#gotta appreciate that the beam out was violence and the beam back in was a hug

[curator-on-ao3]

God I'm a sucker for characters who are so utterly loyal to someone that they're completely unhinged. Characters who have no moral compass except their overwhelming devotion to whoever they've chosen to listen to. That's the good shit

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed suffocated her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

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[glimmeringwinchester]

hell house

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester has more skeletons in the closet than she and her can fight, and as they race against the clock to find their missing father, slowly but surely everything unknown comes into the light

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — canon supernatural violence, gore, and themes. mentions of past abuse, ptsd, anxiety, indications of claustrophobia, sickness, john winchester being an absolute asshole. deans a dick (what’s new) but he’s soft with his sister, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester rolls her eyes as she watches Dean reach across the car with a disposable spoon in hand, his smile wide and a little too mischievous as he wedges the thin plastic into their brother's slightly agape mouth. Sam is passed out in the passenger seat, his seat reclined despite the person that sits behind him, and his head is falling slack to the side as he catches up on much needed rest. The days had been long in the seven months that had played out since Dean had pulled them both away from life at Stanford, and instead back to the lives they’d lived before, though not by choice. Grace remembers how long the days used to feel when she was only a kid, but for whatever reason, the last seven months have felt excruciating. She can only sympathize with Sam as she watches him sleep, light colored eyes ghosting across the subtle motions of his breathing – the only indication he’s actually alive up there.

She would’ve found the energy to smile in wry amusement if her head didn’t feel so heavy on her shoulders. Her body is slouched against the door, her knees pulled up to her chest if only to allow Sam the space he needs to sleep, and her head cheek pressed against the window somewhat uncomfortably; though she appreciates the coolness that spreads across her flushed skin too much to adjust her position. Her eyes are glassy, bloodshot and stinging, but she blinks rapidly despite the pain, determined to keep herself awake as nausea pools in her lower belly.

She manages a weak eye roll as Dean finagles his phone into a specific position, peeling his eyes away from the road to snap a picture that will certainly be used as leverage in the next battle over music choice. She barely has the time to prepare for him cranking up the volume, an involuntary wince making her aware of the sudden soreness in her muscles as she leans away from the abrupt sound, unable to deny the way it seems to pierce through her skull like pinpricks.

Sam bolts awake, his eyes wide and panicked for a handful of seconds before he’s batting at the spoon between his lips, a grimace of utter annoyance overtaking his once relaxed expression. Dean couldn’t care less, grinning with pride in the driver's seat as he drums along to the chorus of a song Grace has heard too many times since only last week. He turns his head to Sam, eyes squinted as he beams, though Sam’s not easily amused by Dean’s clear enjoyment.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” He huffs, fixing the position of his seat with one hand while the other reaches for the stereo, turning the music down to an acceptable decibel, though Grace still thinks it's too loud as she barely conceals another involuntary wince.

“Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas. You kinda gotta make your own.” Dean apologizes, though both of his siblings know he’s not being the slightest bit sincere. Grace wants to roll her eyes, but a deep and incessant pressure at the front of her temple prevents her from so much as looking to her left.

“Man, we’re not kids anymore, Dean. We’re not gonna start that crap up again.” Sam scoffs, his jaw clenched as he expresses his annoyance, his eyes trailing toward the backseat as he searches for signs of life from Grace, hardly reacting when he finds her curled up into a tight ball, blanket ditched around her ankles, and her eyes closed as she gnaws on her lower lip. He can see exhaustion rolling off of her body – her eyes sunken, her face flush – and so he assumes she’s annoyed, not treading any deeper into that isolated spiral of thoughts.

“Start what up?” Dean, ever the antagonistic older brother, reaches into the backseat, his palm tapping against Grace’s blanket covered ankles in a silent greeting. He can only chuckle beneath his breath when her foot kicks out at him in response, an annoyed huff rolling off of her lips as she curls further toward the seats, just out of reach from his assault should he try again.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates.” Sam groans, slapping Dean’s hand when he reaches out for Grace again, his eyes rolling when Dean only shakes his shoulder in admitted defeat, looking entirely too smug about irritating his younger siblings for his own entertainment.

“What’s the matter, Sammy? You afraid you’re gonna get a little nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Grace doesn’t even have to see her brothers to know that one quip was enough to entirely change Sam’s attitude, his ego still bruised from the epic nair prank of 1990. Grace can only wonder how boys never mature past the age of fourteen, unable to believe they’re actually considering rehashing ‘prank wars’.

“All right. Just remember, you started it.” Sam can barely conceal his smirk as he shakes his head, eyes now glancing out the window, watching as rows of lush trees blur together into evergreen flashes.

“Oh, bring it on, Baldy.” Dean smirks, though his eyes flicker to Grace in the rear view mirror, “You in, G?” He sings smugly, only able to laugh in amusement when he receives nothing more than Grace throwing the bird his way in response. She’d never wanted to be part of their prank wars as a kid either, but Dean was never so quick to relent, always effectively dragging her into them whether that be by deception, or simply pranking her anyways.

“Where are we, anyway?” Sam asks, changing the topic as he glances out at the passing scenery.

Dean glances out the window, his face a neutral expression as he assesses the road surrounding them, never able to truly be secure in the temporary safety they find between places. Grace pretends not to notice the fault in Dean’s stoic persona as she shifts in the backseat, tugging off the sweatshirt that’s only trapping in unwanted heat. “A few hours outside of Richardson. Give me the lowdown again.” Dean reaches into the backseat again, although this time his gesture isn’t so playful, but softly he catches his sister's attention as Sam rustles through their current case information. “You should get some sleep. Need you at your best.” Grace wants to remind Dean of all the sleepless nights that haunt their pasts, but instead she nods, finally finding a moment of ease where not every part of her body is aching and churning at once.

She just barely hears Sam begin his refresher when her head lulls to the side, resting just below the leather headrest as she finally submits to the exhaustion that’s been crushing her for hours.

When she wakes, the Impala is parked in front of a record store, and Sam is ruffling through his bag that’s on the floor beside her feet. Grace bats his hand away with an exasperated eye roll, ignoring the wave of simultaneous nausea and dizziness that hits her as she sits up. Her muscles ache at the change in position, and she’s vaguely aware of her shoulder cracking as she rustles through the bag instead, pulling out the worn leather wallet she knows her idiot brother was searching for. Sam offers a bashful smile, his eyebrows furrowing after a handful of seconds as he takes in her appearance, but Grace only shrugs him off, cracking her fingers as she waits for Dean to make the first move, able to grasp why they’re here without the step-by-step break down she knows Sam wants to give her.

“Let's roll, Gracie.” Dean whistles as he opens the door, only acknowledging his younger sister, aware of how Sam wants to roll his eyes in annoyance every time he’s singled out. Grace follows his motions, though unlike her brother who has entirely reframed his mannerisms by the time their doors close in tandem, it takes her a minute to gain her bearings, only managing to deflect the discomfort radiating through her body as she steps ahead of Sam, through the door he’s holding open for her with that same stupid furrow in his eyebrow.

Her eyes are immediately drawn to a vinyl on one of the farthest shelves from the door, and naturally she lets herself float towards it, aware of how Dean and Sam are trailing behind her instinctively, though Dean’s eyes are definitely wandering as he gathers his critiques.

Grace looks up as a young looking guy approaches, a beat up record in his hands that he flips with indifference, his eyes scanning the black and white labels that differentiate the slots on the shelves. She picks up the record she’d been eyeing, effortlessly playing the role of inquisitive customer. “Gentlemen, ma’am, help you with anything?” The man asks, his eyes trailing over Grace an unnecessary second time, though he seems innocent enough as he lingers on the design against her chest. She’s only vaguely aware of the fact that she’d never changed out of her Spice Girls t-shirt, and that she’s holding one of their albums in her hands; definitely a conversation starter when standing in the middle of a music store.

“Yeah. Are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he analyzes the employee. Grace turns the vinyl over in her hands, reading over the tracklist as she tunes into the conversation happening in front of her.

“I am.” Craig nods, reaching over the rack as he shuffles through alphabetized slots. Grace can only roll her eyes at the sight, her thought of how boys never mature past puberty coming back once again.

“Oh. Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News. I’m Dean. This is Sam. Grace.” Grace brings her eyes away from the vinyl at the mention of her name, offering Craig a polite smile as she fights to stay balanced on her feet, even the slightest movement amplifying the dizziness that’s fogging up her senses.

Craig smiles at the information, his posture relaxing as he nods along to Dean’s fabrication. “No way. Yeah, I’m a writer, too. I write for my school’s lit magazine.” Despite his earlier display of reaching over the shelves, Craig peels from his post, stalking around the shelves as he grabs a seemingly sought after vinyl, showing no indication of contemplation as he reaches for the slot and pulls one up.

“Well, good for you, Morrison.” Dean huffs out a laugh, his smile entirely insincere as she gazes down at the vinyls, batting Grace’s arm when he notices one of his favorite bands at the very front, his fascination somewhat amusing as Grace’s lips quirk into a smirk.

“Um, we’re doing an article on local haunting, and rumor has it you might know about one.” Sam sways slightly, appearing hesitant, uncertain even, but both Grace and Dean know he’s anything but. They’ve learned a thing or two in the decades they’ve been doing this job, and one of those things is people are always more inclined to help you out when they think they have an opportunity to gossip or gloat.

“You mean the Hell House?” There’s a certain tick in Craig’s eyebrow that has Grace hooked, her eyes analyzing his movements because she knows her brothers won’t focus so much on the physical. They’ve always focused more on voice inflection, but Grace has always known a thing or two about body language.

“That’s the one.” Dean nods, his smirk almost condescending as he stares Craig down, but the employee hardly bristles, a subtle glint of arrogance in his eyes as he inclines his body just the slightest inch towards Dean, like he’s fascinated, or maybe transfixed, by the things that he knows – or thinks he knows.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story.”

“So why don’t you tell us the story?” Grace smiles sweetly, her head tilting to the side, allowing her thin hair to spill over her shoulder. She’s aware of how her voice wavered in the middle, and how it feels like hellfire’s tearing through her throat as she swallows, but she makes no indication that anything’s wrong, keeping her eyes fixed on Craig.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s, this farmer, Mordechai Morduch, used to live in the house with his six daughters. It was during the depression, his crops were failing. Didn’t have enough money to even feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end.” Grace tries not to wince at the mention of hungry children, but the grimace that wrinkles her upper lip is a dead give away that it strikes her. Sam doesn’t notice, his interest entirely in Craig, much to her relief.

“How?”

Grace rolls her eyes as Dean sneaks up beside her, throwing his arm over her shoulder as he tugs her into his side annoyingly. She has to fight the nausea that threatens to climb up her throat at his jostling, elbowing him between the ribs as she pulls herself away.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick rather than starve to death…so he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop. But he just strung them up, one after another. And then when he was all finished, he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl who goes inside.” Craig looks entirely too fascinated with the harrowing details of the story, his eyes becoming wide as he loses himself in the details like a kid fascinated by a fairytale. Grace only barely hides her grimace as she continues to analyze his posture.

“Where’d you learn all this?” Dean inclines his head interestingly, squaring his shoulders as he stares Craig down.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it from. You gotta realize, I didn’t believe this for a second.” There’s a quip in his tone that has Sam shifting on his feet, and Grace isn’t blind to the way Craig’s fists clench in his pockets, that gleam of fascination slowly becoming a mixture of terror and uncertainty.

“But now you do?” Sam questions, his tone somewhat incredulous though there’s a hitch toward the end that keeps Craig hooked and spilling.

“Guys, I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to god, I don’t want to go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?” Grace understands the fear that becomes fascination all too well, and she offers Craig a sympathetic smile as Dean and Sam lock eyes, the elder of the two extending his appreciation toward Craig before he tapped Grace’s forearm, already beginning to lead the way back to the door.

She wobbles on her feet as she follows after him, looking over at Sam when his fingers ghost across the small of her back, reaching to catch her if she fell. She ignores the questioning look in his eyes, picking up the pace as she aims to catch up with Dean, eager to get away from Sam and his incessant questioning and analyzing.

She breathes a sigh of relief when the cool air hits her as she exits the music store, her flush face seemingly burning as its assaulted by the chilly wind around them, but all she does is deflate at the exposure, temporary relief settling in before she’s rushing into the backseat, not wanting to hold up the boys or raise anymore suspicion than she already has.

Despite how warm she feels, she reaches for the hoodie she’d thrown on the floor hours earlier, knowing Dean’ll grow suspicious if she doesn’t react to the cold soon. For men that rarely pay any attention to minor details, somehow they always pick up on the things that Grace wants to be left alone. She flips Sam off when she catches his eye in the rear view mirror, pleased when she watches his lips quirk into an amused smirk, his eyes no longer so clouded by concern. She hates that lying to them comes so easily.

Sometime later, the Winchesters are trekking through the Tennessee woods, searching for the so-called Hell House that Craig informed them of. The warmth that had once felt suffocating had fully abandoned Grace, and she shivers as she pulls the sleeves of her hoodie over her fingers, trying to keep out as much of the chill as she could manage without her jacket that’s buried in the trunk of the Impala. She looks up questioningly when Dean nudges her shoulder, but soon a grateful smile spreads across her lips as she realizes he’s extending his jacket. She slips it on eagerly, zipping it all the way up to her chin before she’s pulling the drawstrings of her hoodie even tighter, creating a barricade around her face that has Sam laughing.

“It’s not even that cold, G.” Sam rolls his eyes at her dramatics, unaware of the chills that are rolling down Grace’s spine and her arms, or that she’s fighting off a violent wave of nausea that has her practically seeing white from the discomfort.

“Do I need to remind you that women’s bodies and men's bodies interpret temperature differently because of our core temperatures?” She huffs, beyond irritable as she fights off the stinging sensation in her eyes, the burning sensation in her throat, the foggy pounding in her head, and the churning in her stomach. She’d been hopeful that those symptoms were just a result of her exhaustion, but she’s not so sure anymore, though she’s also not willing to admit that she’s sick. Definitely not willing to admit that she’s sick.

“Let’s go, nerd.” Dean only rolls his eyes at her snarky comment, nudging her forward with his shoulder. Grace stumbles on her feet, eyes becoming unfocused as her vision blurs for a second. She fights the urge to grab at her temple, instead keeping her hands in the pockets of Dean’s jacket as she steadies her balance.

Sam frowns, only steps behind her. “Dude, you okay?” He finally brings himself to ask, but all he gets in response is a huff from Grace and an indifferent shrug from Dean.

“Shark week?” The elder Winchester suggests, his expression neutral though there’s the slightest quirk in his lip that suggests he’s a little too smug about the suggestion.

Grace wants to cry in frustration, her eyes stinging with tears she refuses to let her brothers see. Her head is pounding, black spots dance in her vision if she turns her head too quickly, her stomach is in knots, but she refuses to accept that she’s sick. She refuses to even acknowledge the possibility. Instead, she scoffs, shaking her head as she moves past Dean, now being the one to lead the way through the wooded area.

“Definitely shark week.” Dean nods, to which Grace flips him off, her footsteps heavy as she quickens her pace, not sure if she’s aiming to lose them in the trees or simply express every emotion that's overwhelming her.

“Can’t say I blame the kid.” Sam comments, his eyes trailing over Grace’s frame before he turns his attention to the abandoned houses around them, an eerie feeling creeping up his spine as the miles of land around them appear barren and worn down.

“Yeah. So much for curb appeal.” Dean scoffs, finally catching up to Grace who isn’t so intent on ‘accidentally’ losing her brothers anymore. He slings an arm over her shoulder, but she shrugs him off, her glare unwavering as she looks over at him.

She sticks closer to Sam as they continue down the gravel path, annoyance rolling off of her body in thick waves that has Dean shaking his head as if he’d not been the one to agitate her. Twenty years with a little sister and he still doesn’t know how to not be a dick around women. Grace hates to think that she loses more and more hope in men every time her brothers get too comfortable with their precious masculinity.

When they come up to a specific house, she peels away from them both, her eyes squinting as she approaches the abandoned building cautiously. Neither Sam or Dean attempt to stop her, blindly following her onto the dying blades of grass, equally as curious. Sam kicks around at broken branches, but Dean hangs back, the EMF detector in hand, his fingers tapping at the small device incessantly.

“You got something?” Sam questions, walking closer to where Dean is standing, having abandoned the corner of the house where he’d initially been searching, coming up with nothing of importance to them or the case at hand.

“Yeah. The EMF’s no good.” Dean sighs, the machine buzzing in his hand. “I think that things still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.” His eyes glance toward the power lines, and both Grace and Sam follow the motion, looking at the wires that cross over their heads.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Sam agrees quietly, only looking down at Grace for a second as she comes to stand beside them, not finding anything important on her end of the house.

“Come on, let's go.” Dean nods towards the house, and both Grace and Sam follow. For an instant, Grace almost wishes that they had even the slightest bit of reluctance to be entering an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, but it's certainly not the creepiest of settings they’ve wandered into with less information than what they currently have. She’ll never understand how this became her life, but she’s too far into it to start asking questions now.

The house is somehow colder inside than it is outside, and she shivers as she steps over the threshold, pulling the leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes sweep over the interior, noting the cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings, and insignificant piles of debris scattered around the baseboards.

“Looks like old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger during his time.” Dean comments as they walk farther into the house, eyes scanning over the decor that’s still sitting on shelves and pinned to walls.

Sam follows Dean’s line of sight, looking straight at the reverse cross that Grace had already set her gaze on, her thoughts spiraling in every possible direction as she pulls on everything she’s ever learned about religion and its branches. “And after his time, too.”

“The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but the sigil of sulfur–” Grace starts, looking directly at Sam, who knows exactly where she’s going with that specific train of thought. He doesn’t hesitate before jumping in, their brains attempting to unscramble the puzzle in front of them in tandem. “–didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s.” He finished, eyebroward furrowed as they shared a single glance before Sam was lifting his phone, snapping a picture of the cross.

“This is why you never get laid.” Dean scoffs, never above making a dig at Sam about his lack of sexual activity, though he seems to bristle when he realizes he’s unintentionally looped Grace into the insult, and the slightest grimace of disgust that crosses his features at the insinuation of his little sister having random hookups is enough satisfaction for the woman, not feeling it necessary to call him a pig when he’s already regretting his choice words. “What about this one? You seen this one before?” Dean nods toward the opposite wall, stepping away from Sam and Grace who are still trying to memorize the image of the cross.

“No.” Grace shakes her head, stalking closer to where Dean is standing, his head tilted like he’s trying to remember something just out of reach. She shuffles closer to him out of instinct, their arms brushing at the newfound proximity, but if Dean thinks anything of it, he doesn’t comment on it. Sam comes up on the other side of Grace, his phone already raised as he snaps a picture of the symbol on the wall.

Dean keeps his eyes on the symbol, his head turning as he further analyzes it. “I have… somewhere.”

Sam reaches out inquisitively, brushing the pads of his fingers over the markings. “It’s paint.” He notes as he pulls his fingers away, glancing at the residue that comes off on his hand. “Seems pretty fresh, too.”

“I don’t know. I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but the cops might be right about this one.” Dean sighs, turning away from the symbol on the wall as he takes in everything else in sight, Sam trailing after him as he contemplates the truth in that statement. Grace doesn’t move, her head lulling on her shoulders as fights off a sniffle, suddenly congested despite the fresh air that streams into the house from beneath window sills and door frames.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Sam agrees.

Just as the three Winchesters let their guard down, a crash comes from somewhere in the house, instantaneously raising their guards. Sam and Dean take initiative, stalking through the house until they come upon a closed door where the sound seemed to have come from. Grace stands to the side, her eyes on both of her brothers who wait a single second before nodding at her, Dean reaching for his gun just as Grace reaches for the handle and pushes it open. She’s immediately blinded by a shining light, her eyes squinting as she quietly groans and backs away. Sam pulls her behind him, equally as frazzled but ever the protective older brother.

“God!” A man choirs, his heart undoubtedly racing as he glances at the siblings in front of him. “Ugh. Cut!” He calls, posture deflating as he regains his bearing, the flashlight lowering and no longer blinding Grace who thinks the black spots in her vision have doubled now. Still, she makes no indication that she’s not at her best, keeping her chin high and her shoulders square despite how Sam’s wide frame keeps her concealed. “Just a couple humans. What are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean throws back at them, his eyes watching Grace as she steps away from Sam, though he makes no indication that he sees the way she closes her eyes tightly and masks a wince of discomfort. His theory on her odd behavior being a symptom of shark week is dwindling by the minute, but he’s not brave enough to quiz her again, still highly aware of the fact that he has to be in a car with her later on, and he does not want a pissed off little sister on his ass in confined spaces.

“Um, we belong here. We’re professionals.” The man with the camera explains like its obvious, his hands waving at his sides as he addresses Dean.

“Professional what?”

“Paranormal investigators?” Grace notes how the frames of his glasses do little to compliment his features, the blue button down he wears only another factor that aids in her analysis of his character; and whether he’s going to be a royal pain in their ass throughout the duration of the case. She’s not always so quick to judge, but nerdy men who think they have a chance at social redemption have a thing or two in common. She scoffs quickly beneath her breath when he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a card with a little too much finesse to be authentic. Her analysis is quickly proven correct, his air of false confidence already annoying her as she watches the scene unfold, not willing to help her brothers out with this one. “Here you go. Take a look at that, boys.” He entirely ignores her presence, and she can only roll her eyes. Not all men are the same, she knows and appreciates that, but most of the ones she stumbles across in this line of work do not fall very far from the same misogynistic tree.

She glances down at the card in Dean’s hands, rolling her eyes as she reads over the blocky black text. “You got to be kidding me.” Dean comments, not an ounce of humor in his tone.

“Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler, hellhoundslair.com – You guys run that website.” Sam looks up at them, disbelief in his expression though Ed and Harry take it for what it's not, pride filling their features as their shoulders square and their chins rise the slightest inch.

“Yeah.” Ed hums.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re huge fans.” Dean mumbles as he passes them, Grace following behind him, eager to find something to look at that isnt the two men who couldn’t care less about her presence. For once, she’s thankful that they have no interest in her, not sure if she’d be able to handle the high levels of masculinity that twinge the air with something almost hostile.

“And, uh, we know who you guys are, too.” There’s a stiff beat of silence that elapses as Dean and Grace lock eyes, their gazes trailing toward Ed and Harry curiously, though cautiously.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam questions, being the only one to find his voice quick enough.

Ed clears his throat, “Amatures looking for ghosts and cheap thrills.” Grace rolls her eyes, opening a cupboard on the left of her body, not so entertained by the conversation anymore. She grips at the hinges for support when a wave of dizziness crashes over her, knuckles becoming white from the intensity of her grip as she forces herself steady and coherent.

“Yeah, so, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here.” Harry not-so-subtly attempts to get the Winchesters to leave, his eyes trailing across Grace’s petite frame as she searches through the cabinets for something undisclosed. She’s entirely unaware, but Dean’s not, and his body quickly shields her from sight as he turns around to look at the men fully.

“Yeah? What do you got so far?” He picks up a camera, playing it cool despite the annoyance thats radiating off of him.

“Har, why don’t you tell them about EMF?” Ed looks entirely too smug, and when Sam questions it, Harry only beams with arrogance, his smirk deeply unsettling as he nods like he knows everything that the Winchesters couldn’t even dream of one day finding out. Grace really wants to punch him, but she’s aware of the fact that she’s more irritable than she usually is as she wipes at her nose with the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, only slightly apologetic about the action that he’s not at all aware of.

“Electromagnetic field.” He boasts, and Sam can only smile as he scratches at his head, enjoying this far too much. “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector like this bad boy right here.” Harry pulls an EMF detector out of his duffle bag on the counter, and Grace can only roll her eyes as she moves through the space, standing beside Dean now as they watch Sam lead the conversation. “Woah, woah. It’s a 2.8 mG. It’s hot in here.”

“Wow.” Sam fakes interest, his lips curving downward into an impressed expression as he glances at Grace and Dean, amusement sparkling in his eyes that only his siblings can pick up on.

“Huh. So, have you guys ever really seen a ghost before?” Dean questions, hands vaguely gesturing around the room they’re occupying.

“Once.” Ed nods, “We were investigating this old house, and we saw a vase fall right off the table–”

“ –by itself.” Harry adds, though the statement is quickly undermined by Ed who snaps his gaze to meet his partners.

“We didn’t actually see it, but we heard it. And something like that, it– it changes you.” Grace wants to bash her head into the wall as she listens to Ed talk, his tone entirely too filled with pride for something so insignificant.

“I think I get the picture.” Dean nods, “We should go, let them get back to work.” Nothing has ever sounded better to Grace, the woman desperately craving to seek warmth from the Impala, hoping to get another few hours of rest as well, though that's not looking too promising anymore.

-

Grace Winchester is definitely sick. She grimaces at the aftertaste on her tongue as she walks down the street balancing three hot drinks. While Sam and Dean had gone off to gather more intel on the case, she’d sought out a local coffee shop, thinking it was time that they put a little something in their bodies other than dust and debris. She hadn’t expected to make a b-line for the bathroom as soon as she’d entered the quaint little shop, but she was glad her brothers weren’t around to hear her wretch over the toilet, wanting to keep her sudden illness far off their radars, although she knew she was off to a terrible start already. She sneezed for the third time in the last five minutes as she approached Dean and Sam on the corner, standing outside of the Impala waiting for her to return, though they look to be having a pretty in depth conversation as Sam grips a handful of papers and pamphlets in his hands. Grace is painfully aware of how her eyes are glassy and swollen, her cheeks flush and yet somehow also pale, but she hopes that they think nothing of it, willing to lie and say she’s simply cold if they start to ask too many questions.

“I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals.” She only hears the tail end of their conversation, and a pout forms on her lips instantaneously as she glances down at the cups of coffee in her hands for the both of them. Sam winces sympathetically, taking one from her as she steps up to him softly.

“Thanks, Gracie.” He smiles softly, but his eyes stay fixed on her face for longer than necessary, and she sighs as she anticipates his next question. “You okay?”

“Fine. Definitely inhaled too much dust.” She plays it off, though the excuse is timed perfectly with another soft sneeze, and for once Sam doesn’t question it any further, nodding as he offers a quiet bless you. She’s about to get into the car, but Sam stops her with a hand on her forearm, a smirk on his lips that tells her everything she needs to know.

“What the–” Dean startles easily when he turns the car on and a spanish song starts blaring through the speakers. Sam can only laugh, entirely unaware of how Grace flinches at the sudden noise, her eyes pinching shut as she attempts to focus on her breathing and not throw up for the second time in ten minutes.

She gets into the car when Sam opens the passenger door, handing Dean his coffee before she’s making herself comfortable in the back, her cup of hot chocolate held between her kneecaps as she curls up tight, reaching for the blanket that’s crumpled up in a heap toward the other end of the seat. She tunes out their conversation, already half asleep by the time Dean puts the gear in drive and peels away from the curb.

She’s passed out when Sam glances back at her, his eyes filled with concern. He reaches for the hot chocolate that’s still between her knees, pulling it away from her unconscious body before it has the chance to spill and burn her. He frowns when he realizes she’s hardly even taken a single sip from it, his eyes immediately trailing toward Dean who isn’t so subtly watching her through the rearview mirror. “She’s sick.” He notes.

“Knew that the second she started with her ‘womens bodies run hotter than mens’ bullshit.” Dean rolls his eyes, though there's a twinge of concern etched across his brows as he reaches for the stereo, turning the music down despite it already being practically inaudible. “Just– don’t say anything. Don’t need her slashing my tires.” He’s only partly joking, and Sam knows that, but still they both can’t help but dread the anxiety and fear that plagues Grace whenever she comes down with something. Guilt pools in Dean’s chest, his heart hammering as he questions how their lives turned out so shittily that his sister can’t even find it within herself to admit to being sick.

-

The next morning, Grace somehow feels worse than she did the day before, and it's evident in the way she winces with every move she makes, soft sneezing filling the backseat as she masks groans of discomfort every time her muscles tense. After the seventh sneeze, Sam can’t take it anymore, his eyes trailing over her frame that’s partly concealed by the thick blanket she has pulled up to her chin.

“I know that you’re sick.” He comments, not blind to the way Grace tenses with fear, her eyes wide and vulnerable as she shakes her head, attempting to deny the truth they’re all aware of.

“I’m not sick.” She denies the accusation, her voice wavering, though whether it's a result of the fear that grips at her belly and twists it into knots, or the throbbing ache in her throat that’s not quelled by any amount of honey or tea, not even Grace is certain. All that she knows is that it most definitely does not help her case, and that’s evident in the way Sam’s lips twitch with sympathy.

“Gracie–” He starts, only to cut himself off, shaking his head as Dean pulls up to the Hell House, seeing officers and squad members surrounding the abandoned foundation. “It’s okay if you are. Dean and I got this.”

“I’m not fucking sick, Sammy. Would you just get the fuck out of the car already?” There’s a clip in her tone that neither of her brothers have heard in a while, years even, and they can only sigh as they agree to her demands, straightening out their jackets before they push the Impala’s doors open and step out into the awaiting cold. Whoever said Texas was warm year round was most definitely lying through their teeth.

Despite the soreness in her muscles and the way her head begs for reprieve from the constant moving, Grace climbs out of the car after Sam, not even glancing back at her brothers for a loose game plan before she’s stalking up to one of the officers in the yard, an air of confidence surrounding her as she moves, though its not at all genuine, rather, fabricated from the deep-rooted fear that just won’t relent no matter how hard she pleads with herself to just breathe.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 1999

Grace Winchester pants for breath as she looks over at her father, her green eyes glassy and incoherent as she lays limp on damp grass. She can’t remember how she got here – sprawled out in Bobby’s yard, covered in blood and what she thinks is monster goo – nor how long she’s been here. John stands in front of the Impala, arms crossed over his chest as he seethes. It was meant to be an easy fight, a sure fire win, but when he’d handed Grace the gun, when he’d told her to shoot the thing without a single second to prepare herself, all hell broke loose for both Winchesters involved.

