#does this count. i just put a sticky note with his face in a charlotte drawing i made

[dailyrioranger]

have u played witchs heart. can u draw him in charlotte’s outfit ^_^

DAY 185 i think. rio ranger charlotte

[smygarding]

devil | Katakuri Charlotte x Male!Reader

General information:

Katakuri Charlotte (Dogtooth) x Male!Reader

warning(s): hurt&comfort - anxiety&depression reader info: the reader will go by he/him/his pronouns. word count: 2243 song inspiration: Devil by Shinedown other info: this work does not follow any plot in the anime, but it exists in the same universe. please note that this is also posted on my quotev and deviantart. this is not beta read, so please excuse me if you see any mistakes.

-

When Katakuri Charlotte opened his eyes after having woken up by the sun tickling him in his stitch littered face, he felt the way too familiar feeling fill up and bubble in his stomach. Glaring towards the heavy curtains who had let a tiny ray of light shine through, Katakuri bit down on his dry lip until he could taste the metallic flavour a bit too well. Yet he couldn’t make himself to leave the bed to close them completely.  

Ah, so it was one of those days.

All he wanted to do was to pull the heavy covers over his entire body and pretend as if he didn’t exist. Even if it was just for a couple of hours, minutes or seconds.

It hurt to think about his duties as the minister of flour, as a sweet general, as the second son and as the perfect son.

Katakuri rumbled with annoyance and wished nothing more than to sink into his huge bed and disappear. However, if he didn’t get out of bed someone was bound to knock on his door sooner or later.

Still, a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

Nobody could deny him a few more minutes where he didn’t have to feel the lump in his stomach form into something more grotesque and gruesome.

Nobody could deny him a few more minutes without any heavy burdens weighing down his shoulders.

Nobody could deny him a few more minutes without having to put on a persona, where he didn’t have to hide himself and his own face from his family.

With a sigh and a huff, he grabbed the numbing duvet with his huge and calloused hand to pull it over himself in an attempt to disappear for a little while longer.

It didn’t feel right.

No matter what Katakuri did, he couldn’t get his hammering heart to slow down.

Ba-dump-ba-dump-ba-dump-ba-,

No use in counting his breath either. The rasping sound of his laboured breath from his parted lips as he inhaled and exhaled only made his heart wince in pain as if someone tightened barbed wire around it.

Anxiety weighed his chest down followed by a stinging pain in his skull.

Of course… Katakuri thought. Just what I needed, a migraine.

Another groan escaped his sharp-toothed mouth and as he closed his eyes in pure nausea the throbbing pain ebbed slowly but surely away.

-

“…kuri.”

“Katakuri.”

Huffing in annoyance, Katakuri opened his eyes only to be met with your tall frame leaning over him and your face inches away from his own. If it hadn’t been for his eyes getting used to the light who now reached even the darkest and most dusty corners in his room, he could have taken in your flawless smooth (s/c) features and your amazing (e/c) eyes without you covering back in fear due to his intense stare.

“What?” His mouth felt dry and his tone fell flat.

Katakuri was not a man of many words and this day was no exception.

He liked to keep it simple and the less he had to open his mouth, the less he was reminded of why he wore his scarf. And the happier Mama gets… He thought bitterly.

“I tried to call your den den mushi for several times now,” your eyes bore into his own, and he felt unable to look away. For what reason exactly Katakuri didn’t know yet, but he felt himself being captured by your (e/c) eyes and frozen in time as you sought after answers to why he wasn’t doing his duties.

“And?” Another curt answer rumbled from his chest and up his throat which caused your own eyes to glance down at his naked torso- barely covered by the heavy duvet he knew you had tugged at. It was a brief look, but Katakuri still caught it and felt weirdly smug about it.

As your fiancé by contract, Katakuri knew he was allowed to feel cautious and wary around you, not to mention conflicted and curious.

Cautious and wary because he didn’t know you as a person, he didn’t know your intentions for agreeing to the political marriage (not that you could refuse it in reality) nor how you would act around his family. Neither knew he why you seemed to accept him despite his huge flaws. It was no huge secret that he frightened you. That he knew. The look of fear and shock painted etched onto your face when you saw the real himfor the first time wasn’t easy to forget. Though you never showed disgust. If you did, it must have been completely concealed.

Then came the conflicted and curious feelings. Because despite every reason he listed in his mind, despite every self-loathing feelings surfacing and despite most of his siblings being against his engagement, Katakuri still felt drawn towards you. You made him curious about the smallest things concerning yourself, such as the fact that you were only 150cm shorter than him. How was that possible? Then there was the fact that he felt happy whenever you looked at him or paid attention to him.

What are you doing to me?

“And…” You repeated, ready give him a list of good reasons only for them to die at the tip of your tongue. “And you know what, just fuck it.”

Katakuri was startled by your sudden outburst. He had never seen you like this, relaxed, tired and just completely done at the same time. You didn’t even give him a chance to think again before you suddenly ripped the duvet completely off his body, exposing more of his tattoo and ripped figure. The embarrassment couldn’t even creep up his neck in form of a flush as you proceeded to climb into his huge and soft bed, laying down beside him as your eyes continued to search after something on his face.

It made him uneasy.

How easily you had joined him in bed, how you didn’t even flinch once as you took in every detail of his features with your studying and curious eyes, and how the warmth from your body made his own tingle with anticipation.

“What are you doing?” The sudden question seemed to startle both himself and you.

“I’m joining you, what else does it look like?” You surprised the magenta-haired male by answering so straightforwardly and casually as if resting beside your arranged 509cm fiancé was the simplest thing in the world.

Katakuri narrowed his eyes in a suspicious glare. What were you trying to achieve by doing this?

“Why are you bothering?”

The clear shock both your expressions mirrored each other and Katakuri wished he hadn’t let his doubt taken over.

More than anything, it was how venomous and accusing his voice sounded that made Katakuri wince and deepen the bite on his chapped lips. Instant regret filled up within when he saw you falter in your movements and avert your intense yet oddly gentle eyes away from his.

Uncertainness, confusion and pure anxiety were the scapegoats in the picture, and Katakuri wished fervently that he wasn’t stuck in the sticky grip of theirs, so he could apologise without having to fear total rejection.

No apology came, and the tension grew bigger by each second that passed in silence.

Why can’t I apologise? Katakuri thought, frowning at himself at how pathetic he had become. Why was it that you, a foreign prince, managed to make even the smallest words halter and disappear at the tip of his tongue?

The mistake was made, and it was Katakuri’s own creation. By letting his anxiety, anger and insecurities seep out, only to let them loose on you was something he had feared and predicted yet tried to avoid at any cost.

