ann here', I pointed to the perpetrator as I told him. 'Has shown my mustache and I the worst attitude. She must be thoroughly punished.'″

″He scratched his chin. 'Indeed,' he agreed. He shuffled on over to where Jo-Ann was and whipped out a metal rod, surging with electricity. He grabbed her arm with his free hand and proceeded to take her away.″

″She turned to me and grinned. 'Lemme guess,' she said. 'This is that trope where the guy grabs the powerful girl's arm and somehow she's powerless?'

″You know what I did, Private? I pulled out my assault rifle that was hanging off my back, and pointed it at her. I said: 'that's right! And if you don't go with Major Craft, I'll kill you right here on the spot. So don't fuck around!'″

″Wow. Must've given ol' Jo-Ann the heebie-jeebies,″ Private Goodwill replied, sounding unimpressed. I reached for my glock. If it wasn't for my mustache holding me back, I would have shot Goodwill on the spot. No one needed to look at so many monitors anyway.

I stared at the metal tiles underneath me. ″No,″ I muttered.

″You say something, Chief?″ Goodwill responded.

″God damn it! No! Jo-Ann wouldn't wipe that smug look off! Major Craft prodded her with the tranquilizing rod and that should have been the end of it. She winced and looked to over, convulsing, but maintaining composure. It made me sick. Like she just had to put on a show. 'Fine by me,' she heaved her words. 'I'll play along'.″

″That should have been the end of it. Major Craft grabbed Jo-Ann's arm and walked her back into the building where she would face unspeakable torture. I turned to the cadets and pointed my assault rifle at each of them. 'Let that be a lesson! If any of you speak out of line, walk out of line, do anything that does not align with our standards, you will be shot on sight, or worse!'″

″Hm. And that wasn't the end of it?″ Egged Goodwill.

″I thought it would be. I really did...″

I didn't like to show weakness. My greatest weakness, however, was this story that would haunt me to the grave. How I let such a miscreant get away, tarnish the reputation of Groom Lake, it besmirches the very name of Sergeant Michaels. I should have been demoted.

″Just as I was about to debrief the cadets and put that incident past me, I get something on my transceiver.″

″'Wanna help me knit a sweater?'″ the voice said. It sounded old, earthen. World weary. As if to imitate Major Craft. But I knew better. Major Craft's voice was more like an aged wine mixed with the sweat of my mustache.″

″Ew,″ Private Goodwill commented. I would be sure to shut him up very shortly.

″'What?!' I barked. 'The fuck is this? Where is Major Craft?'″

″That crotchety old bag?' The voice revealed its true colors, belonging to the one who called herself Jo-Ann. 'Shot him. Did you really expect me to comply? That ain't me. I just needed a way to get in.'″

I cleared my throat. Was about to choke. ″'Who are you really?' I demanded.″

″The voice snickered before saying: 'Just your friendly neighborhood fabric store. Now if you excuse me, I have a ship to steal!'″

″Isn't this place like, worse than Fort Knox or something, though?″ Goodwill pondered.

″That's what it should be! And yet this person calling herself Jo-Ann not only got in, but killed Major Craft, and stole a ship! We sent hundreds of soldiers, lasers, drones, but she was nowhere to be found! It was like we were dealing with a ghost!″

″That's all very interesting, sir, but Major Craft is still alive. I just saw him last week. Still old, but alive.″

″What? You dare disrespect the dead? My mustache and I will not tolerate --″

″Furthermore, sir, as great as your story was, I remember a Jo-Ann that you personally trained. She started as a cadet, went through the ranks, eventually became a Lieutenant, and earned your respect. She even seemed well on her way to surpassing you.″

I paused. It was coming back to me. Why I remembered things the other way...it didn't make any sense. It was as if I had two different instances of the same person.

″One day, she just vanished and you vowed to kill her if you ever saw her. Ever since her disappearance, you tell a different story about her, which is weird, but I listen because every time because you threaten to kill me.″

My mustache twitched. So did my trigger finger.

Before I could reach for my assault rifle, the lights flickered. An unusual thing for a place such as this. Private Goodwill noticed the anomaly too.

″So much for florescent,″ he joked. Something was amiss. Before I could comment, everything went dark.

″Hey!″ The voice receiver on my Prinny armor reacted. ″The power cut out. I think there's been a break in! The sensors are definitely picking up something!″

In just a second, the backup generators would pick back up, and just as they would, I would already be well on my way to catching the culprit.

″Thank you, Clippy,″ I replied to the voice at the other end of the receiver.

There was a heavy sigh. ″For the last time, that's not my name.″

I ignored it and went out into the halls. I had a gut feeling who was behind all this. After all these years...

″Jo-Ann...″

Someone climbed over the electric fence. Or tried. They didn't get very far before getting shot down. They would've been a goner anyway what with the fence being electric and all. Never understood fanatics, if we're being honest. Some people just want to see what those soldiers are guarding. If they knew the truth, they would be unimpressed. Or wouldn't know what to do with said information.

There were a few cars huddled out. No one seemed the least bit concerned about the person who was just shot.

This really is like a tourist trap, I couldn't help but think.