Grace’s chest throbs as she hyperventilates on the grass, not sure if the ache in her ribs is from the monster she’d been pit up against, or her fathers assault. It doesn’t matter why she hurts, it only matters that she can’t pull herself up and John is waiting; waiting for her to get up, to dust herself off, to put up her fists and prove that she’s worth keeping around. Grace can’t move though. She can’t even lift her hands off the ground, let alone raise her entire body. Her head is pounding, but it has been pounding for days at this point, her throat is raw, and her eyes sting so horrendously that she thinks it might just be better to keep them closed forever, but that’s not an option. It will never be an option so long as John Winchester expects obedience from her.

“Get up, girl.” He demands, and another rock is hurled in her direction. It thumps against her thigh and becomes yet another sensation for Grace to try and ignore as she continues to try and stay conscious. She knows she’s in even more trouble if she faints, but she hasn’t eaten in days, she’s thrown up every ounce of water John’s let her consume, and she’s practically numb after trying to hold her own against her own father just hours after being thrown against a wall by whatever monster she’d been tasked with ending. “I said, Get. Up.” John growls, pushing himself off of the Impala with impatience. Grace can barely even flinch as he comes closer, too close, and before she knows it, or even has time to prepare, his steel toed boots are crashing into her ribcage, and the pain that she’d been dealing with before suddenly triples.

Grace tries to stand, attempting to get her limbs working again, but just as she lifts her head up off of the rain-soaked grass, she’s throwing up all over herself and John’s shoes. It’s not just stomach acid and water anymore either, and she cringes as she feels blood drip from her lips onto the blades beside her head. She can only whimper when her father grabs her by the collar of her blood soaked t-shirt, pulling her up off the ground without a moment of hesitation. Nothing’s broken. She’d know if something was broken, but that doesn’t mean everythings right either. Her face is flush, her throat is on fire, her stomach churns and not just because she’s terrified. Three days ago, she’d come home from school sick. The flu had been going around her dusty, and very temporary, middle school, and it came as no surprise to anyone that she’d been unlucky enough to catch it. John hadn’t taken kindly to her complaining, though all Grace had done was cough into her elbow at dinner, but apparently that was enough to put her on his chopping block – not that she ever left the very top of that list. He’d dragged her out to South Dakota that very next day, something about a strange death and a monster to hunt slipping past his lips when he’d informed Dean of the case. It wasn’t often that John took Grace on a hunt without her brothers, but it wasn’t uncommon either, and with that logic in mind, neither Sam nor Dean questioned why John wanted only Grace with him, naively assuming it was to keep them away from the flu that had her practically bedridden and imobile until he’d dragged her out by her wrist.

The only thing keeping Grace on her feet is John’s hand around her neck, and when he lets go, when he finally relents and allows her to breathe, she crumbles to the ground, landing in the pile of sick that's already begun to cool. She whimpers, both in pain and disgust, and attempts to get to her feet again, but John’s hand on her shoulder keeps her where she is. She’s little, only thirteen years old and barely half the height of her youngest older brother, but that’s never stopped her father from treating her like an adult. She moans in pain when he backhands her, but headlights shine brightly in the distance, and Grace knows it's the end, at least for now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bobby rushes out of his car, his breath visible in the air as he races to where Grace is, her blood laced vomit smeared into her hair and her clothes tattered and stained as she succumbs to darkness, finally passing out. The last thing she can hear is John saying something about her being useless, needing to teach her that even a fever doesn’t exempt her from earning her keep in the family; his family.

Present

Grace tries not to panic as she crouches behind wilting shrubbery, the jacket around her shoulders zipped all the way up, though it barely does her any good as she continues to shiver. She has a fever, she doesn’t need a thermometer to tell, but she refuses to let Sam and Dean see this through on their own. She refuses to be a waste of space and air when there’s good to be done, evil to be ganked. It’s been years since she’s seen her father, but his words still echo through her head, and his irrational anger that only increased whenever she came down with something still flashes against her eyelids whenever she lets herself rest.

Her brothers still don’t know half of what she endured at the hands of John Winchester, but with the pieces of the puzzle that they have, Sam especially, they aren’t surprised by Grace’s reaction. None of their childhoods were ideal, none of them had white picket fences and lovey-dovey moments to steal, but Grace had the shortest stick there was to draw, and neither of her brothers can – or try to – deny it. It’s a miracle that she’s even here with them at all, searching for a man that put her through hell for the first eighteen years of her life, but she’s always known a thing or two about loyalty, and Dean hates to think that she’s faithful to a fault. She’ll get herself killed doing this job before she ever lets them go off without her.

“Guess the cops don’t want anymore kids screwing around in there.” Sam notes, watching as flashlights shine bright on the expanse of land surrounding them. For a moment, Grace is back in South Dakota, she’s sprawled out on rain-soaked grass and on the cusp of unconsciousness from a fever and physical injuries, but she forces the memory away, biting down on her bottom lip to focus on something other than the trauma circling through her mind.

“Yeah, but we still got to get in there.” Dean sighs, looking out past the branches, only to snap his gaze to the side when a twig breaks in the distance, leaves crunching beneath footsteps that approach as a pair. Grace follows his line of sigh, her hand falling onto Sam’s thigh as she steadies herself. She doesn’t make a big deal out of needing Sam’s support to find balance, and thankfully, neither does he. “I don’t believe it.” Dean scoffs, all three siblings watching as Ed and Harry stumble up the hill, headlamps shining bright against the night sky.

“I got an idea.” Dean mumbles before he rises off the ground just slightly, and while he’s preoccupied with whatever master plan he's thought up, Sam forces Grace closer to his chest, one arm looping around her waist to keep her close, knowing she’ll struggle.

“Sammy, would you quit it already!” Grace seethes lowly, her voice hushed and weak as she bats at his arm, trying not to panic at the sensation of being trapped; unable to defend herself against someone bigger than herself, stronger than she will ever be. “I told you I’m fine.”

“You’re burning up!” His voice is hushed, a whisper in the night, but still loud enough for Dean to acknowledge as he scoops out the stance of the officers on the front lawn, further curating his plan of distraction, though he’s still fully tuned into the conversation Sam is trying – and failing – to have with Grace. “Dad’s not here, Gracie! You don’t have to pretend like you're not sick!”

“You don’t know what your talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and let me do my fucking job.” She snaps, elbowing him in the gut, putting distance between herself and him. Neither brother notices how she grabs at her throat, or how she seems to heave for breath like she can’t physically draw anything into her lungs. They might be looking for John Winchester, but the effects of his torment and torture have never left Grace, not even for a second.

“Who you gonna call?” Dean bellows, tapping Grace’s side as he nods toward the house. The two officers posted outside bolted toward Ed and Harry, leaving a clear point of entry open for the Winchesters to strike. Grace can only shake her head at their stupidity, but doesn’t harp on how truly terrible they are at their job, thankful that it makes her life easier for once.

The siblings rush through the cover of darkness as the two county officers further chase Ed and Harry back down the hill. Grace gets into the house first, her heart stuttering in her chest as she forces her body to keep going, keep moving, keep being worth something to her brothers. She brushes strands of hair out of her face, sighing in annoyance when she finds that the reason her hair is loose and unruly in the first place is because the elastic band around her tresses has snapped. She looks to Dean when he hits her shoulder, ready to snap, to deny the fever that’s clouding her judgement, but all he does is offer her another hairtie, not saying a single word about how her breathing comes out wheezy, or how her face is flush and she looks somewhat green even beneath the cover nightfall they’ve chosen to sneak around beneath. She doesn’t ask why he even had a hair tie around his wrist to begin with, just takes it gratefully and redoes the ponytail that swings with every crane of her head. She feels better, just slightly, but with cold air hitting the back of her neck now, she hopes that some of the fog over her senses will fall away and become a problem for later on when there aren’t innocent lives to save and monsters to put an end to.

Sam hands Dean a shotgun first, before reaching into the duffle again to hand one to Grace. She barely bristles as she cocks the gun, the metal familiar beneath her fingertips despite how much she hates these weapons. She doesn’t waste a second, because they don’t have a second to waste, before she’s approaching the wall where the unknown symbol remains, Dean’s flashlight illuminating the dried paint as well as it can.

“Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me.” He grumbles, but Sam isn’t waiting around for their brother to figure it out, sneaking up beside Dean and Grace before he’s making a move of his own, peeling away from the post they’ve created beside the wall.

“Come on. We don’t have much time.” He directs them farther into the house, his flashlight illuminating corners they don’t even touch as he searches for the basement. Grace sighs as she follows her brothers, but when Sam stops in front of the staircase, shining his flashlight down the steps, she’s quick to snake her way between them, outright refusing to be the first to descend the rickety stairs or the last last. Sam looks back at her, rolling his eyes, though he’s anything but surprised. She’s always been terrified of basements, and neither Dean nor Sam know why. It’s one of the only fears that Grace can’t explain either, though she’s sure something has happened over the course of her life that would warrant such a fear, but off the top of her head, she always comes up blank.

A sneeze catches both of her brothers off guard, their flashlights temporarily blinding her as they snap their gaze in her direction, expecting to see a shadow or another idiot kid, their shoulders squared and ready for anything that may come at them. She blushes sheepishly, apologizing meekly as she wipes at her nose with the sleeve of her jacket as a precaution. Growing up with two brothers that never learned how to actually be mature adults means she’s constantly worrying about having something on her face, and she knows neither of them would tell her if she did, though she holds a little bit of hope in Sammy now, but even he’s guilty of omitting the truth for a prank.

Dean’s the first to pull away from the interaction, his flashlight sweeping across the expanse of the basement before he dwells on a single shelf with mason jars of ominous liquid laid out in a neat row. He picks one up that has an off-putting orange tinge to it, a smirk curving his lips upward. “Hey, Sam, I dare you to take a swig of this.” He teases.

Grace rolls her eyes, staying silent, but Sam was never one to just ignore Dean’s wit. “The hell would I do that for?” He rebuttals, features unamused despite giving Dean exactly what he wanted in the first place, which was any kind of response at all.

“I double dare you.” Dean’s entirely too giddy about the situation, but that ends just as quickly as it began when there’s a scratching noise behind them. Instinctively, he reaches for Grace, tugging her further behind him as all three of them turn to address the sudden sound.

They stalk up to the cupboard where the sound came from with intent, shotguns raised and aimed at the cabinet as Sam ever so cautiously inches to pull it open. Grace braces herself for whatever they may face, but ultimately its not needed, rats scampering out of the cupboard the second the door is cracked open.

“I hate rats.” Dean groans, and Grace can only agree, inching backward as the rats run in all directions around her.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, and Grace nods eagerly, a shriek escaping her lips when a rat tail flicks at her ankle.

“Yes.” Dean grimaces, flashlight still shining on the floor, illuminating the creatures that scamper around.

Grace is still inching backwards, away from the rats when something eerie creeps up her spine. All she has to follow is intuition, but she listens to her instincts without second thought, thankful that she did, because behind her is the shadow of a spirit, an axe held high above her head. Her gun goes off first, aimed directly at the ghost's chest. She doesn’t miss, she hardly ever misses, but even with the echoes of her brothers shooting at it too, the ghost disappears, hardly phased by the ambush.

“What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam bellows in surprise, his eyes flickering to Dean as Grace steps back into line with them, no longer wanting to be out in the open steps ahead of them. Her chest is racing, her lungs ache. She’s never been a fan of jumpscares, but it's not panic that fills her body with discomfort, it's the reminder that despite wanting to pretend like she’s at her best, there’s still a fever and nausea plaguing her.

“I don’t know! Come on, come on, come on!” Dean chirps with efficiency, all three siblings keeping their shotguns cocked as they peel away from the corner of the basement, rushing toward the stairs, hoping to escape the spirit to regroup the information that they have – which isn’t much of anything – but before they can climb the steps, the shelves are being smashed, and something knocks Grace on the ground, her head bashing against the banister as she falls.

She hardly manages to get to her feet before Dean’s grabbing the back of her jacket and pulling her with him. There’s blood dripping down her head, sticky and warm as it coats her eyebrow and drips farther down her face. She can only grimace as she runs, both hands on her shotgun ready to aim at whatever comes at them. Dean barrels through the front door still holding onto Grace’s jacket, and the both of them tumble to the ground as she loses her footing on the stairs and Dean trips over himself. They’re back up on their feet in seconds, Dean shoving past Harry and Ed who are stupidly holding up cameras that won’t do them any good.

They’re heading to the Impala, the cold air hitting Grace as she races past her brothers and toward the car, desperate for a minute to breathe without fearing for her life. She wipes at the blood dripping down her face, grimacing at the familiar feeling beneath her fingertips and the stain to her white long sleeved shirt but that's the least of her worries as the throbbing in her head only grows, and the wave of nausea intensifies. Somehow she gets into the car without losing any of the lunch she’d barely been able to stomach, and she’s practically dead to the world when Sam and Dean climb in, peeling away from the scene like a bat out of hell, the engine revving as Dean books it back to the motel.

“You okay back there, G?” Dean calls once they are a safe distance away, adrenaline no longer coursing through their veins so intently. Grace can’t say she’s thankful for that, because without the fight or flight instincts taking the reins, she’s aware of how tired she is.

“Peachy.” She chokes out, grimacing as the strain in her throat. “Give me that.” She leans forward, stealing a rag from the passenger seat that Sam had been using to polish his knives. She doesn’t care about what chemicals have touched the rag, or that it’s been trampled on by both her shoes and Sam’s. All she wants is for the blood to stop pouring down her face, not sure how much more she can take before she’s thrown head first into a panic attack that neither of her brothers should need to deal with. “Fucking hell.” She winces, pressing the rag to the cut on her temple. It’s not nearly deep enough for stitches, she’s beyond grateful for that, but it's still deep enough to be a pain in the ass as she puts pressure on the wound. “My brain better not have a fucking splinter.”

-

Grace moans as she slumps against the wall in the bathroom, the porcelain of the toilet seat cold beneath her cheek as he heaves over the bowl once more. She’s been bent over the toilet for the last twelve minutes, not that she was counting, throwing up everything that she’d consumed that day. Her head is pounding, and tears blur in her vision as the breakdown she’d been desperately trying to ignore overcomes her in a moment of weakness. She bashes her fist against the wall, but even the pain in her fingers can’t distract her from the panic attack that’s climbing up her throat. A dry sob falls off her lips, tears falling down her cheeks, mixing with the blood that still smeared across her face.

A knock on the door sends her scrambling back against the wall, swallowing the bile that’s raising in her throat as she stares at the door with wide, terrified eyes. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, or better yet, who she’s expecting, but when Dean jiggles the handle, finding it unlocked, she can only sob in terror that’s wildly misplaced. He has a cup of hot tea in his hands, but quickly he sets it on the sink, crouching in front of Grace who shrinks away from him in fear, her breathes wheezy and shallow as she shakes her head, fingers tangling into her hair as she pulls and pulls at her tangled locks.

“No! No, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m fine! I promise!” She mumbles, eyes pleading with Dean to believe her, to spare her anymore pain. She’s not seeing Dean, not in the slightest. The fevers made her delirious, the panic’s turned reality to old memories. She’s in a bathroom, a crappy motel bathroom, but its not the one she shares alone with her brothers. It’s one that her father rented.

West Reading, Pennsylvania. 1997

Grace heaves over the toilet bowl, coughing and spluttering as she expells everything she had at lunch that day. John isn’t with them, but he’s coming back soon, Dean told her as much when she came home early with a fever. It’s not the first time she’s gotten sick at school, not the first time she’s picked up a virus or a bug from hanging around kids her own age. It’s not her fault, not really. All of her classmates get the vaccines and the boosters, all of her classmates are exposed to illness and viruses year round as they socialize and develop their personalities based on the small towns they occupy. Grace has never had the luxury. Grace isn’t even sure she’s ever had the flu shot.

The last time she was sick, John had told her not to let it happen again. That she was already weak enough without a fever and vomiting; that she was no good to any of them if she was hunched over a toilet. He’d told her the only reason he keeps her around at all is to have an extra set of hands, and what good are her hands if she can’t even lift her head up. Grace knows the kids at her school don’t have to worry about their father killing them if they come home with a cough, but she can’t help but think that this may be the reason she dies. She doesn’t want to believe that John will kill her over a stomach bug, but she can’t deny the possibility. Not when he’s hurt her for less. Not when he told her the next time she gets sick, they’ll be a bullet between her eyes before she can even plead for her life.

Her fingers tighten around the seat of the toilet as she retches, the motel door slamming as John comes back. She knows it's him because of the way his boots echo despite the carpeted floors. She knows its him because Dean is sputtering excuses, practically begging John to take him to the diner, claiming he needs a beer. Dean’s not even old enough to drink, Sam’s not even old enough to drive, and Grace is definitely not old enough to be panicking over whether this is the last thing she’ll ever do; throw up in a shitty motel bathroom.

The bathroom door wasn’t locked. It’s never locked. Not when Grace uses it at least. She wishes she locked it when the door knob slams into the wall, almost hard enough to dent it, but it's like John’s showing restraint, not wanting to be questioned at check out if somebody happens to notice the damage before he can peel away from the parking lot. She whimpers, eyes staring straight back at her father who looms over her like a predator. Her friends at school don’t see their dad’s as the enemy. Well, Carrie does, but that’s only because he took away her favorite body spray after her brother tried to start a fire after learning about chemicals in his high school science class. Grace knows this isn’t normal. She understands that now. But understanding something doesn’t mean that it’ll stop, only that it becomes a best kept secret.

“What the hell did I tell you, girl!” John bellows, backhanding her without remorse. Her head slams into the wall, and she starts to vomit again, but this time it falls onto her chest, and she whimpers in humiliation as she stares up at her father with glassy eyes. Sam and Dean stand in the center of the room between the two beds that all four of them share. Dean watches silently, his hand on Sam’s wrist keeping him from getting between John and Grace. Nothing good happens when they do that; when they protect her, but still Sammy always tries anyways.

John doesn’t say anything else as he grabs a fistful of Grace’s hair, pulling her in close to the toilet that she hasn’t had the chance to flush. She doesn’t know where this is going, doesn’t know what to brace herself for, but when her father forces her head into the toilet, into the contaminated water that’s not just water anymore, she desperately tries to get herself free. Dean winces as he watches, Sam flinches. There’s nothing they can do. If they so much as ask him to stop, he’ll only go on longer. If Sam tries to get in the middle, tries to help his baby sister that’s drowning in her own sick, John’ll only hit her harder. They’re trapped. Forced to watch as their father that devotes his life to killing monsters, turns into one any time his youngest child so much as breathes too loud.

The toilet flushes with Grace’s head still in the bowl, her hair wet now as it falls into the water. John only relents when Grace can’t struggle anymore, but he doesn’t give her the chance to catch her breath before he’s pulling her to her feet by the handful of hair that he has. She knows where this is going. Sam and Dean know where this is going. Both brothers watch as their little sister is dragged to the closet, her body, already weak and barely functioning, thrown into it with a venomous force. She’s coughing up water, desperately wiping at her face that is covered in her own sick. She doesn’t have the strength to plead with John, but Dean knows that she wants to; that she would’ve had there not been water in her lungs she’s continuously coughing up. The door slams and the lock clicks, and it's silent for a handful of minutes before John nods toward the door, suddenly interested in that beer Dean suggested.

“Wh-What if she gets sick again? S-She’ll– Dad, she could die if she chokes on it.” Sam glances back at the closet as John demands that he steps outside and comes with them. He knows his little sister is in a ball on the floor, panicking and probably puking, but he knows if he reaches for the handle, if he opens the door now, John’ll only shove Grace right back in and force him outside and on a hunt. He knows that if either he or Dean open that closet before at least a handful of hours have elapsed, it’ll only be worse for Grace.

“You disobeying me, boy?” John narrows his eyes, Dean silently pleading with Sam to drop the subject and get moving, knowing the quicker they leave, the quicker they grab dinner and drinks at the local diner, the quicker they’ll be able to come back and let Grace out. John never has any objections when they let her out after they’ve come back from somewhere. They just need to get through the hour or so they’ll be away first.

“No, sir.” Sam sighs, glancing at the closet one last time before he’s following after his brother, fear pooling in his belly as he tries not to think about what’s happening in the closet, or if his little sister will still be alive when they come back.

Present

“Hey, hey. Hey, Gracie girl.” Dean’s tone is unbelievably soft as he steps closer to his sister, his hands extended toward her, though he doesn’t think he’s really seeing him at all. Her face is flush, her eyes are glassy and rimmed red, swollen from crying and the minutes she’s spent hunched over the toilet. He can still remember that night in Pennsylvania. He can still remember how John held her head in the toilet for what felt like hours, and his heart hammers with guilt for not being able to protect her then, but he can do something about it now, even if it is years too late. “You’re okay. Gonna be sick again?” He’s always been soft with her, always been kind and gentle, but it only shows itself in moments like these. Moments when they’re not hunters, just siblings that have only ever had each other to look out for and count on. Grace might be twenty, she might not be this little girl who doesn’t know how to defend herself anymore, but she’s still his baby sister. She’s still the only piece of Mary that he and Sammy have left.

Grace shakes her head, swallowing thickly. She’s out of it, the fever she’s been ignoring finally getting the best of her. She whimpers when he steps closer, when he brushes hair out of her face that’s damp from the pearls of sweat that drip down her neck. She thinks he’s going for her hair, thinks he’s going to pull her up to her feet and force her into a closet, and she whimpers, flinching away. Dean’s strong, he always has been, he doesn’t care to show emotion, doesn’t care to express his feelings, but he can’t help the frown the pulls at his lips as he finally realizes why his sisters so scared right now. It’s not that he forgot, he could never forget, but when it was all happening, when John was still around and Grace hadn’t yet bailed to find peace with Sam at Stanford, he’d been partly blinded by his fathers dysfunctional style of discipline. He’d always known that the way John treated Grace was abusive, he wasn’t that easily manipulated, but until now, until John wasn’t here to chastise and terrorize her anymore, he’d never realized just how much it had all affected her, and unfortunately, he’s no longer blinded by the false hope that when John pulled her away form them for solo hunts, he wasn’t doing his absolute worse.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed then.” He helps her to her feet, guiding her out of the bathroom, trying not to wince when her head falls onto his shoulder and he can feel the heat radiating off of her forehead. She’s burning up, and he can only sympathize. She’s always been the one to catch an illness, and although he was only six when Mary died, he vaguely remembers how his mother would always fret over her health. John used to worry too, used to tell the boys to wash their hands and never touch her face, always tell them that because she was born so early, her little body couldn’t fight illnesses as well as theirs. He doesn’t know when his father stopped caring. Doesn’t know when Grace became the person he hates most, when she was once his favorite child, but he hates it. He hates that his sister is the sweetest, kindnessest, most trusting and loving person he knows, and their father could never recognize that. He hates that after nineteen years of torture and pain, Grace still has her heart. She’s one of the best damn hunters Dean has ever crossed paths with, but at the end of the day, she’s just a woman with a whole lot of love to give, and somehow she always ends up hurt.

“I need– I need to h-help. Need to– to be worth keeping ‘round.” She wheezes, allowing Dean to lay her down in his bed. He’s a real bitch whenever they get into their motel rooms, always claiming a bed to himself, never willing to share. Usually that means Sam and Grace are bunked together, or on the rare hunts when they can splurge for a bigger room, Sam takes the couch. Grace barely even recognizes that she’s being laid down in Dean’s bed, her fever taking the reins of her consciousness despite how hard she’s trying to fight it.

“You’re worth keeping around, Gracie girl.” That nickname, something so soft, so sweet and slightly abnormal, isn’t one that she hears a lot, but in moments like this, moments when she’s just Dean’s baby sister and not a hunter with near perfect aim, it slips out. “Just take these, and get some sleep, yeah? Sammy and I’ll finish this thing up. We just need you resting.”

He hands her three different pills, and Grace takes them without fuss, not coherent enough to really fight him anyway. She’s only getting hotter by the second, her complexion pale and gauntly as she sinks into the mattress. She’s asleep within seconds, and Sam can only shake his head.

“What are we doing man? Dragging her back into this– I mean, I know she can handle this. The hunts, the monsters… but Dean, you didn’t see her when she turned up to my place at Stanford. She barely left her room for the first month, terrified that Dad would find her, drag her back to some crappy motel and beat the shit out of her for trying to leave. Are we really just going to walk her back into his life?” Sam pulls a hand down her face, and for a moment Dean falters, torn between wanting to find out what happened to their father, and keeping Grace far from him. They don’t have time to sit here and discuss the trauma that still affects their sister who isn’t so far off from still being a kid.

“It’ll be different this time.” Is all Dean says before he’s out the door, and Sam can only follow him, stealing one last glance at Grace before he’s closing the motel door, desperately hoping that Dean’s right, that this time really is different.

It's hours later when they return, and despite expecting to see Grace still asleep in bed, she’s sitting up against the wall, a takeaway container of chicken tenders in her lap. The sun is just beginning to rise again, though the sky is unwilling to let light fan across the endless expanse just yet.

“Hey.” She greets them, holding the box out for Dean, grinning when he doesn’t hesitate to grab a fry and throw it into his mouth.

“Hey. You look better.” Sam comments, already starting to pack his shit up, both him and Dean eager to get the hell out of town and hit the road to somewhere new.

“Took a nap, a shower, went out for some actual meds… and there’s nothing chicken fingers can’t fix. Had to bribe the chef at the dinner to make me some.” She’d be lying if she said her head didn’t still throb, but everything else seems to have faded now that she’s medicated, rested, and actually eating something that’s not a twix bar Dean lifted from a gas station.

“Of course you did.” Dean rolls his eyes, reaching for another fry before he’s scrambling to get his own shit together, not that any of them brought much inside, but there’s still precious items they wouldn't’ dream of just abandoning scattered around the room. “Everything’s good. Dude was a freaking Tulpa.”

Grace nods, but there’s an edge in her eyes that tells Dean he’s on his sister's chopping block. “Next time you leave me here to finish a hunt, I’ll cut your balls off.”

“What were you gonna do, puke on the spirits' feet?” Dean can only laugh when a chicken finger is thrown at his head, Grace huffing as she stands to start packing her own shit, though she’s considerably less disorganized than her brothers who are scrounging around every corner of the room for things.

“Asshole.” Grace mutters beneath her breath, though she’s just glad the world has finally stopped spinning.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

CATFA: Part Eight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence, language, and angst

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

All of the soldiers head outside to fight Hydra while you and Steve go in the opposite direction in search of the isolation ward. This part of the place is desolate because this is where they can experiment with their weapons without anyone else knowing. You turn the corner and see someone exiting the room at the other end of the halfway. He just kind of stares at you with blueprints in his hands.

He runs away and you and Steve run after him. You're about to follow him when you hear someone in the room the man left out of.

"Sergeant. 32557."

You look inside and see the love of your life strapped to a bed with machines looming over him.

"Bucky!" you gasp and run inside.

"Is that...?"

"It's me, baby. I'm here." You yank the leather straps off him before Steve helps him to his feet. "You scared me. Everyone thought you were dead."

"I thought he was smaller," Bucky says about Steve.

"Come, we gotta go."

Now that you have what you came here for, you can leave and get the rest of the men back to home base. There is a map on the wall with Hydra's bases marked. You can't take the map with you, but you'll be able to remember where it is for future reference. Steve sees it too, so he'll be able to help map it out later.

"What happened to you?" Bucky asks his friend.

"I joined the Army."

"Did it hurt?"

"A little."

"Is it permanent?"

"So far."

You three make your way back to the balcony that overlooks the area with the machines lined up in order. Seconds later, they explode. Whoever did this knows you're here, knows they're outnumbered, and want to destroy all evidence so they can get away with whatever they're doing here. The fire is so hot to someone like Steve and Bucky, but you're not bothered by it. You run back up the stairs to try and find another exit but are greeted by two men: Schmidt and the guy you saw running from you earlier.

"Captain America! How exciting!" Johann Schmidt says. He and Steve walk toward each other while you stay by Bucky's side. "I'm a great fan of your films. So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still impressive." 

"You've got no idea," Steve growls.

Your friend punches Johann in the face as hard as he can. Johann goes to strike back but Steve blocks it with his shield. Steve falls backward onto the platform, giving up his ability to fight Johann back. You muster up the air inside of you and blast Johann back several feet. The man he's with sees you can be a real threat, so he pulls a lever and makes the platform break into two.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see I was his greatest success!"

Johann begins to peel the skin right off his face as if it's a mask he hides behind. What's underneath is his skull that's been turned red to which you'll be calling him Red Skull. It's fitting.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!"

"Then how come you're running?" you yell at him.

Johann and his assistant get into an elevator that will lead them to their escape, but you're not going to let them get away so easily. You pull your first back and let it catch on fire, and you send a fireball straight at the elevator. The doors close just before it could make contact. You're all alone in here now, and you have to get out of here if you want Steve and Bucky to survive.

Steve scans the room for the nearest exit and notices a door on the upper level. There is a small bar that extends from your side of the factory to the other, but it'll be like walking on a balance beam. Still, that's your only option right now. You three head up the stairs and over to the beam as everything below you catches fire.

It's risky but you have to do this.

"Wait, there's something I can try first."

There isn't enough water in the air for you to put the flames out that way, but you can absorb it. If you use your air powers, you'll only spread it more. Steve and Bucky stand back to let you do your thing, and you jump over the railing to get a better view of the fire below. Your air powers support your body to make you hover in the air, and you stick your arms out on either side of you.

The fire begins to whirl like a tornado, but you direct it to come right at you. Two columns of fire strike both your hands, but the second that it hits your skin, the water in your body immediately cools it off. A ton of steam is pouring out of your body but it's allowing the fire to go somewhere.

"Go! Get across the beam!" you yell.

