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morphoportiswrites · 6 years ago

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Riots. - Chapter Two: Please...

Summary: After finding Bane wounded and dying in Gotham City Hall, you have to make a decision. Your friends or him?

Pairing: Bane (TDKR) x Reader

Word Count: 2022

Warnings: Lots of swearing

Author’s Note: So here it is, the second chapter! I hope it’s not too boring? I really know how to drag things on, don’t I? Hahaha! (Also tumblrs formating is pissing me off. XD) And again: English is not my first language.

(Y/NN = Your nickname) (Found the gif on giphy!)

Chapter Two: Please...

Bane's grip was awfully tight around your neck and you were a 100% sure, even in his weakened state, this man was able to break it with one simple and swift move. For a split second you thought about ways to free yourself from his hand but another thing you were pretty sure about was, that he'd catch you by your hair.

“Seriously? I'm just trying to help you, man”, your mouth complained before your brain could actually rate the words coming out of it as a teensy bit inept. Nice. Way to get yourself out of this mess. To be honest, you had never been someone to shut their pie hole when situations required it.

Bane's eyes practically shot daggers at you. Stare still. Somewhat furious... but there was something else in them. Something you couldn't quite place. Fear? Pain? Confusion?

Bane was confused. What initially had triggered his reflex to defend himself, that no one could be trusted and everyone was just out to get him... there was nothing of it in your eyes. Assessing your motives, something told him, you meant every word you said. It was odd and frankly he was surprised by himself when he felt the muscles in his arm and hand shift.

You felt his fingers loosen and were able to pull away. Not trying to panic, you breathed in and out. In and out. While rubbing your neck. You could still feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin. If there was one feeling you hated, it was that of being physically restrained or downright inferior. Honestly, you had assumed this was the last time of you being cheeky in a situation like this. He could have hurt you so easily.

Now it was your turn to look somewhat confused and you were about to speak when you heard footsteps moving quickly down the stairs in the large hallway of the entrance. One pair halted in the door frame of the room you recently occupied and you turned your head around to see who it was. “You were right, Y/NN. An absolute waste of time and energy. Maybe a couple of pieces of furniture but too big and heavy to actually keep this a short time visit”, Cable, who's given name was actually Greg, admitted.

Told you so, crossed your mind for a moment but being sassy was not the major priority right now. “Look what I found though...”, you uttered and nodded into the direction of the almost lifeless body laying in front of you. Cable not being able to see what you meant, came closer.

“Shit! Is that... Bane?”

“Yes, and-”

“Fuck!”, he crossed the rest of the room and came to a halt next to you. “Wow, someone beat him up well”, a bemused snicker escaped Cable's lips.

“I need your help.” Another confused look.

“With what?”

“We need to get him out of here”, matter of factly.

“Excuse me?!... No, this... nah”, Cable pulled a face and lifted his hands in a defensive motion.

“He needs help or he'll die, Greg!”

“Sorry doll, but this is too risky for me... getting caught with him... and to be honest... he already looks fucking dead.” In any other situation you would have not let his degrading nickname for you slip past.

“That's because he's dying, you stupid fuck!”, you felt your face getting heated.

Cable put on his helmet and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it's better that way”, it seemed like he thought that now was his turn to sound matter of factly, as he put on his motorcycle gloves.

There it was. Your breaking point. The anger rushing from your head through your whole body, had you up in no time, when you both heard a voice yelling his name. It sounded urgent. Maybe someone from the group had turned on police radio and they weren't far.

In just one or two seconds more, a whole lot of things happened. Inside your head at least. In milliseconds your mind raced through your memories and replayed moment after moment you had spent together with the group. Things had been nice at the beginning. Nice and simple. You all had had the same goal. Or so you had thought it seemed. Sure, none of you was a saint in all of this but was this group still what you initially had joined it for? Were you all still on the same page? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor? The last couple of heists had ended pretty violently and you had done nothing to prevent or stop it. You were as guilty as them.

Was that still you? What had happened to the girl calling people out on their bullshit? Even physically fighting for people who needed help? Fighting school yard bullies, mobsters, men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves?

So much more rushed through your mind. Situation after situation that had you made feel more and more alienated and cut off from the others. Had you overthink and doubt everything you were doing. Into all of this you felt fury pouring in. Was that guy in front of you still that chill dude you'd hooked up with a few times? Right now he was a bit too chill for your taste. If you thought about it, you had never gotten to know any of them, really. Who was to say Greg hadn't been a complete ass before, already? But refusing to help someone who was dying? This was it.

“Piss off.”

“What?”

“You heard me right, Greg. Piss off”, you almost spit in his face. Another cold shrug of his shoulders and he was gone out the door. A couple of moments later, the sound of engines could be heard and every other second if faded away gradually.

Your eyes fell back to Bane's face. Okay... you knew where to get him, you only needed a plan to get him out of here. Preferably as fast as possible. The sirens of police cars could be heard far in the distance of the city. Turning your gaze from the man's eyes, yours scanned the room yet again. This time for something that could be of use but nothing seemed obviously helpful in your endeavours or trigger an idea.

Quickly your feet carried you out of the room, the building and to your motorcycle. Without thinking twice, your hands opened the hatch at the back of the small trailer that was connected to your bike and emptied all the stolen valuables on to the street. So, now you knew how to transport the masked man. Just not how to get him down here. His injury was probably way too severe for him to waste too much strength on carrying his own weight.

“Think, think, think!”, you said out loud and gave your forehead a few good pats. Again your feet started moving. It had always been like that since you had been a child. Either your feet knew where to lead you or walking helped you to get your brain into motion as well, ideas flooding in. This time they made you pace up and down next to your bike. And you were about to give up on their stimulating support this time and go back inside, when your feet made you trip over something and fall hands first down on the pavement. Looking back at what had caught your two fellas attention, your eyes spotted a rolled up rug. You knew you could always count on them.

This morning you had taken the rug from the house of a guy who had the walls of his home plastered with photos of himself. The only face you found was a movie poster from The Big Lebowski right above a cosy sofa with a rug in front of it that tied the room together. You had to take this thing with you just to simply fuck with this wannabe playboy. It had been more of a meta joke to take it but you never thought the sight of a rug could've made you feel inspiration, excitement and relieve. You quickly got up on your feet again.