I watched the scene unfold from a safe distance with the camera, using it as a sort of binoculars. Not the intended use, but it wasn't like I was about to take pictures.

I looked behind me before making my way to the place that could have very well spelled my death.

My eyes grew wide.

The forest was no more.

Back to desert plains.

″No need to mull over such things,″ I shook my head and groaned. ″I've gotta go and get myself into trouble.″

″Huh?″ I remarked.

The highway close to our base transformed within an instant into a forest. No explanation, no forces of our own at work.

″Did any of you guys see that?″ I leaned into my computer and asked around.

I got a few responses from other departments in the facility, each saying they did, but weren't responsible. Of course they weren't. None of us were. If someone here was, I would have known about it.

″Sarge, did you see this?″

No response. I overheard the Sergeant recite his Jo-Ann story. When will the muscled idiot get it through his thick mustache that Jo-Ann was just an alias? I tuned him out and switched channels, eavesdropping my way to two soldiers discussing their lives before coming here. Husbands, wives, kids, friends, all that jazz.

″Should have thought about that before you signed on for this place,″ I put in my two cents.

″Huh?″ The two soldiers looked around.

Crap.

″Sorry, guys, didn't think you guys would hear me.″

Should really be more careful. Here I thought I was the tech genius.

Private Goodwill is Sarge's right-hand-man, but his cameras only pick up the general vicinity. I could see and hear the surrounding areas inside and outside. Nothing was off limits. In fact...

″I see you, you little raccoon,″ I whispered. This time also making sure not to have the receiver on so others wouldn't hear.

I grabbed a chunk of beef jerky and bit in, yanking and gnashing away at the juicy bits. Some beef was sure to get stuck in my teeth, but it wasn't like I was here to look pretty.

When I looked back up, she was gone. Faded from view.

″Oh, good going, you let her get out of your sights,″ I gave my arm a light punch.

No matter. I'll catch you, my pretty. And your little dog, too...

As I had that thought, my mind no longer thinking of espionage, Wizard of Oz, or 'Africa' by Toto, and instead thinking how nice it would be to see rain again, the lights flickered.

My monitors dimmed for just a bit. All the lights went out.

″Hey!″ I called out to whoever might listen. Maybe the Sarge was done with his story by now. ″The power cut out. I think there's been a break in! The sensors are definitely picking up something!″

Only a few seconds later, everything was back up. Nothing could keep us down. Yet if someone was able to turn off the electricity, that meant they were able to get in, and if they were able to get in...

″I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work.″

″Wow...″

Velvet was no longer in view. Wherever she was, I hoped that she would be happy. Part of me wished she had stayed with Euphoria and felt the rush of happiness that I felt. Another part of me was too happy to care.

I looked up. The branches of the tree extended past my view. The clouds shifted, the sky was a nice, crisp blue.

″I can't believe this is happening...″ I muttered. My breath made a fog. The desert heat was in full effect and yet in the arms of Euphoria I felt a chill as if it were winter.

″WHAT DO YOU MEAN?″

″Here with you, the one I had been searching for all this time, and now I don't have to do anything else. I could spend eternity with you.″

I looked over to the wreckage of Art's car. Somehow it passed my mind that he had even died. It seemed rude of me, and yet I couldn't break free of what I was feeling.

″Shame what happened to Art, though. Wish he didn't have to die...″

His car went up in flames, as if to add insult to injury.

″FLAMES MAKE THE CAR HAPPY!″

I winced. Euphoria looked down. She must have noticed my dismay.

″WOULD IT MAKE YOU HAPPY IF ART WAS ALIVE?″

″Well...″ I didn't say yes or no. I didn't have to.

Emerging from the flames was a thick shadow, forming into view the figure of Art, a chubby backpacker and fan of cryptids, now seemingly the subject of his own fanatacism. He motioned toward me, looking just like I imagined his burning corpse would look.

He stared at me, leaned over, hands on hips, inches away from my face. I could smell his breath. Minty, with a hint of decay. He opened his mouth wide to form a toothy grin, or as toothy as it could be with many teeth missing, chipped, or covered in blood.

″MOTHMAN?″ He bellowed, only it was too high pitched to be considered a bellow. In fact, it resembled the voice I associated with Euphoria more. I turned to her, my face dull.

″Put it back,″ I requested.

She grinned as well and it felt like her grin would swallow me whole. When I turned back over to see if Art would be grinning as well, he was gone. In fact, the car was still burning. The forest looked like it was about to catch fire. I was left to wonder if such an encounter actually happened.

″WHAT WOULD MAKE YOU HAPPY RIGHT NOW?″ Euphy asked me. Heh. Euphy. Been a while since I even thought of such a nickname.

″I don't know. I'm just happy to be here with you.″

It felt strange of her to ask. As if she wouldn't know.

I held her tight. Or she held me tight. I wasn't sure which of us did the holding.

″Do you love me?″ I asked. I didn't know why.

She jolted up, let go of me, and stood up. Still beaming, a glowing ray of light surrounding her.

″OF COURSE! I LOVE YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND YOU AND CONRAD AND CONRAD AND VELVET AND VELVET AND KELLY ROGER AND MARCO AND ART AND TRENT AND ETNA AND ECSTASY AND TIM AND...″ She kept listing names, but after Tim I lost track. Half of those names I didn't recognize, and I was a little confused by the multiple mentions of some of us. I thought I understood the multiple mentions of me, but as for the others...