"Go, come on," Steve urges his friend.

He allows his friend to go first, and Bucky carefully walks across the beam while occasionally looking over at you. It doesn't look like you're hurt or that it bothers you because you've endured things that were a lot hotter than this. Once Bucky makes it across, Steve quickly scurries over the beam to the other side.

"Come on!" Steve yells at you.

You blast the fire back down below and away from you, and you fly right over to them. The machines that haven't blown up do, but you're already leaving. Peggy never got your call to ome pick you up because your transmitter got damaged in the fight. The Colonel didn't expect you to come back either, but here you are, marching the 107th back to their home base.

Everyone lined up as soon as they saw you coming. Most of their men are okay despite some of them needing medical attention. The Colonel and Peggy meet you at the front of the line, and you can tell the Colonel isn't happy that you left in the first place.

"Some of these men need medical attention."

"We'd like to surrender ourselves for disciplinary action," Steve says.

"That won't be necessary."

"Yes, sir."

The Colonel walks away and Peggy approaches Steve. You turn to Bucky and pull him close to you. He's been gone for way too long, and you don't want to be apart from him.

"Let's give it up to Captain Amercia and Lieutenant Y/N!!"

The entire platoon cheers for your victory, and you pull Bucky closer to you. You kiss him in front of everyone, not that you minded the attention. Since this part of the battle is over, everyone got shipped back to London as soon as possible. They either need medical attention, they get to go home, or they are getting a new assignment. 

Either way, this entire base camp is going to be empty in the next few days.

You're not sure what Hydra did to Bucky, so he was sent to a hospital immediately after landing in London. Since you and Steve saw the map with Hydra's bases on it, you and he went back to London's headquarters top come up with a strategy on what to do next. You've already marked the first four locations Hydra had, and there is a total of six.

"The fifth one was here in Poland, right near the Baltic." Steve marks a giant map. "The sixth one is about here, thirty or forty miles west of the Maginot Line. I just got a quick look. These are the weapon factories we know about. Sergeant Barnes said that Hydra shipped all the parts to another facility that isn't on this map."

"Agent Carter, coordinate with MI6. I want every Allied eyeball looking for that main Hydra base," The Colonel orders.

"What about us?" you ask.

"We are gonna set a fire under Johann Schmidt's ass. What do you say, Rogers? Y/L/N? It's your map. Do you think you can wipe Hydra off of it?"

"Yes, sir. We'll need a team."

"We're already putting together the best men."

"With all due respect, sir. So are we," you smirk.

If you're going to do this, then you need a team you can trust. The 107th has a lot of good men that Steve can get on his side. Bucky has known these men for quite some time, so if he says you can trust them, then you can. Steve will be a better person for the pitch, plus, you and Bucky have a lot of catching up to do. 

There is this small corner in the back that's hidden from most of the people inside the bar, and that's where you and Bucky are. You don't want to act like a horny teenager, but it's been so long since you've felt his lips on your skin. The other patrons don't pay any attention to you, but it's not like you'd stop even if they were.

Bucky kisses the spot right under your ear, and you pull him back up to your lips. You kiss him with everything you've got, and you've got a lot saved up for him.

"Fuck, I missed you," you whisper.

"Me too, doll. You have no idea what went through my head this past year."

"I might have an idea," you grin. "Are you doing any better? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Whatever Hydra did to me didn't stick. I feel fine."

"Good."

You pull away form Bucky and bring him to a table to enjoy the alcohol and each other's comapny. Steve notices you two are done being all over each other and decides to come visit.

"You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

"Hell, no," Bucky laughs. "That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I'm following him. Are you're keeping the outfit?"

"You know what? It's kind of growing on me."

All chatter stops in the bar as Peggy walks in. She's wearing a red dress that compliments her curves. It shows some of her long legs, and the men inside the bar can't get enough of her. She doesn't look anyone but at Steve, and you pull Bucky away to give them some privacy.

"Captain."

"Agent Carter."

"Ma'am," Bucky says politely.

"Howard has some equipment for you to try tomorrow morning. He asked that you be there too, Y/N."

"Sure."

"Sounds good."

"I see your top squad is prepping for duty."

"Do you like to dance?" you ask, trying to get the ball rolling between them.

"I do, actually. I might even, when this is all over, go dancing. I've just got to wait for the right partner. 0800, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be there," Steve smiles as she walks away.

"I will also be there!" Steve watches her go, and you slap his arm lightly. "Go after her. Ask her to dance. Go." You push Steve in Peggy's direction and you turn to Bucky with a smile. "Care to dance, Sergeant Barnes?"

"I would love to, Lieutenant Y/N."

The rest of the night is spent dancing in Bucky's arms and well into the early morning. You have to meet Howard at eight, but you and Bucky decide to get up a little earlier than that to watch the sunrise. You fly with him to the roof of your building so that you two can be alone.

"I'm glad you're okay. You have no idea how much you mean to me," you say.

"I'm starting to."

He cups your jaw and pulls you closer to him, planting his lips on yours. His love is consuming, passionate, and safe. He truly makes you feel like the only woman in the world. You can say or do anything to him and he'd still love you all the same.

"So, what was life like before you met me?" he asks.

"Lonley."

"You must have been with people, no?"

"Yes, but I was never in love with someone in the way I'm with you. I was with the same guy for about nine hundred years. We were dating, sure, but I wasn't in love with him. Maybe in the beginning, but he was held up on his ex. I could have left him, but I guess I didn't want to be alone."

"What do you mean? Who is he that he survived for nine hundred years? Is he like you?"

"No. He's an Eternal. It's this other-worldly being that was put on Earth to protect people from deviants. They're beautiful creatures but very deadly. They never aged, they were strong, and they had powers like me. I guess I wanted to stick by them knowing they wouldn't die after eighty years."

"I'm going to die one day and you're still going to be here," he says gently.

"I don't like to think about that. I meant it when I said I was in love with you. Steve got a serum. If humanity can develop that, then maybe they can develop something to keep you from aging."

"I don't know if I want to live forever."

"Then I'm not going to waste a second with you. I wish I had met you sooner. I was there when the Aztec empire fell. You would have loved going on adventures with me. Have you ever been to space?"

"No," he chuckles.

"I could take you someday if you'd like."

"Maybe someday," he grins.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[immedealwithit9855]

So it Begins Part 2

This is part 2 of the story. After a day of sparring and a very awkward discussion between father and sons, it was gettin' down to the knit n gritty. The turtles collecting Intel on Karai and Han's schemes. The Muses preparing for their mission to Cambodia to rescue the kidnapped kids. The girls appear to be suffering from a mysterious condition. A condition that may or may not pose a problem.

CHAPTER 9

Warning: Physical Violence, trauma, angst, intimidation

"Whatcha got Donnie?" Leo asked looking at the monitors. Donnie programmed the info Kenzi gave him into his network. "There's a 67.9% chance Han may be present." Raphael cracked his knuckles,"Cool. He sounds like a challenge. I like me a challenge!"Mikey giggles at Raph's remark and nudges him. Leo pinched his snout,"Easy, Raph. We gotta do this right. Get Intel and put a stop to this before it goes any further." Raph scoffed, itching for a challenge. "Save some for me, bro!" Mikey chortled.

"Meeting begins in an hour guys, if we're gonna get front row seats we gotta leave now!" Donnie reminded his brothers.

"Alright, fellas. Let's go." Leo giving the order.

"Easy, Fearless. Let's do this right, remember?" Raph chuckled as they departed from their lair and made their way to the abandoned apartment building.

_____________________________________

At the girls 3rd base, Alopex was working the heavy bags in the weight room. Drenched in sweat, muscles tingling. She'd been at it for 3 and half hours, went through 10 water bottles, and 5 sweat rags. Her instincts began to creep up on her as she dealt the fatal blow to the bag. Watching as it exploded, sand coating the floor.

As she was cleaning the sweat off her face, Dinah entered, leaning against the entryway. She slowly walked towards Alopex. "Sis, that's the 5th bag you've destroyed today." She says as she examines the damage. "At this rate, you'll be..." Without warning, Alopex pinned Dinah to the wall by the throat, her wolf eyes beaming hot red, growling aggressively, claws ejecting from her fingertips. Dinah clutched Alopex's arm,"Sis, STOP! It's alright!"

Alopex shook herself out of her phase and released Dinah. Anger and disgust began to surface at what she had done. "Dinah, I can't believe I did that. Are you alright?" She says with a look of concern for her sister.

Dinah cleared her throat,"I'm okay. But you? It's happening, isn't it?" She asked with a look of concern.

Alopex turned her back on her, letting out a sigh,"Have the girls in the living area. If it's happening to me, it'll happen to yinz as well. Just like before. I'll clean this up and see you in 10 minutes." Dinah nodded. Before she exited, she hugged Alopex from behind,"I can tell it's worse than before, we'll get through this. Together."

Alopex didn't move a muscle as Dinah hugged her. She appreciated her sister's comfort and felt terrible about attacking her. Her instincts were flaring, she had to get them under control again. The time she spent cleaning the weight room, she used to find her center and calm herself.

A little while later, the girls all met in the living area. Alopex looked around and began,'It's getting close to departure day. You've all been precise on your training. I am pleased with your dedication and drive." She takes a deep breath and continues,"There's something I need to bring to your attention." Before she mentioned anything, Kenzi blurted out,"We know. It's slowly happening to me, too." Charlie looked upon her sisters, in shock.

"Girls, we have to figure out how to properly contain this. Kenzi, is there anything we can take?" Dinah asked, massaging Charlie's shoulders. "Yes. But it hasn't been tested and who knows what will happen. We leave in 2 days, we can't afford any delays."

She had a point. It was risky and dangerous at that. Alopex crossed her arms, frustrated at their delema. Charlie perked her ears,"This mission is gonna be dangerous just like the many others we've been on." They all looked at her, nodding their heads. "What we're feeling now, use it for the mission. Turn those urges into a weapon. Use it to protect one another."

Kenzi nodded,"Just like we've done in the past. Plus we get aggressive during these....." She didn't wanna finish that sentence given how awkward it's already been.

Dinah leaned on the couch,"We'll use that aggression to take down the aggressors."

Alopex stood up,"Only when necessary. We get in there swiftly and quietly as possible. Dinah you got the layout figured out?"

Dinah smirked and had Kenzi pull up the fortress where the captives are being held. "There are 5 cameras on the outer part of the building. 4 cams littering the corner of the hallway on the inside." She explained as Kenzi pinpointed the cam's location.

Dinah continued,"The far right of the building is the main room where the guards keep watch of the captives and the facilities activities." Alopex looked on and studied the whole layout,"Could the captives be located near the main room?" Kenzi crossed her arms,"They could be anywhere, that's why we use our sense of smell to pinpoint their exact location." The girls nodded and proceeded to plan out their moves.

Charlie's mind was on the mission but also something else. She was feeling it too. Her urges have been getting the best of her. The amount of time it lasts varies. The one thing she kept in mind,"I DON'T wanna hurt Mikey! I refuse to hurt him or his family.!"

"Charlie? You good, honey?" Kenzi wondered, looking upon her sister. "Yeah sis. I'll be alright. It's about time, ya know? An assignment?" Alopex walked over and cupped her palm on Charlie's cheek,"Yes. Which is why we make the very best of it. And when it's called for, Get Crazy." She winked, earning a smirk from Charlie. "You already know."

With that, they put the finishing touches on their strategies. "We should pay Ma a visit, let her know our plans. Keep her in the loop." Alopex says as she stumbles towards the shower area. "Ya think she'll notice our condition?" Charlie says as she checks on her sister.

"Whether she does or not, we're going on that assignment." The girls nodded in agreement.

___________________________________

The turtles approached the meeting spot for the dragons. From the roof tops, multiple members entered the side door. Leo spotted out Angel right away. Donnie scanned the perimeter and checked out the layout inside. They all gathered in the basement. "Scanners are showing a brawny looking guy." Leo looked at his screen,"Must be Han." Raph rolled his shoulders,"I beat punchin' bags tougha than this clown."

Using his peashooter, Donnie shot a voice recording device on one of the goon's jacket. Luckily, he was able to do some advanced upgrades to the device so they can hear everything clearly. Fully inspired by Kenzi. As all the members made it inside, the turtles used the opportunity to desend. They checked and made sure the coast was clear before quietly entering the building. It had been abandoned for years, it's crazy how somewhat clean it was.

There was a hole in the ceiling above the door that lead to the basement, they carefully crept to the top while successfully avoiding the guard standing inside the door. Hoots and hollers could be heard from the basement as Han made his appearance.

"Alright. Quiet, you pathetic runts." Han shouts almost rocking the building to the ground. Donnie estimated a total of 50 members were accounted for, 10 of them were females. Mikey's face scrunched at the fact that these young women are selling themselves short for a lousy street gang.

"I've noticed one of you falling short." He grunts out, pushing a teen to the ground. "Those who fall short on an order or disobeys me, will be punished. This gang will NOT tolerate weaklings. I won't tolerate weaklings." He turns to face Angel, grabs her from the crowd, and throws her to the floor. "Get up!" Hans commands. She huffs and gets on her feet.

The members and the turtles watched in horror as this scum of the world, slaps Angel back to the ground. The turtles grit their teeth, forced to witness this thug use fear and intimidation to bring order to the gang.

"Take this duckling to her cage!" Han shouts as 2 members drag Angel off to a cage, tucked away in the corner of the basement. Leo shook his head, hearing the sound of a human body clanging metal bars. Han turned his attention to the group,"You all have a to prove yourselves. Expand your horizons! Or join her in the slums!" He says as he points in Angel's direction.

Han began to explain that they'll be raiding the banks of New York and New Jersey in a week. And their "cousins" are out doing the more advanced work. Donnie thought, 'Cousins?' Could he be talking about the Foot Clan?" He instructed them to make it quick and easy, no mistakes, no delays. He gave warnings to the teens to get organized or suffer a fate worse than Angel's. The meeting ended and all the members cleared out. Donnie saved the recording along with footage to his system to turn over to the authorities.

When the coast was clear, the turtles left their hiding spot. Raphael heard faint cries coming from the basement. He whispered to his brothers,"Don't tell me that creep left her down there?" They all heard her sniffles and decided to help her out of her confinement.

There was a dim light shining upon her form. Donnie scanned her vitals and concluded she was in fair health. As they got closer, she looked up and jolted out of her stupor.

She immediately recognized them, glaring venom into their eyes,"What the heck do you want!" Leo noticed right away she was gonna be a challenge,"Believe it or not, we're bustin' you outta here, kid!" Raph said with gruffness in his voice.

She shook her head,"What are you exactly? Amphibians, or somethin'?" The guys looked at each other,"No. We're walkin,' talkin,' crime fighting reptilians." Mikey chortles, earning a small laugh from Angel. "Oh look, she laughs." Raph grumbles.

Angel was still stand-offish despite knowing of their existence. "You don't appear to be afraid of us." Leo says, pacing back and forth by her cage.

"Well, scales. When you've seen and put up with things in the hood, not much is surprising." Leo recalled the tale Alopex shared with them about this girl, he noticed the bruise forming on her face,"Why you gotta be in this gang?" He asked, with concern.

With attitude, she stood up, stepped to the bars,"You don't know me. What I do with my life is my business." Leo scrunched his nose at her defiant personality.

He backed away from her cage,"Alright. Then, I guess ya don't need strangers helpin' you out. You got this. Good luck, kid!" As the turtles turned to leave, she spoke,"I AINT GOT NOBODY, OKAY?" They stopped in their tracks at the girls confession.

"The gang is all I got. They became my family when mine....." She hesitated, eyes becoming glossy at the thought. Raph turned to her,"A family that smacks ya around and throws you in cages, ain't a family." She got quiet. Thinking about her position, trying to cover the bruise forming on her face.

"I don't know what to do anymore. I'm stuck. Don't know who to turn to or what. I have little to no choices." Leonardo unsheathed his katana and destroyed the locks on her cage. He took a few steps back,"There's always a choice. Question is, are you gonna make the right one the minute you walk outta this building?" She looks at all of them and something begins to change. 'I've had it hard long enough, I need to do this right if anythings gonna change and these bags of scales are here giving me that hope I lost a long time ago,' she thought to herself. "I want out! And if I have to take down the dragons to achieve it, so be it." Her demeanor conpletely changed as she admired the fondness in their eyes.

"That's good, kid. It's a start." Leo said as he bowed his head to her courage.

Donnie looked her over and spoke,"Well, you know of us and we know of your plans for robberies from the banks plus a few extra details. And if you're serious about wanting out, maybe we can make an arrangement." Angel quirked an eye ridge and placed her hands on her hips,"As a heart attack. Alright, scales. I'm all ears." Donnie's eyes twitched at the nickname.

'Let this not be a new thing'

________________________________________

The girls were in the air making their way to the Chief. Alopex stopped midair,"Noble, what's wrong?"Charlie yelled over the wind blowing in the hair. "All this extra stress got me seething. We should call her first, see where she's at. Hopefully she didn't pull an all-nighter."

Dinah pulled out her phone and called the Chief. "Hey, MA. Are you busy?"

As Dinah was chatting with Chief, the girls started to briefly converse. "Big sis. What happens when we get back?" Kenzi and Alopex looked puzzled at Charlie's question.

"What do you mean?" Alopex asked, gliding through the thick breeze in the sky.

"Stop playin'. Sis." Kenzi hissed as she flew closer to Alopex, as if sizing her up. "You're the most stubborn out of all of us. It's about the turtles." Alopex shifted herself above Kenzi,"I don't know what you're talkin' about." Charlie started getting annoyed with Alopex's attempts at avoiding the conversation. "I thought I was supposed to be the difficult one. Let's be real, we all smelt like them. Even Dinah." Charlie putting it all out there, causing Dinah to side glare at her.

"Especially given our growing conditions. I sense it may be worse than before. And I think deep down, we know why." Kenzi pulled out her scanner and checked Charlie's vitals and body structure.

"Yes. Plain as day." She snapped, closing her scanner.

Alopex hesitated for a moment, her and Raph didn't go all the way. Recalling the incident in the weight room, the odds of doing worse to him were high. "Whatever happens, happens. Keep in mind, we're part animal. That comes with cons. Unfortunately, this is one of them. Just another part of us they can either accept or reject. Plain and simple." The way she said it made it sound like she was prepared for rejection.

"Well, I have something to confess then." Kenzi stammered, drawing attention from her sister. "Donnie and I..." She started fidgeting with her belt.

Charlie and Alopex looked in utter astonishment.

"You and Donnie what, sis? You turned the key! Get it out!" Alopex gruffed.

Kenzi rolled her eyes,"We went all the way!"

Dinah was just getting off the phone when the confession was made. All 3 of their faces nearly dropped to the ground below.

"Why yall lookin' at me like that? You got some, didn't you?" Kenzi waiting for her sister's responses.

Alopex had no words, though the temptation was there, she wasn't one to kiss and tell. Dinah and Charlie however.....

"Geez girl. Are you alright? How was he?" Dinah asked, examining her entire frame. Also, remembering how good Leonardo felt when he finger screwed her.

"Really, how are you still able to walk?" Alopex mumbled.

"Yeah, was he huge? Did it hurt? Please tell so I know what to expect!" Charlie hollered, being high in the sky had it's benefits.

Kenzi flew into a cluster of clouds and started to dance lewdly, "I'll say this much, he was so amazing. So gentle. The most amazing stretch I've ever experienced!"

The girls started squealing as they joined her in the cluster and danced with her. Alopex was speechless with how smoothly things were going but wanted to maintain a professional relationship as much as possible.

Charlie poked her head outta the clouds and spotted Alopex sinking into her thoughts,"You can be stubborn and in love. Keep that in mind, big sister."

Love? Is that what she was feeling? The Leader of the Muses in love? Alopex made a "get outta here" gesture,"Anyway. Dinah what did Ma say." Dinah flew out of the clouds and glided towards Alopex,"She said she's at home. Her colleagues insisted she call it a night."

Alopex smirked in delight,"Let's pay her a visit." Kenzi jumped in,"Ma said not to do THAT again!"

"She also said not to get too cute with the turtles, look who went and did the nasty with one of them!" Dinah shoved Kenzi.

"I know that pot ain't talkin' bout the kettle!" Kenzi shoved her whole frame against Dinah body.

"At least I was more bold when Mikey and I were gettin' touchy. Using invisibility has its perks, ladies. Try it sometime." Charlie winked, putting the bickering to a screeching halt.

"Charlie! You didn't? Not while his brothers were right there? On their couch?" Alopex scowled at her, disappointed in her wild behavior.

Dinah and Kenzi looked at Charlie and snickered. Not surprised she would do such a thing. "You do well living up to your title,"Wild Card." Kenzi teased.

Alopex was disgusted with such behavior,"We'll discuss this another time. For now, let's get going." She announced, wanting to put what she just discovered in her back pocket for later. The girls nodded and continued their journey throw the clouds. Although, Raph's member felt amazing throbbing down her throat, but she wasn't gonna say it out loud.

Chief Vincent's night may get briefly crazy, but both parties have just begun their roller coaster ride.

[forever-rogue]

Hi love! Joel Miller has rotted my brain for forever now and I’m so excited to see the influx of fanfiction for him! ☺️☺️ if I could put in another request with pre-outbreak Joel again, please, could you do one where it’s outbreak day and the reader is already in an established relationship with Joel and is close with Sarah. Maybe the reader is with Sarah when everything starts to go down? A nice mix of angst and fluff? Thank you hun 🥰🥰

AN | There’s plenty of softness and fluff 🥰 but also a very sad ending (sorry, but also not)!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, TLOU typical violence [outbreak day chaos, attack by infected, non-descriptive mentions of injury and blood]

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey,” he heard your voice, soft and sweet like golden honey. He felt your touch, soft and warm, ghosting over the exposed skin of his back, mindlessly tracing over his freckles, “hey sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” his protest was weak and his resolve to actually get up melted even further as you wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled yourself closer to him, “baby.”

“Come on birthday boy,” a row of kisses was pressed to his bare shoulder as you tried to nudge him towards the edge of the bed, “busy day today, we’ve gotta get up.”

“Can’t we just stay here all day?” He knew it wasn’t an option but he figured it was worthy of a try.

“I-”

“Get up!” you heard Sarah’s voice from the other side of the slightly cracked door, “and if you’re doing anything nasty, close the door at least!”

Joel grinned but Sarah giggled as she ran downstairs and to the kitchen. You rolled onto your back and sighed happily at the ceiling. You really, really loved the Millers. 

“You heard the lady,” you rolled out of bed and pulled on his t-shirt from the night before. Joel opened an appreciative eye as he watched you head into the ensuite bathroom. But before you disappeared from sight, you stuck your head around the corner and beamed at him. God, he loved your pretty smile, “happy birthday, my love.”

Joel sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over his broad, golden chest. He was tired, but there was a warm smile quirking up the corners of his mouth nonetheless, “thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you tossed a clean towel at him, “now get up, or we’re both going to get yelled at.”

“And we definitely don’t want that.”

“We absolutely do not.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This looks amazing,” Sarah was a wonderful kid. Like, truly so. You never thought you’d feel that way about any kid, but she’d proved you wrong. She preened under your praise as you pressed a kiss to the side of her head, “you did this all by yourself?”

“As if,” Tommy Miller poked his head out from the fridge and cheekily waved his hand at you. You playfully rolled your eyes but returned the wave. When you said you loved the Millers, you really meant all the Millers, “I squeezed - by hand - the oranges that made that delicious juice. And cooked the bacon.”

“I don’t like the grease,” Sarah shrugged with a teasing glower at her uncle. You grinned when you saw the balloons they’d blown up floating around the kitchen, along with a wonkily hung happy birthday banner, “but I made the pancakes.”

“Well, both of you did a wonderful job,” you praised as the three of you heard Joel coming down the stairs. You exchanged a quick look with Tommy and Sarah and the two of them nodded in silent understanding.

“Happy Birthday!”

The two of you shouted in unison, catching the poor man off guard as he almost jumped at the sound of all three of you at once. He clutched at his heart as he watched into the kitchen, pulled into a hug by his daughter and brother. Once they let him go, he came over and pulled you into his arms, hugging in a bone crushing grip, before kissing you sweetly. 

“Save that for later,” Sarah groaned before taking his hand and leading him to the table, “we have to have breakfast and then you’ve got to take me to school, old man.”

“I should make you walk,” he joked and the girl pretended to be upset. The two of them were too funny for their own good, “I’m thirty-six years old you little shit, who are you calling an old man?”

“Definitely not my wonderful, amazing father that’s not old at all,” she tried again, “and the one who gives me rides to school.”

“Yeah,” he waved her off, but the affection and love was written all over his face, “you’re lucky I love you!”

“I love you more, dad!”

-─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You seem very happy today," Betty gave you a knowing smile as you walked into the office's break room to grab a cup of coffee; well another. It's been a long day at the law office already.

"Well," you took a sip and smiled softly, "it's Joel's birthday today. He likes to pretend to be all grumpy, but we know he loves it. His brother and daughter made him breakfast this morning and you should have seen his face light up."

"He's a nice guy," she agreed. Most of the women - people - in the office loved him, "any plans tonight, then?"

"Stop," your face warmed as you laughed softly, "not tonight. He's working late, so I'm hanging with Sarah. If he's home at a decent hour, we're having a movie night. But…I do have a little something planned for the long weekend."

"Oh, do tell," Betty was funny in a way, but you liked her. She was older than you, and she'd been married for eons. She liked to joke around that marriage was such a drag but it was obvious just how much she loved her husband. You hoped that would be you and Joel one day.

"I've got a little weekend getaway planned," you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, "Tommy is going to watch Sarah, so it'll be just the two of us."

"Very nice," she clinked her mug against yours, "well, cheers to Joel, and you."

"Cheers!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Do you think he'll like it?" Sarah gave her cake a dismal little look as you looked over. It was a little wonky looking with mismatched candles, but still beautiful. All her.

“He’s going to be over the moon babe,” you promised her, watching as the smile on her face grew and grew. She set the plate on the dining room table, next to the present she got for him (with your assistance but that didn’t matter), “I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“I hope,” she agreed, “he’s been working late a lot and it’s birthday. He should be here.”

“And here he is,” the back door creaked open, both of you too wrapped up in what you were doing to hear his truck. He beamed at the two of you, causing Sarah to squeal and run over to him, throwing herself in his arms, “hey, kid.”

“I missed you,” she looked at him, her big brown eyes mirroring his own, “you said you’d be home like an hour ago!”

“I know baby, I know,” he touched her cheek affectionately, “there was somethin’ weird going on in the city and it took forever to get home. What’d I miss, huh?”

“Nothing,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table before throwing her arms out in a ta-da gesture, “except this amazing cake!”

“And present,” you added with a cheeky wink.

“And present,” she agreed happily, “now hurry up so we can have some cake and watch the movie? It’s getting late and unfortunately, you force me to go to school everyday, so.”

“So,” he put his hands on his hips as he stuck tongue out at her, “go in and get ready for bed. Then we can have some cake and watch the movie.”

“Yes!” she pumped her fist excitedly, but before she could run upstairs, she stopped herself, “wait - open this first.”

“What is it?” his grin only grew as she handed him the box, “where’d you get the money for this?”

“Drugs,” she snorted in amusement, “I sell hardcore drugs.”

“I should have known,” he shook while delicately opening the small box, “you’ve always been nothing but trouble. What is - wow.”

He took the watch in his hand and looked it over carefully, watching it steadily tick again. It hadn’t worked properly in years; he’d always loved it, but now, seeing it fixed by his brilliant daughter, he decided it was his favorite thing in the world. 

“Do you like it?” her voice was small; timid. She suddenly sounded every bit her age, so young and full of life, “I know you’d never get it fixed yourself and now you don’t have to.”

“I love it,” he put the watch on and pulled in for a tight hug, “I love you, baby. Thank you so much.”

“Happy birthday dad,” she kissed his cheek before running upstairs to change. 

“Troublemakers,” Joel teased as he took the few steps over to you, “both of you.”

“Good trouble,” you insisted, easily falling into his touch as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt him kiss the crown of your head as melted into him causing him to hum contentedly, “happy birthday, my love. Cheers to today and a lifetime more.”

“Thank you,” he pulled back and kissed you softly, both of silently asking for more and refusing to break apart until you heard Sarah clear her throat.

“You’re going away and you’ve got all weekend to do that,” she grabbed the DVD off the table and headed into the living room, “my virgin eyes don’t need to see this!” 

“You heard her, Miller,” you nudged him in the direction of the couch, “control yourself!”

“This isn’t finished,” he whispered under his breath, “far from it.”

“I’m counting on that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sarah was sleeping, sprawled half on your lap and half on Joel’s. The two of you were halfheartedly watching the movie, lost in each other’s small touches and looks. This - this simple act of being home with the two people you loved most in his world - was everything to you. There was no place you’d rather have been. 

You were in the midst of exchanging a look with Joel when you heard a loud boom outside. The two of you startled as Sarah woke up and looked around in confusion. The sound of yelling and screaming soon reached your ears as Sarah hugged onto you, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted as Joel went to the front door to look outside. The neighborhood was normally quiet and sleepy; nothing like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat as a few car alarms went off, “Joel?”

“There’s a fire down the street,” there was a deep frown on his face, “stay here. I’m going to go and take a look.”

“I don’t know if that’s-”

“Just real quick,” he insisted, “it’s old man Smith’s house. I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Okay,” you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn’t like the idea of him going out there, “be careful…please.”

“I’ll be back in just a few,” he promised with a nod before slipping on his boots and heading down the street.

“Come on,” you tenderly nudged up the girl so you take her upstairs and hopefully too bed. You wanted her to be able to get some rest, “let’s get you to bed, missy.”

“Do you think dad will be okay?”

“Of course he will,” but it was a promise that didn’t settle quite right in your stomach. There was a nagging feeling that was slowly starting to consume you and you hated it, “dad’s gonna get through anything. And I’m sure it’s nothing major - maybe something just caught fire.”