The damage was done, and the words said, and yet, you managed to surprise the sharp-toothed man again.

A warm and soft hand- almost as big as his own yet lacking callouses and roughness from violence- reached out and touched his scarred face with the gentlest care he ever felt.

“Why are you so scared?”

Your words squeezed every last ounce of air out his lungs, leaving him breathless and terrified.

Another hand joined the first and cupped his flawed cheeks, drawing his head closer towards your own. This warmth was completely new to Katakuri, foreign and frightening, but he didn’t reject it. Instead, he welcomed it and let your gentle hands take control in their caress.

Katakuri felt his lashed dip and eyes flutter in sync with his beating heart. As he let himself relax into your touch, everything slowed down and the former doubts forming the tight wire around his entire being disappeared as his heartbeat evened out.

He let out a shaky breath and inhaled your cologne that smelled softly of (fave scent).

What exactly am I afraid of?

You?

No words were spoken, and he opened his eyes again.

You were still beside him, closer than ever, cupping his face with your untainted hands and gazing into his eyes with your own clear ones- free from any form of prejudice and judgement.

“You can’t exceed the heavy expectations they lay upon you, you know?”

Katakuri chuckled dryly, tired. “What do you know about that? You’re just…” The last words stopped and Katakuri was glad he didn’t have the courage to finish the sentence.

“I’m just what?”

He had expected a sharp tone, but you succeeded to perplex him another time with your curious and calm question.

“I’m just me?” You asked again, guessing the correct word he didn’t answer to.

“So, what if I’m just myself. You’re just you and we’re both humans. Titles and blood don’t matter, nor do they count when it comes to our humanity.”

Another set of chuckles rumbled through Katakuri’s chest as if your words simply humoured him.

“Human isn’t something I’ve had the pleasure of being described as.” He explained bitterly, not expecting you to understand. You didn’t understand the weight of his existence and you didn’t know how his family worked.

A frown etched itself into your usual soft features, but your hands refused to leave their place. “The expectations and duties laid upon our beings shouldn’t define us as a person, Katakuri.”

How you addressed him caught his interest and as the sweet general found you (e/c) orbs, he knew he was unable to look away again.

Just what are you doing to me?

“We can’t exceed impossible ultimatums we don’t have the capability to fulfil and that’s completely okay, you know?”

“Why?”

How one word could sound so broken and shattered surprised you and hadn’t it been for the anxiety making itself known again, Katakuri would have relished the fact that the tables were turned.

“Because we’re humans. Because sometimes we’re not meant to do the impossible and instead of using innumerable measures and strength reaching for the unobtainable, we should focus on the importance in the present.” You took a breath and removed one hand from Katakuri’s scarred skin to pull the duvet over your bodies. In that instant, Katakuri felt himself missing your touch and warmth. However, your hand found its place again – stroking his sharp features and rubbing your thumbs in circles on his cheeks – which made the sharp-toothed man almost purr in delight and relief.

“Do you have anything important to you, Katakuri? Anything close to your heart?”

“My family.” His reply was quick and confident, showing no hesitation.

“Then focus on your family, do what you know is the best for them and focus in taking a part of your own joy without letting them make their own dreams into yours.”  

Warmth spread through his body like rapid fire, but not from the duvet placed over his body, not from your comforting hands nor from your slim body pressing up against his – no, the comfort unfurling even in the darkest corners inside of him was purely due to your words.

Never in his lifetime had Katakuri been told that it was okay to not excel, okay to step back and okay to be flawed – to be human. Your words refreshed him in ways he never would have been able to imagine without you in the picture.

As he felt one of your hands move upwards to tousle and draw through his short hair in a slow motion, realisation dawned upon him and his ragged breath evened out.

“Thank you.”

If it hadn’t been for your heads being centimetres apart and your long limbs tangling, you wouldn’t have caught the small thankful murmur making its way between sharp canines and smooth inhales and exhales.

A smile tugged at your lips, but you chose to remain silent. You continued your ministrations and small affections until you his posture lost its tension and fell limp beside you. Though you didn’t stop, nor did you leave him. You had taken a certain choice – a choice that was made when you opened up your heart in front of a scared and scarred man.

From now and onwards you had decided to stick with the troubled man that was your husband to be, and even if it would start with the smallest things, you were determined to break down his shell in order to gain his affection. Great mountains caved to time and so would Katakuri.

Simple decisions such as wanting to wake up in your fiancé’s grip could eventually escalate and turn into a full-blown and fiery love.  

[seenashwrite]

Some Dean

Word Count: 4K Category: One-shot, On-The-Hunt, Humor, Creature Feature, Behind-the-scenes Canon-Compliant, Teamwork, Friendship… and, to hell with it: Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas Warnings: None Anti-Warning: There’s no images or links to anything creeptastic below the cut, those of you with squicks/phobias need not worry, I’m not that big of an a-hole Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; if you’ve no knowledge of the children’s story “Charlotte’s Web”, this may not be for you; more post-story Overall Summary: Sometimes good things come in small, albeit eight-legged, packages.

Dean had always liked spiders.

Well, “like” may’ve been overstating; Dean had always held an appreciation for spiders. They weren’t nasty like rats or sneaky like snakes, with spiders you knew where you stood: in his experience, anything supernatural aside, you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. Plus, they were badass - spiders packed a lot of intimidation into a small package, could be killing machines when they wanted to be, and mostly he appreciated that they were efficient and effective when it came to dealing with the annoying bugs that occasionally popped up. He did live in a basement, after all; the world’s tiniest were not deterred by any amount of warding or weaponry.

So when he’d notice small, barely-there wisps of webs in far corners or between the bottom of a bookshelf and the wall, stretching from the carved wood to the sticky bricks, he’d leave the homemade traps be for a week or two if they were empty, and sure enough, they’d have captured some crawlers next time he made a run-through with the vacuum. It was an amicable relationship - Dean never saw the spiders, just their handiwork, and the webs seldom popped up in the same space twice. Plus, they seemed to know the kitchen was a no-fly… spider… zone, so all was well.

And then came Charlotte.

Charlotte - as Dean had eventually started calling the garden spider, much to Sam’s dismay - did not have any regard for the out-of-sight, you-don’t-get-the-boot arrangement, nor did she have any regard for giving Dean his space. The day they met, he’d sauntered into the garage, popped the Impala’s trunk, tossed in a bag and a shotgun, yelled at Sam to hurry up, then went to reach for the driver’s side handle, caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and froze. And he wasn’t the only one.

