#i was in my kitchen trying not to SCREECH my heart was RACING

[mothmanavenue]

rejoice boys

[cornyforjk]

Drive you crazy | Day 4 | jjk

⤷ SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language

taglist: @tatamicc @jwnghyuns @nono13bnd @hagridshaircare @tatzzz-25 @suashifts

A/ note: Hello hello hello,,,, ik it's been like,what? 10 days. More than 10 days infact. But I was kinda stuck somewhere 🥴 and I did post part 4 one day but idk why it's format wouldn't be the way I wanted it to be,,, like ykwim. Anyways, I'm trying again and I hope it works today 🤞🤞 hope you guys enjoy 💕 (Added links for the first time thank you so much @redcherrykook ily💕)

___________________♡____________________

"What's with all these boxes?" I heard a sigh coming from the living room. Walking out of my bed I look over the commotion with a smile.

"Chocolates," I answer.

"Why?" He seemed pained looking at the bundle of sweets all spread out on the table. "Can't you keep them in your room?"

"But it's for you."

"Me?" He points at himself, innocently with huge bubbly eyes of confusion.

"But I hate chocolates." He points with disgust, ignoring my judging eyes and internal screams at his horrible taste.

Not only has he got a bad attitude but also bad taste buds.

"Why would you hate chocolate?!" I screech, "it's chocolate for fuck's sake! The only saviour at sad times."

"I don't like it. Who even sent it anyway?"

"I did!" My voice was wavering with panic. "I thought you liked chocolate...so I bought it as an apology." Watching his curious face drop into a sulky one didn't help my beating heart which probably pumped out my anxiety rather than blood.

"Where did you even get this information?" He arches his eyebrow in question.

"I googled it." My honest answer has him parting his lips as he tries to form words. "You are a famous rookie. The website has your likes and dislikes listed."

Jungkook dismissively waves his hand, "you had one job..." his voice lowered. "I will always hate chocolate." Those last words were barely a whisper. My eyes shot up towards his face, the quick vulnerability flashing back into his cocky self.

I clear my throat.

"It also said that you wear your special iron man socks while racing and in bed."

Subconsciously Jungkook crosses a leg over another trying to hide his redand yellow socks that look like the character.

"Well, you wear mismatched socks." He bickers, hands on his hip.

I shut my mouth tight, holding in a laugh that burst out sounding like a chicken having asthma.

"Ha-ha, very funny," the tall guy rolls his eyes walking out of the place.

"I still hate chocolate as much as I hate you."

___________________♡____________________

With a beaten body and tired scowl, I walked into my room slamming the door shut, feeling his eyes on my back, the stare leaves me frozen still staring at the wooden door trying to burn it as an escape option.

He doesn't question me. Doesn't ask me where I have been.Shows that he doesn't care.

And a part of me feels empty without his bickering, like half of our conversations depended on our arguments.

I tightly fist my hand towering over Jungkook, boring holes in his face watching him keep his motorsports book aside. He reads, has a hidden tattoo covering his left arm, shows respect towards invasive paparazzi...what all am I yet to know about him? It's like every time I feel like I figured him out he pulls out an Uno reverse card.

"Why won't you just let it go? I know where I went wrong and I am sorry I didn't listen to you. Fairly I didn't know what Alex was like and all you said was 'don't race' so it didn't help." I confess, fiddling with my fingers. He shuffles, getting on his legs and fleeting into the kitchen without answering.

"You didn't even answer-"

He turns around tearing a piece of tissue and stuffing it in my mouth as I gag. The taste of dried woody papermixing in my mouth.

"What the hell?!" "If you don't want me to permanently shut your porthole, then you better walk out of this place."

Storming out of the room I walk straight into someone's chest, wobbling back with a dizzy head, my eyes trail to his face. His familiar smile with dimples in view with his shiny golden brown hair.

"Mr Joon!" I exaggerate his name, trying to smile back but a pressed thin line forms.

"Is it about him?" He raises his thick eyebrow, uncertain to meet my eye as he scans the door behind me trying to gaze through with the help of a mere peephole.