Bane hadn't expected to see your face ever again when you had left, so he did what this cruel world had made him exceptionally good at. Surviving. He knew his chances were small, certainly non-existent, but if he'd be able to block out the pain, as his mask partly did for him and as he was trained to do in greater detail and intensity all his life, he might could get a few blocks away from here. There he would die in the darkness, hidden from the world, he was sure. Anything was better than being in the hands of the police. Getting thrown in a cage again.

As he was about to slip into some kind of trance, to disassociate himself from the pain in his body, he felt something from the outside pulling him back. A physical impulse. And a voice. Muffled. The voice started sounding clearer as he shifted his mind back to reality again, clinging to the pain to guide him back. “Bane!”, he opened his eyes to the sound of his name. And there it was again. The face of that girl.

And there he was again. You exhaled deeply with more than some relieve. The moment you had seen him with his eye lids closed, you had feared the worst. Feared? What kind of thought was that? And what was he to you anyway? A terrorist? Scratch that. Someone who was about to die infront of your eyes and you couldn't let that happen, could you? No matter who he was.

“I'm really sorry about this...”, you apologised in advance for the increase of pain he was going to feel from what you had in mind. You rolled out the rug next to him, fuzzy side down. This way it would function as a poor excuse of a stretcher you could drag across the sleek marble floor and thus be able to get someone his weight out of here. “You've got to help me a bit to get you onto this thing”, you explained. For a moment you could see the hesitation in his tense body, the suspicion in his eyes. The sirens of the police cars cut through the silence between the two of you. Definitely closer than before. You held out your hand to grab. “Please...”, a whisper. Almost pleading.

Heavy breathing grew heavier as Bane's hand grabbed yours. Luckily you weren't opposed to work heavy physically and nature had you made with a bit of counterweight anyway, so you weren't pulled down by his. Together you managed to get him on the rug, his agitated breathing was the only sign of pain you could read off of him, and you wasted no time to pull on it. It wasn't as easy as you had wished it to be, with all the rubble specking the way out. Tomorrow you'd definitely have sore muscles but that was a ridiculous price you were willing to pay to get both of you out of all of this. Alive.

The stairs were the short way but no option, so you played it safe and dragged him down the long wheelchair ramp at the outside. As soon as you reached the back of the trailer and hold out your hand another time, Bane's already held on to it. Either way he had realised how close the cops were now or... no, don't you think like that, Y/N! You scolded yourself while you helped the man who was easily a head taller than you and built like a brick wall into the vehicle. With a few quick movements you fastened the top cover to hide Bane from eventual encounters with the officials and other folk, and hopped onto your bike. A good and precise kick to the starter and you fled the scene.

______________________________________________

Taglist: @markusstraya

#bane x reader #bane tdkr #tdkr #tdkr bane #batman #fanfic #fanfiction #tom hardy x reader #the dark knigth rises

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morphoportis · 6 years ago

Text

Riots. - Chapter Two: Please...

Summary: After finding Bane wounded and dying in Gotham City Hall, you have to make a decision. Your friends or him?

Pairing: Bane (TDKR) x Reader

Word Count: 2022

AO3: Riots. - One / Two

tumblr: Riots. - One / Two

Warnings: Lots of swearing

(Y/NN = Your nickname) (Found the gif on giphy!)

Chapter Two: Please...

Bane's eyes practically shot daggers at you. Stare still. Somewhat furious... but there was something else in them. Something you couldn't quite place. Fear? Pain? Confusion?

“Shit! Is that... Bane?”

“Yes, and-”

“Fuck!”, he crossed the rest of the room and came to a halt next to you. “Wow, someone beat him up well”, a bemused snicker escaped Cable's lips.

“I need your help.” Another confused look.

“With what?”

“We need to get him out of here”, matter of factly.

“Excuse me?!... No, this... nah”, Cable pulled a face and lifted his hands in a defensive motion.

“He needs help or he'll die, Greg!”

“That's because he's dying, you stupid fuck!”, you felt your face getting heated.

Cable put on his helmet and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it's better that way”, it seemed like he thought that now was his turn to sound matter of factly, as he put on his motorcycle gloves.

“Piss off.”

“What?”

This morning you had taken the rug from the house of a guy who had the walls of his home plastered with photos of himself. The only face you found was a movie poster from The Big Lebowski right above a cosy sofa with a rug in front of it that tied the room together. You had to take this thing with you just to simply fuck with this wanna be playboy. It had been more of a meta joke to take it but you never thought the sight of a rug could've made you feel inspiration, excitement and relieve. You quickly got up on your feet again.

______________________________________________

Taglist: @markusstraya

#bane x reader #bane tdkr #tdkr bane #the dark knight rises #bane #batman #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #tom hardy x reader

3 notes · View notes

sian22redux · 7 years ago

Text

He followed me home

Title: He Followed Me Home

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Rating: T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup: Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series. Whoever won got a drabble. It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland. So here is her choice: Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name: from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney. Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic. Enjoy!

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.

Thanks so much to @mypatronusismrpricklepants and @arizonapoppy for their awesome help.

Chapter 1: Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable. You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.

His arms are folded across his chest. His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once. It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago. Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.

“Oh really.” The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.

It was just the first thing that popped into your head. Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”

“Maybe,” you squeak. It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun. It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees. Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes. His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch. Probably with Dodger on his chest.

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.

He so needs it. The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point. The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before. How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa. How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out. That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip. You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat. Change was hard for animals.

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.

How do you explain? You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run. Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window. So cute, and so in need.

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist? Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,” you admit. “It just kind of happened.” Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again. “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap. At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup. The little guy whimpers mournfully. You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure. The smells and sounds are new. There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much

“Come on pal, leave off.” Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host. The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.

Puppy is still scared. He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing. “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.” A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy. He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur. He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly. "Homer, I can see your doodle…"

“Chris!”

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis. It is also a recognized crossbreed.