“Okay,” but you could tell she wasn’t quite convinced either, “I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you didn’t like how final her words seemed to be appear, “more than anything.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You ended up pacing around the living room for almost an hour as you waited for Joel to get back. Just a few minutes, you sighed lightly, of course it wasn't just a few minutes. Your nerves grew with each passing moment. 

It grew quiet for a while, which you weren't sure was a good or bad sign. Your question was soon answered by screaming and barking from next door. Sarah barreled down the stairs, panic on her face.

"The dog," she said, "next door. He's barking and I-I think he's scared. I want to go and check on him."

"Sarah," you shook your head, blood rushing in your ears and heart pounding in your chest, "we should just wait inside."

"But-"

"Your dad's not back."

"Well, then we have to find him too!" and she was out the door before you could stop her. You followed after her, not even bothering with shoes.

"Sarah!" you found her running down next door, trying to comfort the whimpering dog. Something just felt off. The front door was open but the lights were off; the fire at the end of the street was showering the neighborhood in an orange haze, "don't go in there!"

"But…"

"Don't," you insisted, "come here. Please. I know you want to save the dog, but it's not safe."

She looked close to tears but gave you a small nod. When you turned to look at the neighborhood, you finally saw all the chaos that had broken out. There was fire around, people screaming and running and shouting. It felt apocalyptic.

"Come on," you took her hand and tried to lead her back to the house. You weren't sure if it was the best choice but it was all you could think of at the moment. Joel would come back and save you soon, "I think we'll be better off-"

"Watch out!"

But Sarah's warning shout came just a moment too late. You couldn't blame her; everything around you was falling apart. 

Your knees buckled and hit the ground as you tried to keep your scream of pain down as much as possible. Whoever - or whatever it was - made a horrible sound, somewhere between a growl and shout as it tackled you to the ground. When you got a look at whatever was holding you down, you realized it was Al Walker from down the block. Or at least, it had been. But this version was not; it was something much more sinister. 

You tried to keep him back as he tried to lunge and bite you, but you were only so strong. All you could do when you felt the burning in your neck was to wince; you were too busy trying to mentally calm Sarah down. She was in full panic mode and trying to figure out what to do if anything. Your upper body felt sticky and warm; a coppery metallic smell overwhelmed you. 

Before you could try to shove him off you again, you heard a loud gunshot coming from some direction before his lifeless body fell on top of you.

“Fuck!” you crawled out from under him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and gather your bearings. You found Joel standing in front of Sarah, gently shielding her from whatever was around - from you. All around you people were running around and trying to leave or meeting the same fortune as you. 

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling up and running down your face. Joel’s gaze was on your torso and you followed it, inhaling sharply. You were soaked in your own blood and the wound on your neck was burning profusely. Although you didn’t full know what was happening or what sort of chaos had been set loose in the world, you knew this wasn’t good. 

“Baby-”

“Joel,” your voice was shaken as you looked at the two of them. You already knew that this would be the last time you’d ever see them. There was just a feeling in your gut that told you so, “go. Go.”

“Not without you.”

“Please,” you’d beg, you weren’t ashamed. All you wanted was for the two of them to get somewhere safe. You could see Tommy pulling up with Joel’s truck; even he seemed extremely rattled, “go with Sarah and Tommy and get to safety. Please, listen to me for once.”

Joel let out a loud groan of frustration before coming over and wrapping you up in a tight hug. You hugged him just as fiercely, despite your initial insistence that he leave, “baby.”

“I know,” you pulled back and took his face in your hands, neither of you caring about the blood that was now covering you both. You kissed him, one last time, sweet and saccharine as it always was, “I love you. But please, get going now. Keep them safe. Keep yourself safe.”

“But-”

“Promise me, Joel Miller,” you insisted firmly and he gave you a teary-eyed nod, “I’ll catch up to you.”

It was a lie. You both knew that.

“I swear it.”

“Good,” you whispered, “now go, and don’t look back.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” you smiled softly and gave him one last kiss, “I know.”

You gently pushed him back as he reached for Sarah and pulled her towards the truck. It felt like time slowed down as you watched them get in and drive away, headed to what you hoped was safety. 

Your heart was beyond heavy.

You’d just lost your entire world. 

If only you knew what was yet to come.

[cloudninetonine]

A past that still haunts me

A/N: Hey guys, it's me (ya boi) I'm back with my still current hyper fixation Genshin Impact and a vent fic because I've been really stressed and well, it's hard living in my house :) It's a hurt/comfort fic because they always get to me and I needed to make something for myself

I am willing to do aftermath where the boys confront the abuser or do scenario but with different characters

Synopsis: You’re not a damsel in distress, you never have been and you never will be, but, well, sometimes you need a hero to rely on and that’s okay

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli and Childe

Warnings: Hints to past abuse, confrontation of abuser, violence, mentions of blood, threats, foul language

It had meant to be like any other menial day of an adventurer: sign in with Katheryne, complete your commissions, sign out with Katheryne with your payments - done and dusted.

But that wasn’t how it went, no, far from it - archons, so damn far from it.

“Thank you once again, (Name)” Katheryne’s smile was kind like usual, holding that familiar feeling of gratitude as she handed over your remission within a marked package, hand returning to the desk’s polished surface once you had taken it graciously, sending her a beaming grin back. “The Guild really appreciates your work ethic when it comes to the Ruin machines, it’s hard to come across adventurers who want to handle them anymore”

You sent her a shrug as you placed away the box “Can’t blame them really, they’re a hard bunch to handle- I was terrified of them when I first started too, but I had my vision to help me out, a lot of these folk only use there pure determination to eradicate them, gotta admire that!”

She laughed along with you politely “Have a good evening, (Name), I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

“Of course you will!” You backpedalled away from the guild reception, throwing the woman a polite double fingered salute as you did “Ad astra abyssoque as they say, my fair lady!”

She parrotted back her usual phrase before disappearing into the building, you walking further down the path of the city for your final activity for that day.

Of course, you didn’t reach that far, after all, it wasn’t that menial day you had expected, that you had wanted. Life was cruel sometimes, so incredibly cruel for no justified reason just for the sake of it all and you wished, archons, you wished you could rewind the clock and stop yourself from bumping into the body, to save yourself from all the repressed trauma bursting forth like a flurry of butterflies, well, more like moths, disgusting, ungodly, monster moths that aimed straight for the face.

“Sorry!” You yelped, too preoccupied with gathering your pocketwatch you had dropped in the stumble to see who it had been, after all, you were on a schedule and you didn’t want to be-

“(Name)?”

...late.

All of a sudden, time didn’t seem to exist, or maybe it was moving way too slowly from that horrid spike of adrenaline that shot into your bloodstream as soon as the voice registered.

You hoped to the Archons that it wasn’t, that it couldn’t, but did the gods hear your prayers?

“Oh Archons, it is you! It’s been such a long time!”

Of course, they did, they just didn’t care to listen. Ignoring the cries of your people were in fashion to them these days.

They stood there with a smile so excited it almost seemed to tear their face in half, with eyes sparkling with recognition after so many years away from them, they opened their arms welcoming you into their embrace like it was something just so normal for the two of you like you would come bounding to them like a lost puppy who had finally found their master.

The fear of your abuser dwarfed in comparison the pure feral rage and loathing to think that they even deserved to be breathing in the same space as you.

People were looking, of course, they were looking, you knew what they were doing, being bright and jovial, bringing others attention towards you both so that whatever scene you caused would be your fault like you were the bad guy. It was old tactics, of course, you wouldn’t dare do anything when you were younger, you’d just push through it, but this wasn’t old times, this wasn’t younger you, scared, smaller you afraid them, this was you now, a warrior, unwavering in battle, a person who smiled in the face of danger, who laughed at the pitiful fights that 2- no- 4 abyss mages brought to you!

To hell what other people thought, you’d stomp their head into the cobblestone if they had so much as poked you.

“Come here and give me a-”

You took a step back, mustering the deadliest face you could, but you wavered, it was only natural, no matter how much you could try to hype yourself up, this person was your first true experience of real-life nightmares, the first person to bring you true pain, no matter how many ruin guards, hunters, millachurls, mages- anything you faced, nothing could prepare you to face your first fear:

The fear of your older sibling.

“If you fucking touch me I’ll stab you-” The growl cracked nearing the end, you were always an angry crier but you were not about to fall back to this- this monster. “In front of all these people, I won’t hesitate”

Their face dropped followed by your stomach, though, the food you had for lunch sure did feel its way up your gullet.

“What’s with your language? We haven’t seen each other in four years and this is how you treat me? Your older sibling?” They laughed in disbelief because onlookers would think they were shocked, I mean, how could you speak to family like that? But they didn’t know, they didn’t know the words they had told you, the insults, the threats, those tight grabs, those beatings- they didn’t know, so they obviously didn’t know that the shock came from the fact that you had stood up to them.

You licked your lips to get rid of the dryness, but the problem you faced was that your mouth had dried out along with them, as did your throat.

Don’t let them turn this on you, don’t let them get the upper hand, you were better than them, so much better.

“You’re not my fucking sibling” You spat, feeling the air vibrate around you, a sudden shine from your cloak hinted you to the cause “You haven’t been for a long time, don’t fucking try that shit with me”

There it was, that familiar enraged spark, that look of hatred on their face, the thing that warned you about what you said had been the right thing to set them off, that they were just as easily triggered by the smallest act of rebellion just like when you were kids.

Of course, they hadn’t changed.

Evil never did.

They took a step forward but you didn’t back off, just hardened your resolve as they leaned in menacingly, as though their stupid little intimidation tactic still worked after all these years.

You told yourself it didn’t but you knew deep down that wasn’t completely true.

“Don’t speak to me like that, (Name)” Facade gone, they showed you what they really were, what they were really like after all, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that, you show me fucking respect”

Respect?

RESPECT!?

Oh Archons, you were angry, no, seething from the thought that they ever deserved respect.

That pathetic piece of shit, that gruelling pleb, mere gum on the bottom of your damn shoe-

You’d kill them, right here, right now.

You felt the familiar materialisation begin to form in your hand when another voice called out, a familiar loving one that nearly made your throat swell from relief.

“(Name)?”

Diluc

He could sense the tension. Of course, he could sense the tension, Diluc had faced this tension so many times before, he was practically the one that owned such a vibe anytime Kaeya even breathed near him for a second longer than necessary.

But being the one to witness it, to see you, the usual awkward, goofy sweetheart stare at another with such overbearing malice made him uneasy, caused his stomach to churn in ways he didn’t like, set him off in a way that was only reserved for the most chilling on moments.

Diluc wondered what exactly this stranger had done to warrant such a reaction from you.

“(Name)?” The redhead called, glancing around the many citizens of Mondstadt that watched the exchange with intrigue, guard and worry, eyes focused on the scene of this foreign stranger and fuming you, hand poised by your side with weapon particles dancing on your palm.

When Diluc finally made it over, his form seemed to curl protectively around you, hand landing on the small of your back delicately while keeping face with the person, eyes narrowed dangerously but still holding an air of civilness.

A true gentleman, even when you were close to merking some rando.

“Is there a problem?”

The stranger straightened immediately, backing up a few steps with their hands up in defence, sending Diluc a charming smile that the man could see through crystal clear.

“No problem, no problem at all” They glanced back at you, seemingly friendly despite his partner’s obvious ill intent that radiated off you in waves “Isn’t that right, (Name)?”

Diluc saw you tense up once again, the buzz from your Vision rising in volume with your obvious anger as you tightened your first, ready to just screw your weapon and go for the throat.

“If that is the case” The noble’s hand softly pressed against your back, gently but coaxing, knowing that conflict in the middle of the town centre would just bring the knights to meddle in affairs that they had no business attending “Then we shall be going”

“There’s no need to leave, after all, my sibling and I were just chatting”

He paused, shouldering a questioning glance your way but at the sight of your unruly expression, he pushed down his enquiries and once again began coaxing you away from the scene. Angel’s Share had already been open for a while, meaning the usual folk would already be settled in, but the storage room was sure to be a good place to chat and to calm you down, all he needed to do was get you away.

“We already had plans” The side glance had the stranger- your sibling, biting their tongue, brows furrowing in a known annoyance as the two of you began your way towards the pub, you still vibrating in anger. “Good day to you”

The two of you had made it a few feet when they called out once again “Don’t worry, (Name), I’ll see you again real soon”

Diluc’s arm tightened around you faster than you could react, tugging you away quickly “Diluc-”

“No, (Name)”

“Stay out-”

“Not here” Sharing a look, he softened at the shine in your eyes. “You’ll just attract the knights' attention”

You didn’t care, no, not one bit. If the knights had dared to interfere at that moment, they too would have been caught up in your blinded revenge, thrown aside or slashed down without single care just to finally eradicate the bane of your existence and you didn’t care about what consequences you brought about, you just didn’t and you made sure to tell Diluc that, as soon as you had the privacy of Angel’s Share’s storeroom, pacing up and down while he stood off to the side against the wall, watching silently.

“You had no right to get in my way!” You snapped, voice shaking from the pure emotions you were releasing “I finally had my chance, I was finally going to do it! They deserve to end by my hand, by my decision, after the years of torture they put me through! They deserved it! And you got in my way! How could you get in my way! I-”

Pushing off the wall, he slowly advanced towards you, carefully, hands out like he was approaching a wounded animal.

“I understand you’re upset-”

“I’m not upset!” You cried at him, stopping mid-step before dropping your head and tightly, grabbing your hair in your hands “I’m not upset! I’m angry! I’m so fucking angry! And I deserve to be fucking angry! I-”

The sob ripped through your throat despite you trying to hold it back, tears finally gathering in your eyes and rapidly falling down your cheeks “You should have let me kill them! I should have had the chance to rid the world of their evil! It’s not fair! It’s not- it’s not fair, I-”

You didn’t bother to fight him when his arms finally wrapped around you, just fell against him as you wept. The pent up rage, fear and sadness from years of repression taking its toll as you cried, your partner whispering sweet words as he raked his hand through your hair gently and leaned his head against yours.

“I’m sorry” His hand held your cheek fondly, ruby red staring back into your own eyes with a softness that made you melt “I didn’t know this meant so much to you, but if you’re willing to tell me, I’ll listen. I’ll always listen”

With another choked sob, you leaned into his hold “Please just hold me for now”

And he did just that.

Kaeya

The captain had promised to meet you at his office, a simple task really but with the lingering presence of Jean and the words ‘There’s so much work that needs to be done’ leaving her lips he bolted, hoping to catch you by the Guild and drag you to Angel Share for your date. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help her, it was just he had already promised you this night and Eula could have always taken his place with paperwork, her threat of “vengeance” as she liked to call it could wait for another day.

It was also due to the fact he had no intentions of filing any paperwork for as long as he could avoid it, but that was his secret to be kept.

Being the perspective man he was, he could tell straight away he had walked into something tense, surveying the surrounding people of Mondstadt who looked on in concern, the unbridled rage upon your face, the obviously intimidating lean that the stranger held over you- something was wrong and he knew he had to put a stop to it.

“(Name)?” You glanced for a single moment before your furious glare had returned to the stranger, another flag waving right in his face as he approached, “My dear? Who might this be?”

Before you could snap, lip curling in disgust, the stranger stood back to their full height, switching quickly with a fake charming smile that practically mirrored his own, holding out their hand towards him “(S/N) (Last), (Name)’s older sibling. it’s nice to meet you”

Kaeya’s smile widened and despite the glare from you that was now focused on him, he shook your sibling's hand in-kind “Kaeya Alberich, (Name)’s partner-”

He made sure to tighten his grip with his last words “And Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius”

Successfully, as he always was, Kaeya held back the smug, mocking grin that itched to climb onto his face when the neck of your sibling bobbed nervously, forehead reflecting the afternoon light as sweat gathered on their brow.

The man hadn’t obviously threatened them, surely, Kaeya was smarter than that, but then again, he could still present himself as a threat, a good one and well, his title was a menacing one when it came to the right moment. ‘Try anything and not only do I have the authority to kick your arse but the power to put you in a place many didn’t dare even step’ shortened into an innocent sentence with only 8 words.

“Cavalry Captain? That’s quite impressive” They laughed off, tugging away their hand awkwardly when Kaeya continued to keep a firm grip, his present eye focused solely on your siblings face. They glanced over to you “Quite an achievement for you, aye (Name)?”

You growled, “I’ll show you an achievement-”

Kaeya’s arm had wrapped around your waist not a second later, tugging you tighter to his side as the two of you turned, the man throwing your sibling a smile over his shoulder.

“As nice as it was to meet you, (S/B), we must be going”

And then without another word Kaeya dragged you away, heading in the direction of your home instead of Angel Share tavern, feeling your pure, unfiltered anger the whole way along with the citizens as they parted ways, rushing off from your rage.

It was only when you had returned to the sanctuary of your abode did you snap, jerking away from your boyfriend with angered strides and beginning your seething lecture towards him, moving up and down through the living room while he ventured off into the kitchen, grabbing 2 glasses and a bottle of wine.

“How dare you Kaeya! How fucking dare you! Do you have any idea what you were doing back there!? What was even happening back there!? So much for being the most observant man in Mondstadt because you seemed pretty dense to me the whole fucking time!” Your hands raked through your hair as you yelled, trying so hard to hold back the tears “I didn’t need your damn help, Kaeya! Nor did I fucking want it! Know to stay out of someone's business when it isn’t wanted!”

Logically you knew what he had done, you were smart like that and you knew Kaeya long enough to know what he was doing but your rage, fear and sadness blocked out everything in that moment, made you blind to reality, made you only think irrationally and Kaeya didn’t blame you for that. He could never blame you for that.

Though, it did hurt him to see you in this state.

“Wine?”

You gawked at him for a moment, staring at him with shock and confusion as he held out a wine glass towards you, another held in his other hand and a sweet smile plastered on his face, before your moment morphed into rage, grabbing the drink from his hand and tossing it towards the wall, the red wine splattering over the wallpaper and glass shards falling to the floor.

“Well, that was a waste-”

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Kaeya!?” You cried, not even bothering to hold back anymore as the tears fell and your voice cracked, hand pointing accusingly in his face “Is this some kind of joke to you!? Huh!? Am I a fool in your eyes!? Some sort of blubbering idiot!? Why must you- why do you-”

The second glass was placed on the dresser by you both, Kaeya’s hand coming to hold your cheek fondly while the other came to grab your hand that dangled in the air, still poised at him “I don’t think you're either of those, my dear, in fact, I think you’re one of the brightest in the whole of Teyvat, nevermind Mondstadt”

You hiccuped “Then why-”

Brushing away the wetness from your cheek, he brought your hand to his mouth to place a fond kiss on your palm “Because you mustn’t cry, (Name), don’t waste your tears on someone like them”

“I’m not crying, I’m-”

He shushed you gently and you finally relaxed, falling into his embrace with a heavy heart “-I’m not, I swear-”

Within the familiarity of your home, you wept in his arms, exhausted from the whirlwind of emotions and the scenes that had transpired that day, ready to just curl into yourself and try to block the flooding memories of history. Although, having Kaeya at that moment helped more than he could ever know, having him to rely on made it all so much easier to cope with that day.

“Tell me what ails you and I’ll listen” Brushing back some hair, he pressed a kiss to your head.

“Can..can we just stay like this for a while?”

“Of course, my dear”

Zhongli

He had sensed the incoming danger like it had been revealed in some sort of premonition. Maybe it had been a skill he had acquired after his long, eventful life, maybe it was his connection to Liyue and his citizens, but for some reason, as he sat before Iron Tongue Tian as the man recalled his tales of ancient Liyue like usual, Zhongli knew that the crowd that was forming around Wamin Restaurant had something that he need urgently attend, especially when even Tian paused his story to glance around the corner of the restaurant building to see the commotion.

When the archon had finally borne witness to the scene, he paused within the crowd, surveying the surroundings carefully. You were the centre of attention, along with another stranger, both glaring at one another with anger and disgust, though your own anger seemed to double compared to the other’s, seeing as your weapon was slowly materialising in your grip. Zhongli could also see Guild Master Lan making her way down the steps leading to the Guild reception, a worried expression on her face glancing between you and the approaching Millelith.

Zhongli made his decision, politely pushing through the crowd until he had finally made it by your side, hand being placed gently on your arm “(Name)?”

Both you and the stranger glanced at him, but he paid no mind to them, only held eye contact with you when Lan appeared by your other side, glaring at the stranger with a hardened gaze.

“Are you harassing my guild member?”

Before the stranger could respond, the Millelith had also popped in, glancing between you and them “Is there a problem?”

Zhongli had taken up your view when Lan began her take, she had borne witness for much longer than he had of course and he was certain that you were in no state to talk to the guards. Your eyes were glazed with hatred, pupils pinpricks in a sea of (E/C) and your hands were shaking, balled into fists.

If anything, he needed to try and calm you down first.

“Get the hell out of my way, Zhongli” Your teeth ground together, words shaking with anger “Don’t push yourself into my business”

“I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t do that” He tried brushing your cheek but you jerked away, glaring at his hand before glaring back at him, in no mood to be coddled “I don’t want you to do something you’d regret”

“Trust me, I won’t regret this one bit”

Zhongli held his tongue for the question that almost rolled out, knowing now wasn’t the time for inquiries when the stranger’s voice rang out, condescending and snarky as they addressed you.

“Still need people to protect you, aye (Name)? Of course, you’re still the same pathetic bitch from years ago”

You were lucky for your reputation around Liyue, for the picture of the kind and caring adventurer that had swept through the town from your years of living here because had it not been for that, you pushing aside your boyfriend and materialising your weapon to aim it at your sibling’s throat would have had you in cuffs that instant.

Lan grabbed you, tugging you away as you screamed “I’ll show you pathetic you fucker! Let me go!”

The Millelith didn’t wait to drag your sibling away, much to their cries of dismay, one sending Lan a nod while you continued to fight against her, crying out in frustration.

“Kid, you have to calm down-”

“Calm down!? No! Get the hell off me!”

Zhongli watched as you finally broke away, huffing and puffing up a storm before glancing amongst the crowd, staring at their worried and concerned faces, your own eyes tearing up before you looked away pushing past the crowd to find somewhere to be alone.

When Lan went to call out for you, Zhongli raised his hand, the two sharing a look before the archon made his way after you, his longer legs keeping a steady pace to which he could catch up to you, just beyond the bridge that led into Liyue Harbour. There were no people where you stood, just the lush green plants and great mountains of nature, a perfect place for you to let out your frustration without the prying eyes of the citizens.

“(Name)-”

“Leave me alone!” You cried, curling into yourself with your back turned to him “I don’t want you here, Zhongli! Nor did I want you back there! I didn’t need your or anyone else's help!”

You knew he was here from a place of concern, and deep down you begged that your words didn’t harm him in any way, but currently, you didn’t care, you didn’t want to care, you just wanted to be numb, numb to the flashbacks of your horrid past and numb to the feelings that were dragged along with them.

“My love, please, return with me to our home, I will brew some calming tea-”

“Tea? Tea!? Does it look like I want any fucking tea?! I couldn’t care any less about some fucking tea, Zhongli!” Spinning around on your heels, you scowled at him, not bothering to hide your rushing tears “Don’t you get it!? I want to be left alone, I-”

Two gloved hands gently encased your face, your angered expression morphing into one of shock as your partner stared down at you with glowing eyes filled with a deep-rooted love, affection, worry and so much more that you couldn’t put into mere mortal words. At that moment, everything felt as if it had melted away, only you and him were in this world, nothing else, just the two of you.

And you felt as though your heart had been lifted from the pressures of this life.

“I do not think it is best for you to be left alone” His baritone voice was always so calming, so serene and in your sane moment, you finally felt its effects “I wish to stay with you, so please, let me stay”

With a whimper, you grabbed onto his forearms and leaned your face into his hands, tears continuing to fall as your eyes fluttered shut “Okay…”

“They have hurt you deeply, haven’t they?”

Hesitantly, you nodded.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me the details?”

“I-...” Sharing eye contact once again, you whispered “Can- can you just...hold me for now? Please”

Moving his hands from your face, he engulfed you in his arms, leaning his head against yours “Of course”

Childe

The Harbinger had just left the Northland Bank, hell, he was just about to make his way down the spiral staircase but when hearing the commotion, he paused, something in his gut telling him to check just before and he was glad he did.

Glancing over the elevated walkway, he felt a fiery pit roar in the depths of his stomach, eyes narrowing dangerously at the scene; you were snarling in some other person’s face, their own face nothing short of disgust and a crowd that only seemed to grow by the minute.

Who the hell did this person think they were? Did they even know who you were? To stand so close to you, with a look of threat on their face like you weren’t about to kick their arse? Like he wasn’t about to kick their arse? How did this insignificant speck of dross not know your connections with him, the 11th Harbinger? Or did he know and was just trying his luck?

“Seems like someone has a death wish” And a death wish they had indeed.

Ignoring the perplexed glance from his subordinate stationed outside the building's entrance, Childe made his way down the steps, murderous look stitched on the whole way to the circle of civilians, the mass parting ways for the man that was Tartaglia and continuing to watch the moment in silence.

“Who the hell are you-” You both turned towards him, you in shock while the stranger stared in confusion until Childe’s hand wrapped around their collar, tugging them closer to look down at them with a deep-rooted disgust “-And why the hell are you harassing my partner?”

They fought against him, obviously, they did, but the surprise came when you saddled up next to him, grabbing his arm “Stay out of this, Tartaglia”

What? It hadn't been your request, no, you were always one to finish your whole fights you weren't "A damsel in distress after all!" no, you were so much more, so much greater but that look on your face, murderous and downright cruel- he just couldn't believe his ears.

Childe stared at you in shock while the stranger struggled, throwing him a dirty look in their attempts “Yeah, this is between my sibling and I”

Childe straightened in surprise, feeling embarrassment flood his system. Had he seriously just grabbed and threatened his lover’s family member? Oh, Archons, his judgement had been clouded by anger at the look of the scene, I mean, why would your sibling look at you that way-

“But it’s really no surprise that you still need to be babied, (Name), how shameful”

His eyes widened but not a moment later had you tackled your sibling, the crowd crying out in alarm as you threw back your fist and crushed their nose under the weight of your punch. “I’ll show you fucking shameful, bastard!”

There was shouting and a glance showed the oncoming Millelith marching towards the circle.

Being Fatui always did garner the attention of the guards nowadays, especially for him, who had tried to lure out the attention of their Archon by summoning an ancient god that nearly drowned the entirety of the harbour, so it was no surprise that they seemed to hurry in the pursuit when they noticed his appearance at the scene. However, lucky for him, your reputation as a great adventurer preceded you and throughout Liyue you were seen as a trusted and well-liked individual, meaning whatever trouble you got in, containing his meddling or not, was usually waved away due to the trust of the people.

So, without another thought, Childe tugged you off of your bloodied sibling and held you close, even as you thrashed violently, shouting at him to let you go.

“What is going on here?” A guard called, slamming the hilt of his polearm into the ground as he surveyed the area, eyes landing on the sibling before following the small trail of blood to you, still fighting against your boyfriend with threats falling from your lips “Was there a reason for this brawl? Who started it?”

As your sibling raised themselves on their forearms, they scowled and opened their mouth to respond, only for Childe to put in. “It was them, sir, they were the one that started it, (Name) was merely acting in self-defence”

The Millelith scowled at him, raising a brow and once again looking you over “Is that so?”

He addressed the crowd soon after “Is this what happened?”

And as expected, they all glanced over the sibling, then to you and piped up in agreement. It paid to be a hero, it seemed, the whole harbour returning the favour of years of helping out the community.

“If that’s the case, please come with us” The sibling cried out, anger and fear laced into their voice, trying to argue for their innocence only for the guards to grab them, hauling them away to archons know where while Childe did the same with you, slowly dragging you away from the scene and back into the bank, you screaming and cursing the whole way until you had made it to his office, finally managing to push him off and storming to the opposite side of the room practically seething.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Tartaglia!?” You cried, throwing out your arms in exaggeration “I didn’t need your fucking help! And why the fuck would you pull me off them!? I had them right where I wanted them and you fucking did that! Are you a moron!?”

“You had a sibling” He breathed, watching as you began to pace, muttering in an angered state “And you didn’t tell me”

“-after all these years I finally had the chance to end their pathetic excuse of a life and you just got in my fucking way! I’d waited too long for this moment and you fucking ruined it! How dare you, how fucking dare you-”

“(Name), why didn’t you tell me you had a sibling!?” He cried, walking up to you and grabbing your wrist to stop you “I was ready to kill them right there! And why are you talking about them like this!? They’re your family aren’t they-”

“They are not my fucking family!”

The scream echoed through the room, chilling Childe to the core as you ripped your arm from his grasp, running your hands through your hair before gripping it so tightly it felt close to being ripped from your head. But you didn’t care, no, you couldn’t, you were so angry and you needed something to keep you grounded, to keep yourself from losing yourself and getting lost in those haunting past memories.

The Harbinger felt his chest squeeze painfully as the tears fell down your face, red rimming your eyes and cheeks wet as you sobbed, chest heaving from trying to breathe “Family takes care of you! Family thinks of you in the highest light possible! They love you for who you are and they love you no matter what! That bastard hurt me, made me feel worthless and they refuse to believe they could do no wrong and I hate them! They are the bane of my existence! They are not my fucking family! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I-”

Arms were around you instantly, Childe’s face pressed into your hair as you wept, grasping onto the lapels of his suit and shoving your face into his chest to muffle your cries.

“I’m sorry” He whispered, his own eyes shining slightly “I’m sorry, I was being insensitive. Please, don’t cry”

“No, I’m not crying, I promised myself I wouldn’t-” You hiccuped “I wouldn’t waste any more tears on them-”

Then you broke off into more wails, your boyfriend holding you close and letting you continue to cry in his arms, warm and comforting until you were finally reduced to whimpers, leaning into him heavily as the remaining adrenaline in your body began to wear thin when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Will...will you tell me about it?”