"How do you know?""It's a small controversy going on around here. No wonder the cheerleaders are jealous." He blurts out, batting his eye whilst taking a step back. "Plus...you could say I know him a little too well."

"Should've seen that coming, no wonder he threw you that funny look in the hallway on our first day and pretended to not know you."

Namjoon chuckles, "sounds like our Jungkook."

"Our gang can help you with his bratty attitude, we have been in your position too many times." He smiles with glinting eyes, pulling me across the hallways behind the inn where the pool resides.

Namjoon waves over a group of young-looking men huddling around the patio, my eyes feel blessed at that moment when we make our way towards them, gaze residing on their flawless faces.

"Y/n, meet our gang. The bangtan boys." Namjoon lightly shoves me forward as all the boys create circle around me, my eyes glinting with excitement as each of them start questioning me with the same excitement.

"Hi! I am Jimin, the 'wanted' one," his orange head wobbled as he smiled sideways, coming over for a side hug that I returned with gratitude. Jimin was a well-known racer in the industry with millions of fangirls behind him almost all the time.

I turn around squealing when I find a mint haired guy waving at me with his boxy smile, "KIM TAEHYUNG AND SUNSHINE HOBI!"

"Sunshine what-" He's startled by my sudden outburst, my face reddening as I second-hand embarrass myself.

"It's a name given by your fans..." I kick the floor, whispering in a faint voice.

Hoseok chuckles with Taehyung, removing the leather gloves covering their hand as they bring it forward to shake with mine.

"Call us Tae and Hobi, it's cute coming from your mouth," they gigglechildishly, warming my heart.

"Operation win Jungkook over is in the process!" Hoseok's fist pumps in the air as everyone starts discussing a perfect plan to make up for my foolish mistake.

"He likes sugar mallows." Suddenly behind me appears Min Yoongi and Seokjin, the oldest racers here. My heart suddenly jumps out as I stare at them holding a few boxes of cereal.

Taehyung scoots over, Jin and Yoongie sit over smiling at me as I return with a nod. "He likes those marshmallow cereals? Wow-" I am left speechless at his selection of food.

"Trust me, he will go head over heels for this." Jin squeals, winking towards Namjoon which leaves me questioning.

___________________♡____________________

I take a deep breath ready for war. It's about to strike midnight as I walk back to my shared room, glancing back and forth at the dark hallways waiting for some kind of jumpscare, breeze from open windows letting out a hollered noise that has my skin shivering. I quicken my pace, slamming the door behind me to see Jungkook standing in the balcony with the wind ruffling his hair as if praising him.

I stopped in my tracks when my eyes landed on his broad back with muscular shoulders that turned me on, my fingers wishing to grab onto them leaving a trail.

Peeking into the open box of cereal given by Jin I wholeheartedly pour in some milk, my heart leaping as I think of offering some to Jungkook.

With two bowls in my hand, I make my way to the open porch. Jungkook hangs his head between his shoulders, grasping the railing tight with visible veins running across his arm.

"Are you alright?" I whisper, mostly startling him as he lifts his head with an alarmed expression. "I bought vousome cereal?" With uncertainty I raise the bowl in thin air waiting for his eyes to pool with excitement, maybe he would be jumpy on his feet at the smell of sugary soggy cereal, but no. He didn't move an inch.

He just let out an exasperated sigh of defeat. "Go away," Jungkook mumbled slowly, looking away from my eyes.

"What's on your mind Jeon," I placed the bowl aside, trying to take a look at him from behind and for the first time I felt his huge bulky body standing tall beside me. He seemed so big and strong, the intimidating expression being a compliment to his looks. He looked even more beautiful at night.

"You don't have to share, just have this with me." I gesture over towards the milk-filled bowls with a pressed smile full of hopefulness.

"Fine." He harshly grabs a bowl scooting over to sit on the floor casually with his legs crossed. "But you can sit in the chair!" I exclaimed but he shook his head. "I like it here." He meekly said.I have no choice but to sit facing him, watching the beautiful view of California that left me breathless, it just seemed like a dream, but what felt even more surreal was the man sitting in front of me with his midnight black bangs covering his doe eyes, slurping the milky marshmallows with content.