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip. “Shuddup. A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross. You shouldn’t tease the little guy. He’s had a really rocky start. Was just busted out of a puppy mill. He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t. Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose. His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle. Quirky and utterly adorable. You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick. “Awww. Sorry dude.”

You shift the warm furry load at your hip. A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure. Bring him in.”

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail. So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing: white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.

“You, too. Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee. The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked. A picture of controlled enthusiasm. His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack. You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety. Chris is the alpha male: one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts. “Ow.” he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp. And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder: how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home. The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home. It’s been years since you had a pet. Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen. You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note. He has been so good. Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check. In a sec. Does he have a name?”

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records. At Ace they called him by his number. They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam. I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash, a comb, smaller steel bowls. Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time: all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell. Pure heaven. And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.

(No ticking clocks, here. Nope. None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up. Coughs once. Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.

Chris looks over at you alarmed. “Is he ok?”

This time it’s you that melts a little. Chris worries. Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time. He’s a rescue from a puppy mill. The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.” Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over. Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet. All is in order. Case # A201206 has been dewormed. Had all shots. Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements. Has been off his feed because of illness. Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy. You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention. Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush. This is the tricky part. “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup. Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur. Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates. Hefty and solid. He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”

Chris chokes. “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”

You hold your breath. This is a gamble. Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow. You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back, reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek. A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart. “Chris, I feel like this meant to be. You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard. He’s like your kindred spirit. Bernese are also big and loyal and loving. They adore kids. But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”

“So you’re just like me, hunh?” he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds. I’d be doing curls with you…”

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it. Keen on it right away. This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning. Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog. Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems. There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving. Possibly another Broadway run. There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too. Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour. It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once. As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist. You’re a name on the end credits. Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with. A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great. Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game. You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date. No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter. No one’s staking out your house. Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up your calf. Hidden. Secret. Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do. Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going. Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much. The frequent long distance trips make it hard. Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode. Constantly catching up. Two steps forward and one back. Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate. Case in point: today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice. “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.” Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap. He sighs. “This was a really good idea. I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?” You sit straight up. Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian. He experienced and no-nonsense. A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay? You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.” Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed. Easy. Intimate. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“How can anyone resist this face?” he says, tickling Puppy under the chin. It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out. You’re lost, the both of you.

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins. “I was just surprised. Needed to think it through is all. Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain, but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.

“What do you….?”

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you. ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps. Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected. Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you. Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say. Going public seems like a giant step. Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy. Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath. This is truly what you want but can you make it work?

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation. He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling. “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit. I am getting old. The flights are getting harder.”

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask. You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.

“Ancient.”

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head. Dodger’s head pops up. If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead. He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity. Chris sets the puppy on the floor. The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh. Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins. This new development is surprising but not scary. He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.

“Woof!” It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.” Chris is laughing. Puppy seems very pleased with himself. A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows. Outside the morning is clouding over. It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain. Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird. Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.

Pup looks to him and back. “Boof!” Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger. Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized. A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen. Pad are laid beside the back door. The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket. You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly. He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen. “Lets get the little guy’s space all set. He’ll need to eat soon and then go out. We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend. They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again. It’s hilarious and sweet. Big brother playing with the little guy, but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns. And coughs.

“Hey…”

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest. A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired. It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head. He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell. Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best. There’s a twinkle in his eye. One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”

#@theycallmebecca #chris evans x reader #I lost the bet #but this was so much fun #puppies #dodger

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sophia1644 · 7 years ago

Text

Kiss Me

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Warnings: a little teensy bit of swearing (okay maybe a bit more than a teensy bit), mentioning of dirty things

Summary: Scott and Stiles have been best friends for as long as they can remember, Y/N eventually joining into their scared bond as well. After a while of not seeing her friends, they hang out one night, testing Scott’s abilities in the woods. Stiles and Y/N are alone as Scott runs off, and some weird hidden feelings arise.

A/N: A little bit of a loooong one for you lovelies. I really enjoyed writing this one. Idk it just popped in my mind, so hope you enjoy. P.S. I have no idea what I’m doing and how to get my writing more out into the tumblr-verse so if u have any tips hit me up, lol.

KISS ME

I smiled as I saw Stiles’s blue Jeep pull up into my driveway, hopping off my bedroom windmill, and grabbing a coat from my closet.

I had no idea what my two crazy best friends would get me into today, but I’d been bored all week, stuck in bed. I had a major cold, and my mom was one of those who overreacted at the slightest cough, so I hadn’t seen the boys for a while.

I ran down my front steps, grinning as Stiles and Scott waved at me from inside the car.

I opened up the back door, climbing in as swiftly as possible. I noticed them watching me intently, until I spoke up.

“What’s up?” I asked.

They looked at each other, Scott outreaching his hand towards Stiles as I knit my eyebrows. What the hell was going on?

“Pay up,” Scott said confidently.

Stiles groaned, making a funny face at him, then leaning over and digging in his jean pocket for a dollar bill.

“What is going on?” I ask, completely confused by the whole situation.

“We bet on you,” Scott replied.

“What?!” I shout.

“We bet on if you would cough or talk first,” Stiles added. “I said you would cough because,” he groans, “I don’t know- I just thought you would.”

I roll my eyes, thinking how ridiculous these boys were for wagering money on something so stupid. I put the reminder to never take either of them gambling in the back of my mind.

“So where are we going?” I ask, curious of their antics.

“Well,” Scott responds, “I wanted to do some tests on, you know, myself. Since the whole wolf bite thing, I can hear better and shit. I want to test it out more.”

A couple days before I was sick, Scott and Stiles had called me about them going out to find a dead body, which I refused since I wasn’t going to be dragged into that nonsense. I’d gotten in trouble by Sheriff Stilinski countless times because of them, and that night I just wasn’t in the particular mood.

So, of course being the imbeciles that they are, they still went without me even though I expressed how idiotic the idea was.

After a few hours, Stiles had called me, panting over the phone and failing to create a coherent sentence.

I remember distinctly feeling sick to my stomach, knowing that something wrong happened, and I forced myself out of bed asking him for his exact location and saying I’d be there in a few minutes.