The web was thick at the edges and delicate in the middle, stretching from the side mirror to the handle, upon which Charlotte perched, her crafting put on hold. She wasn’t terribly small, but not remotely large; she would’ve easily fit on the pad of his thumb. And she was clearly of the brave - or stupid, perhaps - sort, because she didn’t immediately scurry off. She took in the sight of the giant creature before her - technically, there was eight of him, what with her four pairs of eyes and all - and she opted to see what would happen.

What happened was that Dean turned, grabbed a shop rag, and began cursing under his breath as he whipped the web into nothingness; by the time he stopped, Charlotte had skittered to places unknown.

Dean tossed the rag away, gave the handle a good eyeballing before he grabbed it, opening the door and saying in a low voice through grit teeth, “Not. The. Car.”

“What not the car?” asked Sam, bounding up the garage steps.

“Nothing,” Dean replied.

This nothing continued for six weeks.

Charlotte was a determined artist, it seemed, not to mention a fast one. She spun webs of all sizes and shapes, covering the license plate in quilt-panel squares, weaving long, ropy trails around and between the wipers, and at one point obscured the back window in a lacy pattern that Castiel noted looked like a fine guipure. She liked to travel, too, as more than once the brothers would exit a given roadside motel room to find Charlotte had been busy during the night, Sam’s personal favorite being when she’d decorated a hubcap in a complex Fibonacci design, though he’d never have let on to Dean.

On the initial occasions following such a discovery, if Dean happened to spot her, he would scold her with a sharp “NO!”, walk in her direction briskly, and she’d retreat, slipping into the trunk or under the hood, but it wasn’t long before she’d stay put, even edge closer, cutting the distance between them, eventually so bold as to crawl onto the roof of the Impala, watching as he dismantled her webs.

“Really?” he asked one morning after the latest wipe-down, bending slightly so they were eye-to-eyes.

She calmly extended one leg to the side, held it out til he got the hint, turning his head, following what he’d presumed was a point, and sure enough, he’d missed some cottony puffs that were still stuck on a tail light.

Looking back at her, he said - begrudgingly -  "Thanks.“

Dean had dealt with stranger things.

"One day I’m expecting to come out and see ‘terrific’ in a web,” Sam commented during a return trip from the latest hunt.

“What?” Dean asked.

“You know - the kid’s book. Charlotte’s Web. You read it to me when we were little. About the farm, and saving Wilbur the would-be bacon?”

“Charlotte’s anti-bacon?”

“No, I don’t think— it was— it— she was just pro-pig.”

It was after this conversation that Dean took to calling their frequent tag-a-long Charlotte. To be specific, it was after he’d brought a BLT with him into the garage while working on the car, and she’d happily investigated a bit of bacon that had escaped his plate. A point to the pro-bacon column, he thought.

Dean informed her that he was fine with her hanging around, he was even fine with her fancy webwork, but she needed to cool it when it came to the car, explaining with lots of gesturing to make sure the message got across, just in case. He’d looked it up. Spiders did not have ears.

He’d also looked up things on spider life spans, and arachnid health in general. Sam found him in the library one evening doing just that, frowning at his laptop screen as he scanned. Castiel was nearby, returning some books to their places on the shelves.

“What is he doing?” Sam asked in a hushed voice, and Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean spoke, diverting their attention.

“Did Charlotte look pale to you earlier?”

Now Sam frowned. “Dean… what?”

“I mean, she’s light brown, but she looked a little yellow earlier,” Dean explained, scrolling further down a page, but then closing the window with a huff and turning in his seat to face Sam. “Can’t find anything.” A pause; a thought. “Hey, I should put out a devil’s trap drawing for her, maybe a new pattern’ll perk her up.”

Sam was, in a word, startled. “Do you think of her as a pet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I dunno - because a spider is stalking us, and you’ve named it, and you talk to it, and—-”

“What, you got a thing about spiders to go with your thing about clowns, even though your imaginary friend was a clown?” Another pause. “Come to think of it, that explains a lot.”

“Sully’s not a clown, and no, I do not have arachnophobia, what I do have is a worry that - if it is a female - it may lay a bunch of eggs, then we’ll have an infestation. Is that what you want? Bunch of spider babies in your Baby?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s not gonna do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Did she pinky swear?”

“Would you like me to have a look at her?” asked Castiel, and the concern in his voice was less for Charlotte and more for Dean, and less in the sympathetic way and more in the tiptoeing around someone who’s slipped into psychosis way.

Sam crossed his arms. “Taking it outside hasn’t worked, neither has trying to leave it wherever we’ve been hunting - this is getting ridiculous, will you just kill it, already?!”

Dean stood, walked over to him, defiant. “We not been doing enough killing for you lately?”

“It’s just a spider, Dean!”

“I know that! Maybe I just don’t wanna be scraping moist spider guts off my boot.”

“Does this spider communicate with you?” Castiel asked, the concern still floating under his words.

He was ignored.

“It’s not your pet, it’s a tiny insect - you don’t even know if it could be poisonous!” Sam exclaimed.

“Not an insect, genius, and Charlotte would never bite us—-”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Have either of you considered the possibility that this is no ordinary spider?” Castiel suggested.

“Gee, thanks, Cas - no, hadn’t noticed that this is weird,” Dean shot back with a look.

“So you get that this is weird?” Sam checked.

“Our life is weird, what’s some more? And at least this is fun weird, is that so bad?” Dean replied, and the touch of melancholy in his voice caused both Sam and Castiel to stay quiet for a few moments.

The silence was broken by the ring of Dean’s phone - a case awaited them.

And, of course, Charlotte.

Dean looked up from the map as Sam came back into their motel room, six pack in one hand, phone in the other, kicking the door shut as he spoke.

“Jane called. She says a container ship from the UK was bringing in illegal cargo, for some rich people who wanted exotic animals for canned hunts—”

“Douche move.”

“—and apparently when they went to unload, the crates were all busted up. The hold was covered with what was left of the bodies of the animals. All except for one. Three guesses.”

“Big bad bacon?”

“Yup. And she thinks we’re looking at… ah….” Sam trailed off and chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“A cryptid. It’s called The Beast of Dean, a.k.a. the Moose Pig.”

“Why do I think that somewhere, somehow, whatever’s left of Crowley just got a chub.”

They were in a rural area of Virginia, not too far from Portsmouth, and had been for a week, tracking what sounded like a rabid boar, but there was enough of a bump-in-the-night bend to the word on the street that they’d been confident it fell in their wheelhouse. Now that they had confirmation, after a night of research and weapon prep, they were ready to knock out the most recent mission and get back home. The Dean-Moose was large, and it was anything but subtle. The hunt should be an easy one, wouldn’t take long, nothing to it.

Well. One thing. One sort-of big thing. Even though it was also a small thing. Sam’s pro-pig storybook spider and their companion, they’d come to find, had more in common than just a name.