"Feeling better?" I quietly ask. Earning a hum.

We sat there quietly with comforting silence, little squeals of pleasure and sugar kicking in our bodies. Raking our spoons in the milk scooping up the crunchies while playing with loops.

"How'd you know I like this?" He questioned.

"That will be my secret." I wryly smile, shoving the empty bowls at the back, making room for my feet to spread comfortably.

"You do know you just served me cereal in the middle of the night?" he whispered playfully.

"Think of it as a midnight snack." I wink."Jungkook...I am sorry." I breathe in, "I hurt people, that's what I am good at. Unfortunately." A bittersweet chuckle leaves my parted lips, guilt seeping in when I try forming words. "We didn't start on the right foot, why not try the left this time?"

Bringing my hand forward, I wait for Jungkook to shake it. Just give me a chance. We are just racers ready to come at each other's throats, But, Why not try to get along?

For once.

"I don't need a protector Jungkook, just a friend."

He brings his hand forward, hesitant when our warm skin grazes together, I feel him enveloping my hand in his, a wave of satisfaction gushing over me.

I never want to let his hand go. It feels safe and soft like a newborn. But they don't fit together perfectly.

We are two different people, with different views. Being friends witheach other is hard for us, hard to understand. No wonder they don't fit perfectly.

"Don't tell me you use baby lotion now," I smirk. He looks away, trying his best to hide the small curve rising atthe edge of his lips.

Maybe Jeon Jungkook knows how to smile after all.

He silently grabs the bowl behind me, stuffing his mouth with cereal and continuing to stare at me. Even in the dark, I could make out his droopy eyes, dark circles, that were carrying all the unexplainable tension he didn't share.

"Go to sleep, grinch, or would you like me cuddling you till you've fallen asleep," Nudging him with a teasing tone he smiles, a little toothy grin that fogged my brain.

He snorts, "You need therapy Y/n."

"Therapy is just paid gossip my boy."

I pat his head, going in for the ruffle when he swats it away, his facial features tensing with a line between his eyebrows."Tomorrow's the race. "

I stop in my tracks. Glancing back from my shoulder, This sudden unexplainable tension filled the air, my heavy breath visible.

What got me so nervous all of a sudden?

I start tapping my foot, fiddling with my nails, biting the inside of my cheek.

"And...?" I felt the back of my neck warm up, tiny beads of sweat sliding down my back.

He wouldn't do anything to hurt me tomorrow in the name of race? Would he?

Jungkook just sighed, standing tall, his dark silhouette walking towards me whilst I stood frozen. I feel his eyes staring into my soul, his hand slowly placed on my shoulder. I stiffen at the small strokes he skims on the sides of my neck.

Everywhere he touched my skin would burn with fire, hitching breath stuck atthe bottom of my throat. But my eyes clung to his illuminated skin under the moon.

He's beautiful...

Jungkook pulls me out of his trance with a throaty cough, pulling me closer as I squeak. "If they overtake your path then turn to the side and let them. Their desire to win is unquenched, and people do anything to satisfy their thirst."

"Don't come in their way, Y/n."

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Day3 | Day5

DM me or send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist.

[bloodiedrogue]

I saw requests are kind of opened and I have to ask for something with Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep (quite a mouthful, ain't he?)

Like, perhaps Gale and Tav just cooking together and Tara being around and just... a sweet domestic moment?

MEASURE WITH YOUR HEART

SUMMARY: Gale is horrified when you try to improve upon his family's recipe.

PAIRING: Gale Dekarios & Gender Neutral Reader

WORD COUNT: 592

WARNINGS: None unless you count going against the recipe book as sacrilegious or something.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I read domestic Gale and blacked out for a second. (Also unedited because I am lazy!)

MASTERLIST

-

You see a stray finger dip into the pot in front of you. There and gone in an instant, it makes you sigh and close your eyes, taking a moment to listen to the rapid footsteps of a grown man racing across the floor, followed by the screech of a nearby chair. 