And now here we are. With new and improved Scott.

“Hey, Y/N, you kind of zoned out on us there,” Scott said as Stiles waved his hands in front of my face wildly.

I look up, meeting their eyes. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

Stiles looks at Scott questioningly. “Maybe she’s a little too out of it to do this, tonight,” I heard him say.

“I kind of feel bad though,” Scott replies. “We haven’t been able to hang out in so long. I felt bad that we didn’t visit.”

“Guys!” I force their attention on me. “You know I’m right here!”

They look at me, their expressions not wavering. “Oh, hi Y/N, didn’t see you there,” Stiles says playfully.

“God, you’re so funny, I forgot to laugh.”

“I know, I can be pret- wait what,” Stiles mutters.

I turn to Scott. “I’m down to do whatever weird ass things you want me to do, tonight,” I state, because I was really not planning on being bored, scrolling through tumblr for another night.

“That sounded really kinky,” Scott laughs. I roll my eyes, sighing. Boys.

“Stiles can you just get Roscoe going?” I ask, getting annoyed of how long we’d been still sitting in my driveway.

“Remember that this was your choice,” Stiles warns. “You gave consent, Y/N.”

I scrunch up my face, looking at Scott as we both knew how wrong that sounded. Stiles didn’t catch on until he paused, looking at us in horror.

“I did not-”

I pat him on his shoulder. “Yep, bud, you totally just did.” The smallest hint of red fills his cheeks as he looks away and starts backing up the Jeep, muttering to himself about how he should think before he says things more often.

…

Later on, Roscoe pulls into the woods, somewhere I hadn’t even thought we would end up tonight.

“We’re good, right?” I ask.

“What?” Scott and Stiles look at me bewildered.

“Like you’re not trying to kill me or anything to get back at me for that one time in second grade when I opened the c-”

“Stop!” They both yell at me simultaneously.

“Y/N, we agreed to never speak of that ever again,” Stiles says in a hushed tone, his hand moving to emphasize his words.

“Okay, okay,” I retort, my hands up in the air in mock fear.

“Okay now for the fun.” Stiles smirks, pulling out a creepy looking leather notebook.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, pointing towards the worn thing in his hands.

Stiles looks at me, confused before seeing my hand. “Oh, it’s the wolf journal.”

“The what?” I ask again, hoping I didn’t hear right the first time.

“The wolf journal.” Yup, hearing is perfectly normal.

I look to Scott for some explanation, but he gives me a look. “Trust me, I didn’t choose the name,” he says, chuckling.

“Okay,” Stiles starts, running his finger down the crinkled paper. I wonder how long this notebook has been around. His finger stops as he jabs it into the notebook. “Our next step of ‘Testing Scott’s Wolf Abilities’ is…”

I walk up next to him, standing on my tip toes to peer over his shoulder. “You actually titled the page, ‘Testing Scott’s Wolf Abilities’?” I ask incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s nice right?”

“Yeah, just flows off the tongue real nicely,” I reply, sarcasm dripping from my lips.

Stiles’s eyes narrow at me, his lips tightening. He points an accusing finger my way. “Hey, sarcasm is supposed to be my thing,” he says while pointing back towards himself. “Not yours.”

I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time today, stepping back. I make my way to Roscoe, placing my hands on the hood and getting the right amount of leverage before pushing myself up, even though Scott offers me help. I refused, because I’m my own independent woman.

“Okay, back to the plan,” Stiles drawls. Scott and I look at one another, our eyes widening at how long this is taking.

Finally Stiles finds the next bullet point, shouting out, “Hearing!”

“Okaaay,” I respond, “How are we going to help Scott with that?”

“I made this super incredible plan,” Stiles begins. “So, Y/N goes over in that direction and starts sprinting and Scott goes over there in that direction. We make her run far enough away that you wouldn’t be able to heat her if you were human, which obviously once upon a time you were but now-”

“Stiles,” I stop him, grabbing his hand that was flying through the air, his actions mimicking his every word.

“I’m just going to run over there,” Scott says. “And Y/N is going to scream because I can recognize that sound from anywhere.”

Stiles and Scott laugh, fist-bumping at the mention of the many heart attacks they’d given me in the past years with their endless, obnoxious pranks.

I had a habit of screaming whenever I was scared, so yeah, I assume it was a noise Scott was somewhat accustomed to.

“Okay, just start whenev-”

And he’s gone,“ Stiles finishes as Scott sprints out into the woods, away from the clearing.

I look up at Stiles. “When should I scream?” I ask questioningly.

“I don’t know, whenever he gives us a sign. I guess we just have to wait fo-”

Stiles stops as we hear the sound of a wolf howling, immediately recognizing it as Scott.

“And there it is. Y/N, just scream whenever.”

I smirk, about to begin when I look at Stiles looking down at me nonchalantly. I grab his hands and place them on either side of his head, covering his ears.

“I don’t want to be the cause of your hearing loss,” I explain and he nods.

I throw back my head, doing an easy task, screaming my lungs out.

I just imagine the last scary movie that Stiles forced me to watch with him, the memory of me jumping out of my seat at that one scene where the killer popped into the screen out of no where.

I finish, my lungs not being able to take it any longer. I smile to myself, almost proud of how loud I managed to get.

I checked if Stiles was okay and he stretched out his jaw. “Damn, I bet the whole town heard that one.”

I giggle, pushing him in the chest playfully. I look up into his warm brown eyes. “Now what?”

“Now, we wait for Scott to come back.”

“Great, how long is that going to take?”

“Hopefully, not too long.”

“I hope your hoping is enough hope.”

“What?” Stiles asks, his chocolate hair falling into his eyes as he quickly looks down at me.

I raise my hand up to it, instinctively pushing it back. Stiles looks at me with wide eyes and I soon realize my mistake, pulling my hands off his chest and away from the freckled boy.

I spin around, my back to him as my cheeks heat up. I nearly never blushed, but the embarrassment flowing through me at the moment was too intense to handle.

“Y/N, can I touch your hair too?” Stiles asks, his voice small, but still loud enough for me to comprehend.

I twirl back around, stunned at the odd request. “I guess it’s only fair,” I reply, laughing lightly.