.

STOP

.

There, stretched across the Impala’s grill the next morning, was an undeniable message, and given Dean’s jaw-dropped state, it prompted Sam to speak on his behalf.

“Um, Charlotte? Listen, I don’t know if you… you seem nice, and… really smart, but… look, this thing isn’t like that pig in the book.”

“Because she’s read the book,” Dean said sarcastically, breaking out of his stupor and stomping over to the car, sharp eyes looking for the sassy spider; no joy. “Hey, guess what?” he said loudly. “I’m gonna drive so fast that by the time I do stop, your web’s gonna get shredded, how do you like that? I told you my car was OFF LIMITS!”

With one last glare at the web, Dean got into the car, and Sam followed suit. They put on the radio and chatted about anything but spiders and pigs for the better part of an hour as they bumped along the winding back roads. And after parking at the edge of the woods where the most recent sighting of the beastly hog had occurred, they opened the trunk to find another message, one that unfurled neatly, springing open as the lid of the weapons compartment lifted.

.

REALLY! STOP, STUPID.

.

Punctuation, and all.

“You know…” Dean began, but trailed off with a shake of his head, snatching up the shotgun and pocketing a handful of the shells with the special filling he and Sam had cooked up the night prior.

Sam removed the freshly-etched-with-symbols machete. Dean slammed the trunk shut. Charlotte did not emerge.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the woods, Sam spoke in a quiet voice.

“When we get back, I’m calling Cas. This is out of control, Dean. The spider’s obviously somebody - or something - dicking around with us. Maybe that’s been the plan, keeping us from killing this thing.”

Dean didn’t look at him, rather kept scanning their surroundings as he responded. “Maybe. She… it… came around before that ship got here. But, yeah. Maybe something’s up.”

Sam reflexively sighed in relief, and at that moment Dean stopped, extended his arm to stop Sam’s progress, as well.

“Shhh. Listen.”

The growl was only audible for a moment before the foliage began to stir.

The hunt, it turned out, did not last long. The defeated brothers wearily tossed their dented weapons into the backseat and practically fell into the front. Dean immediately turned off the radio - the chanting of Duran Duran’s “Wild Boys” had come screaming through the speakers.

“It does kinda sound like they’re saying 'wild boars’,” Sam noted.

“Shut up.”

After they’d returned to the motel and showered, cleaned up their scratches and cuts, swapped torn clothing for intact, Sam went back to researching, while Dean went out to the Impala, damp washcloths in hand, and opened the trunk. It was barely even six o'clock, and there was still enough sunlight that he could see every trace of the webbing was gone. But he wanted to check that his little - former - friend hadn’t done anything else.

She had.

Sitting in the driver’s set, Dean’s eye was drawn to the thin, nearly opaque message across the radio, anchored by the knobs and an ejected tape.

.

BAD JOB

.

Dean swiped it away without a word, uttering a small groan and clutching his bruised ribs as he climbed out. He took a few steps, but then pivoted. He opened the door again and leaned in, voice tense as he spoke.

“Tell you what, how’s about I bring you some toothpicks and you join in tomorrow, help us out, get in a few stabs? Be useful, show us how it’s done?”

Dean fell asleep wondering if he’d completely lost his mind.

.

THIS IS DUMB .

Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes - he’d been out the door first, so the newest message, covering the entirety of the hood, immediately made him brace himself for what was coming next.

But, surprisingly, Dean kept his temper in check; he merely set down his bag, returned to the room for a towel, and briskly wiped down the hood.

“Ready?” he asked Sam, forcing a smile that was likely more unsettling than intended.

Sam kept quiet, answering with a thumbs-up.

Their Everything’s Fine! charade was short-lived.

As with the prior morning, Charlotte had chosen to reinforce her message, wrapping the steering wheel so thickly it was barely visible, and her stance on their mission came through loud and clear.

.

THIS IS ACTUALLY DUMB .

Sam thought the choice of having the final “dumb” in bold italic for emphasis was a nice touch. And he noted the copious amount of webbing wound around the gear shift with raised eyebrows. And he gulped when he spotted more strands of said webbing emerging from the ignition. He cut his eyes over to Dean and, upon seeing his expression, took a step back.

This time, Charlotte did not hide. She’d positioned herself on the dashboard, right near the puffed-up wheel, standing with what could be described as quite the petulant posture. And much like the day the spider and the hunter had met, Dean froze.

Charlotte held her ground.

Dean’s nostrils flared.

Charlotte crossed her front legs as if they were arms.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Charlotte tapped a back leg, as if to say Well get on with it.

Dean was still unmoved, and so Sam said, “You know, when you freeze like that, it’s really not as intimidating as you might—-”

“CHARLOTTE!” Dean bellowed.

She turned and sashayed to the glove box, crawling inside without the first indication she felt in any danger whatsoever.

Thankfully, the motel was just shy of a mile from from a modest gas station-diner combo. Sam talked Dean into a breakfast - with extra bacon, a thumb of the nose to both the beast and its defender. After they easily convinced the owner to loan them his truck, explaining their car’s fuel gauge was apparently broken, buying a can of gas for show, they promised they’d have it returned to him by morning.

As they drove back to grab their gear, Dean asked, “You hear from Cas?”

Sam nodded. “Reception’s crap, though - I can only hear parts of his voicemail. He found something about Charlotte, at least, I think. But he didn’t sound upset, like she was dangerous.”

“Let’s just roast the pig and get the hell outta here.”

“I’m sorry she’s not… you know, fun-weird anymore,” Sam said.

Dean lowered his foot, gunning the engine. “Yeah, well. Story of my life,” he muttered.

The truck was returned way before morning, this encounter with their newest foe having gone as well as the first. Then they found that Charlotte had removed all the web from the Impala, though the door to the motel room held some snark:

.

NICE HEAD

.

Dean barely glanced at it - possibly a little hard to do with the near swollen-shut, a breath away from blackened eye - and didn’t even bother to clean it off. There was no message from Charlotte the next morning. Dean did bother to wonder if she was gone.

The sound of the tree cracking sent both of them diving behind a small knoll, gasping for breath, cringing as it crashed down just where they’d been not seconds earlier.

“I’m empty,” Dean said, returning his gun to his waistband. “You?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Sam answered.

The beast’s growls now turned into a piercing scream, a most furious howl, angry it couldn’t find them. They heard it turning up earth with its tusks, sending rocks flying, then ramming its head into yet another tree, the trunk buckling under the strain. Dean had managed to send a bullet into its snout, likely preventing it from sniffing them out, if the occasional gurgling snorts were any indication. Sam had earned himself a minor goring to his calf, but otherwise they were intact.