I looked over. She was still counting names on her fingers. Except with each new name she grew a finger. She must have had hundreds of fingers at that point. She was still counting.

″That's a lot of love...″ I joked.

″OF COURSE!″ She countered, still as brimming with joy as ever. ″LOVE IS THE BEST! ESPECIALLY THE KIND THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY! THE WORLD CAN LOVE! THE WORLD CAN BE HAPPY! I JUST KNOW IT!″

My eyes widened. That's right. I forgot. The Beige. What they told me about Euphy.

″Or...″ I mused, hoping wit would be on my side. ″maybe it's enough to just make one person happy.″

″NONSENSE! HAPPINESS IS A GIFT! GIFTS ARE MEANT TO BE SHARED!″

″Can you share that gift with me just a little longer?″ I was being selfish, or maybe I didn't want the world to fall in such a disarray. My mind couldn't tell the two apart at that moment.

She held me once more, and I held her. There was a certain warmth in the air. It could have been that the forest was burning around us, or it could have been the way she made me felt. Considering what she was capable of, it was probably both.

If I just keep holding onto Euphoria forever, maybe then, I'll be happy.

When I opened my eyes, we were still holding onto each other. Her embrace meaning everything. We were no longer in the forest. Or we never moved away from the forest. But we were somewhere else. The vastness of space. Or complete nothingness.

″How am I alive right now?″

″WE'VE BEEN HUGGING FOREVER! ETERNITY OBTAINED!″

I wanted to freak out. I wanted to do something. But I was so calm. Everything was over, but us. We were still alive, or maybe we weren't alive at all. I couldn't tell the difference. I was so happy.

But...

It didn't feel right.

″Can we go back to that moment in the forest?″ I asked, although I don't think my mouth moved the entire time.

She nodded her head with such vigor. Before I could even close my eyes, if they were ever open to begin with, we were back.

I held her tight. Such a being with infinite power and somehow I still wasn't satisfied.

″Why? Why am I not satisfied?″

″YOU'RE WORRIED!″ She squeaked.

″How? What?″ I just had more questions.

″IT'S OKAY! YOU DON'T NEED TO WORRY, THOUGH!″

″But why? What am I worried about?″

″YOU DON'T FEEL LIKE YOU'VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO BE HAPPY! BUT YOU DON'T NEED TO EARN HAPPINESS!″

She was right. I didn't know how, I didn't even know that about myself, but there was no denying it.

″You're right. You're wonderful.″

″I'M A GUARDIAN ANGEL!″

″I just hope Velvet will be okay.″

″SHE WILL BE HAPPY!″ Euphy cheered.

This put me on edge. ″Will she? Even if she dies?″

″DYING IS OKAY IF YOU'RE HAPPY!″

It was my turn. I let go of her. Something brought me back to reality. I shook my head at such a notion.

″No! I won't be happy if she dies!″ I protested.

I took it one step further and got up to my feet. There was definitely a forest fire, but it seemed to avoid us. Not even the smoke dare come near us.

Euphoria stood up as well. Towering over me, becoming as tall as the tree we were once laying under. She leaned down and with her mile wide grinned, spoke:

″WOULD YOU OPPOSE HER HAPPINESS IF IT MEANS SHE LIVES?″

″Yes,″ I closed my eyes and looked up as I spoke the one word that surprised me to say. ″Happily.″

It felt like I added that last bit in to mock her, and yet I didn't mean it that way. Upon opening my eyes, the thing standing in front of me was a creature of indecipherable shape, emitting a foul odor. Millions of arms stretched forth, all with blades for fingers. They all struck me right in the chest, and blood spilled from every orifice. I blinked.

Her warmth was with me once more. She was just as tall as me, in her angel costume and all. Her arms wrapped around my back, her human face nestled against my chest, no blood to be found.

″IF IT WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY, THEN I WILL SAVE HER!″ She declared.

″Actually, could I do this on my own?″ I begged. ″I don't want to rely on you.″

″VERY WELL!″

″Thank you. I hope to be with you once more when I'm ready. Whenever that may be.″

″YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WITH ME! YOU ARE ALREADY EUPHORIA! WHATEVER WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY, I CAN DO!″

I ran off, jumping for joy, kicking my shoes together in the air.

Before the flames could swallow me whole and I either suffocated on the fumes or burned alive, I yelled to her.

″Oh! One request: can you take this fire away? Actually, can you return this to a highway?″

She grinned.

Pressing forward, I ran through dirt, off the side of the road.

Cameras everywhere. Somehow I got the feeling they didn't know where I was yet, but they would soon. I would make sure of it.

I tried opening the breaker on the wall, but no dice. It was locked up with some kind of code. If I had my laptop with me, this whole operation would be a piece of cake. But seeing as I just had to go and make things harder for myself, I would have to make do with the ol' McGuyver method.

″The cameras seem to be picking up an unidentified presence...″ a soldier reported, and if memory served me, to nothing but thin air. As air tight as security should be, everyone is lost in their own little worlds.