He walks towards me, one of his hands resting against my cheek and the other combing through my hair.

“Even softer than it looks,” he muses.

I chuckle, the close distance between us causing my breathing to pick up pace. Wondering where the hell all of this came from. Stiles was the last person I assumed to feel all flustered by, especially since he had that thing for Lydia.

It would never work, so I just pulled away from his touch, regretting it as soon as his eyes filled with disappointment.

“Did I walk in on something?” Scott asks, his laugh lightening the mood.

“Nope,” I lie, my mouth curving up into a smile. I can’t help, but notice Stiles tense up in the corner of my vision. “So did you hear me?”

“Yeah I ended up running all the way down to the Hale house.”

“Wait, isn’t that miles from here?” I ask, stunned.

“Yeah, its crazy. I still heard you perfectly,” he replies, with the same amount of bewilderment as me.

“So I guess you are really a werewolf, huh?”

“I guess so,” Scott replies, eying Stiles up and down and looking at me with his eyebrows raised.

Stiles was focusing on his shoes, being completely unlike himself by not contributing to the conversation, and of course his best friend noticed that.

I mouth to him, “Don’t ask.” His eyebrows quirk even higher, but I assume he won’t due to how forcefully I stared at him the whole awkward car ride to his house.

Roscoe stops in front of the McCall house, and Scott hugs you goodbye while giving Stiles a punch to the shoulder.

Normally, my first instinct would be to crawl over the middle console to the front passenger seat, but I hesitated, thinking that it would cause even more awkward tension between me and Stiles.

He silently started driving towards my house, catching my eyes in the rear view mirror a few times, both of us always quickly looking away.

Once he stops the car, I unbuckle my seatbelt, uttering a thank you and opening the door, when I feel a tug in my wrist.

I look down to see Stiles’s hand wrapped around it. “Can we talk about earlier?” He asks.

I nod hesitantly, praying that this couldn’t get any more awkward than it already was.

I still exit the car though, except instead of leaving, I just change my seat so I’m shotgun so it’s easier for us to talk.

We sit in silence for a few seconds, neither of us wanting to speak first.

“Y/N, I’m extremely confused. Like more confused than when Scott became a werewolf, which still is pretty confusing, but now my other best friend is getting thrown into this confusing mess and I’m just confused,” Stiles rambles, playing with his hands and shifting in his seat multiple times.

I wasn’t sure if it made my heart swell or hurt seeing him like this. It was strange for him to be so flustered, as he was normally so open with me.

“To be completely honest, I’m quite confused myself, Stiles.”

“Fuck,” he swears and I’m taken aback a bit, not expecting how loud it comes out.

“Sorry, it’s just that even the way you say my fucking name- just fuck, Y/N.” I look up at his freckled face, watching the gears turn in his head.

How did I even say his name? What was wrong with me saying his name?

“The fuck is going on?” I question, done with the avoidance of what was clearly to come. I hated confrontation, but we had to actually have a conversation instead of making this even more confusing.

“Fuck, I never thought I’d get over her,” he mutters.

“Lydia?” I ask, shocked that he would even think about getting over her, knowing how deep in love he was with her.

He turns, facing towards me and sucking in a deep breath. “Y/N I think I might like you.”

My eyes widen, wondering how this night went so weird so fast. My best friend who has been madly in love with one girl his whole life, just said he may like me. And what’s the most weird is that I feel my heart beating faster at his words.

I try to patch words together to say something in response, but nothing seems to form as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I know you may not feel the same way and that’s totally acceptable. I also know that this really sudden and all, but since we’re best friends I wanted to let you know immediately so you weren’t blindsided and all…” Stiles rambles on and I bite my lip, spinning the necklace I was wearing between my two fingers.

Stiles is looking down at his hands, still fiddling with them as he continues his speech.

“… even if you don’t feel the same way, I’d appreciate if you just told me now, so I could get over it and our friendship could go back to normal and ugh, this is so incredibly weird, but I hope you’ll still be my friend even after all the stupid shit that’s sputtering out of my mouth right n-”

I cut him off by bending forward and making him lose his focus on his intense rambling, his eyes darting to mine.

“Kiss me,” I say, my breath hitting his lips due to the close proximity.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” Stiles asks, rubbing his palms against his jeans.

“I’m so absolutely sure,” I whisper back.

He doesn’t take another moment and leans in, his lips ghosting over mine for a moment until they meet. He grins against my lips as he plants a sweet kiss against them.

We pull apart and his hand raises to my cheek, rubbing a pattern in it with his thumb.

“Stiles, I think I might like you too.”

#stiles #stiles stilinski #stilesstilinksiedit #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles imagine #stiles fanfiction #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #scott mccall #scott mccall imagine #scott imagine #scott and stiles #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf pack #teen wolf pack imagine #woahthisisalotoftags

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avengingsupernatural-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Infected Part III Dean Winchester X Reader

Light poured in through the shredded spots of the fabric tent. It shone onto your face and seeped through to your hooded eyes. Groaning, you turned your face away from the light, the arm around you adjusting to the change in position. But you couldn't fall back to sleep on a day like this. Not when this was your first day off in months. Not when this was the first day since you and Dean became an official pair that you had off. Parading around for months with teenage love dancing in your eyes.

"Dean." You whispered, but it was not enough to stir the sleeping man. "Dean wake up." You lightly patted his face, the stubble from his cheeks poking your palm. "Goddammit man don't make me kick you." You muttered, annoyed.

All he did was pull you closer.

"Why does your tent have to be so much nicer than mine?" He sighed, still half asleep, placing his chin on top of your head.

"Because I'm a captain, your just a soldier." You explained, tracing a random design on his bare chest.

"But I'm the hottest soldier in this camp." He groaned, rolling over and placing you on top of him.

"Looks don't get you very far in this environment, Dean." You rested your head on his chest, listening to the lulling sound of his heartbeat. "Get up, I wanna enjoy our one free day in months to the fullest extent."

"We could just spend our free day like this then." Dean cracked an eye open, looking up at you.

"Yes well people get suspicious and have some errands to do today, so you either come with me or not." You bargained.