“You know I’m fully capable of making dinner without a second opinion, right?”

Looking smugly towards the dinner table, you see Gale nonchalantly reading a book, his eyes flickering to meet your gaze as if he wasn’t just hovering at your side. “I never said that you couldn’t?” he says, pretending to be confused. 

“You didn’t have to. I see that grubby little fingerprint of yours in my soup.” 

While motioning towards your creation, Gale sighs and sets his book down, watching as you narrow your eyes, a soft pout pushing through your lips. 

Immediately, it forces him to push out his chair and move towards your frame, slotting himself against your back with a soft grin that presses against your cheek. “You’re imagining things, dear. I was merely reading my book over there the whole time.” 

You roll your eyes, feeling him grip your hips, pulling your attention away from the soup just long enough so that he can steal a kiss as well as dip his finger in all over again, causing you to scoff through a grin as he laughs.

“You wicked wizard. I should starve you.” 

He licks the tip of his finger, narrowing his eyes as he smacks together his lips. “Hm, is that coriander?” 

You open your mouth to respond but ultimately huff, shaking your head at your partner’s inability to relax in the kitchen. 

“Wouldn’t think to put coriander in it but—“

“You hate it.” 

“I don’t hate it.” 

“But you don’t like it.” 

Picking up your wooden spoon, you begin to stir your less-than-perfect soup to distract yourself; rolling your eyes as Gale begins to go on some long-winded discussion about the recipe you’re currently making. Telling you how, traditionally, it’s made with equal parts cumin and oregano and not bloody coriander because the combination of the two aforementioned spices is the reason the soup is so good in the first place. 

It makes you groan in response, prompting a chuckle to escape Tara as she rubs her fur against your leg.

“Ignore Mr. Dekarios,” she coos, pressing her head against your bare ankle. “He’s just not used to people fiddling with his mother’s recipes.” 

You bite back a smirk and look towards him, watching his brows push together in annoyance as he gently kicks Tara away, earning himself a loud hiss.  

“You’re well aware that this recipe has been in the Dekarios family for generations, right?” he says, jostling you about as he dodges one of Tara’s swipes. “It isn’t just my mother’s recipe. It is a tried and true tested piece of knowledge that has served only the best amongst my clan.” 

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, craning your head back to rest against his shoulder, feeling his arms tighten around you. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be improved.”

Pinching your sides, he gives you a stern look. “But it does mean such a feat can be difficult.” 

“I’m sure it’s not that hard,” you argue then, planting a soft kiss to his neck before leaning forward again to reach for the spice rack, measuring out a few unlisted items with your heart as Gale watches in horror, trying his best to let you have this moment. 

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

Liv my wonderful writer. I'm in desperate need of some protective Frank Castle fic. Frank and fem reader are best friends and know each other for a long time. He's always very protective and soft with her. Finally settling down they're both happy that they know live near each other and see each other as often as possible (both are harboring deep feelings for the other, but both are too dumb to admit it) unfortunately the two had a big fight and reader storms out of Frank's apartment, clearly disappointed at Frank's harsh behavior towards her (maybe she criticizes him for his one night stand or you can come up with something else) one evening reader is attacked at her apartment and hurt badly... With her mobile broken (the guy who attacked her smashed it) she's not able to call for help, so she stays at her apartment for two days until she's able to stumble to Frank's house. He finds her at his doof, hurt badly with a raging fever....

Hopefully with a fluffy ending, after Frank takes care of her and apologizing to her. I know the best friends to lovers is a trope which is rather used often. But I LOVE it so much and as a sucker for whump hurt and sick reader fics, I really need this trope.