Once said soldier came around the corner, with their heavy armor resembling the kind those militarized police wore back in the city I was living underground a few years back, I pulled their arm and kneed them in the face. They grabbed my leg and threw me to the ground. I hissed in pain, but could at least count my lucky stars that my kick managed to knock the soldier's helmet right off.

″Report! Requesting backup!″ The soldier leaned their head into their shoulder and wheezed those words. After making the damning report, they reached over and pointed a heavy rifle with some kind of liquid flowing through in a clear canister. It was something out of a video game, only it was staring me right in the face.

Before I could be blasted into nothingness, I grabbed the rifle with my own hands and shoved it in the soldier's face, knocking them back.

″Oh god oh god oh god...″ I stuttered and repeated back and forth, breathing out of control.

Did I just kill a guy? Who knows? All I know is that this has NOT been my week.

Also I knew one more thing: I had to get a move on, as back up was sure to arrive any second.

I checked for a pulse and let out a sigh of relief.

Within the moment, three soldiers arrive in the same hall, each carrying the same weapons. I'm sure at least three more were going to show up behind me. Good for those blokes. I shoved the rifle against the breaker and pulled the door open.

Buttloads of levers, buttons, and wires. My mind was racing too much.

I stood back and tossed the remaining contents of the canteen at the breaker. No dice, so I rammed the rifle into the breaker, and at once the whole thing blew out.

First a flicker. Then surrounded by darkness. The soldiers started taking their shots, but they each fell over at once, the armor I stripped from one of their brethren caught them all by surprise. They shot into the air, but by then, I shoved past them, stolen rifle still in my hand. I didn't intend to kill, but I was sure I could make use of it somehow.

Bright blue lights came into view.

Goodbye darkness, my old friend, I thought, reciting a song that had nothing to do with my situation.

I knew the power would be back on before long, but damn. Before I knew it, an alarm was sounding and commotion could be heard throughout. I had to use this to my advantage.

″The fuck? How did she manage to throw a prinny set with such force?″ I overheard the yelling.

I'd like to say I was on PCP, but I owe it all to the adrenaline rush I'm feeling.

″There's a fire! She must have be close!″

Well, you aren't wrong.

The fire was a mixture of the sleeping bag and an electrified current.

From what I gathered, they thought I was running toward where I actually came from. What idiots. They were giving me more credit than I was worth. Here I was being all ″metal gear solid″ and crawling in some fucking air vents and they couldn't put two and two together. I mean, I wasn't disappointed to be alive, but you'd really expect more from a top secret facility, y'know?

Mist poured through the vents.

Of course. They know I'm here. Of-fucking-course.

Poison gas. They were hoping to lure me out. To shoot me. Or if they think I won't come out, I'd succumb to the poison. Or if I tried to hold my breath, if I tried to keep myself from getting too exposed, I would suffocate.

With the rifle, I pried the closest vent door open. I tossed it down.

Gunfire erupted from every angle on the floor. My ears rang and might have kept ringing well after the ordeal was over, if I were to survive, in any case.

I peeked down and noticed turrets popped out of the floor.

Couldn't be assed to use real people, I see.

To the right of me was a panel. Some kind of code prevented me from opening it. If I could just think, just for a little bit, I was sure I could open it. The gases were getting to my brain. They would leak out into whatever room the gun fell into, but they were also leaking into my nervous system. My eyelids...

″Jo-Ann! I know you're near!″ Roared a voice I hadn't thought about for ages. That same voice also gave me the jolt I needed to keep moving.

I took a sharp turn through the vents and kicked down the door below. The mist was still getting to me, I knew, but even with my vision blurred and my hands shaking, I managed to pull out the camera and look down. No soldiers. No turrets. Sure, they would detect me just by entering wherever I was about to enter, but it was better than staying cooped up.

When I dropped down, it wasn't a smooth landing. All the blows I've taken that day, the ″car door surfing″, the fight with the soldier, the poison gas, it was all getting to me. My body swayed and my legs wobbled just trying to stand up.

″Jeez, no more rush, huh?″ I mumbled. I hoped no one could hear me. I'm sure, someone, somewhere could see me. ″I'm in the lion's den. I shouldn't have expected things to be easy.″

Around me were rows of lockers. Maybe I could have stolen a new suit of armor in one of them. Or some other nice equipment. Some aspirin. Some antidote. Something to think a rational thought.

Before I could look, though, a door slammed open.

″Jo-Ann! There you are! You thought you could hide from me?!″

I heaved and huffed, my breathing labored. I wiped the saliva from my mouth.

″Can you keep it down? I've got a real bad headache,″ I groaned in response to the raging bull charging toward me.

″Ha! Very funny! Ever the comedian, aren't you?″ Emerged Sgt. Michaels, donning a prinny armor, sans helmet. His thick, black mustache would haunt me to the day I die. His bloodshot eyes...weren't remarkable in the slightest.

I charged at him, feeling tipsy, and attempted to flip him over. Instead he grabbed my arm and held me up.

″What do you know? You really ARE powerless when I grab your arm!″ He growled and gave a hearty laugh for extra measure. I squirmed, his grip tightening. ″You've lost your touch, haven't you? Have you gain weight?″ He mocked me before tossing me across the room, my back slamming against a wall.