You sniffed “Later...just hold me for now, please, Ajax...”

His arms tightened protectively “Anything for you, my love”

[dadsbongos]

late night for a sinner

Movie/Game/Show: The Devil All The Time Dynamic: Arvin Russell/Reader Warnings: religious overtones cuz it’s this movie, described and enacted violence (against teagardin), preston teagardin (and all his sexual assault-y/manipulative bs) Notes: uhm people got married at like 20 in the 50s and i assume arvin is about 20 so no i will not apologize for making you his wife, my country-accent writing is bad(?) idk Summary: Arvin’s a protective man, especially when it comes to those he loves. ~~~

“Somethin’ ‘bout that preacher don’t feel right,” (Y/n) murmured to her husband as they stood outside the doors of the church, “Gives me a shiver right up my spine.”

Arvin nodded along to her words, watching as his grandmother and sister shook hands with Preston Teagardin - fancy name for a guy like him. A guy who gave women chills. He reached into his dress pants pocket and plucked out a cigarette before placing it between his lips, “Watch yourself around him, darlin’.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for Lenora, too,” (Y/n) crossed over the creaky boards of the church's stoop as people began exiting, her hands coming out for the man’s tie, “Did you loosen this durin' the sermon?”

“Too tight,” he let the woman adjust his tie, “You know how I feel ‘bout comin’ to these things.”

“I know, I know - hey, I don’t like comin’ either, but it means a lot to Ms. Emma and Lenora,” pulling back from the tie, (Y/n) placed her hands on Arvin’s shoulders, “‘Sides, someone’s gotta watch for that blasted preacher, and I think we’re the only ones who will.”

Removing the cigarette from between his lips, Arvin leaned over to kiss his wife’s forehead, pulling away to ask, “You take my light outta my pocket when you pressed my pants this morning?”

“Maybe I did,” she shrugged, grinning, “Maybe even I think you shouldn’t be smokin’ outside a church.”

“Maybe,” Arvin nodded, “Maybe.”

Emma and Lenora finally came out of the church and started towards the family’s truck, the two women got into the back with Arvin and (Y/n) getting into the front to finally head home. Lenora leaned forward as her brother started the truck, “You shoulda been in there for the goodbyes.”

“Oh?” turning her head and leaving her cheek pressed to the headrest, (Y/n) quirked a brow at the teenager, “What happened?”

“Reverend Teagardin said he’s interested in meeting you,” Lenora beamed at her sister-in-law.

“Just her?” Arvin pulled out of the church parking lot, “Seatbelt, Lenora.”

“I got it, I got it,” the girl waved off before returning to her previous conversation, “But yeah, just (Y/n). He was talkin’ about putting together a church choir. Thinks (Y/n) would have a pretty voice.”

“She’s got a pretty voice but she ain’t singin’ for no church choir,” Arvin’s brows furrowed, white-knuckling the steering wheel at the mere idea of that damned preacher trying to get close to his wife, “Not in that man’s church choir.”

“Let the girl speak for herself,” Emma cut in, “Thought I raised you better than that.”

Pursing his lips, Arvin turned to (Y/n) for a split second before returning his stare to the road, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she looked back to her sister-in-law, “You singin’ in the choir, Lenora?”

“I’d love to try.”

Clenching her jaw, (Y/n) thought over her choices. Leave Lenora to sing in that choir - leave her sweet, naive little sister-in-law in that preacher’s hands for far longer than was typical or wanted… Or, suck it up and sing for the bastard.

“I’ll sing with ya, sweetheart.”

Arvin sighed quietly, glad none of the women in the car heard him over the rumbling of the truck’s old engine. To distract himself, and by proxy the women in the car, he suddenly changed the topic, “This damn old truck. Gonna hafta fix it up or take it in.”

“You’re gonna take it in?” (Y/n) tilted her head.

“Thing’s old; I’ll do as much as I can, darlin', but sometimes there’s only so much I can do. You know that.”

“I’ll need to go with you,” the truck jumbled with the rocky bumps of their home’s pull-in, “Pick up a few things for dinner.”

Lenora felt her heart warm and lips quirk into a smile at her brother and sister-in-law. They weren’t so into the church as her and Grandma, in fact - Lenora’s certain they only played along to please her and Grandma, but watching them was nice. Nothing to play along to, just a simple, pure expression of adoration between the couple. Arvin was never a man known for something as soft and tender as love but (Y/n), since the two were in grade school, was easily able to pull it out of him.

From high school sweethearts into married lovers. It was overjoying to know someone else was looking after Arvin.

“I’ll check up on Mr. Earskell and be right out.”

“No, no, (Y/n),” Emma shook her head, taking the woman’s hand as she was assisted out of the truck, “I’ll handle things. You and Arvin go on and stay out here.”

She didn’t bother fighting against the older woman, she was the matriarch of the family - she was just the rule maker. It was only fair.

“You don’t hafta keep callin’ em Miss and Mister,” Arvin came out and around to the hood of the truck, “They’re part a’ your family now.”

“Feels improper,” (Y/n) rebuffed, standing beside her husband, “I’m just thankful they’re lettin’ me stay here.”

“And why wouldn’t they?” he knew why she felt that way - her own family was insufferable and he could barely stand being around them for a dinner - he couldn’t imagine having to live with them.

“Let’s not open that can of worms today, huh, love?” (Y/n) placed her hands on her hips as she watched her husband look over the truck’s interior and drag over his tools and oil.

“Don’t joke ‘bout that, love,” despite his words, Arvin was smiling slightly, “Poor fishermen work hard to get those worm cans.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” she sarcastically relented, peeking over the man’s shoulder, “Wish I knew anything to help you.”

“I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Maybe not now, baby.”

Which, of course, was code for ‘I’d rather not. Ever.’ but politely.

There was silence between the married couple as Arvin worked until he sighed and planted his hands on each side of the open hood, head hanging low as he murmured, “You’re really goin’ to that choir?”

“We both know I gotta be there for Lenora.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ll still be worried to hell ‘bout you,” he turned to face his wife, restraining himself cupping her cheeks and smearing grime over her, “Both a' you,” then he finally admitted as to why he was so apprehensive, “I’ve been watchin’ him.”

“You what…?!” she whisper-screamed, coming in closer to her husband, “Arvin Eugene Russell, you been what?”

“Watchin’ him,” Arvin almost regrets the admission at the sight of his wife’s shock, “He’s a no-good-sonofabitch, (Y/n). Messin’ around with a young girl behind his wife’s back. She’s good to him, (Y/n), she cooks him dinner and she does her best to keep him happy. He’s no good to her. He’s no good, at all.”

(Y/n)’s brows furrow, “Cheatin’ on his wife?”

“A girl from Lenora’s class. He’s worse than a cheater,” he turned back to the hood of the truck and quickly said, “We’re takin’ it in.”

“Why haven’t you said anything yet?”

“Nobody will ever believe me, (Y/n), you know that. Everybody here loves that damn radio bullshitter.”

Nodding quietly, (Y/n) fisted a hand in her skirt before turning towards the home’s door, “I’ll tell Lenora we’re goin’.”

The topic is ultimately dropped as they leave into town. As they take the truck in for the shop and as they pick out items for dinner that night and even on the walk home. Reverend Preston Teagardin didn’t come up again, neither did his affairs or his disgustingly, sickeningly low age preference for said affairs.

They weren’t the only people in town on watch of their new preacher in town, they were just another young couple walking home.

Even as dinner passed and time for rest came - as they pressed into bed and huddled together in the cold night. Teagardin was temporarily forgotten, pushed to the backs of their minds as they slipped into slumber.

And when Arvin darts up from bed after another nightmare over finding his father’s body that fateful night, (Y/n)’s thoughts are solely on her husband. Bringing him back into the present, where he’s not in the woods finding his father knelt down in front of their makeshift church but instead in bed with his loving wife. With his sister down the hall. His grandmother at the end of the corridor and his great-uncle's own room across from theirs. He’s in a home that isn’t going anywhere - he’s with people who won’t leave him, not any time soon anyway.

It’s not until the next day, after Lenora’s first day back at school for the week had finished and her daily visit to Hellen Hatton-Laferty was over, that Teagardin even peeked back into the couple’s brains.

“If that sonofabitch touches you or Lenora, tell me,” Arvin whispered to his wife, hands holding hers tightly before she went into the church for choir practice, “I’ll make sure ain't got no hands to touch you, or Lenora, or any other unlucky woman.”

“I’ll come right to you, honey,” (Y/n) was quick to confirm for her husband, “Promise.”

“Good,” he cups his wife’s cheeks and pulls her into a tender forehead kiss before going to his sister and giving her a tight hug, “Be the loudest one there, got it?”

Lenora chuckled quietly, patting her brother’s shoulder, “You know I can’t do that.”

“You can.”

Shaking her head, (Y/n) goes up the stairs and pulls one of the double doors open, “You just shouldn’t, ain’t that right, Arvin?”

A teasing shrug and he’s walking off towards the car while Lenora follows her sister-in-law up and into the church.

Teagardin is sitting in one of the pews with his back turned towards the two women.

There’s nobody else in the church despite having been told this was the meeting time. It’s silent. Preston still hasn’t turned to the two.

Lenora is fidgeting beside (Y/n) the longer the man stays quiet. The younger girl nervously bunching the skirt of her dress in her fists. Her brows drawn tight in confusion and lips pressed into a thin line.

(Y/n) steps forward, ignoring the nerves urging her to run and encouraging her knees to buckle underneath the weight of her body, “We’re here, preacher.”

His head lifted, a smile coming over his lips, an unnatural smile - one she’d imagined on the devil when he tricked another soul into his claws. Preston comes to a full stand and approaches the women, “I didn’t expect both of you to come.”

“I wanted to support Lenora.”

“How wonderful.”

~~

“Preacher’s dirty.”

“What?”

(Y/n) sighed, sitting up in bed and looking down at her husband and whispering into the night air, “Teagardin. He’s just as dirty as you said.”

Immediately, Arvin was also sat up, no longer tired and now entirely focused on his wife, “What happened?”

“Tried touchin’ Lenora ‘til I stopped him. Grabbed me. I got us out of there and now Lenora’s tryin' to figure out how to tell Ms. Emma.”

Arvin stood out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants over his boxers, slipping on a shirt and his hat before heading to the bedroom door and slipping out of the room. (Y/n) followed after, eyes wide and brain springing into panic as she watched him tug on his shoes. Hurriedly, the woman put her shoes on as well while Arvin snuck out of the home, her continuing to follow after him.

Once they were in the car, (Y/n) turned to Arvin as he pulled out of the driveway, “What the hell are you doin’? It’s late, you can settle this tomorrow, can't ya?”

“No. It don’t matter if he’s with his wife or at the church, I’m puttin’ that bastard in his place. I hope that woman leaves his ass,” he shook his head, “Rotten fuckin’ bastard.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

The man was silent as he drove towards where he knew the Teagardin residence was. Every few minutes he would take off his cap and run a hand through his matted hair - if he could force himself to do so, he could almost pretend this was a nice drive with his wife. A simple late-night cruise through town with the love of his life, but then he would remember exactly why they were on a late-night cruise. A peek at (Y/n) would remind him, she must be frightened to all hell - it must’ve been awful to be in that church. Be near that rotten man.

And Arvin’s rage was freshly re-lit.

“Is this the right time?” she remembered each time her husband had repeated the phrase from his father, it was usually enough to sway him from acting out at that moment.

“Best time there is. He’s asleep - won’t be expectin’ us.”

(Y/n) settled into her passenger side seat, turning her head to stare out the window, “How’re you gonna get him out?”

Arvin was silent once again, fingers tight against the steering wheel as they pulled up to the bend at the end of the preacher’s street. He got out of the car and stormed towards the Teagardin home with (Y/n) trailing after.

It wasn’t long until Preston came stumbling out of his home with Arvin banging on the front door. Cynthia was out soon after her husband, clinging to the door frame.

“Late night for a sinner, kids,” Preston rubbed at his eyes, “Can this wait ‘til the mornin’?”

“You try touchin’ Lenora?” Arvin was blunt, he didn’t like sugar coating and he didn’t like the people who did it. Turning, he gestured to (Y/n), “Tried touchin’ my (Y/n)?”

Immediately, Preston’s eyes widened, “Now, now, I- I didn’t do nothin’ to those two.”

“Callin’ my wife a liar?”

Cynthia looked between her husband and the younger couple on her lawn, “What’s this about, Preston?”

“You just go inside now, Cynthia!” the preacher called back to his wife, “These two are full of delusions!”

“Arvin, let’s just head home now - you can take care of this tomorrow…”

Shaking his head, Arvin only approached the older man further, “My wife ain’t no liar. And those hands ain’t free of sin.”

“Go inside, Cynthia!” Preston shouted at his wife once again before turning back to the other man, “You won’t say nothing. I will have your lives ruined. Who will the town trust? Me, or two scruffy children who married straight outta high school?” he gives a forced chuckle, shaking his head and pointing at (Y/n) with a shaky hand, “Your wife… she- she… your wife is delusional. She’s crazy.”

Arvin Russell had been fighting nearly his entire life - he learned from his father and he continued on far after his father passed. Preston Teagardin had never been an athletic boy nor had he been confrontational by any means, preferring to hide in the shadows and smile his way out of trouble.

It wasn’t a mystery as to how Arvin managed to land Preston on the hard ground, chest pressing into the dirt and hands tightly wound behind his back in Arvin’s hold.

He didn’t know what he was looking for in the man. He didn’t know what he wanted from the preacher. He couldn’t kill the bastard - he still had a sister and wife to look after when his grandmother and uncle could no longer. Was it admission? Was it a promise to not even look at the women of Knockemstiff? It wasn’t an apology, he knew that - because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be giving out forgiveness.

“You take back what you said,” Arvin grunted out, pushing his body harshly into Preston’s back and hoping it’d hurt as much as when boys did it to him on the playground, “You take back what you said about my wife, you hear me?”

“She’s crazy!”

Arvin took a hand into the preacher's hair and smushed his face deep into the dirt, “If I- “ when Teagardin’s whining got too loud, Arvin let his head up before roughly smashing it back into the ground, “Fuckin’ listen when I talk. You listenin’?” he waited for a nod of confirmation before continuing, “If I even hear your name in the same sentence as my wife’s or my sister’s, I’ll bash your fuckin’ brains in, hear me?”

“Arvin!” (Y/n) finally screamed out to her husband, hands landing on one of his arms and pulling, “Arvin, you let him go!”

“He deserves this, (Y/n)!”

“I know, but dammit Arvin, you’re gonna get the sheriff on you, let’s go home!”

Giving one last thunk of Preston’s skull into the ground, Arvin stood and kicked the man’s ribs before nodding at Cynthia with a brief ‘goodnight ma’am’ and returning to the car.

“That was a dumb thing you just did, Arvin Russell,” (Y/n) scolded, rather lightly, as her husband drove.

“I don’t regret a damn thing about it, (Y/n) Russell.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she reached over and snatched his cap before fixing it over her own head, “I’m proud my husband cares so much.”

“Least I could do for the woman of my dreams.”

[impalas-r-important]

Love of my Life - (8) Decapitation is usually a cure-all

Summary: Sam, Dean and Y/N travel to Idaho to help out a friend.

Warnings: Show level violence.

A/N: I'm trying my hardest to get the chapters I already have written published quickly. I have a final coming up that I'll have to take a few days to study for before I can get back to this story.

Series Masterlist

You were the first to wake in the morning, probably because you slept on a couch made of bricks. You stood up and stretched your sore back, looking over at the boys sleeping soundly and feeling a pang of jealousy at their comfort. Grabbing your bag, you quietly went into the bathroom and closed the door then started up the shower. By the time you were cleaned up and ready, the boys were awake and shoving clothes into their bags.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” Dean beamed at you.

“Hey yourself. You guys ready to go?”

“Almost.” Sam grumbled and rubbed his hands over his face. “I dibs the bathroom next.” He grabbed a small black toiletry bag and yawned as he shut the door behind him.

Dean was wearing a dark green henley and you couldn’t help but stare at the man as his muscles bugled through the thin fabric while he packed his things.

Don’t fall for Dean Winchester, you idiot!

“So, who’s the hunter we’re helping out? Maybe I know him.” Dean looked over to you and zipped up his bag, tossing it by the door.

“You know Mitch Miller?” You neatly folded your pajamas and placed them in your duffel.

Dean thought for a moment before answering. “The name sounds kind of familiar, but I can’t place him. Maybe I’ll remember him once I see him. Any details on what’s going on?” He walked over and sat on the couch where you were packing.

“Nothing so far, he just said he couldn’t figure out what he was dealing with and would fill me in on the rest when we got there.” You could feel Dean’s eyes on you and met his gaze, feeling your stomach flutter when he smiled softly at you. As you finished gathering your things and pulled your bag over your shoulder, you felt a tug that jerked you backwards. Dean had pulled your bag from your grasp, leaving you dangerously close to him.

“Why don’t you let me take your bag to the car?” Dean insisted, just inches away from you.

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He spoke gently as his eyes traced your lips then looked up to meet your gaze. Were you really about to do something as stupid as kissing the man that people had warned you about? Both of you stood silent for a moment before Dean slowly leaned down, almost touching his lips to yours before the bathroom door slammed open and pulled you two apart.

“Let’s get out of here, there were four spiders in the shower.” Sam complained as he shook his hair dry and tossed his bag by the door with Dean’s. “You riding with us or driving, Y/N?”

“Driving, I guess.” You looked at Dean with a longing glance which he returned. Maybe it was for the best that you don’t explore that avenue of a relationship with this well-known womanizer, but all you could think about was kissing him.

The drive was short, and you made good time following Dean in the impala. The man had a lead foot. Mitch had asked you to meet him at his motel room, and you pulled into the parking lot in the early afternoon.

“So, some guy wants you to meet him at his motel room, and that doesn’t sound sketchy to you?” Dean questioned as you stepped out of your car.

“Oh, no, I’m actually meeting my bookie here. You guys want to wait in the car for like five minutes?” You rolled your eyes. The frown on Dean’s face was quickly followed by an amused smirk. He appreciated when a girl was fluent in sarcasm.

“You know what I mean. I don’t trust this guy yet.”

“Do you trust me?”

Dean seemed surprised by your question but was quick to answer. “Yes.”

“Then come on.” You nodded towards the motel and Dean followed, draping his arm around your shoulder.

The two of you followed Sam to room seventeen and knocked. Mitch answered with a smile. “Y/N!” He looked at the two brothers standing behind you and his smile turned into a questioning frown.

“Hey, Mitch. Do you know Sam and Dean Winchester?” You pointed to the boys.

“I’ve heard of them. Never met before though.” Mitch hesitated for a moment as he saw Dean’s hand placed protectively on your shoulder. “Come on in.” He stepped aside and you entered first, followed closely by Dean and then Sam.

“So, what do you have?” You asked as you looked at the newspaper clippings and maps that were hung on the wall.

“Three women dead. Each of them drowned in their sleep, nowhere near any kind of water.”

“What the hell?” Sam muttered as he read through a case file.

“Witch?” You and Dean say at the same time, exchanging a proud glance.

“I didn’t find any kind of hex bags.” Mitch countered.

“Not all witches use hex bags.” Dean argued, glaring at Mitch. You couldn’t help but notice the crusty looks exchanged between the two.

“Get this,” Sam spread some pictures out on the bed, “all the victims have the same pictures in their house.” He pointed out identical pictures in the background of each crime scene, just hidden enough that the average eye wouldn’t find it.

“Good catch. Let’s figure out who that is and go from there.” You suggested and the three boys nodded.

“I’ll hit the internet.” Sam declared as he sat down at the desk and pulled out his laptop.

“We’ll go back to the crime scenes one more time. See if we can get a closer look at those pictures?” Dean suggested. Mitch nodded and they headed for the door. Dean paused when he saw you hesitate. “You coming, Y/N?”

“Nah, I’ll stay behind and help Sam. We don’t need three of us looking at a picture.” Dean sent a betrayed look your way when he realized he would be partnered up with Mitch. You sent a snarky smirk back his way. Mitch huffed as he opened the door and stomped out.

“Play nice.” You instructed Dean with a wink.

“You owe me one!” He pointed in your direction sternly, but the light in his eyes told you he was just playing around.

You pulled out your laptop and sat across from Sam.

“You know, you could have gone with Dean.” Sam looked up from his screen.

“I know, but what do you think Dean would have hated more? Staying behind and helping you with research or going out alone with Mitch? Those two have some kind of seriously misplaced testosterone battle going on.”

Sam chuckled and answered with confidence, “Definitely going with Mitch.”

“That’s what I thought! He was getting too comfortable around me anyway. I gotta keep him on his toes somehow.” You shrugged and sent a playful grin Sam’s way. He gave you an approving nod, knowing full well that he had found an ally to mess with Dean when the opportunity presented itself.

An hour had gone by when you found something that sparked your interest.

“Sam, check this out.” He leaned back in his chair, listening intently as you read. “Known throughout Africa and the African Atlantic, Mami Wata embodies the spirit of water. Much like the ocean, she can be volatile and dangerous. She brings good financial fortune and also governs water sprites.” You scrolled down the page and stopped on a picture that looked identical to the ones from the crime scenes. You spun your computer around to show Sam.

“Good work, Y/N. That’s gotta be record time. Sounds like it could be our mystery monster. I’ll call Dean and let him know.”

You pulled out your phone and called Bobby for any info he might have on how to kill the thing. He told you he’d do some looking. You and Sam continued your research for a few more hours when the grumble of his stomach interrupted your reading.

“Come on,” you shut your computer, “let’s go find some food. We can take our stuff with us and keep looking but I have to get out of this creepy motel room.” You looked around, referring to the wallpaper that you were sure had been in at least a few horror movies.

“Agreed. I’m starving.”

There was a cute mom and pop restaurant down the street from the motel where you and Sam decided to set up shop. You sent Dean a quick text letting him know to meet you there when they were done. You ordered drinks and some appetizers to hold you over until the other two joined you. You were flipping through a book about African culture that you checked out of the library and Sam was still online, both of you searching for a way to kill this water spirit.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam began, “I just wanna say thanks.” You shot him a confused look. “We’ve have had a rough time lately between Dad dying and Dean going to hell and coming back. It’s really taken a toll on him, but he’s been different since we met you. The past few days, he’s the almost fun Dean that he used to be.” He shut his computer and sat it on the bench next to him. “I know you’ve probably heard stories about him being a lady’s man and normally I’d be telling girls to run for the hills, but he’s smitten with you. I can see it in the way he looks at you and talks about you.” The waitress brought the drinks and onion rings over and Sam paused.

“Sam Winchester, are you being a wing man for your brother?” You joked as you took a bite.

“I guess I am. Which I never thought I would ever do.” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “But I mean it when I say that he’s different with you. It might take him a little while to admit it, but he’s a better person when you’re around.” Sam took a big drink before adding, “Plus, I think he’s a little scared of you, so I doubt he’d try any kind of funny business.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s honesty. You should be focused on the case but your mind was on Dean. It was rare that you ever felt so at ease with someone so quickly. Although you had never known what a true home felt like, you imagined the comfort that you felt with him was as close as you’d ever get.

You spent the next while talking with Sam about himself and how he had tried a different path at Stanford. You were genuinely intrigued to know about college. Maybe in a different life you would have gone, and you soaked up every word he told you about a life so foreign to yours. Dean and Mitch arrived soon after. Dean was clearly annoyed and walked a few paces ahead as Mitch babbled on about something. Dean plopped down next to you and put his arm on the back of the booth. You instinctively scooted closer to him.

“How’d it go, boys?” You asked and slid the basket of onion rings closer to them. It was obvious the two hadn’t cleared any of the ridiculous tension between them. Neither answered and Mitch glared at Dean who had a mouthful and was looking out the window.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Mitch grumbled.

You waited until he was out of sight, then you and Sam both turned to Dean with judgmental faces. He slowly caught on and looked between the two of you, midchew.

“What?” Dean tried to play innocent.

“Why is Mitch so pissed?” Sam interrogated.

“Because he’s a baby? Why the hell would I know?” Dean answered straight. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Well, did you find anything at the crime scenes?” You looked up into his eyes, realizing you missed him more than you should have for him being gone just a few hours. Dean pulled out a coin with a water serpent on it and set it down on the table.

“Found these behind each picture on the wall along with a photograph of the victims.”

“Great, so we know who this thing is after next?” You were happy to catch a break seeing as there was only one person left in the photo who hadn’t been killed. “Maybe we set a trap?”

“We gotta move fast though. Someone has died every night and it’s almost six already.” Sam added.

“We still don’t know why she’s here, either.” Dean interjected as he finished off the appetizers. “Let’s order. I can’t hunt on an empty stomach.” He grabbed the menu and waived the waiter over.

That night, the team had gone over to the next victim’s house on the list. She was clearly scared and easily believed you when you told her what was happening. She explained that she and the other four victims were in water aerobics together and had read online that if you summon her with those weird coins and enslave this Mami Wata, that she would make you rich. So, they did. Idiots. But soon after, the water spirit became angry at being held captive and turned on them. Lucky for you, Bobby came in clutch and had found that stabbing it in the heart with a blade forged with African ore would kill it. Unluckily for you, you had nothing like that and no chance of finding something like it this late at night. So, you would have to try and make do. It was a stupid plan, but the only one you had.

You instructed the woman to lay on her bed like she was going to sleep, while you, Sam, Dean and Mitch hid, waiting for her to show up. You had an arrangement of weapons, hoping something would work. Hours passed, and it was getting late. You felt your eyelids began to droop, but a sudden clang from the bathroom woke you right up. You were in the closet and peaked though the crack to see water overflowing from the tub and into the bedroom, soaking the carpet. You waited a few moments more to see a horrific serpent woman crawling from the bathroom, slowly slithering her way towards her next victim, leaving a trail of slime in her path. You couldn't help but subconsciously pull a disgusted face.

Mitch was the first to jump out from his hiding place just outside the door. Mami Wata quickly tuned her head and held her arm out, throwing him across the room, his body going limp as he surely was knocked unconscious. Sam and Dean were next. Dean shot at the monster while Sam stabbed her with a silver blade. Both taking a toll, but neither doing much damage to her. She stood up tall on her tail and threw Dean up against the wall, holding him by his neck. You sprang into action, using a long blade to chop her head off. Her body stayed writing for a few moments, but eventually stopped.

Dean rubbed his neck and caught his breath. “How’d you know that would work?”

You gave an innocent shrug. “I didn’t. Decapitation is usually a cure all.”

“We should burn the body just to be safe, Sam added.” You and Dean nodded in agreement.

You pulled Mitch from his unconscious state and after the woman you had saved thanked you profusely, you left with the body in your trunk, finding a remote location to burn it. It was almost eight in the morning by the time you were finished and were pulling into town, heading back to the motel. You went and got a room for you, Sam and Dean and all four of you went to go sleep off the post-hunt exhaustion.

Sam was the first to pass out. He hadn’t gotten very dirty and was sprawled out diagonally, face down across the mattress. You and Dean both had blood stains and slime on your clothes. He let you use the shower first, then took a quick one when you were done. You pulled on a comfortable t-shirt and some shorts, then began to set up your bed on the couch. Dean grabbed your hand and stopped you from laying a blanket down.

“Nope, you need to actually sleep. Come on.” He pulled the blanket from the couch, wrapped it around you and led you over to the bed. “You can share with me.”

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” You asked in an accusing tone of voice and kept a serious face before slowly letting it turn to a small laugh. Dean turned bright red and swallowed hard. It was fun to mess with him. You laid next to him and he pulled you close.

“Thanks for saving me. Again.” Dean whispered in your ear. You turned to face him.

“I’m not going to let some creepy ass mermaid kill you. That’s not a very ‘blaze-of-glory’ way to go out.”

“What makes you think that’s how I want to go out?”

“Sam told me when we were talking earlier.”

Dean smiled and kissed you on the forehead. “Get some sleep, Y/N/N.”

Little did you know, Dean wasn’t planning on going out in a blaze of glory at all anymore. He was planning on retiring with you by his side, holding you close just like he was now. You drifted off to sleep to the sound of Dean’s steady breathing. For the first time since you could remember, you slept peacefully without waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares. You knew you had someone there to protect you. Someone who you fully trusted, and someone who made you feel like you belonged.

Chapter 9

Tags:

@panicking-outside-the-disco

@vicmc624

[nasaty]

Forget me not

Aizawa Sensei x Y/n-Sensei fic

TW: (eventually) violence, discussion of past death, just some bad feelings all around.

Part 4/??

Later that week you ran into Shinso and discussed training with him.

“I assume you’ve heard from Aizawa-Sensei about what we’ve been working on?” You questioned.

“Yes….I appreciate you guys taking time out of your day to help me.”

“Don’t mention it! We’re here to help you. We both just want the best for you.”

You finished speaking with Shinso and realized someone has been standing behind you this whole time. Shinso left the two of you to go to class.

“Good lord Yamada how are you so quiet and so loud at the same time?” You asked.

“Dunno! Did I hear you right though? You and Shouta are teaching Shinso outside of school hours?”

“Yeah. Not together or anything. We just came to a compromise on what we think he needs to succeed.”

He hummed suggestively. “Sure….”

“Excuse me?” You demanded.

“Oh nothing, I’m just impressed is all!”

“About what?”

“Getting Shouta to compromise.”

“HAH. It wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t actually like my idea.” You said.

You joked with Yamada for a little bit and headed back to your place.

For a week, you continued teaching Shinso , usually around the same time. Generally you went on the school grounds in the woods since the weather is nice and you could use the trees for practice. You started with general hand to hand combat the first day because it was a weakness of his, and eventually moved up to include a staff the next.