“Think you can run?” Dean asked, gesturing to the bandanna-wrapped wound.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That the plan? Just make a run for it?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“On three?”

“One… two…. three!”

They dodged trees, though the beast didn’t bother, taking out the smaller ones along the way, picking up speed with every moment that passed, while the brothers were losing speed at the same time.

Dean noticed a large branch in their path up ahead and started to veer off from Sam, pointing to it and yelling, “Keep going! I’ll try to knock Porky out!”

“No!” Sam yelled back, grimacing each time his leg made contact with the ground. “It’ll kill—- HUUUURMMPPHH!”

Sam went down, Dean not far behind, something tripping both of them, causing them to fall with such force that whatever air they had left in their lungs got knocked out. Disoriented, they raised their heads only to immediately duck them, covering up with their arms, as the beast was still plowing ahead. Its hooves hit the ground in between them, tossing dirt everywhere, its speed too far gone for it to stop on a dime. They expected to soon hear it reversing course, so Sam opened his eyes, trying to spot a place to hide, Dean doing the same, trying to spot the branch.

Instead, the sound of the most meek squeal one could imagine reached their ears, prompting Dean and Sam to turn their gazes directly ahead.

They were at the bottom of a small incline, and they watched as the boar’s head rolled their way, their heads slowly turning as they observed it leisurely passing by. It came to a sudden stop against something near their feet. They shared a look, moving in sync onto their knees.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said.

Dean looked up from inspecting the severed head to find Sam with his hand extended, pushing under something that Dean couldn’t make out, but a shift in position and a tilt of his head allowed him to see the bright moonlight glint off the surprisingly thick, iridescent rope running across Sam’s fingers.

Another look, another in sync movement as they stood, then tentatively walked forward til they reached the body. This time, Dean spotted it right away when he crouched, the finely-wound strands that were stretched between two trees, at just the perfect height to relieve a squatty hog monster of its head. He flicked it with a finger, as one would a string on a guitar, and it was just as taut.

“She clotheslined it,” Sam said, awestruck. “She tripped us so we wouldn’t… That could’ve clipped us at the knees. She… she…”

Dean looked up at Sam, and a slow smile spread across his face. "She’s awesome!”

Sam shifted his weight off of his bad leg, and grinned. “Think she’s any good with stitches?”

How Charlotte managed to spin their salvation in such little time, they’d never know, and they also had no idea how she beat them back to the car, but the evidence was there, across the driver’s side window. .

SOME PIG .

They laughed, Dean saying, “You ain’t lying.”

But before he could say anything else, Charlotte crawled out from under the handle. She scurried up her web, and as they watched, she whipped the “P” into a “D”; the “I” went “E” in a few short passes; the “G” was partially dismantled, then spun into an “A”; and in mere seconds, there appeared an “N”. .

SOME DEAN .

After a quick hop from its tip, a slide to the outside of one of the long connecting end pieces, and a drop of a new line of silk, their eyes followed her as she leapt, letting the momentum swing her clean up onto the roof. And then - Sam would swear to it, many times over the coming years - she curtsied.

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. “You, too.” With that, he opened the back door, gestured for her to climb inside.

Which, she did.

“Yes… yes… that’s very kind of you.”

Dean, Sam, and Castiel were standing outside the bunker, the former waiting patiently - and occasionally impatiently - as the latter had a conversation with Charlotte.

Castiel looked to them. “She says she likes my tie. The material meets her standards.”

Dean’s expression was completely flat, causing Sam to snicker.

“There any reason you didn’t tell us you could’ve been talking to her this whole time?” Dean demanded.

Castiel shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

It turned out that Castiel’s message had been to inform them that Charlotte was indeed a most special spider, more so than what they’d already divined. She was an emissary, an information-gatherer, a spy of sorts, though not a nefarious one. And because she herself was quite the accomplished hunter, she chose to spend time with other hunters whenever her journeys brought her to them.

And now, it was time for Charlotte to start her next journey.

Castiel was nodding his head as Charlotte, who was on his collar, near his ear, told him one last thing. “She’d like you to know that Sam was correct - she does need to prepare to lay her eggs, though she would not have done so in the car,” Castiel related.

Dean shot Sam a smug look.

“And she says she’ll name them Dean.”

Dean blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How many we talking?”

A pause as Charlotte answered, and Castiel replied, “Anywhere from fifty to sixty.”

“That’s… a lot,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Not really,” Sam commented.

Another look from Dean - actually, he cycled through several.

“Fine. So maybe I did some research, too,” Sam admitted.

“It’s time for her to go,” Castiel announced. “She says she’s enjoyed your company immensely. And she apologizes for the web you’ve yet to find. It seems she was in a cranky mood that evening.”

“That’s okay. Tell her it’s okay,” Dean said, walking closer. “Tell her that, um… it’s been great knowing her. Don’t be a stranger. All that.”

Castiel smiled. “She knows.” He raised his hand to his shoulder, and Charlotte climbed onto it. “I’m going to give her a boost,” he explained, and then to Charlotte he said, “Please do give Mr. Anansi the Winchester brothers’ warmest regards.”

They watched as Charlotte prepped a silk balloon, and after a gentle wave of Castiel’s hand, off she flew.  

“It would be… cheesy of me to comment it is angelic, their flight, wouldn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Sam answered in unison.

They began to walk back inside.

“What was that at the end? About Anansi?” asked Sam.

“Networking,” Castiel replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about us ever having to tangle with him,” Dean said. “I mean, not with Charlotte on our side. She’ll talk us up. She’s a talker.”

“Plus, there’ll be all the Deans,” Sam added.

“Yup. Exactly. We are cool with the spider kingdom,” said Dean, and with great confidence.

Dean was incorrect on this point, as he and Sam would later learn, during a case involving a young lady by the name of Muffet.

But that’s another story.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2 - The Jane mentioned is a character from my story Supernatural: Revelation, which you can find linked on the master post -or- just go straight to AO3, same author name SeeNashWrite 😁

Author’s Note #3 -  This also included a prompt which had languished in drafts - albeit with the note “Anansi” from the get-go, thankyouverymuch! - which was from the cringeworthy submissions:

You can find all the #Nash300 Follower Celebration Master List of Madness stories (wherein I asked followers to send me prompts consisting of three words to make me cringe) via the Master Post.

Author’s Note #4: The beast of Dean mentioned is actually a thing, give it a google! And so is Anansi, check that out, too. If you don’t get the Muffet reference, well, I can’t help you with that. 😉

[adampage]

The Game, Pt. 2

Characters: [Y/N], Triple H, Sami Zayn, Kevin Owens, and all the women’s locker room who’s names I can remember

Word Count: 3,873

Warnings: for this chapter, none I think? oh, there’s alcohol involved. that’s about it.