″Oh, I'm going to kill you, you can mark my words. But I don't need my guns,″ he tossed his rifle, and a pistol to the side. ″All I need are my bare fists.″

Sgt. Michaels. Well respected ball of rage and a lumbering idiot. I'm sure anyone could see where this was going.

I reached back. The camera was smashed. Glass lens broken. I wondered how many bones of mine were broken as well, if any.

″The funny thing is, you could have lived! The US government stopped caring! You became a non-issue! You're smart, you could have faked an ID, a social security card, something, and gotten yourself a good profession and lived out the rest of your life content! But you just HAD to go and sabotage that for yourself by coming here!″ He ranted before being the one to charge at me.

I got to my feet and swerved out of the way, holding glass shards of the camera in my hand.

″You just don't get it!″ I screeched. ″Self-Sabotage IS my profession!″

Couldn't take a plane. Had no money. No passport. Ended up stowing away in the cargo bay of a cruise ship headed to New York. Still a far cry from where it all began, but I was well on my way.

But why?

The thought told hold. Possessed me. I wanted to put up a sign, telling it that my place of business was closed. That I was no open to constructive criticism.

I unzipped someone's luggage. Snacks of various sort. The kind processed and contaminated with chemicals to control the world's population. The kind Kelly Roger and Velvet had no problem polluting themselves with. I had neither of them by my side at this point. Not even Blanc, in any form or degree of quality.

Where did I go wrong?

Oh, somewhere around the second or third rewrite.

My stomach growled, but I had to resist the urge. Even as I lost everything, I had to keep some of my convictions.

And what would those conditions be?

I opened someone else's luggage. There were fruits; apples, pears, donut peaches...just looking at them made me salivate. It was so tempting, but then I remembered all the pesticides that were sprayed and how most of them were probably clones of each other and not 'natural' fruit. My hunger was enough to disregard that fact for only a second, but I showed restraint.

If I had a computer with me, I could order food from the deep web. But where would I send it to? What am I going to do about food? Maybe I'll resort to cannibalism.

I pinched myself and got to my feet. Just up the stairs were humans, if they could even be called that. I knew for a fact that they were clones. Not even the guards were exempt. They were all filth. Human in name only. Once I get back to the city, I could turn back time, make it so that those abominations never existed. I would find a better Blanc, be upfront, tell them everything.

″There has been an intruder spotted on the ship!″ A voice on the intercom blared. My heart leaped, I turned cold. Colder than I already was. Guards were running my way.

They're going to send a coast guard. Arrest me. No, worse. Once they realized who I was, it was all over for me. They would kill me. Everyone in authority has a connection to The Flashbulb and they must have finally realized that I was never on their side, but using their technology for my own means. I was never a good swimmer, so jumping overboard isn't an option. But I can't allow myself to be captured...

Think, think...

This is a cruise ship. There will be rooms. Cameras all over, but...if they never see me leave the storage bay, and if I can mix in with a crowd, then maybe...

His fists, enhanced with the prinny armor, made the wall crumble. I had to roll once more just to avoid the debris. I rolled further back so he couldn't kick me, knowing him enough that he would try something like that.

I put the glass shards in my pocket and hanging from the ceiling, climbing a locker and reaching a lampshade.

″She's maneuvering upward,″ I heard a voice speak to Sgt. Michaels. ″I suggest you grab your gun and shoot her while you can.″

″No need,″ he responded. I reached for a glass shard and before I could move further up, a large chunk of debris hit me in the back and sent me falling back to the floor. But before I did so, I intended to leave my mark. I reached and with all my strength, plunged the glass shard in his forehead.

He grabbed my wrist and tried to slam me into the ground, but I swung forth and shoved my legs into his stomach, then with my other hand, pushed the glass shard further.

He let go and started wailing. I dropped down and limped toward his guns.

″She's headed toward...″ The voice began.

″FUCK! I KNOW!″ He yelped.

I could hear his heels. He was charging toward me. I took a quick peek and saw the blood seeping from his forehead. Another roll out of the way and as I made my way to my feet, I pointed the pistol I had stolen. I had just one chance. He was in my sights.

Total darkness. Shot across each one.

I darted toward the next door before I lost sight of where it was.

″She just turned out the lights. She's making her escape.″

″Not on my watch,″ I heard a grunt.

″Maneuver around, the pillar is in front of you.″

Whoever was instructing him was being a real pain in the ass.

This really is Velvet's No Good, Horrible, Very Bad Day, huh?

I was already in the next room over. More lockers. No soldiers. While I would have loved to thank my lucky stars, I began my counterattack by opening each locker I came across, using a bobby pin.

″Fuck's she doing?″ I heard not far from behind me.

Of course. Cameras everywhere. Hidden, too. No way to know where to shoot to destroy them.

″I respected you!″ I heard a roar. He was on my trail. ″But now I have to kill you!″

″She grabbed a dress? The fuck? Also, just so you know, sarge, she's already in another room.″

I swear, I won't die until I find whoever's feeding Michaels that information. Snitches get stitches.