“A staff can be fairy useful for people with non-physical quirks like us. You can get in more long range attacks, and also can get up close without sacrificing getting hurt as much.”

You taught him a few good defense postures and how to move between them. He picked them up quickly.

“This is a lot.” He said, sighing.

“Hey, you’re doing really well though! You’re progressing pretty fast too.”

“I’m having a hard time with the binding cloth too though.”

“The binding cloth is completely different than the staff. People have been using the staff like this for centuries. The methods and teaching style has been developed over that whole time. I only know of one person that uses the binding cloth and that is your Sensei. He practically invented it. So it’ll take much longer to master. It’s worth it in the long run I believe, as I’m sure you’ve seen. The way Aizawa-Sensei uses it is beyond genius.”

“You’re right.” He said almost sniveling.

“Hey hey hey,” you went and gave him a hug, “I know it’s really tough right now but you’ve gotta stop being so hard on yourself. The reason we’re both doing this is because we see great potential in you. No one expects you to pick up everything perfectly every time.”

He wiped his eyes, “Thank you, Y/n-Sensei.”

“Anytime. Let’s go get you to class.” You felt bad for pushing the kid so hard but you knew he would regret it in the long run if you didn’t.

—————-

Later that day Aizawa showed up at your office again and courtesy knocked, though your door was open. He wore another dark sweater but his hair was all up in a bun this time. He looked inviting and warm somehow.

“You remember this time?” He joked.

“Yes I did, jerk.” You rebutted and he smirked.

You grabbed your coat and purse as he held out a hand as if to say ‘follow me’. He decided he was driving and you let him. He took you to his favorite cafe.

You pulled up in the parking lot and he says, “is this okay?”

“Of course. Excellent choice.” You affirmed.

You both made your way inside and got in line.

“What’s good here?” You asked him.

“Oh everything. But I’d suggest number 4 if you like brie. That’s what I usually get.”

“Sounds delicious.”

He finished up ordering and stood to wait with you while you ordered as well. Once you finished he leaned in and blocked you from the register. He paid for your meal and you jabbed him flirtatiously as he smiled at you. ‘What the hell was that?’ You thought.

You carried your meal over to a table and sat down with him.

You started discussing Shinso. “I had a session with him this morning. I started using a staff and he seemed to pick it up quickly. But he was extra stressed today. He’s worried about his progression with the binding cloth.”

“So I heard.” Aizawa said.

“I think it would help him if you told him how long it took you to master it. He’s someone that picks things up so quickly that when he doesn’t he gets discouraged, it seems.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you.”

You hummed.

“He told me what you said about me.”

“What did I call you a shithead or something?” You took a bite of food and giggled.

“You said the way I used the cloth was ‘beyond-genius?” He smirked.

“I guess. Don’t let it go to your head or anything.” You snickered.

He kicked your foot playfully and you blushed.

“I’m surprised you said that to him. I thought you didn’t respect me at all.”

“No I respect you a little…hah.” You said. “But at least I do a little… unlike you with me.”

“What do you mean?” He said.

“You don’t respect me at all.”

“I….I’m sorry if I’ve come off that way. It’s not true though. I really admire you actually.” He admitted.

You almost choked on your food. “…Oh?” Your eyebrows were raised and eyes were widened.

“Absolutely. You have a really unique way of thinking. It kinda just shapes everything around you to be better.”

Your mouth opened and you just stared at him in silence. After a second he just looked into your eyes and slowly started beaming.

You both went back to eating your food and finished in silence.

“Thank you. For lunch I mean.”

“Anytime, y/n.” He winked.

‘Why is my heart beating so fast’ you thought. He keeps doing this to you. Is he just playing with your feelings? Is he just doing this to mess with you?

[fangirlovestuff]

You Make Me Feel Right - Steve Rogers x reader

a/n - Hey lovely people! this one is part of @evansxxx​‘s I Don’t Wike It Challenge! congrats on a 1,000 followers love! prompt is in bold (it’s #25) and itaics is a flashback/memory. Enjoy! <3

Summary: You and Steve finally go on a date. You go to a place that holds a glimpse into your past - and maybe one into your future?

Word count: ~2,180

warnings: very brief mentions of violence, nervous steeb🥺

The lights of the New York street were shining all around you as you walked hand in hand with Steve through the crowded streets. You sneaked a look at him – the billboard next to you cast a red tint on his face, which were turned down to look at his phone.

You and Steve were finally going out. The last few months you were both very preoccupied; missions, paperwork and general chaos in the Avengers tower kept you both from having proper dates for a long while - the last date you’ve had was probably 4 months ago. Obviously, you made due, getting to spend some time with each other anyway, especially since you were living together. You were working with the Avengers, and weren't one of the famous superheroes but a simple lab worker. When you discovered a break in both of your schedules, instead of spending a lazy night at home you suggested you finally go on a proper date. Steve was hesitant at first, he didn’t want to be recognized and ruin the night, but you managed to persuade him to go, on the condition that he gets to plan the night. His cap was low on his forehead, along with fake glasses he thought made him look very different. You knew it wouldn't actually stop some of the crazy fans out there from recognizing him, but you went along with it. The glasses looked very cute on him, so that was a bonus.

Right now, Steve was trying to navigate the two of you to a restaurant he heard was very recommended close by. His blue eyes scanned the busy street as you headed towards the outskirts of the crowd. You turned a corner to find a nice little restaurant, potted plants surrounding the outside tables. Steve smiled in accomplishment and tugged on your hand to lead you towards the restaurant.

You beamed at him. "You're really getting the hand of all this tech stuff, aren't you?" You referred to his use of google maps on his phone without the grumbling that was usually involved. Steve just hummed and smirked a little as you entered the restaurant hand in hand.

"Mr. Rogers," the hostess greeted and smiled. "We're very pleased to see you here this evening. Follow me please," she said to you both. She led you into a secluded corner of the room, where you most likely won't be seen by anyone else, where she left you both to read you menus.

"I had to make a reservation to make sure they had a place for us," Steve explained. "I know we're not really aiming to get recognized tonight, well, actually the opposite of that, but--"

"Steve, it’s okay. I get it," you smiled at him so he can know it's really okay.

Your food quickly arrived, and you didn’t even realize how hungry you were until you smelled the delicious smell coming from the plates that were put in front of you. You dug in happily, humming appreciatively at the tasty food. You looked up at Steve, expecting to see him enjoying his food as well. Instead, you saw him only moving the food a little on his plate, taking small bites with a slight frown on his face. As a super-soldier, Steve had an enormous appetite, so you had to ask him, "Earth to Steve. You alright there?"

"Yeah, sorry," he smiled and started eating his food with some of his usual enthusiasm. You were still suspicious, but you let it go for now.

"So, you know the new kid at R&D? Tony told me he's like a genius or something," you started to make conversation.

"Oh, Jake, right? He seemed like a nice kid when I met him so that's good for him. Did you hear about what Nat is now calling 'The Disaster'?" he chuckled.

You giggled. "Oh my god, I can't believe how dramatic she is. One of the new trainees caught her singing in the kitchen one time and she literally won't shut up about it." You started impersonating her, "You don't understand, it was humiliating!" you put the back of your hand on your forehead dramatically and Steve laughed.

You continued in conversation throughout the evening, and it flew easy as usual. Despite that, you were still worried about Steve. He supposedly never got sick, but he really didn't seem that hungry.

"Steve, are you sure you're alright?" you asked after the waiter took away his still pretty full plate at the end of the meal.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he smiled softly and reached for your hand across the table. His hand was a bit clammy, but you still took it as you narrowed you eyes at him playfully.

"I don't really believe you, but dessert should fix it if you're not willing to tell me." You both decided to share your favorite dessert, that was thankfully on the restaurant's menu. You ended up splitting it pretty much if half, which was admittedly a regular occurrence, since Steve was always the gentleman and insisted on eating half despite of his larger appetite.

When you left the restaurant hand in hand you started wandering around towards the quieter streets, only encountering a few people in your way. You walked in silence for the most part, simply enjoying each other's company. You shivered a little at the night chill and Steve wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to his warm body.

You came across a small alley you recognized right away. "Steve look!" you pointed his attention to the alley across the street. He chuckled in relief. "I'm glad you recognized it."

The tall man was towering over you, the gold horns on his head shining as devilishly as his eyes are. The large scepter in his hand is pointed towards you, pushing you to the corner of the small alley. Your back was pushing against the wall and you were screaming for help, but it seemed like no one was going to show up. His scepter started shining in a blue light and it was getting closer and closer to your head. You'd stopped screaming, now paralyzed in fear. You thought you were done for. You closed your eyes; your whole life wasn't flashing before you. There was just panic.

Just then, you heard a loud thud. You opened your eyes to see two tall, blond, muscular men. One of them was holding a hammer and punching the evil dude with it. The other one was wearing a mostly blue suit and coming towards you, and—holy shit, that was Captain America. Your brain was back working now, and you couldn’t help but notice he looked way better up close than he did on the TV. And he looked gorgeous on the TV.

"You okay?" he asked, his blue eyes looking into yours with worry.

"Yeah," you gulped, "I'm okay now."

He nodded at you and you noticed the alley was quickly filling up with other Avengers. They now cornered the villain much like he did to you before. "Who is he?" you asked Steve.

"Loki, the god of mischief. And Thor's half-brother? Or was it adopted?" he debated to himself.

"I'm sorry, he's the what?"

"Yeah, you're right, they look hardly alike. As I said, probably adopte--"

"Not that! He's a god?"

"Oh yeah," Steve blushed slightly. You saw the Avengers cornering Loki but you saw a flash of something metal behind his back. "Anyway," Steve continued, "you should come with us to the compound, we can check if he--"

"Watch out! He's got a knife!" you shouted at the Avengers who automatically went into their defensive poses even before you finished your sentence and then disarmed Loki.

"Thank you, human," Thor waved at you.

"I'm surprised Rogers here didn't notice it before. Must've been busy looking at something else instead of helping his teammates catch a dangerous god." Tony quipped.

Steve blushed deeper than before and you giggled. "Thank you," you said, "for saving my life. But I really gotta go, so see you." You smiled and walked away from the tall man. You didn't even realize how close to you he was until you backed away, missing his closeness. But he was Captain America, and no matter how cute he was it's not like you stood a chance.

Steve followed you with his eyes practically shaped into hearts.  

"Seriously Rogers? If you were gonna neglect your duty like that, at least get a phone number out of it." Natasha came closer to Steve and teased. Steve's face sobered up instantly.

With little effort he caught up to you. "Can I have your phone number?" he asked timidly. You looked at him, surprised. "I mean, to check up on you. And also maybe grab a coffee sometime, if you'd like, maybe-"

You mercifully stopped him from rambling by putting your hand out for his phone. "I'd love to."

"Um, great." He awkwardly reached for his phone and handed it to you.

Of course you remembered this alley, and you told Steve this. "Of course I recognized it! I almost got murdered by a god in here!" you exclaimed playfully. "And I also met you here, lady-killer," you teased.

He chuckled nervously and led you into the alley.

To your utmost surprise, the alley was full of fairy lights; with the moon shining above it was a beautiful view. "Steve, did you..." you trailed off, staring at the transformed alley in awe.

"Do you like it?" Steve asked, a bashful smile on his face, holding your hand in his.

"I absolutely love it!" you smiled and pecked his lips. "What's the occasion?"

"Well, I wanted to ask you something." He smiled and reached inside his pocket, taking a deep breath. He took out a small box and got down on one knee, still holding your hand in his.

"Steve?" you asked, a huge smile across your face.

He bit his lip and smiled. "When we met here, I was dumbstruck, quite literally." You giggled, your eyes filling with tears. "You were the only woman I had eyes for, you still are. All I could think was how much I wanted you not to leave, to know you. From the get-go, you've always looked like a person I'd want to know. And maybe I'm not as smart as you, but in this case I was right. There's not one day I go by without being grateful for knowing you. For the opportunity to love you. Because before you, I was lost. There was this whole new world I didn't know, and I thought I didn't belong here. But you proved me wrong. Thanks to you I almost know how to use my phone." He smiled and breathed deeply before continuing. "And I know I belong here, because no matter what – I belong with you. I used to think I was a man out of time, but I've realized it's not true. Almost everything I had in the past pales in comparison to you. I’ve spent most of my life not knowing what right was supposed to feel like, and then I met you. And everything changed. You make me feel right. You're my home." He opened the box to reveal the most beautiful engagement ring you've ever seen. You gasped at the sight of it, tears falling out of your eyes. "I've never been happier than in the two years I've known you," Steve continued. "Would you do me the greatest honor in being by my side for the rest of my life? Will you marry me?" he beamed at you.

"Yes! Yes, yes, of course yes!" You kneeled down in front of him and nearly tackled him with a fierce hug. "I love you, Steve Rogers. And there's nothing I want more than to be your wife."

He surged forward and kissed you, his lips soft against your own. The kiss was passionate but soft, conveying through action the happiness and love that words simply cannot describe. Your hands were wrapped around his neck and his went to your waist when you heard a soft thud. You let go of each other's lips and laughed, because in the moment, Steve dropped the box with the ring.

"Oops," he scratched the back of his neck before reaching for the box. He took out the ring and slipped it onto your finger, a perfect fit, where it glimmered softly with the lights of the street.

You finished admiring the ring and gasped. "Wait! Is this why you were being weird all night?" you realized.

"Yeah," Steve smiled bashfully. "I guess I was just nervous…"

Seeing the beefy super-soldier being unsure of himself made your heart swell with love. "You had no reason to be," you reassured him.

You both went home that night hand in hand, sending each other lovesick gazes that would've no doubt made a few of your friends roll their eyes if they were there. But nothing really mattered at this moment, nothing besides you and Steve, the moon the only witness to your love.

[samanthadalton]

Star crossed lovers (au) part 4

pairings: poppy x mc (bea)

warnings: throughout this fic there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide

in this chapter specifically there are mentions of guns too 

reader discretion is advised

taglist: @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @cloud9in @stanzoeywade @ognenniyvolk @thepotatobleh @crazzyplays @rxssians @helpconfusedpersonhere @dopeyouth 

(i just wanted to thank you guys for your patience with this fic because i know im not the most consistent with my posting so thank you for reading, also i’ll fix any errors later on) 

word count: 4.9k 

part 1: part 2:  part 3:  

Never bring a knife to a gun fight

Rumours of Poppy’s outburst at volleyball practice began to spread like wildfire, students all around Belvoire gossiped about the intentions behind the strawberry blonde’s confrontation. 

Some of the stories fabricated insinuated that Bea threatened Poppy to counter her friends’ behaviour, while others believed that Poppy was simply doing some charity work by helping Belvoire’s least fortunate. Not one of the rumours came close to the truth, that the girls were just simply in love. 

Saturday rolls over quickly and Poppy’s in her bedroom with Veronica sprawled out on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, while Poppy lays on the other side of her. Chloe however,  awkwardly sits on the edge of the bed, ostensibly feeling apprehensive about being in the same room as Poppy as she reels in from her last one on one confrontation with the strawberry blonde. 

The two girls laying down, engage in idle chit chat until they’re pulled out of their conversation when the dumb blonde lets out a small cough capturing their attention. 

“So.. are you sure you can’t ditch your dinner plans and come to the party?” She anxiously places some of her hair behind her ear, as she meets Poppy’s gaze but the blue-eyed girl holds the eye contact, determined to mitigate some of the awkwardness from the room since she’s barely spoken more than 10 words to the strawberry blonde since Thursday. 

Poppy and Veronica share a look, the unspoken words covertly communicating their plan to go to the party in the south, but the two girls remain silent, avoiding the question. Chloe stares at the two girls, oblivious to what the shared look actually means, and when her question remains unanswered she opens her mouth to ask again until Poppy clears her throat slightly and sighs, “I told you Chlo, it’s a work dinner, we don’t have a choice, our parents are forcing us to be there.”

“Yeah but you could I dont know, speak to your dad? I’m sure he would understand”

‘I’m a Min Sinclair, I can’t pick and choose what dinners I can and can’t go to, it doesn’t work like that,” Poppy adds a bit of sterness to her tone hoping the dumb blonde would get the point and leave it alone but Chloe’s infuriating relentlessness compels her to keep cracking down on the strawberry blonde, inclined to make her change her mind. She drags her body from the edge of the bed to the middle, and perches herself on her knees as she faces the two girls, “the party won’t be as fun without you guys there”. 

Poppy lips move to an imperceptible frown as her mind and heart begin to battle over whose party she should go to tonight. While she promised Bea she would go to the party tonight, Chloe was acting suspiciously clingy and things between the two girls were still fragile. Warily watching the strawberry blonde lost in speculation, Veronica intercepts before Poppy can come up with an answer, “have you met her dad Chloe? There’s no way Mr Min Sinclair will let us miss the dinner for a party, don’t be stupid” 

Veronica’s cutthroat tone is enough for the dumb blonde to stop pushing and she purses her lips in retort. Veronica almost feels bad so she adds, “but I agree, the party is gonna be dead without the two of us there” she smiles and slightly nudges Poppy with her shoulder hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness. However to her dismay, the atmosphere slips back to being awkward and the girls reside in the uncomfortable silence that follows until Poppy’s phone begins to chirp with messages. She apprehensively picks up her phone but can’t help the smile on her face when she sees Bea’s name pop up on her screen.

B 💖

Hey beautiful, can’t wait to see you at the party tonight 

Zoey’s looking forward to seeing Veronica tonight but don’t tell her I told you that otherwise she’ll kill me 

Also can’t wait to see what you’re gonna wear tonight 👀🥵

After reading the series of texts from Bea, Poppy’s practically grinning like a Cheshire cat as she types out her response, her attention shifts solely focusing on the brunette and she mentally reprimands herself for doubting which party she should go to, since the choice is undoubtedly clear. 

Past memories of her going to parties with Bea surges through her mind and she revels in the memory of her first ever southside party. She recollects how nervous Bea was as the 15 year old girls made their way to the drinks table and Bea accidentally spilled her drink on Poppy’s top, after having a couple of beers beforehand, and Poppy teased what a lightweight she was. Bea’s face practically reddened with embarrassment as she offered her girlfriend to wear her hoodie to cover the drink stain, while she walked around the party in her tank top and caught a cold the next day. It was the small moments like that that made Poppy appreciative of Bea’s kindness and thoughtfulness and reminded the strawberry blonde exactly why she loves her. While reminiscing about the past, Poppy’s practically pulled from her thoughts when Chloe taps her leg, frowning. 

‘Who are you uh talking to Poppy?” 

Poppy visibly stiffens and turns off her phone, her mouth begins to feel dry as her brain goes into overdrive trying to come up with an authentic lie. “Just uhh going through my insta dms, the amount of creativity these creeps have is hilarious” 

Chloe gawks at Poppy, not entirely convinced but she nods in response, not wanting to press the matter further. Veronica quickly sits up, a soft gasp leaving her lips as she stares at the time on her phone, “Crap, I gotta go and edit my video so I can upload it tonight”, she gets up to grab her bag and Chloe uses the opportunity to leave with Veronica as she knows that her and Poppy are yet to still be on normal speaking terms. After a few goodbye hugs and a promise from Veronica that she’ll see the strawberry blonde tonight, Poppy walks them down to the front door and watches the girls leave. 

Just as she’s about to head about to her room, a voice booms out from the living room, Poppy freezes mid-step on the stairs and internally sighs, ‘crap’ she thinks to herself, her dad’s home. 

“Poppy, come over here for a second”, Poppy mentally braces herself and holds her head up high, keeps her posture straight and walks into the living room to see her father sitting on his favourite chair and a stack of documents on the table beside him. 

“Hi daddy”, she places a sweet kiss on his cheek and he makes a gesture for her to sit opposite him on the sofa. He places his hand on the frame of his glasses and takes it off and begins rubbing at the glass with the hem of his shirt before placing it back on his face. 

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you this week princess, how was your first week as a senior?” 

Poppy usually gets nervous when speaking with her father about any aspect of her life really, because he isn’t always the most affectionate or warming person. She purses her lips together in thought before answering, “It was good daddy, I’m in a lot of the AP classes so I’ve been making sure I stay on track for what’s expected for the classes”. 

Her father beams at her response and slaps his hand against his knee, “that’s my girl”, but his expression quickly sobers as he fixates his gaze on the blonde, “so, you didn’t run into any problems this week?” His tone is almost intimidating and suggestive as Poppy subtly sinks into the sofa a little, her thoughts beginning to run wild as she struggles to grasp at her father’s implication.

“Uh no, not really dad” 

“Huh, I heard that friend of yours, Chloe? She had a fight with that Hughes girl on the first day back. You wouldn’t be foolish enough to indulge in something so trivial would you now?” 

Poppy clings to the edge of the sofa with a deathly drip, knuckles turning white at the mention of Bea but she lifts her body slightly in an attempt to show her father she isn’t fazed by her name and clears her throat slightly, “no dad, Chloe thought it would be a funny joke but I ended up getting detention for just being in the courtyard.” She begins to shake her head a little, “I would never involve myself in something so ludacris” she exaggeratingly rolls her eyes and fidgets with her perfectly manicured nails, soliciting her lack of interest in the topic. 

Her father gleams at her with a hint of satisfaction, and curtly nods his head at her before swiftly changing the subject. “Rita, tells me you’re planning to go to a party tonight?” 

“Umm, yeah, just a celebration party at Ford’s house, his parents know about it and- ” 

Hayden Min Sinclair raises his hand in the air and the words die out of Poppy’s mouth as she awaits for her dad to speak, “just be safe, and make sure you’re home before 12, just call Carter if you find yourself in need of a ride home”. Of course, Mr Min Sinclair would never offer to pick up his daughter himself, he knows that his daughter should be less dependent on him and should be able to fare for herself. Poppy briskly nods and moves to stand, “Well daddy, I should let you get back to your work”, she gives him a polite smile and moves towards her room, letting out a huge exhale as she closes her bedroom door. She hates hiding things from her father, but he makes it impossible for her to confide in him at all, it’s times like these where she wishes her mother was still here. 

……

Bea spends her afternoon alone after dropping her sister off at her friend’s house for the weekend and worries about her mom being AWOL and has concerns when she doesn’t pick up her phone. It isn’t until the late afternoon her mom casually strolls through the front door, her makeup has practically vanished, with only a few remnants of it smudged across her face. She moves towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water until Bea’s stomps towards the kitchen with a scowl etched onto her face as she pulls Isabella away from the sink to face her. 

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling and texting non-stop” Bea raises her voice and points accusatively at her mother who in response blanky rolls her eyes at Bea and moves towards the cupboards scrounging for some food. Bea’s blood begins to boil as she balls her hands up into fists, her knuckles turning white, she pushes her mom against the counter and lifts her face up to look into her eyes, “You’re fucking high aren’t you?”. She takes in her mom’s features, seeing her incredibly red eyes and her chapped lips, and her slightly slanted demeanour. 

“Get the fuck off me” Isabella pushes Bea away from her, “last I remembered I’m the fucking parent here” 

“Then act like it!” Bea screams at the top of her lungs, her breaths heavy, her tone enraged as she stares down at her mother, “I have better things to do than to worry about where you are or whether you’re laying dead in a ditch somewhere” 

Isabella just places her hands on her head, trying to dull the noise sprouting from Bea’s mouth, “God, you’re hurting my head” she sniffles and simply grabs a packet of chips from the cupboard and a bottle of vodka from under the sink and retreats to her room without saying another word. 

Bea chest heaves heavily, she has no idea what to do about her mother, sometimes she wishes that she wasn’t there, then maybe she would have less to worry about. She could be a normal teenager with normal problems, instead of constantly babying her mother and being a second mom to her sister, but she remembers that she should be lucky to have a mom, no matter how shitty she might be. Her phone in her pocket buzzes and she grimaces a little when she sees the text from Poppy

P💋

hey babe 

V and I decided to go to Ford’s party just for a little bit 

Just to make a few quick introductions but we’ll be in and out of the party 

Can’t wait to see you 🥺

Bea feels a tiny pang in her heart but at least Poppy wasn’t going to completely ditch her for the night. She hoped that tonight would be just about them, that for once Poppy would let go off all expectations and just focus on herself. But Bea knew Poppy carried the world on her shoulders, that being a Min Sinclair meant that she had to sacrifice a lot, but sometimes Bea felt like she was the only thing being sacrificed, that she was the only thing that could easily be cut off. She types out a half-hearted reply to Poppy, something along the lines of ‘can’t wait to see you too’ and with that she grabs her jacket, turns around to catch a quick glance at her mother’s closed bedroom door and leaves for the party. 

……

Poppy and Veronica are walking towards Ford’s house, the faint thumping of bass music echoes throughout the neighbourhood while the girls are fixated on their hair and outfits as they walk towards the front yard. Both of the girls are wearing smart suits, to make their lie about going to a company dinner more compelling. They leave their real party outfits in the back of Veronica’s car which is parked a couple of blocks away from the house and before they enter the house Poppy grabs Veronica’s hand. 

“I told Bea that we will be in and out of the house, so let’s not waste any time. We just say a few hellos and then we go” she flips her hair throwing it back over her shoulder while Veronica rolls her eyes. 

“Hey you’re the one who decided to stop by Ford’s party, I would rather be in the southside partying it up there.” 

Poppy piercingly shushes Veronica, and in one swift move places her hand over the ombre-haired girl’s mouth, “Are you trying to expose us or something? Don’t mention the” she conspicuously u looks around and whispers, “don’t mention the southside here” 

Veronica pulls Poppy’s hand from her mouth and exaggeratingly shudders while shaking her hands, “Oh no, I forgot the southside is like Voldemort we don’t speak of it” sarcasm dripping off every word she says. 

Before Poppy can answer, a series of screams reverberates from inside the house and a few seconds later, Poppy and Veronica are engulfed in a huge bear hug from Chloe, “Oh my god, you guys made it”, she screams enthusiastically while jumping up and down in her spot clapping her hands together. 

Veronica sticks her fingers in her ears are glares at Chloe, “chill Chloe, you’re gonna burst my eardrums” 

Poppy laughs and playfully slaps Veronica on the arm and turns back to face the dumb blonde, “We’re just passing by, just because we have to go to a stuffy work dinner doesn’t mean we have to show up on time” 

Chloe grabs the two girls by the arms and pulls them into the foyer where they’re greeted by more of their peers. Ford is already half naked with a red solo cup in his hand and he waves the girls over before offering them a drink which the two girls politely decline. 

“Oh come on, one drink won’t kill you” 

“We said we’re good” Veronica’s tone is cutthroat causing Ford to back off and resume his strip pong game. 

“Ayyyyyy there are my two favourite girls” Carter slurs his words slightly and slinks an arm over each girl’s shoulders and migrates the girl’s to the back of the living room where the speakers are playing. “I thought Chloe said you guys aren’t coming? You change your mind Pops?” he flirtatiously raises an eyebrow at Poppy who playfully pushes him back in return. 

“No we still have to go to the dinner” she gestures at her suit, “we just wanted to say hi real quick” 

Chloe ambles towards the girl’s and grabs Veronica’s hand and pulls her to the dance floor without waiting for the ombre-haired girl to refuse, leaving Poppy and Carter alone. 

“So… do you really have to go? I mean you could have a lot more fun if you stayed” he takes a careful step towards the strawberry blonde, closing the distance between the two as he leans in to whisper in her ear, “we could play strip pong”, he leans back a little to stare into Poppy’s eyes. 

Poppy lets out a small awkward laugh, “um, as much fun as that sounds, Veronica and I really should get going. I don’t wanna piss off my dad” she takes a step back from the quarterback and wraps her arms around herself.  

Carter gives Poppy a long unwavering look, one she fully couldn’t dissect and understand, but he breaks the silence, “well, I hope you have fun, Chloe was worried you were ditching us for someone else” 

“Yeah, my dad’s business partners. Because work talk is absolutely riveting and exactly how I wanna spend my saturday nights” her voice brimming with sarcasm as she gives Carter a quick hug goodbye and grabs Veronica and pulls her out of the house after making a few more rounds with the rest of the students of Belvoire. 

…….

“This is a party, loosen up a little” Zoey rolls her eyes and hands Bea a red plastic cup, before taking a small sip from hers, “don’t tell me the princess of Greensburg decided to not show up” 

Bea lighthearted rolls her eyes and takes a huge swig of her cup, “she said she’s coming, okay? She’s just saying a quick hi to her friends” 

“Yeah sure, because she would rather hang out with the people at the bottom of the food chain than preppy rich kids who can probably afford a better sound system and drinks than this” 

“Oh hush, you’re just in a sour mood because Veronica isn’t here yet” Zoey pinches Bea on her arm, “ow ow, okay, it doesn’t make it any less true though. I mean you practically begged me to invite her” 

“Shut up. I don’t care if she’s here or not. But let's just say I’ve been doing a lot of wishful thinking and I’m wearing my best bra tonight” she gives Bea a sly wink who just laughs. “So,, I still can’t believe you let Poppy off that easily after the shit that happened on monday” 

Bea stiffens a little, her expression quickly sobering as she turns to face Zoey, “look, we spoke about it and we’re moving past it. I told her she isn’t exactly out of the dog house but I’m not gonna sit here and wallow about it. What’s done is done” she gives Zoey a fixed look, meaning that she was done talking about it and Zoey raises her hands in defence

“Maybe if you let me beat Chloe’s ass then I would let Poppy off” Bea playfully shoves Zoey with her shoulder, “only if I can join you”, the two girls laugh until Zoey catches Bea staring into the inside of her cup, her eyes barren. “Hey, I’m sorry for bringing it up. It just pisses me off that those entitled bitches think they can do shit like that” 

Bea solemnly shakes her head, “well, it’s Isabella’s fault to be honest. Everywhere I go, it’s like I’m haunted by her past and all the shit she’s done. Like they all expect me to become a deadbeat like her” 

Zoey empathetically rubs Bea’s back, as the brunette clenches her jaw slightly to stop her lips from quivering, and she blinks back the tears forming in her eyes before letting out a sad laugh, “God, you just told me to lighten up and I just made this entire atmosphere depressing” 

“Bitch, who cares? You’re my best friend, you know you can talk to me about anything, anytime” she gives Bea a one armed hug while balancing her drink and when the hug breaks off she drains the rest of her cup. “Do you want another drink?” Bea shakes her head and Zoey flounces off to grab another drink. Bea bops her head along to the music until a pair of hands cover her eyes from behind her, and a soft voice whispers in her ear, “guess who?” 