Author’s Note: kinda sad. kinda not. Kevin is in this one at the beginning, because he’s a ball of goodness. I know he is.

Before You Read: The Game, Part 1 requested by @deanammbrose

Tagging: @llowkeys / @mewsburger /  @hardcorewwetrash / @blondekel77 / @xxmaddhatter39xx / @crowleysqueenofhell / @unabashedwwesmut / @alexahood21 / @lip-sync / @we-work-hard / @the-geekgoddes / @sjwrites22 / @welshwitch5 / @wrasslin-x / @wrestlewriting / @roman-reigns-princess / @straight-outta-the-asylum / @idekwhatthisis / @wwetrashqueen / @reigns420 / @heelturn-timesten / @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues / @leteverythingexist / @athoughtfulmindwrites / @0-inkmix-0 / @baronesscorbin / @alexahood21 / @smolsassynalilsmartassy / @wrestlingbabe / @wrestlingnoob / @dark-blueheart13 / @birthday-prinxess / @meghanannexx / @thehardyboyz

"Tell me you didn't say that."

"Ugh, I did!" Kevin looked at you like you were fucking insane. "Are you fucking insane?" You hid your face between your hands. "I know, I was an asshole, I know!" "No, you don't fucking know. How could you just brush him off like that?"

It was frustrating, that question. You didn't have the heart to tell him that you weren't entirely sure why you'd done it. Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens had been your best friends for nigh on fifteen-ish years. All three of you had started wrestling about the same time, in different places, and had met in the same wrestling promotion. You remembered the night you and Kevin had first seen Sami wrestle. You remembered the moment when Kevin and Sami first wrestled. And you remembered the taste of the milkshakes the three of you had nights after, after meeting each other all for the first time outside of work. Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry. A regular Neapolitan blend. You didn't share, and the other two were positively disappointed with you. You had nearly fallen off your stool from laughter. You had clicked with them easily. Sami brought out the goodness in you, he always had. And Kevin had always been the one to help you in anything, any problem and situation that needed fixing. Call him a bastard in the ring, but outside of it he was a sweet man with a heart of gold that just wanted to make sure you were on the right track. And that's why you had come to him, now. That's why you were sitting in a vacant training room in the performance center, hastily whispering, begging for his help. But you should have known this topic wasn't going to be easy. Sami was the one topic in the world that you wouldn't get an unbiased viewpoint for. "I didn't brush him off, I just-" "Then what was it?" His tone was sharp as a dagger. It was beginning to grind away at your very soul. "Huh? Because it sounds an awful lot like you didn't even bother to think about it before you rejected him." "I was fucking scared, okay?" Your hands left your face, tensely dropping at your sides in emphasis. His eyes narrowed, squinting at you. "Of what? Of Sami Zayn? The heart and soul of any wrestling promotion he's ever been a part of? The kindest fucking human being that's ever walked the fucking earth? I don't understand what the hell you could possibly be afraid of, [Y/N]." He crossed his arms, disgusted. "There are fluffy bunnies with more evil in their hearts than Sami Zayn." If his plan was to snap your heart in two, Kevin had accomplished it. If his plan was to make you feel like absolute shit for what you'd done, he accomplished that, too. But it wasn't. He sighed. He could see it, the guilt on your face, the remorse in your eyes. The tears begged to fall. "No, don't. Don't cry." His tone was softer now as he reached for you, wrapping his arms around you to make you feel safe. "I'm sorry," you bawled. "But I didn't know what to say." Your breathing was erratic, sharp intakes of breath followed release in quick succession. "I figured...if...it wasn't...immediate...that I didn't...love him...like he loves me." Your words were sticky with snot. "Fuck, it's okay, sweetheart, it's fine." Kevin's hands reached to stroke your hair, tucking your head under his chin. Quietly, he began to hum, and you could feel every vibration at the top of your head, the French lullaby soothing you slowly. Alouette, gentille alouette Alouette, je te plumerai... You did your best to control your breathing allowing the humming to lull you into relaxation. His singing reminded you of home, even if it was thousands of miles away. je te plumerai la tête

et la tête

et la tête

alouette

alouette,

oh...

"You okay?" Kevin asked finally, dipping his head to look at your face. You nodded, looking for something to wipe your nose with. Finding nothing, you slumped your shoulders in disappointment, already feeling the embarrassment of your situation reddening your cheeks and causing fresh tears to pool at your eyes. Kevin stroked your cheek softly, wiping at your eyes. Then, showing mild annoyance, he rolled his eyes and pointed at his sleeve, indicating you wipe your nose on it. "Thank you," you whispered, tugging at his sleeve. "Yeah, don't mention it, seriously." He looked away as you soiled his sleeve, more expressions of disgust visible on his face. "When does he get back?" You asked. Kevin thought about it for a minute. "Next week, I think." He looked solemnly at you. "He called me this morning, you know. Asked me how you were doing." "What'd you say to him?" You probed curiously, looking up to meet his eyes. "Said you were fine." He leaned back, sat down on the table next to them. "To be honest, I didn't know. About any of this." Your eyes widened in silent shock. "He didn't tell you?" "No, he didn't. And neither did you, for that matter, best friend." You ignored the jab, though it stung. "He tells you everything." "Yeah, well, not this time. Even more reason to think that it's affecting him badly." You bit your bottom lip in frustration. "Kevin, what should I do?" He sat there, deep in thought. It was a pitiful situation, honestly. You didn't want to hurt Sami's feelings, but you also couldn't reciprocate something you didn't feel. "Depends on what you want. I can't help you fix it unless I know exactly what I'm fixing." "I just want everything to go back to the way it was." Kevin sighed. "That's not gonna happen, sweetheart." "Well..." you whimpered, "I just want him to know I still care for him. I can't give him what he wants, but I want us to be okay. I hope he can understand that." Your words caught in your throat with every sharp inhale and exhale of breath.

"Everything's gonna be fine, [Y/N]," Kevin said, "everything's gonna be all right." He reached out to squeeze your hand, if but for a brief moment, letting his assurance comfort you. "How do you know?" "Because he's Sami Zayn. He loves you and he won't hurt you." He gave you a crooked smile. "Just give him time. D'accord?" Your smile was faint, but genuine. "D'accord."

The next night was NXT. You had a match that you’d win, and then Hunter was set to "appear" backstage, with a congratulations to you on doing so well your first few weeks after your debut. You were going to thank him, put a hand on his shoulder in flirtation and twirl your hair. And Corey, bless his heart, was going to notice. He was going to point it out, talk about how this was all a game with you. You wanted in on the women's title, and you were going to use whatever means it took to get there. The insinuation was TV-14 at best, so it was good that NXT was only on the network.