″We're no strangers to this place!″ His voice echoed through every hall I passed. ″You know the rules and so do I!″

″Yeah, yeah, a full commitment's what you're thinking of!″ I yelled back, unsure if he actually heard me.

″You could have killed me! What's the matter? Have some kind of 'no-kill rule'?″

My god, he was ever so loud.

That's not it at all. I just get squeamish seeing corpses.

My head was pounding. My mustache grew brittle, tasting the blood from my forehead. It mingled with my sweat and both my sweat and blood were unhappy with what transpired. I vowed to kill Jo-Ann should the two of us cross paths, and in spite of my vow, yet again she got away.

″Clippy, come in, where is she now?″

No answer. I growled and pressed forward.

I was impressed, but her luck was about to run out.

So I thought, until she looked up and winked, as if to know I was watching, and began to put on the dress, disregarding the danger she was in.

My face grew red and I paused before looking away. When I looked back, she disappeared. I could hear her footsteps, but couldn't tell what direction.

I slammed my fists against the desk and started scanning the monitors.

″Sarge...″ I spoke into the microphone. ″She's close...″

″It's about god damn time!″ He barked. ″What took you so long? Don't you know this is serious business? Here I am hightailing my ass --″

I cut off the feed.

″Yeah, yeah, trespassing is a big deal, I get it,″ I muttered. ″Now let's see...″

I sat atop a table, applying makeup to my face.

″There you are!″ A soldier, not clad in prinny armor, but instead old fashioned tactical gear barged in, pulse rifle pointed at me.

Works for me, I thought.

″Like what you see?″ I teased. For a second, the soldier's weapon lowered before I saw their head shake and pointed the weapon once more, fingers inching on the trigger.

″Fine,″ I huffed. ″Have it your way.″ I dived behind the table, leaned it to the side, and rammed it into the soldier. Their weapon lowered, and before they could make any other moves, I reached for a taser I had grabbed from one of the lockers, removed the soldier's helmet, and charged it into the soldier's neck.

Once I was sure they were unconscious, I let go.

″You weren't my type, anyway.″

″She's approaching a computer lab,″ I informed Sgt. Michaels. Maybe I could get back into his good graces. I wished he would have just killed her when he had the chance and gotten it over with. His vendetta was ruining our success.

″Thanks, babe,″ a hoarse and rough voice, but on a higher register than the sarge's came in.

″You!″ I hissed. The one sarge was trying to kill.

″Nice to meet'cha! Can't wait to see you in person!″ She joked. It was grating. To think, after all she's endured, she still had the nerve..

″You think you're so clever? You're nothing without your technology!″

″To be fair, same could be said for you guys,″ she shot back.

I could hear the stamps of feet, click-clacking.

Her voice came on the receiver once more. ″Go ahead and tell Michaels where I'll be.″

″Sarge! She's...approaching my room...″

″Whoa, buddy!″ Someone rolled their windows down and stopped their car. I stopped to catch my breath. Desperate, I thought of asking the driver if they had any water.

″What'cha doin' runnin' 'cross the highway?″ The driver asked, their voice sounding like one of those surfers in California. The car stunk of weed, which made me want to cry. I missed being with the Beige and listening to their stories.

″Trying to get to Area 51,″ I pointed forward, probably looking like an idiot in the process.

″Far out! Same here, brah! Wanna lift?″

I wanted to say yes, but then I thought of Art. What trouble I got him into and now he's...hopefully...still a corpse.

″No thank you. I'd rather go it alone. Kinda need the exercise.″

The driver looked confused. I didn't know what to say. I don't think the driver did either.

″Uh...if you want to help, maybe you can spare some water?″

″Totes, brah! Gotta bottle here!″ I was thrown a bottle of water. Plastic bottles weren't really my thing, but I shrugged. Water is water.

″Thanks, uh, 'bra'?″ I didn't understand why surfer dudes liked to refer to people as underwear. Perhaps that was just one of those unsolved mysteries that went even deeper than such things as Area 51.

″No prob! Hang loose, brah! Gonna go hop the fence!″

I waved as the stranger drove past. Maybe it was stupid of me not to catch the ride, but I wasn't about to endanger someone in my own quest. After a few gulps from the bottle of water, I went back to running toward the facility.

Please be okay, Velvet, I thought. I had nothing to help her, but that wasn't going to stop me. I would ask Euphoria for help if I had to, even going against my previous word. Something Euphoria had said was nagging at me.

Would you oppose her happiness if it means she lives?

I stopped in my tracks.

″No way...″

She left much of her equipment on the ship. She was planning on going there from the beginning. She's trying to get herself killed.

″Even if that's the case, I won't let it happen,″ I declared and pressed on.

″What are we doing in this parade, anyway?″ Kelly Roger asked.

Balloons, floats, dancers, candy and confetti. I looked around with shame. Such shame that I was posing as a composer for a marching band and forced myself into watching such happy people. Joy on each and every face. Even the town crier, Kelly Roger, smiling ear to ear, even while trying to deny it.

The timing was off. It would fall into place, but I had to stall. Thinking about it all, I started to have second thoughts about the very thing I spent years putting into motion. Different series of the same events started to roll out. End credits in the middle of a film. Stay tuned for the sequel, where the exact same thing happens, in reverse order...