"Stubborn woman." Dean said, exasperated. "Just like twenty more minutes."

"What are you, my teenage son?" You rolled your eyes.

"Ew, no way I am dating my mom. But seriously, (Y/N), please?"

"Fine, fine." You waved him off, smiling at his little grin.

Dean then rolled you back on your side, so you were both facing each other. He put his cupped hand on your cheek while the other snaked around your waist. "Does this mean that now, since we are dating, I can sleep in your tent?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"If you want, I'm sure I could pull a few strings to make it work. Or I could share your pain and sleep in your tent if you want." You shrugged.

"Why would you give up this," Dean said pointing around the room. "for a tent that holds up to ten stinky guys? Plus, I don't want you being in a tent with ten stinky guys."

"Well neither do I, good point."

After the scouting incident four months ago, you and Dean were truly stuck to eachother's sides. He was always with you, you were always with him. This caused rumors within the entire Outlier, making Beckett the most suspicious and eyes the two o you constantly. Dean found it weird that he had to ask Beckett for the okay to date you, and not your father. Your own father, you decided, was too busy to be interested with the lives of his son or daughter. Dean also found it strange that he had to even ask for permission, as this was not a romantic movie but a dying world were the father's authorization was the last thing on his mind. You had asked Dean if he pissed his pants asking you out, but he responded with "I drained my bladder just asking for permission, I got nothing left." Which left you on a laughing pile on the floor, and Dean's face tinted with red.

Crunching sounds neared the tent, but you were too focused on something else. A gloved hand slid back the flap to the tent, entering without looking around.

"(Y/N)! I was wondering if- GROSS!" The yelling of your brother stopped you right in your tracks.

Maybe making out with a shirtless Dean while he was on top of you and letting inappropriate noises escape your mouth at 9:30 in the morning wasn't the best idea.

"Charlie!" You yelled, pulling a blanket over your face, it's not like you were naked, but it seemed like the right thing to do in order to hide your embarrassment.

"Dean!" Charlie pointed at your man.

"What? It's not like we were fu-" He started.

"DEAN!"

Dean acted like nothing was wrong and stayed were he was, not looking at Charlie but grinning down at your face. "Your really cute when you get like that." He whispered.

"Not. The. Time." You hit him on his toned chest, emphasizing your point.

"Dean please put on a shirt." Charlie sighed. " And get off my sister, I have to ask her something."

Dean reluctantly slid off, allowing you to sit up. "I won't put on a shirt, especially if she likes it." Dean grinned, nudging you. "Dontcha (Y/N)?"

"Well of course I like it..." You stated absentmindedly. You flushed again from your words. "Dean!" Who in turn just chuckled.

"Okay, okay, okay. Enough." Charlie waved his arms around like a flightless bird. "Just get more fixed up and meet me outside the tent. Sheesh." You heard him grumble something about how his sister was beginning to act like a love struck puppy and walked out.

"Twenty minutes his up, c'mon. You have embarrassed me enough to today." You said, pushing him out of your cot, while you stood up on the other side.

"Yeah, well, it's totally worth it for your reaction." Dean winked, throwing on a pair of jeans, combat boots, and a t shirt.

"How about I shove that little comment down your throat." You hissed, though not harshly.

"Oh I'll give ya something to shove down your throat." Dean muttered to himself.

"What was that?" You asked, suspicious.

"Ah nothing babe." He grinned, looping his arm around you. "Shall we?"

You nodded and made your way out of the tent.

Charlie sat on an empty box, talking to some of your soldiers.

"Okay, decently dressed I see." Charlie clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Anyway, so I have a teensy tiny favor to ask."

"Oh boy, what is it?" You asked.

"Well you see, I was supposed to have a shit ton of cargo delivered to the surrounding camps of our Brink and the East Brink..."

"And?"

"And I didn't do it..."

"And?"

"And it's supposed to be delivered by today, and I got it two weeks ago."

"And?"

"And I really want your help to deliver it." Charlie looked at you and gave you his best 'please forgive me' smile.

"Charlie! How much procrastinating do you do?" You sighed. "And this was supposed to my day off with Dean and you just have to shit on it like any other sibling."

"Please! My ass will be kicked by all the other Captains, just help a brotha out."

You looked up at Dean.

"I don't mind (Y/N), as long as I'm with you." He grinned, gripping your waist tighter.

"Well that's settled. What do I have to deliver to whom? And will I be needed the trucks and some men or?" You questioned.

Okay so I have to deliver stuff to yours, Beckett's, Winston's, and the entire East Brink camps." Charlie said, looking sheepish.

"Ughhhhhh. I got our camps, 15 and 16, plus I'll take 12, since it's the closest. What is it that I'm delivering?"

"Guns, weapons, ammo, killing stuff." Charlie shrugged.

"That's what I'm talking about." Dean grinned.

"Hush. How much?"

"Enough to need about three or four truck fulls."

"I am so tempted to refuse but since you so graciously offered both Dean and I your lunch rations for the next week, I have to accept." You feigned a sigh, winking up at Dean, a cue for him to play along.

"Thanks for extra lunches Charlie, definitely gonna be needing them after I spend my entire night doing your sister. Wait, did I say that out loud?" Dean snickered and dodged a punch thrown by you.

"Wait! I never agreed to that! (Y/N)! (Y/N)! Wait, DEAN I WILL KICK YOUR ASS, YOU TOO (Y/N)!" charlie ran after you.

Your brother unloaded his cargo for you from his trucks, setting it in your camp with the help of your men. Then you gathered up some soldiers and instructed them to take three of your cargo trucks and follow you to Camp 13, where the rest of the supplies were. You then trailed behind Charlie in another truck to Camp 13, loading up supplies for Camp 15, and heading out. Each new Camp meant that you would have to go back to your brother's camp, which would cost a hefty amount in gas.

Beckett's camp was first and to say the least, you were pretty excited. He had only visited you a few times when you were in the infirmary months ago, and even then he had a hard time looking at your poor state. So, you figured it was time to show him that you truly were okay.