Everything went as planned. After the segment, Murphy and Blake had a match with the Lucha Dragons, and then Sami showed up on the screen, a video to his fans about how he was doing and when he'd be coming back. You watched him, that sad little smile apparent on his face. You wondered if it was all just for show, if he was doing it because he was “thinking” about what Kevin “did” to him, or if it was because of what you did. Either way, it was enough to make you feel regret. How could you do this to him?

After watching the end of the show, you stood up and opened your locker, changing out of your ring gear. Charlotte, Becky, Sasha, Bayley. They all came barging into the locker room, afury with hushed, giggling whispers. As you pulled your t-shirt over your head, you gave them a questioning look. “What’s all the giggling about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sasha sang nonchalantly as she opened her locker, “just that Hunter’s invited us all to go out for drinks!”

“Really?” You shot her and the girls a quizzical eyebrow raise. He was taking the four horsewomen out to the bar? Hm.

“Mhm,” Bayley added, “he wants to take us out for drinks because he thinks we’re all doing a great job.”

Charlotte winked at you coyly. “Yeah, that’s why he wants to take us out for drinks.”

You shook your head, trying your best to hide your face from her. “Well, have fun you guys. Don’t get too drunk in front of the boss.”

Becky laughed at you from her seat on the bench, legs spread apart, raising a towel to her neck. “One, I’m Irish, so I don't get drunk. Two,” she said, holding up two fingers, “you’re comin’ too. Emma as well.”

“And me?” Emma asked from behind you. She had been quietly sitting in the background. “Sounds good.”

You turned back to Becky, pointing at yourself. “He invited me?” Your heart skipped a couple beats at the thought.

Bayley smiled. “Yes, of course. You’re part of the women’s revolution too, ya know.”

You looked down, hiding a grin. “All right, then, guess we’re all going. I’ll meet you guys there?”

Sasha came up behind you, hands on your shoulders. “No the heck you won’t. We’re gonna shower and then dress up, do make up, everything. Bayley is amazing at it.”

Bayley blushed, the compliment too much for her. “Stop it, Sasha.”

“What? I’m just telling the truth.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, ew. Get a room.”

Alexa walked in, with the same news and the same excitement in her voice. “Guys, this is gonna be so much fun.”

“You know it, sister,” Becky said as she high fived her. “Now let’s get the show on the road.”

At around ten o’clock, you and the girls climbed out of a limo, giggling and laughing as Becky got to the punchline of a very punny joke. The line to the club was long, but it didn’t matter. The bouncer recognized you all immediately, letting you in.

“Hey, girls, good job tonight.”

“Thanks, Freddy! Always our number one fan.”

“Don’t you know it.”

“Thanks, Fred! We love you!”

“Any time, ladies.”

You and the girls made your way through the club, nearly losing track of each other in the mass of dancing, sweaty bodies. The lights flashed, the mob clearly visible in minute heartbeats of color. You followed the girls up the winding stairs to the second floor, VIP, pushing past already drunk couples tripping down the steps as they were negated entry. Another bouncer, another charming, familiar face.

“How y’all doin’, mijitas?” His stare kept on Becky for a good five seconds longer than everyone else.

“Exhausted but glad to be out! You?” Becky conversed with him, twirling a strand of hair and giving him a wink.

“Ready for this shift to end. Y’all be careful. Lotta vagabundos out tonight.”

“Amen to that, you too, Eduardo.”

“See ya, chicas.”

He lifted the rope for you all to pass. When Becky was out of earshot, she came and flanked you, placed her hand to your ear. “Ed could get it, no question.”

You grinned, looking back to where Eduardo stood, hands behind his back, dressed in an all black suit and tie. Hair gelled back, stubble lining his chiseled jaw. “Yeah, he could,” came your reply, to the dismay of Becky.

“Keep your hands to yourself, woman, that’s my man!”

You put your hand to your mouth, covering your sudden burst of laughter. “I’m kidding, Bex, he’s all yours.”

You stopped when you saw the rest of the girls had already made it to their table, Hunter kissing each of them on the cheek in greeting.

Damn, he looks good, you thought, earning yourself a good mental smack. He was dressed formally, a different suit from the one he wore to the show tonight, yet it felt like his sexiness was bursting through the roof. The top buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned, and you could see the tan skin and blondish hairs of his chest. His suit jacket was slung across the side of the booth, you noticed. Casual, friendly, yet sophisticated. God, this man was too much.

“[Y/N], nice to see you out and about.”

When he got to you, you froze for a second, heart beating slightly faster. What the fuck was this? How was he doing this to you? You shook the thoughts away, leaning forward to receive your kiss on the cheek in greeting. When you pulled back from the hug and kiss, he held your hand for what seemed like minutes longer than the rest of them, gaze holding your own, until he suddenly let go and called for a waiter to order drinks. Maybe you were just imagining the lapse of time. It can’t have been longer than a few seconds.

You sat down next to Emma, who cocked an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. All of you sat there, chattering amongst yourselves, Becky with Charlotte, Sasha and Bayley with Hunter, you and Emma and Alexa, content to just be away from work. When the drinks arrived, Sasha downed hers in seconds, waiting for Charlotte to do the same so that they could finally go down to the dance floor. Sasha stood up, grabbed Charlotte’s hand and winked at her flirtatiously, with remarks from Bayley and Becky begging them to “get a room!” to the giggles of the other girls who had been in the locker room earlier that night. Hunter, confused, watched them from behind his glass of Jack Daniels, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“All right, get up, you two,” Becky said, motioning Bayley and Emma to follow her lead. “Looks like Ed’s shift is over and I want to convince him to stay for a dance. I need my wing women.”

“Oh,” you said, shifting to move, “let me g-”

“No, you sit your sweet little arse down for two more drinks at least. I don’t want you near my man, and Bayley’s got ya covered, she needs to learn how to be a wing woman, anyhow.” You looked to Bayley, who smiled to hide how nervous she was. You gave her a thumbs up and a wink, wishing her luck as she trailed behind Emma and Bex. As they left, you could hear Emma asking, “and what makes you think I won’t steal your man from under you as well?”

Shaking your head, you turned to face Alexa, only to find that she was gone, flirting with a man in a corner of the VIP lounge. The only other person left, you realized with a jolt of your stomach, was Hunter.

“Heya, Hunter.”

“[Y/N]. You're not gonna leave me by myself, too, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” you smiled confidently, taking a sip of Alexa’s pink drink, though deep down you were positively brimming with anxiety. “How are you?”