Bea grins and delicately removes the hands from her eyes and turns around to see Poppy in her skin tight pink dress and moves in to give a long lingering kiss. “You finally made it” she kisses the strawberry blonde again before realising Veronica is standing behind Poppy with her arms crossed waiting as her eyes move to scan the backyard. “Hey Veronica, if you’re looking for Zoey she went inside a few minutes ago to get a drink” Veronica nonchalantly raises an eyebrow and looks towards the house, “well, I’m suddenly feeling parched, I’ll see you girls later” she gives them a wink and struts towards the house. 

Poppy laughs while shaking her head but stops when she sees Bea appraising her, looking at her up and down with lust in her eyes. Poppy gives Bea her signature smirk and does a small twirl for the brunette, “so you like what you see?” 

Bea moves towards the girl, hugging her curves while staring into the blonde’s eyes with undisguised desire, “mmhmm, you look gorgeous”, she nods towards the group of people who are dancing along to the music, “dance with me?” 

Poppy grabs Bea’s hand and manoeuvres her to the middle of the makeshift dance floor and the girls laugh, drink and dance for a couple of songs until Bea whispers into Poppy’s ear, “let’s get out of here” 

She takes the blonde’s hand and moves towards the inside of the house and they stumble towards the bedrooms, and when they open the first door they simultaneously gasp when they see Veronica and Zoey making out on the bed, both girls half naked. 

“Oh my god Bea get out” Zoey throws a pillow towards the door and in response Bea throws her head back laughing, “sorry, sorry, but the bra is kinda cute Zo”. Zoey gives Bea the finger as they leave the room and eventually, they find an empty bedroom and are already locked in a passionate embrace before the door even closes. 

Bea roughly shoves Poppy against the door pressing her lips to Poppy’s, devouring her as her tongue slips into the blonde’s as her moans set the brunette alight. Bea caresses her tongue with Poppy’s and breaks the kiss to start kissing down her neck and then her jawline until she reaches the sensitive spot behind her ear and begins to suck at it. A moan escapes Poppy’s lips as her hands wrapped around the taller girl’s neck as her eyes roll back begging for more. 

Bea pulls back and the two girls begin shredding off their clothes before jumping into the strangers bed, their lips locked once again, reigniting the very same passion. Bea sits up and leads Poppy onto her lap, she grabs the blonde’s hips and presses her down onto her thigh before whispering into her ear, “ride” and without missing a beat, Poppy does. She unrelentlessly presses her sensitive spot down on Bea’s thigh and rocks her hips, as she buries her face into the crook of Bea’s neck, muffling her moans. Bea feels the heat emitting from the blonde’s legs and lets out a groan as her hands grip Poppy’s hips even more and she begins alternating between kissing and sucking at the blonde’s chest. 

“Please Bea” Poppy’s breaths come in hot and heavy as she begs for release, so Bea decides to give into the desire and flips the blonde over, pressing her deeper into the mattress while her fingers play with the waistband of her panties. She slips her hand inside and uses her thumb to encircle her clit, before slipping a finger inside her, and she begins pumping. Poppy’s back arches off the bed, groans echoing in the room as Bea slips another finger in, letting the blonde’s moans guide her as she brings the girl to the edge and lets her ride in the orgasm not stopping until she slumps back into the bed. 

…. 

A little while later the girls get dressed and make their way back to the party where they see Zoey and Veronica in the corner whispering sweet nothings to each other and giggling. “They should just date already don’t you think?” Poppy leans on Bea’s shoulder, humming peacefully as she looks at the two girls. 

“They should but they won’t. They’re both terrible with commitment”, Bea places a sweet kiss on Poppy’s forehead, “drink?” 

“Yes please” 

Bea squeezes Poppy’s hand and strolls into the house to grab the drinks. While waiting for Bea, Poppy stands in the front yard staring up at the sky until a unfamiliar hand, cups her ass and whispers into her ear, “what’s a girl like you doing alone here”, Poppy jerks away form the stranger, her nostrils flaring as she gives the guy a deathly stare. 

“Don’t fucking touch me” 

“Wow, I like my girls rowdy” he tries to touch a stray piece of the blonde’s hair that sticks out but she grabs his wrist and pushes him back, her eyes scanning the front yard hoping Bea will be back. 

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?” AJ sidles up to Poppy as he begins to stare down the young man who just demeaningly laughs in AJ’s face. 

“Get outta here kid, can’t you see I’m talking to someone” 

“Well she has a girlfriend so get lost”. The stranger stares at Poppy, an unsettling glint in his eyes before he steps forward and puts two of his fingers under Poppy’s chin lifting her face a little, “so you’re a lesbo? Well we can change that”. Before Poppy can step back AJ shoves the boy back who in retort takes out a knife holding it out against AJ. “fuck off now”. 

After catching up with a few friends, Bea hears about a commotion in the front yard and rushes out to see AJ barricading Poppy with his body while someone holds out a knife to his chest. Poppy’s eyes flash when she realises Bea is here and Bea moves behind the figure and takes out a small pocket knife from her jeans and lightly presses it against the stranger’s neck. Poppy lets out a small gasp, her body trembles slightly as she takes in the fact that Bea is holding a knife. 

“I don’t know who the fuck you are but you better back the fuck off right now unless you want to get your throat slit” her voice is quiet but her tone is challenging. The stranger raises his hands in the air and Bea warily puts the knife down, avoiding any eye contact with Poppy. In a swift move, the stranger throws Bea’s knife out of her hand, puts her in a headlock and presses the knife against her throat, creating a small cut as blood lightly begins to trickle down her neck. 

“No!” Poppy moves forward but AJ steps in front of her and in a flash he grabs an object from the waistband of trousers and holds it up to the stranger. Everyone in the front yard begins to panic and move out of the way as they all segregate themselves from the confrontation.

“AJ stop” Bea pleads with the young boy when she realises he has a gun in his hand as he points it to the stranger. 

“Move away from her now or I’ll shoot” his voice trembles slightly as his hand shakes but he grips the gun tighter as his gaze pierces into the stranger. 

“You won’t do it” he presses his knife into Bea’s throat a little more, who just winces at the pain while Poppy painfully watches the ordeal unfold, her heart hammering into her eardrums. 

AJ places his hand on the trigger, his stance unwavering, “try me”. The stranger grimaces at AJ before removing his knife and pushing Bea forward, “you better watch your back kid” and with that he runs from the party. Poppy moves towards Bea, her hand cups the part of Bea’s neck with the cut and she turns to look at AJ, whose eyes are blank like he’s just seen a ghost. 

“AJ, I-” Bea steps towards AJ who just looks at Bea with grief and embarrassment, “I’m sorry Bea” he puts the gun back in his waistband and runs off without looking back. 

“What the fuck, Bea are you okay?” Poppy begins to examine the wound but Bea’s thoughts are enveloped in everything that just happened, her body trembles slightly as she takes in the fact that AJ now has a gun. In the background of the commotion, the fireworks are set off, colouring the sky in an array of colours but the girls can barely focus on them since they knew they were in deep shit.

read part 5 here

[illdesigns]

Kloktober Day 9

crossover or fave au

my favorite au featuring the most coveted ship - magnus/therapy

rated m, warnings for brief talks of canon typical violence, self harm

The office had a smell. That was the worst part. Not the pastel walls or the various ceramic kittens and cherubs or the pale yellow sofa that sagged as Magnus sat in it. It had an absolute perfume smell to it, like he had his face buried in a field of flowers at all times.

Well, it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was a special kind of torture that most people were not privy to - the sound of mechanical fingers clicking a pen.

“You gotta talk for this to do anything, you know,” Magnus’ eye tracked the man behind the desk as he wheeled back and forth in his office chair. “C’mon, big guy. I know you got a lot going on in that head of yours. What’re you thinking about?”

“Leaving,” Magnus replied briskly. “So I can have a beer and pretend this didn’t happen.”

“You use alcohol like that a lot?” Twinkletits asked curiously, pausing his rolling but not the pen clicking. “To cope with things? You a heavy drinker?”

“No,” he snapped. (Translation: Yes.)

“When you drink, how many drinks do you have? Just one or two, five or more?” he wasn’t subtle in what he was asking. Which is why Magnus hated therapists. He had tried it, once or twice, even before everything in his life really went to shit. When he was just depressed about being in his early twenties because being in your early twenties fucking sucks. And there had been one afterwards but, well, she just didn’t work out either. Dropped him after the whole stabbing story. “Talk with me, Magnus. You’ve got a friend worried about you, you know.”

“I don’t have friends,” it was out of his mouth faster than he intended and he winced. Whatever. If that got back to Toki somehow, Magnus could sue right? Patient confidentiality, HIPAA or whatever? Twinkletits wrote something on the pad in his hand. “What are you writing?”

“Don’t worry about me. My job is to take notes about this stuff for future reference, you just talk. Why don’t you think you have friends? Toki cares about you a lot. He set this up for you, asked you to come down and see me. That’s a friend, right?” Twinkletits offered.

“Yeah,” Magnus spoke with a hint of guilt, looking at his hands. (Translation: Yeah, actually.)

He felt the urge to sneeze, covering his face with the crook of his elbow, rubbing his nose and sniffling. That fucking smell was still covering every surface of his nostrils and it was starting to give him a headache.

“What’s that smell?” he asked.

“Bless you. Lavender. Keeps people calm,” Twinkletits beamed at him. It was funny, because he felt the urge to bash his head into a wall the more he had to inhale it. Not very calming. “And speaking of calm…Toki told me some interesting stuff about you.”

No. No, no, no. Magnus looked up at him again and his eyebrows knit together in suspicion.

“Like?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“So, do you wanna tell me about what happened back in…” he checked his notes. “1999? Ol’ Nate mentioned it too. Feels like it’s important to bring up.”

“Oh, he tell you he did this?” Magnus gestured to his dead eye.

“He told me he did that after you, uh, you stabbed him. But yes, he did,” Twinkletits wrote another little note. Magnus could only imagine what the little dossier Dethklok has on him now will look like. But it’s easier to imagine Offdensen smirking as he reads it, easier to imagine a list of reasons why Toki shouldn’t hang around him laid out in front of him, easier to imagine all of his plans unraveling because he went along with this.

“He, uh…” Magnus paused. Even if he was going to lie about what happened (not that he would be believed by a guy on their payroll anyway) he wasn’t sure...what had happened. It was always a blur when he tried to remember the details - his thought process, why it happened. It was like he blinked and opened his eyes to Nathan beating the shit out of him. “Not much to say if he told you.”

“What about from your point of view?” he prodded, steepling his skinny robot fingers. Why did their therapist have robot arms, anyway? Magnus found that more interesting.

“I dunno, man. It just happened!” he was defensive already, arms crossed over his chest, leg crossed. Shut off. “Things just happen, you know? Like before then I’d have problems with getting mad really easy. People would like, call me stupid and I’d blow up on them or something bad would happen and I’d get depressed and cry it out then take it out on people. And they started to hate me for it, and I started getting worse than that. I see you writing, dude, what are you writing?”

“Just writing what you’re saying. Helps me keep track, okay? Nothing bad,” Twinkletits waved him on. “Go on.”

“I...well, I dunno. It just got worse. I was mad all the time. Thought about hurting myself a lot. Then I started doing that. Thought about hurting other people a lot after that, and then…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Then I did. And got kicked out and live in a little one room apartment while my old friends have this giant sprawling mansion and shit now, who cares.”

“Do you think about that still?” he picked his head up curiously. “Do you think about hurting yourself or others?”

Magnus paused for a moment and thought. Who didn’t think about hurting themselves? You know, just get so frustrated and filled with nervous energy you had to hit yourself in the head a few times? And there was the time before last that he had hung out with Toki, where Toki had sat and talked and talked and talked for too long and Magnus had imagined grabbing his hair and slamming his face into the table to shut him up.

His mind flashed to a basement in an abandoned building. Silver chains and a silver face, both hungrily waiting for their captive.

“No,” he said softly. “I’ve gotten better with that.”

Twinkletits smiled. Checked his clock.

“You know, I gotta wind this down today but...thank you for opening up! Doesn’t it feel nice?” he stood as Magnus did, breaking the distance quickly. He held out a hand to shake and Magnus found himself taking it. His grip was stronger than he expected but metal couldn’t be limp wristed, could it? “I appreciate you opening up at all. We can continue this next time you stop by to hang out, okay? Toki can fill me in so I can make space for you. Oh, before you go-o-o-o-”

He turned to grab something from his desk. A sticker sheet. Magnus frowned as he watched those mechanical fingers peel one off.

“I’m not in Kindergarten. I don’t need a gold star,” Magnus grunted as he felt Twinkletits’ hand on the lapel of his jacket.

“Oh, this isn’t a gold star, buddy! It’s something better,” he beamed up at him. “It’s a banana sticker. For a job well done! You obviously don’t open up easily and I’m sure all that’s a sore subject, so even the little bit we talked about was probably a big step for you!”

Magnus looked down. Well, it sure was a banana sticker. Okay. Seemed a little too gay for his taste but whatever. He was just going to peel it off and toss it the second he could anyway. Twinkletits gave him a wave when he departed and Magnus was stopped outside of the therapist’s office by all but running into Toki dead on.

“Hows it go?” he asked excitedly, then his eyes found it. “Ohhh, you gots a stickers already?! That’s goods, it took me forevers to get ones! Man I gots to do somethings specials as we hangs out today!”

“What?” Magnus raised his eyebrows in confusion as he spoke, looking down at it. It was just a goddamn sticker.

“It’s a big deals! Means you dids a good jobs. I’m prouds of you, pals!” Toki said, face lighting up and eyes crinkling as he looked at Magnus.

Proud. For a sticker? But, Magnus tried to really think of when the last time someone told him they were proud of him. Whatever. He’d take it. He let out a little grunt as Toki wrapped his arms around him in a crushing hug and that gave him more pause. His arms hung by his side limply, his chest and throat suddenly hurt and Magnus wracked his brains for the last time that someone had given him a hug, either. More than ten years ago probably, five figures huddled in front of a camera to commemorate some successful show or something.

So Magnus kept the sticker. So what? It wasn’t anyone’s business if he did or not. Or if he kept the others that he accumulated over the next few months. Or if he found it easier to keep his hair up in a bun at this point. He’d been growing it for years, he could keep it up now and then. Or if he did a few other things, like wear a shirt now and then, change up his style a little bit. And there was a tiny part of him that found it funny as fuck when Dethklok stared at him with a mix of confusion and horror as Toki drug him into the living room of Mordhaus, proudly talking about his brand new friend.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part fifteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5200 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part fifteen: The sun rises and it’s time to bring the herd home, but not before Dean reconnects with an old friend. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Dean & Rocko scene: ‘Road To Perdition’ - The City Of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra. Final scene: ‘Ride’ - Hans Zimmer. Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: It’s about damn time, ain’t it? Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     Slow hoofbeats, little rocks and earth crunching underneath the thousand pound animal. Surprisingly light on its feet, never disturbing the quiet, as it scours the land for the last grass of the season. Calm breaths, taking in over a gallon of oxygen with each inhalation, followed by a soft purring sound when the air is pushed out through the nose. The cold of the night lingers and the air condensates. The first glint of the sun catches the moist clouds coming from its nostrils, turning the fierce creature into a dragon. Kind eyes, calm when it’s safe, but scanning the environment nevertheless, always on the lookout for predators. Pointy ears, flitting back and forth independently, picking up even the smallest whisper, like two little space antennas scanning the sky. 

     Dean watches the herd from a distance, with Y/N still sound asleep in his arms. He can tell she’s exhausted, because she didn’t stir once in the past three hours. The cowboy made sure she was fully covered with the unzipped sleeping bag, holding her close to keep her warm. She seems so comfortable, so trusting; it humbles him. Apparently she’s completely at ease being so close, her self-consciousness burned away by his never ending adoration. Of course he noticed the hesitation when they all went for a swim yesterday evening. She wanted to disappear, covering herself with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her expression shameful. And then there was the insecurity just hours ago, her mind clearly spiraling when he couldn’t give her the confirmation she so desperately seeks. Dean wonders what happened for her to lack confidence. If she has some douchebag ex-boyfriend maybe, who didn’t treat her right. 

     Staying awake wasn’t any trouble overnight, because he had plenty to think about. He’s not the guy to analyse his every thought, he'd rather stuff it all down and ignore them all together. But spending several hours under the Yucca tree, in an embrace with the one person that has his mind reeling, left him no option. So many questions, so much doubt. He wishes he had more answers, he wishes he could have a glance into the future in order to tell if he’s on the right path. If he can make it work with her, if he can step up to become the man she’s looking for. If she will stay with him, even after the internship, because the thought of her leaving brings back an anxiety that he used to experience when his family threatened to fall apart, which is exactly what happened, eventually. He came to one conclusion, though; he’s not going to let her go. 

     His gaze remains absently fixed on the horses, who have moved a few hundred yards closer. The oldest stallion of the herd had spotted the wranglers about an hour ago, but after careful observation decided that they weren’t a threat. It’s a beautiful sight, beams peeking over the mountain range, framing the horses’ silhouettes with gold. Small bugs twirl in the air like fireflies, surrounding the large animals. Dean squints and tips his head forward when the rising sun becomes brighter. The warmth is welcome; he hasn’t moved an inch over the past hours, not wanting to wake Y/N, causing the cold to settle in his bones. 

     A new dawn means they’ve got work to do and Dean is left no choice but to wake the heavy sleeper. The arrival of morning does the job for him, however; even with her eyes closed, the light seeps through. It triggers her to turn into him and hide her face in the crook between his shoulder and his chest. Y/N grunts, disagreeing with the time, and Dean sniggers. He’s not much of a morning person either, but his intern takes the cake.      “Mornin’, Yankee.”       She opens one eye and looks up, meeting an amused yet adoring smile.       “Morning…” Groggy, she rubs her face with the back of her hand. “Five more minutes?”      “You’ll miss the view,” Dean says, nodding at the horizon.

     His eyes reflect the scenery he’s beholding, the colors vibrant as the sun hits them just right, adding amber to the jade in his irises. It peaks her interest, and Y/N turns her head to face the new day. Only leaving a crack for the light to pass her long lashes, she takes in the mesmerizing scenery. On the edges of her vision, a darker shade of blue transitions into a lighter one, the tones changing from cold to warm as they enclose the sun. Cirrus clouds catch the first rays, curling across the sky like wisps of silk hair. From cobalt to pale turquoise, from apricot to saffron. The painter of this picture used every color on the spectrum. And smack in the middle, the sun rises. So bright, she seems to be aware that planets orbit around her. The Superstition Mountains stand proud and tall in the south, the peaks catching the early light, making the volcanic formations seem blood orange, as if lava is erupting from the earth once again. 

     The herd is only a couple of hundred yards away now, grazing calmly. They don’t seem to  be aware of the humans sitting on the top of the hill, almost as if Y/N is in a cinema, watching a gigantic movie screen. It would explain the idyllic Wild West decor, because such magic can only be created with CGI in a Hollywood studio. But they are here. Y/N can smell the air, sweet and earthy. She can hear the wind rustling small bushes and blowing gently through the canyons. She can feel Dean, the warmth radiating from his large form that has enveloped her.       “It’s breathtaking,” she says softly, leaning into him.      He places a soft kiss on her hair, and she smiles, content.       “Thanks for letting me sleep.”      He shrugs it off. “You needed it. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”      Y/N sits up and rolls her neck to loosen her muscles.       “It’s going to be intense, isn’t it?” she guesses, getting to her feet.      “I’d call it adventurous and exciting,” Dean chuckles, stretching his back now that he can move freely again. “Just like the old spaghetti westerns, y’know? Well… without the gun slinging and bounty hunts. It’ll be awesome, trust me.”

     Y/N sniggers, strolling around the Yucca tree to meet her horse. She finds it cute how the tough cowboy, who’s closing in on thirty, is beaming like a little kid. After ruffling Joplin’s mane, she takes a small case from one of the saddlebags, which holds her toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste. She has found a new level of appreciation for these simple products of hygiene, given that she has been stripped from luxury and has to do with the absolute necessary. Especially since she’s not just kissing Dean in her dreams these days.

     Looking forward to the day on his doorstep, Dean pulls his radio phone from the front saddlebag, turning it on and twisting the knob to find the channel.      “Benny? Come in?”      He lets go of the PTT button, the device beeping once when he does, then it’s quiet for a moment. Mirroring Y/N’s actions, he one handedly fishes out his toothbrush as well, but when his friend doesn’t respond, he pushes the talk button again.      “You better get your lazy ass out of bed, Lafitte. Gotta bring the horses in.”      Dean clips the radio to his belt. He has brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth and cleaned his face by the time the farrier replies.      “Good mornin’ to you too, Chief.”      Dean grins at the slightly cynical tone of the Southerner. He pushes the button again, moving the speaker closer to his mouth.       “We’re with the herd, on Black Top Mesa, close to Dutchman’s Trailhead. Ya’ll ready to move?”      “Sure am, just cooking up some breakfast to go. Do you want some or did you already eat out?”

     Y/N has never timed taking a sip of water worse, because it comes out through both her mouth and nose. Dean stares at her mortified before he snaps the walkie talkie to his mouth.      “She can hear ya, you jackass!” he returns, his voice higher than he anticipated.      “Oh, I bet she can.”      The head wrangler shuts his eyes and cringes, turning away from Y/N to hide his red face. His free hand goes for his belt loop first, then rubs the back of his neck, before wiping the sweat on the denim of his jeans. Shit, this is embarrassing.       “I - I - We… You know what? I don’t owe you an explanation,” he hisses into the radio phone.      “I’m just saying, brother, if you haven’t yet, it’s gonna take us at least forty five minutes to get to ya, so--”      “- Over and out, Benny!”

     Quickly, he turns the device off, breathes out, and scoffs. That son of a bitch. Dean isn’t sure how he’s going to make Benny pay just yet, but he will taste his wrath. He carefully glances over his shoulder to check on Y/N, who he finds with her hand clasped over her mouth, trying her very best to contain her giggles.      “You think that’s funny, huh?” he mutters, flustered.      She laughs warm and hearty, wiping tears from her eyes as she approaches the cowboy.      “You don’t need enemies with friends like him, that’s a given,” she chuckles.

     He glances at her, his mouth pulling into a smile. She can spot a hint of relief, now that he knows she’s taking it well, but blood still warms his cheeks, making his freckles invisible. It amazes her every single time how all that confidence washes away once he loses direction. Benny was just teasing him, Dean must be aware of that. Besides, it’s not like the green eyed wrangler to take things easy, as he said so himself, so it’s not strange his Southern friend figured he covered at least a couple of bases overnight. She can feel a blush add color to her face as well, when the thought crosses her mind. Honestly, she too silently hoped he would have gone ‘down that road’. 

     “Well, unfortunately he assumed wrong,” she addresses boldly, taking the collar of his stockman coat gently between her thumb and index finger, reeling him in. “But he was right about them taking at least forty five minutes to get here.”      Stunned eyes flick over her features, wondering if he’s imagining things or if she really just gained the confidence he’s lacking at this very moment. Once again she blows him off his feet with her newfound assertiveness, like she does every so often. Shit, she’s sexy when she takes the lead like that.       “He sure was,” he returns, his hands now moving to her waist.      “I know we agreed to take it easy,” she tilts her head slightly, folding her arms around his neck now. “So what should we do with all that time?”

     Dean smirks at her from under his hat, shaking his head amused without breaking eye contact. What a tease. He couldn’t resist her to save his own life. Her radiance is brighter than the rising sun behind her. The pull he’s experiencing, the level of attraction, it’s so strong; he knows he’s going to have a tough time sticking to his boundaries. He has to, though, he has to do right by her. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have a little fun along the way.      “I got a few ideas,” he implies.      Before Y/N knows it, the strong wrangler lifts her up, pulling a squeal from within her, followed by a fit of giggles. He adjusts his grip when she folds her legs around his middle, smothering her sly grin with a sweet kiss. The low chuckle that escapes his throat sounds both gentle and gruff, adding to the wholesome sensation that fills her chest.       By the Yucca tree, he lowers himself to the ground, still holding the cowgirl in his arms until she has found her balance and straddles his lap, a knee buried in the gravelly sand on either side of him. The intimate connection strengthens as they get lost in the moment, the laughs dying down, eyes falling shut. 

     Dean lets his fingers wander over the fabric of her clothes, tracing the lines of her neck, her spine, the curves of her hips. Feeling no pressure that this needs to lead somewhere right now calms him, because even though it’s proven to be difficult to keep their hands off each other, he knows she will give him the space he needs and, despite this little tease, she respects him more than he respects himself.       He makes a little mental note when she whimpers, as he continues to leave a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth, down her throat and her collarbone. Dean might not go down on the beautiful cowgirl today, but he will remember the little touches that make her sigh and squirm. 

     Their agreement to take it slow, combined with Benny’s remark, sparked something new. Since their first kiss, she has been willing, eager for more, but now that what she wants is just out of reach, she finds it difficult to control herself. He can tell in the way she touches him, the audible breaths that reach his hearing when their mouths aren’t sealed together, the longing in her eyes when she opens them for a brief second. Dean never thought he would say it, but taking their time might have an advantage he hadn’t considered before. Teasing him, tempting her… it’s an interesting way to pass the time. Making each other wait might feel like a torturous game right now, but when the moment does arrive for them to take things to the next level, it’s going to be something else. And just like that, the bachelor who didn’t waste a second to get around with so many women, doesn’t mind waiting for the one.

     The two lay together for at least half an hour, making out like teenagers. Sweet touches, cute giggles, all smiles. If they could freeze time, they would. But when Dean glances north and notices the dust clouds coming from La Barge Canyon, they have to interrupt the intimacy; Benny and the others are on their way.

     Five minutes later, Dean shrugs off his long coat, now that the sun has cast out the crisp of the night. He folds it up tightly and stuffs it into one of his saddlebags. Y/N has already mounted Joplin, at home in the Tucker trail saddle. The mare didn’t entirely awaken from her slumber apparently, because for once in her life, she stands still and doesn’t bounce around impatiently like a bronc in the holding box at the rodeo. Her rider has her wrists crossed on the horn, the reins casually between her fingers, as she stares at the herd ahead.       “That’s the leader, isn’t it?” she says.

     Dean turns his head, looking at the dark bay horse, who stands between them and his congeners. The animal stares back, ears perked forward, one of them flicking back to the herd every now and them. The stallion observes him carefully, he doesn’t seem entirely sure how to deal with the presence of humans. He’s alert, ready to bolt and take his herd to safety, yet at the same time curious. Understandable, because these youngsters spent most of their life living as feral horses, only seeing men when they were moved from the reservation to the large winter pastures closer to the ranch, and back to the mountains when spring was around the corner.       “Yeah, seems like it,” Dean confirms, watching the beautiful creature.      He returns his gaze to the task at hand, tying the sleeping bag behind Ted’s saddle, but then realization hits him. Wait a minute, is that…? The wrangler turns to face the interested horse again, who is looking at him from about two hundred yards away, like he seems to recognize the cowboy as well.      Y/N glances from the wrangler to the horse and back. “Dean?”

     But he doesn’t respond, slowly stepping away from Ted, narrowing his eyes to see better. The horse’s mane grew long, his forelock covering his face, the black hair growing all the way down to his nose, but a hint of a blaze still visible through the curtain. Dark brown eyes take Dean in as the stallion waits, so still that one could mistake him for a statue, save the wind playing with his tail. The low vegetation hides the white markings on his legs, so the wrangler can’t tell for sure. It can’t be. He couldn’t have grown that big, he wouldn’t be the alpha, he reminds himself. But besides the horse’s size and rank within the herd, there’s nothing that indicates the animal, isn’t him. 

     Dean moves his hand to his mouth, pressing the tabs of his thumb and index finger together, creating a circle, before he places them on his lips. He inhales and whistles sharply. The sheer, high-pitched sound moves across the land, reaching ears miles away. The ears the whistle was meant for, pick up the unique sound too and instantly the caution and doubt in the horse’s stance is gone. He neighs back, loud and strong, confirming Dean’s suspicion.      “Well, I’ll be damned…” he breathes.      “You two know each other?” Y/N wonders.      Dean beams. “Yeah, we go way back.”

     He leaves Ted and Y/N on top of the hill, carefully making his way down the slope without spooking the feral horse. But the stallion doesn’t feel threatened anymore, now that he recognizes Dean. He jogs up to him, taking a few more steps before he halts. Friendly eyes take in the wrangler, his nostrils flaring when Dean tentivally reaches, picking up his scent. As a content smile spreads across Dean’s face, he lets his fingertips brush the horse’s nose, soft as velvet. He takes another step, gliding the palm of his hand up his jaw now, to his cheek and then down his neck, following the flow of the horse’s dark hair. The short summer coat has already partly been replaced, now that the cold of winter will arrive in a month or so.       Last time Dean saw him, he was barely two years old. A youngster, a boney juvenile, who was a tad small. Obviously the fellow needed more time. That’s why the wrangler gave his horse another year to grow. It worked out well, because look at him now.      “Hey, bud,” Dean says softly, ruffling the horse’s mane. “You got big.”

     From a distance, Y/N watches the reunion. She doesn’t know the whole story, but the connection between man and animal is unmistakably strong. They have a place in each other’s hearts and even though they have been apart for a while, that didn’t change. The leader of the herd, who one would expect to be dominant, accepts a human touch without hesitation. It’s an unusual response for a horse who has lived off the grid for years. 