Arriving at the camp, you decided to arrive loud and proud, revving the trucks up the muddy gravel roads and honking the horns an annoying amount of time. All of Beckett's soldiers whopped and hollered at your entry, but Beckett was yet to be found.

"Hey boys! Where is the Cap'n?" You asked, jumping out of the truck, Dean following suit.

"Sleeping his day off away." A soldier explained, jabbing his thumb towards the biggest tent.

You ordered you men to unload the cargo, and had Dean follow you to scare the living crap out of Beckett.

"How are he gonna do this, (Y/N)? We could make him think the Outlier has been breached?" Dean suggested, whispering it to you.

"Ohh, I like that, lets run with that." You nodded, grabbing Dean's hand and tugging him into the Captain's tent quietly. "You say something though becasue you have a louder voice."

"How do I have a louder voice?" Dean asked.

"Because the soldiers always hear you late at night while you do your activities." You stated matter of factly.

"Are those activities named (Y/N)?" He playfully nudged you.

"On occasion, yes they are." You grinned, pecking him on the cheek. "But seriously, come up with something and just yell it.

"Here goes nothing." Dean took a deep breath. "CAPTAIN! THE EAST BRINK HAS BEEN BREACHED AND WE ARE ORDERED TO HAUL OUR ASSES THERE! THE CROATS ARE POURING IN BY THE MINUTE!"

Beckett was up in a flash, not even bothering to take a look at his two 'soldiers' at the foot of his cot. He scrambled up and off the bed, only wearing worn out pajama pants, in which he about ripped off and hastily put on his military issued cargo pants. Grabbing his Captain's uniform, throwing it on without taking the time to properly fix it. Beckett brushed the hair out his face with his fingers, stroked his beard once, slammed his shoes on, and whirled around with a wild look in his eye.

"Where! Where was it breached? How many casualties? Are any dead? How much time do he have?" Beckett seized Dean by the collar, shaking him roughly, not noticing that it was Dean who he grabbed, and not the messenger who he believed it to be.

Both you and Dean were laughing so hard that neither could answer the questions, your stomachs hurting from the contractions. Beckett blinked a few times, putting Dean down and figuring out the situation.

"(Y/N)? Winchester? The hell you two doing here eh?" Beckett asked.

"To deliver some cargo that is way overdue and to say hi, yet here you are sleeping." You wiped a tear from your eye. "So we decided to get you up a fun way."

"Lovely performance by the way, Captain." Dean grinned.

"Boy, I'll show ya a performance." Beckett took a few steps towards Dean before you stuck your hand out to stop him.

"He was only kidding, lighten up." You smiled.

"(Y/N)..." Beckett's eyes got soft after remembering the last time he saw you.

"No, no. I'm cool, I'm good, I don't need your sap you Canadians like to collect. Just, we are cool, okay?" He said, beaming up at your father figure.

"Of course." He sighed happily, taking you in his arms, engulfing you in one of his signature hugs. "I hear you and Winchester are sparking, that true eh?"

"Yeah, for a few months now." You nodded.

"Dean you still upholding that thing we talked about?" Becket eyed your boyfriend.

Dean got rigid. "Of course, sir."

"Glad to hear it. I see I'm getting some cargo, but it's not your month to deliver it." Beckett quipped.

"Charlie." Was all you needed to say.

"Damn that boy, I thought his father might've taught him something, eh? Guess not." He ran a hand through his tangled hair and beard. "But thank you for the alarming wake up call and the shipment, (Y/N), Winchester."

"No problem, Captain, I'll see you around, yeah?" He smiled and began to walk out of the tent with Dean in tow.

"I better, or I'll personally come and embarrass you in front of your men." Beckett winked, you just scowled and waved goodbye.

"I take it he has some blackmail on ya, huh?" Dean grinned.

"Too much blackmail. I hardly have any dirt on him!" You sighed.

"Maybe I'll ask him to share a few stories, sounds like a pretty good night to me!" Dean teased, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Quit that you." You said gently pushing his face back, but then quickly grabbing his chin and placing a light kiss on his lips. You and dean shared a bit of a moment right smack dab in the middle of Camp 15, all the soldiers plus Becket watching this.

You heard someone clear their throat, in return Dean put up his index finger, signaling them that he needed a minute more. He pulled back, not before licking your bottom lip and biting it playfully. Beckett was practically about to explode, the cockiness and arrogance this boy had made him fume. Some soldiers paid no mind, others stared at you since kissing or PDA was such a thing out of the ordinary these apocalyptic days that it seemed just plain weird.

"No, no continue on everybody, don't mind us." Dean chuckled, waving off the other men. Your face was bright red and you buried it into dean's chest.

You had two more stops at Camp 16 and Camp 12. Camp 16's captain was Captain Charles Winston. He was a string bean compared to the steak that Beckett was. He was a lanky 5'11, barely weighed anything, and couldn't grow a thin layer of facial hair to save his life. Pasty white skin with cracked and almost broken glasses covered his eyes. Thin, sandy brown hair. He was not a captain for his exceptional fighting skills or his ability to lead a team into a battle. No, nothing like that, it was his brains. He was the Einstein of the South Brink, as he was a computer genius and developed loads of new programs and software for military and recreational use. Most of his soldiers were like that, the ones with no physical ability but had the smarts joined his team. They didn't have much use for weapons, so you were dropping off new tech or computer stuff that you didn't know the names for. There wasn't much, but they were extremely fragile, so the ride took over an hour because of the shitty roads.

"Captain Winston, you there?" You asked, lighting rapping on the metal door to a run down shack on the outside of the camp.

"Eh? W-who is there?" He cracked open the door, his slender fingers grasping the door.

"Uh, captain (L/N)? I know it's been a while..." You said, shrugging at Dean.

"O-oh yes, excuse me." He slid out from the small opening. He was a mess, clothes disheveled, hair static-y, his eyes flitted nervously between you and Dean. "(L/N), who is this? I do not recognize him from the soldier database." Winston squinted his eyes at Dean.

"Still haven't updated that I see, father." You mumbled. "Dean Winchester, been here for a few months."

"Hey." Dean stuck out his hand, which Winston shook reluctantly and wiped that same hand on his pants after the handshake.