He scoffed, taken aback by the question. One hand grazed his jaw, thinking it over. “It’s funny, no one really asks me that.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What? Why’s that?”

He looked intently into your eyes. “I’m your boss. Your superior. In most cases, people only ever ask ‘how are you’ in passing, but no one expects a real answer.” A smirk played on his lips. “But you sound genuine. Like you actually want to know.”

“Well, I do want to know.”

He chuckled in response. “I’m doing well, thanks for asking.”

You looked at him, studied the face hard from years of working under the guise of corporate professionalism. The feared Triple H. The Game. The King of Kings. As a younger woman, you remembered what he was like when his career was just inside a twenty by twenty. He was hot stuff, the next big thing after Stone Cold Steve Austin. But weirdly enough, you could never remember the last time you saw him looking happy.

As in, actually happy. Not just the professionally friendly face he showed all of you as your boss.

The wrinkles between his eyebrows gave away too much, even if his face remained stoic and his body was like that of a demigod. “You’re lying.”

You don't know what made you say that. Accusing your boss of lying. What a way to close every door door of opportunity that might have been available to you, had you just kept your mouth shut.

Instead of getting you fired immediately on the spot, Hunter just looked at you, a casual smirk visible for a moment. “You’re right,” he peered down at his drink, lifted it to his lips, “I am.”

So he was unhappy. Regardless of his NXT slowly becoming the most loved and most innovative brand on the WWE, he was unsatisfied. You wondered, sadly, what had happened to his soul. There was something there, something that you couldn't recall even though you dug through the deepest recesses of your adolescent memories to find it.

You shook the thoughts away. Whatever it was, it would come to you later. Beating yourself up about it now would do no good. You grabbed another one of the girls’ unfinished drinks and downed it in one gulp, set the glass down, admiring how awfully disgusting it was as you squinted and pursed your lips. The liquid burned through your veins quickly, and it wasn't long before you began to feel a euphoric buzz.

It was then you realized it wasn't just your head that was buzzing. You looked down at your phone, gut wrenching in panic and disbelief as you read the caller ID: SAMI ZAYN.

He was calling you. But it wasn't the right time. Not when you were already closing in on inebriated. You ignored it, every fiber of your being rationalizing the move as logical, placing your phone back in your jacket pocket.

“That was absolutely disgusting. Come dance with me.”

“Excuse me?” Hunter’s voice bordered on astonished, his eyes admiring you in respect at your strange request.

“Come on, get up,” you managed to stand, the mixture of drinks in your system getting the better of your judgement as you ordered your boss around. “Let’s go, big guy, you’re going to dance with me.”

His eyes gleamed playfully as he stood up, fingers reaching for your elbow just in case he needed to steady you on your feet. “Am I?”

“Damn right ya fuckin’ are, let’s go, chop chop.” Your hands clapped together, earning a burst of laughter from the man.

But true to his maturity, he ignored the drunken demands and went with you, helping you down the steps to the first floor.

“Hunter, nice to see you down - [Y/N], are you drunk already?” Charlotte gasped, lifting your chin as you shook your head no.

“I think she’s a lightweight,” Hunter grinned, pleasantly amused.

“I’m not a lightweight, but damn, is it getting hot in here.” You shook your jacket off your shoulders, handing it to Hunter.

Sasha appeared from the midst of the mob, grabbing you and pulling you towards the middle of the dance floor. “You, dancing, now,” she ordered.

Charlotte turned back to face Hunter. “You comin’, Hunter? We’ll dance with you, it’ll be fun.”

“No, you guys go on ahead. I need another drink, I’ll be at the bar.” His hands were fidgeting as he reached to unbutton another button from his shirt. Was it getting hot in here? He squared his shoulders, standing at the counter, one finger up to catch the attention of the bartender. He glanced back to the dance floor, his gaze steadying on you.

You were buzzing like nobody’s business, grinding all up on Sasha and Charlotte as they whooped and hollered, egging you on.

Hunter couldn't seem to hold back a smile, as he saw you pull some moves he hadn't seen in years. As you danced, his eyes gingerly darted away from your face and down to your body, staring at the sequined fabric rising higher up your thigh, the delicate way that your fingers grazed at your skin, the gleaming drops perspiring at the crevice between your breasts. God, you were doing things to him that you didn't know and couldn't understand.

He shuffled around, taking another sip of his drink, enjoying the burning sensation as the elixir ran down his throat. He growled, swallowing the feeling you elicited from him.

“I see you,” Alexa sang quietly, causing Hunter’s gaze to break from your skin. Had he been anyone else, he might have jumped at her voice. As it was, Triple H couldn't be and was never caught off guard, at least not entirely.

“And I see you, Miss Bliss. Where had you gone off to?”

“Me?” She asked, the color rising in her cheeks. How easy it was to misdirect someone who had yet to come into her own. But he had a feeling he’d make a performer of her yet. “Oh, nowhere.”

She pulled her black choker higher up her throat, but not before he caught the crimson mark of a hickey at the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Of course,” he said as he raised a brow and his glass, “nowhere. You girls really need to learn how to lie better.”

She blushed again, scurrying away to find you and the rest of the girls.

He watched as she joined you at the start of a new song, your hips swaying to the gentler beat of the music, as your hands grazed the edges of your curves, drawing them closer up your body, and he could’ve sworn he saw you squeeze your breasts together, before raising your hands above your head. As if you were taunting him. As if you were knowingly flirting with him from across the room.

He shook his head at the thought, looking away. Impossible. Improbable. Ludicrous.

No way in hell.

You were fucking wasted, and that was that. There was no way you were doing this with the intent to fluster him.

Or were you?

The phone in your jacket pocket began to buzz. Hunter looked at the caller ID. SAMI ZAYN. He wondered if he should answer, remembering what he had witnessed weeks before.

Yeah, he thought, I’ll answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I - wait, you’re not [Y/N].” Sami sounded taken aback, stunned.

“No, Sami, it’s me, Hunter. I took her out for drinks. She’s on the dance floor right now, having the time of her life.” He left out the bit where the two of you were not alone.

“Oh, um, I wasn’t aware that - uh, never mind. C-could, could you tell her I called?”

“Sure thing, Sami. I’ll see you in couple days, right?”

“D-definitely, of course. See ya, boss.”

Hunter hung up the phone, deleted the call from Recents, and placed your phone back in your jacket pocket, his face hiding his thoughts.

He wasn’t going to tell you Sami called, and that was the end of it.

Part Three

Last Note: wow so....I’m really getting into this. Tell me what you think??? Thanks, babes! - Emiliana