     Warmth fills her chest, a smile on her lips, similar to the one Dean carries. It’s incredible to witness him around the animals that captivate them both. She has enjoyed his interactions many times before, watching him handle them on the ground, seeing him ride. Always kind, always respectful. He has a way with horses that is special. Her grandfather would have said he’s gifted. He also would have given her a thumbs up. Grandpa always offered wise words, often followed by silence, the quiet giving them even more strength. One of his sayings comes to mind: You can judge a man’s character by the way he treats his horses. Well then, if that’s a given, then Dean is definitely one of the kindest and most loving souls she has come across.

     The wrangler rubs the stallion’s shoulder, before he slowly turns around. He tries to beckon the beautiful dark horse with a simple shoulder movement, using only body language to invite the large animal to follow him. After a moment of hesitation, during which the stallion glances at his herd and back at his human, he follows. No rope, no pressure, no constraint, but free will. It’s hard to miss the pleased expression on Dean’s face when he looks up at the cowgirl, who still watches from Joplin’s back.      “I know country boys aren’t known for manners, but aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” she jokes.

     The stallion stops at the bottom of the small hill, aware that as the leader of his group, he still has a task to fulfill. He stands tall, checking on the herd, the autumn breeze catching his tangled mane, folding his tail around his hind legs. He looks almost mythical.      “His name is Rock N’ Roll.” Dean takes him in, proudly. “But he goes by Rock’o.”      “Is he yours?” she asks, curiously.      The wrangler nods. “I was there when he was born. He had a rough start in life. I bottle fed him the first couple of months.”      Amazed, she smiles at him. “No wonder you two are close.”             He returns her expression, taking a moment to absorb the image of both the woman who is conquering his heart, and his horse who already claimed it years ago.       “It’s gonna be much easier to bring in the herd with him on our side,” Dean says, moving to Ted’s left side, after which he puts his foot in the stirrup and swings the other over the saddle. “We have to handle it delicately, but he trusts me.”      “You think he will follow you?” Y/N assumes, keeping Joplin on the spot, who seems to have woken up from her nap, now that Dean mounted his horse as well.      “No, but he will keep the herd together. It's a misconception that the stallion leads the group. They are usually in the rear, driving up stragglers,” Dean explains.

     The head wrangler glances over his shoulder at the growing dust cloud, an indication that Benny and the rest of the crew are closing in. Within a minute, he spots the four riders and their pack horses coming over the hill. The mischievous grin on the Southerner’s face can be spotted from far away.      “Had a nice mornin’ ride, Chief?” he nags under his breath, once he has joined the two riders.      Dean shoots him a glare, his fiery green eyes demanding him to shut up without using actual words. Y/N heard the farrier, however, and no one is prepared for the comeback.      “Oh, we didn’t have time. Forty-five minutes isn’t nearly enough for what I had in mind,” she counters casually.

     Dean snorts, caught by surprise, while Benny cocks his head at the intern, staring at her bug-eyed. Y/N doesn’t give the the blue-eyed cowboy another second of her attention and leads her horse to Ted, her fingertips briefly touching Dean’s thigh as she passes him, before she rides down the hill, her head held high.      Amused, the head wrangler waits for his friend to catch the wide grin on his face, which he does once Benny snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head sniggering, his laugh rumbling deep and low in his chest.      “Brother, you are in way over your head,” he states. “She’s a pistol.”      Dean admittingly raises his brow, nodding in agreement while watching her ride off.      “She sure is.” 

     “Yah!”      In full gallop Y/N speeds up along the left flank of the herd, directing the horses back to a compact group every time they fan out. Benny and Macy are leading, Dean tailing, while Brad and Jon cover the right side. The head wrangler wasn’t lying when he said that it was going to be exciting, because she feels like she’s living a Wild West fantasy. 

     Joplin has her ears in her neck as she sprints away, cutting off two stallions who fan out. Her rider doesn’t even have to give a signal, the feisty dark mare knows exactly what to do. Even though she is smaller than the others, she stands her ground and didn’t think twice when one of the juvenile stallions took an interest in her. With a squeal and a firm kick she made clear not to mess with her, her zero-tolerance attitude keeping them at a safe distance. Y/N had a hunch Joplin was good at the job, otherwise Dean wouldn’t have chosen the strong minded horse for his intern, but she didn’t expect her partner to be this fierce. Unflagging, focussed, and fast as a bullet. It’s an absolute thrill to work with her.

     They pursued the herd into O’Grady Canyon, the higher cliffs on both sides helping the wranglers keep them together. They passed the rock formations of Tim’s Saddle and Dean and Y/N briefly exchanged a look and a smile as they crossed the small creek. Revisiting the place where they shared their first kiss only two days ago feels special, that night’s energy still in the air. So much has happened since, and yet their journey has only just begun. 

     After a quick drinking pause, they continued, before the herd could fall apart. Some of the animals are restless, while others follow a lot more calmly. Using horses instead of dirt bikes or even a helicopter is a lot less stressful for the feral animals, but being chased makes them nervous nonetheless. Rocko’s laid back attitude towards the humans keeps the panic in the herd contained to a minimum, though. 

     Thankfully, the weather is working in their favor for a change. A cool breeze is sweeping across the terrain and swishing through the canyons, keeping the temperature from rising to the heights it reached in the past couple of days. It’s a good thing the conditions are a lot more tolerable, because the riding is intense. The wind, together with the stampede, does kick up a lot of sand, engulfing the wranglers in clouds of earthy particles. Dean, being at the back of the herd, has pulled his neckerchief over his nose, keeping the dust from entering his lungs. 

     Halfway through the afternoon, the wranglers have managed to guide the group of horses safely down the slopes on the east banks of the Superstitions. A time consuming detour, but crossing the mountains without a herd is challenging enough, not to mention with over a dozen wild animals added to the clan. After descending the much smoother slopes for hours on end, the canyon functioning as a tunnel and relieving the pressure from the riders, the walls on either side fan out. Before them lays the valley, the small town of Gold Canyon in the far distance to the west, the sun edging towards it as the day begins to close in on the night. 

     “Yankee!”      It’s Dean who gets her attention, his voice rising above the sound of the stampede. Y/N turns in the saddle while she continues to follow the movement of her horse with her hips. Behind her, three young stallions have wandered away from the group in a matter of seconds. Joplin hasn’t noticed them yet, fixed on holding the flank ahead, but when her rider moves her hand to the left, she rolls away like a fighter jet. The little dark mare needs no encouragement and is at full speed within five strides, shooting across the terrain at a speed of forty miles an hour. Y/N has bent over Joplin’s neck, staying low in order to increase the aerodynamics. The fast rhythmic sound of hoofbeats tremor the ground, the wind rushes in her ears and drags tears from the corners of her eyes. The two cut off the youngsters, redirecting them back to the herd like they have been doing this together for years. Y/N’s partner in crime pushes her ears back and snaps her teeth, not so kindly advising the horses to hurry it up or else, triggering her rider to grin at her feisty character. Once the three join the others, the cowgirl lets out a cheer, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Dean was absolutely right, this is just like a spaghetti western. 

     They ride along the promontory of the mountains to their right, roughly following the Lost Goldmine trail. By the time the company passes a volcanic remnant called Turk’s Head, the sky begins to change, adding orange to the blues. A glance at her old watch tells her it’s 5.10 PM. Three days ago she kept feeling her back pocket for her phone whenever she needed to know the time, or felt the urge to check her messages, but not having her Iphone with her turns out to be a blessing in disguise. Who would want to stare at a screen and miss all the good stuff? 

     Ted’s strides are long and consistent, not a trace of fatigue noticeable with the bay gelding. From behind the group, Dean should have a good overview, if it wasn’t for the dust clouds obstructing his vision. The small particles cling to his skin, his lashes, the fabric of his clothes. He can still see the boys holding their ground well on the right, the steep slopes running up into the peaks of the Flatiron assisting them, working as a funnel. Benny and Macy are keeping a good pace; if they continue at this speed, they will be home before dinner. Y/N is doing outstanding on the other flank, forming a dream team with eager little Joplin. Thankfully, Dean has eyes up ahead, because the radio on his belt begins to crack.      “Two miles to go, Chief!”      Dean takes the radio phone and presses the PTT button before he answers.      “Let’s bring them home, brother.”

     With his thumb he twists the channel nob, switching to number four, before he calls in again. They should be within the perimeter now. “Bobby, do you read me?”      It’s quiet for a moment, but then the static breaks.      “Loud and clear, son.”      The head wrangler smiles, glad to be delivering good news after three days and nights filled with nerve wrecking moments. Treacherous terrain, suffocating heat. Drought, snakes, minor injuries.       “We’re comin’ in hot. Thirty minutes.”      “The gates are open. I’ll tell Ellen to put the casserole in the oven.”      Dean’s mouth begins to water when his aunt’s famous dish is mentioned. No disrespect to Benny, but after all that canned food, he can’t wait to sink his teeth into that delicious corn, beef, and onion stocked, stomach filling meal.      “In that case, I’ll make it twenty. Over.”      “We’re ready for ya. Over and out.”

     The head wrangler hooks the radio back on his belt and glances aside. Rocko is galloping about thirty yards to his left, ahead by a few nose lengths. Sweat shimmers on his neck and shoulders, his dark bay coat almost black now. With big, powerful strides he pushes forward like a steam train, yet agile, maneuvering past rocks, cacti, and bushes. Even untrained, he has grown into a strong horse. Dean can’t wait to work with him. To strengthen that bond even more, to teach him. Watching the stallion by his side and under Dean’s wing as it were, fills him with pride already. It’s at this moment that Dean realizes; this horse is going to be something else.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part sixteen here

[starkerforlife6969]

@starkermoodboards hi friendo um imma just request a thing then leave. can u do like a v soft like pastel peter with gang leader tony? and like maybe peter had a bf before tony and the bf was an asshole so tony just like helps peter then swoops off with the soft boi. and like all the fluff plz. ily friendo!!!!!!!!! sorry if you don’t want requests :(

TW: mentions of abuse (Peter’s bf is abusive) + violence

The boy walks past exactly on time.

Tony grins, pushing off his bike and wolf-whistling. Peter stops, face breaking into a wide smile, as he glances both ways down the road before skipping over like the little wood sprite he is. He’s carrying two cups, and he holds one out for Tony with a shy little smile.

Goddamn, Peter Parker is beautiful. This morning Tony had to press his gun hard against the temple of some moron, and now, he’s watching as the sunrise glints red over Peter’s beautiful, honey eyes. “I got you a coffee!” Peter beams, his beat up brown satchel strap almost slipping off one shoulder. It tugs the fluffy pink pastel sweater further down; showing a tantalising slip of that gorgeous white collar.

Tony takes it warmly. This close to Peter, he has to look down at the tiny boy, and Peter has to crane back to look up at him. The boy is so small, Tony could envelop him in his arms. He wants to feel Peter cuddled up in his leather, wants to see the boy squeal as Tony takes him for a ride on his bike.

“Thank you, gorgeous,” he drawls, watching as Peter blushes again. “Did you get yourself a hot chocolate?”

Pretty honey eyes slide away. The kid’s a shit liar. His face is so open, so expressive. Tony’s grateful. He doesn’t like liars, and Peter’s face is too beautiful to be hiding anything.

“Pete…” he mutters, and Peter laughs shakily, readjusting his strap and shrugging as he sips from his cup.

He winces a little at the taste, though he tries frantically to hide it. Tony frowns. Peter looks away. “Um, no, it’s just- Dave thought maybe- I should cut back a little on- he thought I-“ Peter laughs again, but it’s a horrible sounding thing. “This is a low-fat black coffee, it’s- it’s nice, really.” He insists.

Anger spreads through him- a furious hatred to the man he’s never met, a pure, dangerous loathing, as he reaches out and grabs the offending drink from Peter’s dainty hand.

“Tony!” Peter exclaims, reaching out for it, “it’s okay, honestly-“

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?” Tony snarls, so angry he can hardly appreciate the gorgeous glow on Peter’s cheek- that little delighted sparkle he gets in his eyes at a compliment. Like he’s not used to them. Like he’s not used to someone telling him he’s perfect. “You don’t have to change a fucking thing, baby. I’m gonna put a bullet in his head if he ever-“

“Tony!” Peter exclaims again, softer this time. “It’s okay, really.”

He hasn’t even realised he’s destroyed both their drinks. His thick fingers breaking through the paper cups so hot liquid is trickling down his hands onto the ground. It’s not boiling, thankfully, but Peter would never give him a drink too hot. The boy is perfect.

“Come here,” Tony whispers, tugging Peter in for a hug. Peter squeaks in surprise, before melting into him. He fits so perfectly into Tony’s chest, those thick, soft curls nestled under Tony’s chin. Tony wants to keep him here. Keep him safe.

It’s almost unreal, knowing someone like Peter Parker. But Tony’s nephew- Harley- had talked about a boy who hadn’t snitched when Harley had needed an alibi for his whereabouts on a Saturday night. One Peter Parker had promised that he and Harley had been at the library; studying, and because of Peter’s impeccable record, the police had believed him.

Tony doesn’t think Harley’s ever even set foot in the library.

But he’d tailed the so called Peter Parker, to see if he was someone they’d have to worry about, and what he’d found was the most gorgeous set of eyes, and friendly smile, and someone who didn’t seem to care that Tony smelt of gun smoke and was so quick to violence that any other person would’ve flinched-

Peter never did. He was sweet and open and appallingly good-natured. So trusting and delicate, that Tony had vowed in that moment to protect him.

To love him. Forever.

“I gotta go to class,” Peter murmurs apologetically, even as he burrows further into Tony’s shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here, baby,” he promises, reaching for a cigarette. Peter nods, smiling.

“Stay safe, Tony!”

Tony chuckles at that, and is so fucking endeared as Peter waves at him as he bounds off into the distance.

“That boy is somethin’ else,” Bucky mutters, appearing out of nowhere to straddle his bike. “Looks like a fuckin’ princess, boss. If anyone knew he was with you, they’d-“

“Well that won’t happen.” Tony snaps, blowing smoke out of his mouth angrily. “Because he’s got our protection, doesn’t he?”

“Sure he does.” Bucky promises. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

Tony nods at him. “That’s why you’re my second.”

* Peter’s a few minutes late the next morning. It’s drizzly, but warm, but the rain feels dirty on Tony’s skin. His leather’s hung up on his bike’s handles, and his tank top is stained with motor oil.

It’s only a few minutes, but it’s enough to have him worrying. His hand keeps fingering the trigger of his gun- before Peter appears.

He’s in white denim shorts, his long, cream legs on display before they go into frilly white socks and neat high tops- the laces done up to little bows. His sweater is bright yellow on the grey day- much too big for him, it nearly hides his shorts, as he bounds over. He’s got a brown backpack on today, and his hair looks messier than usual. it’s adorable.

The very sight of him makes Tony’s cock twitch, and the hand around his heart loosens in relief.

“Tony! I think it’s gunna rain!” He cries, rushing towards him. “I didn’t bring an umbrella!” He pouts, and Tony wants to ravish him.

Peter leaps into Tony’s arms, hugging him tightly, and Tony breathes him in. He smells of strawberry body wash and lemon shampoo, and something floral- fragrant and warm. “You’re late, gorgeous,” he whispers, “I was worried.”

“Sorry,” Peter says earnestly, though he doesn’t offer an excuse. “Hey, Bucky,”

“Doll.” Bucky nods, allowing a small smile.

“You can take my jacket.” Tony murmurs, though in reality he’s been looking for an opportunity to see Peter in his clothes for a long time. “Protect your little sunshine outfit from the rain.”

Peter’s cheeks flood rose, but he shakes his head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t!”

“Baby, I’m insisting-“

“No, Tony, really,” Peter says, voice more worried. “It’s better if-“ he reaches out, to stop Tony from picking up his jacket, and that’s when the sleeve of his sweater slides up, and Tony freezes as he sees the dark blue bruise around Peter’s delicate wrist.

Bucky lets out a hiss behind him, and Peter frowns- before realising, and jerking his hand back.

“It’s nothing!” He cries, sleeve falling back down. “I-Tony-“

“Did he do this?” Tony whispers, trying to keep his voice low. He doesn’t want to scare Peter. Not his perfect boy. How could someone do this? To a boy so beautiful? So sweet? Peter is a ball of sunshine and good intentions- only wants the best for everyone- is the most darling slip of a thing- the most beautiful-

“It was an accident!” Peter cries, “i swear, he didn’t mean to- he’s never- never hurt me before, we were just fighting and he- he didn’t want me to go so he grabbed my hand, but he’s- he’s never hurt me before, Tony, I swear.”

Tony stares into those honey eyes for a long time, before he nods. Peter’s telling the truth. He can see that. He brings Peter’s wrist to his mouth and kisses it- very softly. “I believe you, sweetheart. It was the first time. But it was also the last time.” No one will ever mar this skin again.

“Tony, don’t-“ crystal tears gather in those gorgeous eyes, “- don’t hurt him.”

“I’m gonna do a lot worse than that-“

“Tony.” Peter hiccups, flinging himself into Tony’s arms. “Promise.”

Tony lifts Peter up- he’s so goddamn light- and sets him on his bike. “I promise.” He mutters, reluctantly, but he looks at Bucky meaningfully. His second nods in understanding. “Now, Pete, look at me, baby.”

Peter does- so trusting, so open- Tony adores him.

“You’re gonna break up with him, okay? Today, Peter. Is that okay?”

Peter nods slowly. “That’s okay.” He whispers. “I don’t think he- I don’t think he really likes me anyway.”

Who gives a shit what that bastard likes? Tony thinks. It’s about Peter. Who Peter likes. “I like you.” He murmurs. “I really like you.”

Peter goes a furious red. “I like you too.”He mumbles.

“Aww.” Bucky goes, and Tony glares at him.

* Healing takes a long while, but Tony has time.

He buys Peter frothy hot chocolates teeming with whipped cream and marshmallows. Tells him how beautiful he is everyday. Over and over and over again, and some days Peter has trouble believing it- but other days, he giggles like he’s beginning to think it’s true.

Tony only ever touches him gently. Because Peter is something to be cherished. His touch is soft, adoring, and Peter nuzzles into him for comfort and safety, and then just because he wants to.

Peter is a vision on Tony’s bike. Tony’s going to buy Peter one of his own- a nice little red number. Something sexy for his boy.

And then when Peter’s ready, Tony’s going to fuck him so deeply that Peter’s toes will curl- and he won’t remember anyone else. Won’t remember ever being with anyone else.

Tony will worship him. Adore him. Treat him how he should always have been treated.

“Well goddamn, pretty boy,” Tony hisses, a long time later, when Peter pads into the bedroom in nothing but Tony’s leather jacket and a pair of pink panties. “Are you trying to kill me, baby?” He reaches out with greedy hands, hoisting Peter into his lap, so those perfect legs are straddling his thighs and he can touch that brilliant skin.

“I’m pretty?” Peter whispers, ducking his head shyly. He needs reassurance. Everyone still does, sometimes.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Tony groans, voice husky, and Peter beams, nuzzling his neck and pressing butterfly kisses down his throat.

“Will you fuck me, Tony?” He asks innocently, so goddamn gorgeous, and Tony nods- incapable of forming words- “And after- maybe we can order dessert if you- if you want-“

“After I’ve fucked you, baby, I’m gonna get you a whole chocolate fountain, how’s that sound?”

Peter giggles, grinding down eagerly. “Kinda kinky. I’m into it.”

Tony laughs, before capturing those lips for a kiss.

[brightsun-and-darkmidnight]

Bonds

TITLE: Bonds

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 4 / ?

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki assuming your nephew is your son. He’s not totally wrong, though, since you’ve been the boy’s legal guardian for a couple of years now. Plus, you do play a convincing “mother” role. (more to the imagine in link)

RATING:  M (Swearing, maybe some violence and MAYBE some smut)

NOTES/WARNINGS: I don’t want to give too much away but obviously adoption takes place. Talks of abandonment. Angst. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: YAY! Some more Loki and Raelynn interactions!

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

LENGTH: As usual I will try to keep to my 3,000 words per chapter.

*FINALLY..Read the warnings. Once you agree you can handle it...

 ~ ~ ENJOY  ~ ~

Looking at herself in the mirror Raelynn cursed. “Natasha I can’t go and see everyone like this!”

Natasha walked into her room. Headed straight for her closet, flipping through the clothes. “You need a new set of clothes.”

Raelynn scoffed. “Sorry my clothes don’t scream, “Look at me. I’m single and ready to get mingle.” Because I am not ready to mingle.”

Natasha threw a tank top and long sleeved cardigan on the bed. She threw a pair of jeans on the bed too. Then she searched through the very few shoes Raelynn had, she picked a pair of heeled ankle boots. “Next time we go shopping.”

Raelynn rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Now get out so I can change.”

Natasha went to the door but turned at the door. “Make sure you wear your best bra.”

Raelynn groaned, “Natasha. I swear you are terrible.”

“I am a great friend. Don’t lie to me.” With that said, Natasha shut the door.

Once Raelynn left her room she saw Natasha looking her up and down. 

Natasha spoke. “Definitely going shopping.” Then she turned with her purse towards the door.

“There is nothing wrong with my clothes!” Raelynn sighed heavily as she grabbed her jacket and purse, following her friend to the car.

---

Loki took his turn to throw the darts.

The men agreed to having “male bonding time.” Which consisted of drinking, sports on the TV and playing various games, such as darts.

Clint watched as Loki got 2 of the 3 darts in the center.

The elevator door opened causing Tony to yell, “GIRLS!”

Loki rolled his eyes before throwing the dart. However, just as he was letting go of the dart, Thor patted Loki roughly. 

Thor’s voice boomed, “Lady Natasha has returned with Lady Raelynn! Grand news!”

Loki looked to the entrance, his eyes instantly set on Raelynn… His heart fluttered at seeing her. She has always been gorgeous since the first time that he laid eyes on her. Her outfit was motherly, with a more casually comfy look as well. She pulled the mother look very well. 

“I win.”

Loki turned to Clint, then observed the dartboard… Clint had certainly won. Loki’s dart was in the wall. 

Clint pulled the dart out of the wall and handed it to Loki with amusement in his eyes, “Care to try again. It seems you were distracted.”

Loki ignored Clint and threw the dart in the center again, then walked away. He walked to Raelynn, helping her out of her jacket. He hung the jacket on the chair.

She gave him a shy smile. “Thank you Loki.”

Tony grinned, “Where’s the Kid?”

Raelynn’s smile disappeared for a moment, making Loki want to throw Stark. But Loki waited because he was curious as well.

“He is at a friend’s house tonight. Slumber party.”

Tony nodded. “Okay. But what are the two of you doing here? You are interrupting boy time.”

Natasha smirked and looked to Raelynn. “I leave the boys alone and they throw a party.”

Loki watched Raelynn laugh, and let the others catch up with her. Natasha went to pack a bag, apparently staying at Raelynn’s for the night. Tony offered her a drink but she just had some sparkling water.

Listening to Raelynn talk he discovered tonight was the first time she let Travis spend the night at a friend’s house. She seemed to be upset about it underneath the brave front that everyone else fell for. 

She talked about Travis. His love for animals unmatched, and he has been begging her for a pet. He has a ton of friends at school, as well as a particular bully she's worried about. Travis was doing very well in school, he does struggle with math though.

Tony shrugged. “Bring him here and I’ll teach him some cool stuff to do with numbers.”

Bruce laughed, “Your math is a little too advanced.”

Tony looked offended. “I can teach simple math! You don’t think I can, is that it? Bring the kid sometime. I got a whole lesson planned out. He will love it.”

Raelynn looked worried, “No you don’t need to do that.”

Tony waved his hand. “Nope. I gotta prove I can do it now. I will get my suits involved and the kid will love it.”

Raelynn spoke evenly, “Travis.”

Tony spoke, “I knew that.”

Loki mumbled, “Going to teach Travis simple math, but you can’t manage to remember the boy’s name?”

Clint chuckled a little, “I would like to see him again.”

Raelynn smiled sheepishly. “I know… I was supposed to bring him over.”

Thor beamed, “It has been settled. We shall invite the little one here and teach him valuable lessons!”

Everyone looked at the other and Raelynn laughed a little. “I can see if it is something he wants to do.”

Natasha came back with a bag. “We could pick him up and bring him tomorrow.”

Raelynn nodded with a shrug. “We will see what happens tomorrow.”

Loki felt excited at seeing Raelynn tomorrow.

He wondered what he could contribute to the boy’s knowledge…

---

Raelynn smiled as everyone said they missed her, and very strongly insisted on her visiting with Travis.

She laughed at everyone trying to figure out activities to teach Travis things and the jabs from the others. “Okay, I will see what he wants to do tomorrow.”

Her phone and watch notified her of a call coming in. Excusing herself to answer the call from Travis.

“Hey Kiddo.”

Travis yawned. “John’s mom gave me crackers and ginger ale. My tummy feel a little better. The movie is over and I think I am going to stay here.”

Raelynn smiled, “Okay Kiddo. If you need anything just let me know.”

“I will.”

“Hey.. I am at the Avengers tower, Natasha is going to stay the night with me so we had to get her a bag. Everyone here wants to meet you. Would you want to come here for a little tomorrow?”

“YEAH! That sounds like fun!”

Raelynn heard the excitement in his voice as the second wind kicked in. “Make sure you sleep, Okay?”

“I will try but I might meet the Avengers. You can’t just tell me something like that and expect me to sleep with this information!”

“Oh boy…” Raelynn smiled a little but regretted telling about it before he was supposed to go to bed. “Just promise me you will go lay down and ATTEMPT to sleep.”

“I guess I can promise that.”

She heard the promise but didn’t entirely believe it with the tone he used. “Goodnight Kiddo. I will see you tomorrow. After breakfast let me know when you want picked up.”

“OKAY! Goodnight, Rae Rae.”

And with that the call was ended.

She shook her head in amusement. She announced that Travis was excited about tomorrow.

Everyone looked to Thor at his outburst of suggesting a movie.

“Oh. Um…”

Natasha shrugged, “Up to you.”

Raelynn bit her lip for a moment. “I guess we could stay. We were probably just going to stay up for a while anyway.”

Everyone went to the TV after getting some snacks. Somehow Loki and Raelynn were the last ones to sit and were placed next to the other.

Loki offered her some of his chocolate bar.

Smiling, she accepted the offer, exchanging for some chips. Throughout the movie they would exchange a few things, passing the bowl of popcorn around the room, but it seemed to stay with them. Occasionally their hands would brush the other as they reached in the bowl absentmindedly, preoccupied with the movie.

The brush of his hand sent a familiar sense of belonging to Raelynn. Like his hands were hers to hold, and his hands would alway be there to protect her. It was a simple comfort that yelled belonging to Raelynn. She allowed herself to bask in the feeling for a few moments, but with Travis in mind.

Would Loki extend his protection to Travis? Raelynn couldn’t bother with anyone who wouldn’t protect Travis first.

She threw the thoughts, the wishes, away. 

“Are you okay?”

Raelynn smiled at Loki, realizing she was worrying her lip. “Yeah.”

Loki gave her a lingering look. The same look he would give her when she would lie, just as she did. “If you are sure.”

“Don’t worry. I’m okay.” Raelynn reached in the popcorn bowl, realizing it was gone. She took the bowl from Loki. “I’m gonna get more.”

She expected Loki to stay where he was, but he took the bowl with him to the kitchen.

“You can go watch the movie. I can make more.” But that didn’t stop Loki from getting more popcorn ready.

He turned to her after starting the popcorn, “What’s wrong?”

She looked at him wide eyed. Stuttering, “Nothing.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “Rae… Talk to me.”

She shrugged looking away. “It isn’t something I wanna talk about. I promise I’m okay though, just sorting through some thoughts.”

Loki’s chest swelled with air before sighing. “Well. If you need to talk I am here. Just don’t be a stranger again.”

Raelynn looked at the microwave as the popcorn started to pop. “I appreciate it Loki.”

Loki leaned against the counter. “I don’t want to loose you again.”

---

Loki cursed himself for the admission. Especially when Raelynn looked at him with wondering eyes.

He looked elsewhere briefly before admitting. “You are an amazing person Rae, and with you gone I had to depend on those fools for entertainment.”

Raelynn smiled a little. “Loki I thought we talked about not calling the teammates names.”

Loki shrugged and grinned. “It’s the truth.”

The popcorn stopped popping and Loki retrieved the bag, pouring it into the bowl. “Butter?”

“You know that answer.”

Loki’s lips pulled into a small smile as he got the butter out. He put the butter in a bowl, then in the microwave. “I do know that answer.”

She smiled back at him. 

Loki was curious about the earlier statement, "so Travis' first time over at a friend's?"

Nibbling on her lip for a moment. “I was really nervous about letting Travis go but he seems to be doing very well. Got a little case of home sickness though.”

Loki smiles, “I can understand the homesickness to a point.”

Raelynn tilts her head in thought, “Have you been able to visit Asgard again?”

Loki looks out the window. “No. Not yet.”

Raelynn offers a kind smile, “I hope you are able to soon.”

“My mother tries to talk with me sometimes.”

Loki watched Raelynn smile warmly. 

“How is she doing?”

Loki shrugged, turning to retrieve the butter from the microwave. “She seems to be okay. Claims to miss Thor and I.”

“Neither of you have been to Asgard in a few months. I am going my first night without Travis and its… Hard. I can’t imagine what your mother feels.”

“Well… It is sentenced, by Odin,  that I do my community service here. I was only back at Asgard to report in.” Loki got the butter and poured it over the popcorn. He smiled a little, setting the popcorn in front of Raelynn. "I don't like the soggy popcorn."

Raelynn’s face dropped to a brief moment of upset then turned to teasing, "you could have got some out before dumping the butter over the whole bag."

Loki shrugged, "I know."