Dean just narrowed his eyes at the scrawny man, a frown on his face.

"I have your tech." You said.

"O-OH!" Winston scrambled to the trucks, watching the soldiers load the shipment with ease onto the dirt surface. "Careful, careful!" He hissed. "You idiots! Do you know what it took General Mayhan to acquire this?! It took more than your lives, now move, move aside!" Winston shoved your soldiers out of the way, picking up the box with difficulty, his whimpy legs bending from the little amount of pressure put on them.

"Captain (L/N)." One of your men walked up to you, saluting. "So, Winston, well he doesn't..."

"I know, I know, he is extremely touchy. Just set the stuff down and head out, don't listen to him, they will figure it out." You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Yes ma'am!"

"I should have warned you about him." You told Dean.

"Damn, he is a feisty fifth grader, isn't he?" Dean just shook his head. "Ah well, one more camp."

"I know!" You practically bouncing with joy.

"Why are you so excited?" Dean asked. "It's not a handsome dude captain, I don't like to compete."

"Quite the opposite, one of the only female military officers, captain Halifax!" You explained excitedly. "She and I grew quite a bond in military training, but had to part ways becasue we got assigned to different camps. I haven't seen her in almost a year, I wonder how much she has changed." You pondered.

"Oh? A female, huh? I say let's go." Dean smirked, trying to get you riled up.

"I was thinking I could just drop you off at Charlie's Camp when we go to restock, y'know, catch up with Sam?" You spat sarcastically.

"I'm kidding, your the only one I have eyes for." He intertwined his fingers with yours.

"Don't, don't you do that again, kay mister?" You grabbed his collar and pulled him down to your height.

"Yes ma'am." Dean smirked, kissing your nose.

"Off to go see Kaylee!" You fist pumped the air and sped off to your vehicle.

Kaylee Halifax was the same age as you. She had unruly blonde curls that were about boob length. Blue crystals for eyes, a few freckles dotted her nose. Her nose had hump of the bridge of it, that she claimed made her look like a witch, but you never really noticed it. She was tall, about 5'9, with a wider figure and rosy cheeks. She had a round face, not overly plump lips, but they sure as hell didn't look like the once famous for almost nothing, Kylie Jenner. She had a very bubbly personality, but knew to be serious when the time called. She found it easy to make friends, wasn't easily intimidated, and could kick some ass. Being one of the few female soldiers in the military, you guys all bonded and never split despite being all placed in separate camps.

You dashed through the camp, ignoring the other men that looked at you funny. You found her to be in the bathroom, possibly her time of the month. You waited on the outside of the door, jumping on her back when she stepped out.

"Who the hell is it?" She yelled, jumping around as if she could see the person on her back.

"You can't see me like this." You giggled.

"(Y/N)! Oh my god. Where have you been? Why are you here?" Kaylee yelled excitedly.

You hopped off her back and pulled her into a hug. "Been around, did some stuff, picked up a few new ones. Sam old same old, you?"

"I could say the same-"

"(Y/N), you over there?" Dean yelled.

"I hear husky man voice, who is he, what's his name?" Kaylee grabbed your shoulders and shook you.

"His name is Dean, the new one from like 5 months ago, remember? Well he and I are-"

"They be fuckin'!" Kaylee yelled, a giant grin spread across here face.

"Jesus not so loud, oh my god!" You slapped your hand over her mouth.

"Who is fucking, (Y/N)?" Dean turned the corner, looking at the two girls.

"Hi, my name is Kaylee, A.K.A (Y/N)'s personal body guard so if you shit on one aspect of her life I will shove shit in your-"

"Alright, alright, alright Kaylee." You patted her on the shoulder, signaling her to calm down. "Dean, this is Kaylee, Kaylee this is Dean. We have been dating for a few months and are hear to drop off some cargo.

"Hey, so next time you decide it's gonna be a rambunctious night, count me in and we can make a Kaylee sandwich, eh? I mean damn (Y/N) he is fine as fuck! You picked up one damn of a man."

"That doesn't make sense." You pointed out.

"His beauty doesn't make sense. I mean he is just the butterfly in a world full of those ugly ass worms that eat those trees y'know?"

"No I don't know." You sighed.

"Well you best be finding out or I will for ya heh heh heh." kaylee winked at Dean.

"So if you two ladies are done fantasizing over me..."

"I wouldn't give you that much Dean." You raised an eyebrow at him.

"I know what you say in your sleep and (Y/N), it sounds just like a wet dream." Dean smirked, he high fived Kaylee and you groaned in frustration.

"Okay, forgetting the topic about me, what should we do with the shipment?" dean asked.

"Ah just leave it were ya left it, I'll get my crew to haul it somewhere, thanks for bringing it (Y/N), I was pretty sure I was gonna run out any day now." Kaylee smiled.

"No problem, it's been so nice to see you again, don't be a stranger and just pop on in, okay? Plenty of food and fun over at Camp 14." You grinned. " I better get going though, curfew is soon and I can't stay up again like I did last night."

"Yeah, duty calls, I'll see you around sometime okay?" You gave her a long hug before grabbing Dean's hand and pulling him towards the vehicle.

"Let's go home, yeah?" Dean asked. "I can drive this time. You can just sit."

"You sure you know the way back?"

"Yeah, I can manage this babe." Dean pecked your cheek.

You climbed into the passenger seat, leaning your head against Dean's shoulder as the roar of the engine put you to sleep.

You didn't know how long the trip back had taken, but you didn't care. It was late, you were tired, and your cot seemed the most comfortable at the moment.

Yet when you hopped out of the truck, Dean was no where to be seen. You walked around the soldier's tents, to the bathroom, nothing. You lastly checked the Captain's tent.

"Dean?"

"Stay out! (Y/N) dont you dare come in here!" Dean shouted.

"Tell me what's wrong, why did you disappear all of a sudden." You opened the tent just enough to sneak through but you were roughly shoved out. Yet you caught a glimpse.

Deteriorating skin.

Blood shot eyes.

Discolored veins.

Croatoan virus.

#supernatural #deanwinchester #samwinchester #winchester

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