″Do you think it's right for me to insert myself into all these lives?″

″Um...Marco?″

I knew what would transpire given enough time.

″Please, call me Belial.″

Kelly Roger's head shook.

″I don't get it, but okay.″

I got out an umbrella. About a mile away, a building exploded. Police rushed to the scene. Soon they would declare it a terrorist attack. All the whole, the parade would go on, those overseeing the show not wanting to upset the masses. Not that they could be upset, anyway.

″I've got frogs in high places,″ I explained to Kelly Roger, before opening the umbrella and stepping out of the parade.

Merrily, merrily, merrily. Life is but a dream...

A mother whispering to a child. Faded scene. Cradle or a twin-size bed. Face blurred out. Whispering a lullaby. Soon the child drifts back to sleep.

″Fear not,″ she says. ″You won't remember any of this.″

Much taller. Whispering back.

″What is there to remember?″

″There was something you were doing. You came here for a reason. You had a quest. You failed your quest. But it's O.K. You can rest.″

Silver hair. Black hair. Blurring and meshing. Wires in the frame, wires above the bed. Ornaments or dried parts of sacrificed animals. Looking back up at the comforting face. Not a face at all. Silver with black streaks or black with silver streaks.

Zebra? Or sick horse?

Child running, two feet taller than before. Bed shrinking.

Running a fever.

I jolted up, the blanket sliding off of me, bandages revealing themselves, and a pain shooting through my arms. I looked beside myself.

Just one arm.

The dream, it was fading. But what was said was a lie. I remembered. Maybe not what I needed to remember, but I remembered something. Tears welled up in my eyes. The darkness surrounding me meant no one else was around to see or hear me.

″I failed my quest...″

″Who might you be?″ I stood outside the door, pistol pointed at the glass. Sitting down at a desk situated with many monitors was a girl, blue hair, like raspberry cotton candy. Obviously dyed.

″Mavis,″ she replied, not even giving me any mind. I couldn't open the door without a code. Not that I gave a damn. All I needed was for her to know that I meant business.

″Ha! What kind of name is that?″

She sighed. ″My parents named me after Mavis Beacon, their favorite typing application. They thought typing was the way of the future. Taught me to type with many keyboards starting when I was about four years old.″

″Wow, embarrassing.″

″And you?″

″I'm V—″

″Velvet. I know. I was just trying to humor you.″ I was taken aback, but I tried to play it cool.

″Actually, I was going to say Viola, but that works too.″

″You probably figure you're fine now that you found me,″ she changed the subject. Now that I gave her a good look, I could tell there were some serious eye baggage. ″I'll give you credit, most people can't even get near our facility without getting killed.″

″Helps that I've been here before,″ I replied with a shrug.

″You're not safe. Any minute now, the Sergeant will find you, and if he doesn't finish you off, I have lasers ready to fire at my command.″

″Oh yeah. That guy. You two seem to be real buddy-buddy. Are you guys some kind of item?″

She scoffed. ″Oh, please. I'm a lesbian.″

I pretended to get out a notepad and jot that down, using the pistol I was carrying as a makeshift pen.

″What are you doing?″ She squinted.

″Just filling out your character bio.″

″Is this all a joke to you?″

″Just need a bit of levity to keep myself sane.″

″In that case, you're going to need all the humor you can. You can't keep yourself sane. You had no reason to return to this place, and yet here you are, and for what reason?″

″That's for me to know and you to never find out.″

She scoffed and looked back at her monitor. Not very pleased with my answer, I see.

″You're probably thinking that we're so similar.″

Actually, I was thinking, if I had her setup, I'd obliterate her.

″But you wanna know the difference? I don't have to be a troll to be happy.″

″What's that supposed to mean?″

″I'm just fine keeping my mouth shut and putting my skills to use. You, on the other hand, go looking for trouble.″

″Keeping your mouth shut? That's no way to live.″

″That's how you get a pay check.″

I gave her a smug look. ″I've found I don't need one of those to survive.″

″Oh? Like you're doing right now? Is the life you've been living really surviving? Living underground with a paranoid freak and a fanatic? Stealing a home to give to a homeless man just so he can deliver you food in return?″

″How do you...?″ I stopped. This was all wrong.

″We could have killed you any time. Drone strike, raid, you name it. Do you remember the raid that drove you out?″

″I thought those were mercenary police officers working for the ETNA Corporation.″

She smiled, tore a piece of beef jerky, and smacked her gums while she chewed.

″ETNA couldn't care less about you. Of course, your crimes could not be overlooked. We had that old man executed as soon as you left.″

″No...″

″Surprised? You've been off the radar for three years. What do you care, anyway?″

I gave no response.

″Don't even try to act like you're better. Do you know how many lives you destroyed during your brief tenure with the CIA?″

I grit my teeth.

She likes to run her mouth, too. It's like I'm staring at a younger version of myself.

The thought made me grin. I couldn't help but bite my thumb.

″What's so funny?″ She grimaced.

″It's like you looked me up on Wikipedia. Never thought I'd have such a fan!″

She groaned. ″This is taking too long.″ She typed something up and red beams of light shot out from the walls and ceiling. Before any of them could hit me, I reached into my pocket and hit the door. It opened up, and I ran inside just before it closed back up.

″What?!″ She turned around and gasped. The pistol I had stolen was pointed against her head.

″Try harder.″

″You think you're so tough? You've only traversed a small fraction of this base! You have no idea --″

I cut her off.

″You're right. And I'll tear this whole place down.″

That would be my happiness.

″I'm home!″ Someone announced. I jolted up. I wished I could stop sleeping so much and try to get up. I didn't want to be a patient; lying in bed and so helpless. Who cared if I was missing an arm? I could still do things.

″Hey sis!″ Trent, the doctor, greeted.

″I brought cupcakes!″ The love of my life announced.

I ran up and hugged her, then looked over, eager to taste one. That was, until I saw what they were.

″Honey, you know I don't like velvet!″ I scolded.

″Fine, more for me,″ she shrugged.

″It's the dye..″ I tried to explain. Actually, I didn't like beetroot, either. Though I doubted those ones were made with beetroot.

″Sorry, long day at the lab. People want so many parts commissioned. I forget things, okay?″ She also tried to explain. We both laughed.

″It's all good. I'm just glad you're home.″

She walked over past the kitchen, where her other 'lab' was. 3D-Printers and various tools surrounded the room. She leaned against the counter and munched on a cupcake. Against the light of the mini-lamp, she was a radiating beauty. Although same could be said about her all the time.

″So,″ she began, mouth full of cupcake. ″How's the kid?″

We didn't actually know the patient's age, aside from that they looked young. Could have been a teenager, or in their twenties.

″They woke up yesterday. Called me 'Winry'...″

″Huh. Did we find anything out?″

″Nope. Some kind of memory loss. It will probably come back in time.″

″Ugh,″ she threw an entire cupcake in her mouth. Trent would have to take the package away from her before she ate the whole thing. ″This is just like the plot of some bad TV show.″

I laughed.

″Tell me about it...″ Trent sighed from just behind me. ″Looked it up, by the way. Winry's some anime character.″

″Wait! Lemme see!″ She ran over and snatched Trent's phone.

I blinked. Next thing I knew, she had her palm over her face and burst into laughter.

″Ha! She really does look like you!″

I peeked. My face was flushed.

″This...isn't...no...″

She kept reading about the character. I felt like I was going to cry.

″Don't worry, hun. You're not like her in profession.″

″Yeah,″ Trent added. ″You're more like if Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy had a baby.″

I glared. ″Gee, thanks. You make me sound so villainous.″

″Well, you are a therapist who studies plants, dear,″ she pointed out.

I tried getting up.

I leaned myself forward and managed to pick myself up off my feet. Just a little bit more, and I was standing. No blanket on me. I was so proud of myself I threw both my arms up into the air...and realized I only had one raised.

How did this happen? Was I born this way?

Dark energies swirled, a sharp pain where my other arm should have been struck me and it was like my mind was begging to tell me, but just didn't have the funds to do so. I was in some sort of a trance, ready to pass through and unleash some dark act. But the dark act in question was really just a single step, then a wobble and a trip.

Landing back on my ass, I found the culprit: a loose screw.

From my mind, no less.

No. Just a little screw.

Could be worse. Could have been a Lego.

My landing caused an impact that shook the floor. Rocked the very core of the apartment and caused hordes of feet to storm their way into the room.

I turned my head and saw three heads: Trent, the lady who introduced herself to me yesterday, and...the fiance?″

I waved with the arm I actually had, not saying a word.

They made the same, slow, awkward wave.

″Good morning?″ I greeted, unsure.

She ran up to me, the one with overalls and silver (?) hair. No, my eyes had to adjust. Not even. Brown...mahogany. That seemed a good descriptor.

″Actually! It's almost evening!″ She corrected, leaning over and excited to see me.

″Hi...you are...?″

″Juniper! I'm Trent's sister. Out of law. Well, we settled out of court!″

I tilted my head. Trent groaned.

″It's a joke...″ he explained.

″Yeah, we're actually related, for real!″

My head bobbed to and fro. Little skittles bouncing around inside, but I couldn't eat them. Causing quite a ruckus.

″You've been sleeping a lot, you're going to feel a little woozy!″ Trent's voice jolted me back to reality.

″I think I lost myself...in the moment...my head feels like spaghetti...″ I mumbled.

The three of them observed me as if I was some kind of new species they discovered. One of them in particular, the first one I was acquainted to, stood behind the brother and sister and seemed to have been studying me with the most intensity.

She was familiar, somewhere in the depths of my memories, but it was all wrong.

Stay away from her. She's danger, my brain told me. I reached far back into my brain, where my memories were just vague enough to conjure something. Not an image, but a name...

″You!″ I looked over at her. ″You're...Et...″

Her eyes widened. ″Oh! Sorry!″ She squeaked. ″Vesuvius. My parents likened me to an active volcano when I was born. I'm not a fan of it, but never thought to change it.″

#happiness overload #writing #stories #fiction #writers on tumblr #scifi #surreal #conspiracy #aliens #time travel #angels #jo-ann #michaels #goodwill #mavis beacon #fma #they live

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