Love ya girl =)

Thank you so much for requesting this, it’s such a cute concept. I changed it a small bit so I hope you don’t hate that. :)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Violence and Language

Yours and Frank’s friendship consisted of almost daily check-ins, so you found it odd that he hadn’t checked in. You realized you hadn’t spoken to him in a few days, and this worried you. You called a couple of times and received no answer, which wasn’t too strange considering his line of business. Occasionally, he had weeks here and there where he would need to be unbothered or keep a low profile, so he’d turn his phone off, but he always warned you. Having waited a bit longer and still having no answer, you grabbed your coat and keys and exited your apartment. Walking to his apartment wasn’t too bad, as it was a few blocks away. You knocked on the door, but there was no answer. You gave it another try, this time you accompanied it with a shout of his name.

"Frank?"

However, there was nothing, no shuffle, no callback, and no door pulled open. There was silence. You stuck the key in the handle and unlocked the door. You slowly opened it and stepped into the apartment. There was nothing out of the ordinary at the front of the apartment. Everything was still in its place and nicely organized, just as Frank liked it. You headed towards the bedroom, finding the door slightly jarred. You pushed it, and as it creaked open, you could see that Frank wasn’t on the other side. No Frank in his apartment. Instead of returning to your apartment, you became comfortable on his couch and decided to wait.

Frank couldn’t have been happier to see his shitty one-bedroom apartment. His night was completely shit. The situation escalated, causing his arm to receive grazing from a bullet and his thigh to throb from a stab wound. Nothing that would kill him, just more of an inconvenience, and he was annoyed by the pain. Covered in blood and disgusted, he wanted to shower and collapse into bed. But upon inserting his keys in the door, he realized it was unlocked. He perked up and was ready to fight again. Slowly creeping down the hall, he strained his ears to hear anything. His gun was held tightly and ready to unload the clip. He cautiously stepped into the living room and scanned for any sign of an intruder. All was silent, but he held his breath. He knew that he was not alone. As he turned to check the kitchen, you had started your return to the living room. He pulled his gun up as you screeched.

"Oh my fucking god Frank!" You covered your face with your hands as you tried to calm your heart which was racing a like you ran a marathon. His hands trembled as he put his gun away, he had almost shot you. He was relieved that it was just you. He took a deep breath, calming his own racing heart.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I almost shot you!” He dropped the weapon on the counter.

“I was trying to check on you, I hadn’t heard from you so I was worried.” He knew that your intentions were pure, but he was stressed from the night and wore out, and still upset about almost killing you that he had become more irritated.

“You can’t just be in here like that.” His eyebrows were furrowed, you looked him over, there was a lot of blood, How much was his?

“I should help you, you look in pretty bad shape,” You wanted to change the subject, you wanted to help him. He wasn’t having any of it.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. You should go home.” He moved away so you could make it to the door.

“Frank I can’t just leave you here without helping-”

“I don’t need you here, there’s nothing you can do. Leave.” He wasn’t shouting but his voice was stern.

“Goddamn it Frank, can you please stop being so stubborn and let me help you?" You outstretched your arms to him, hoping that if you touched him, he would melt and let you in. But not tonight. Frank wasn’t having it. The last thing he wanted was to feel your warmth, both physically and emotionally. You being sweet on him would only make him feel worst for almost killing you.

He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve love. How dare he try and not feel guilty.

He flinched backward like you were going to burn him. You stood still processing and feeling your heart begin to ache.

“Go home. You shouldn’t be here anyway, I don’t need your help.” He almost snarled at you.

“Fine, hope you don’t fucking die.” You turned on your heels and stormed back to your apartment. How dare he? All you wanted was to help and he treated you like that? Of course, he didn’t need or want it. How foolish of you to believe that he needed you. Your eyes burn from tears, and you feel idiotic . You felt stupid for being there and stupid for letting him hurt your feelings so easily. Slamming the door to your apartment you quickly made your way to the bed and laid down. You wanted to sleep to forget tonight. You prayed that when you woke up in the morning, this night would have just been an awful dream.

There was a loud noise. Loud enough to wake you up. You groaned and sat up in bed, looking towards the door, you couldn’t see anything. Getting out of bed, you slowly made your way toward the hall. There was nobody in the hallway, but the noise seemed to come from the living room. As you approached, you noticed a man standing in the living room holding a huge knife in his hand. You needed to get back to your room to call Frank. As you walked back to the room, you tried not to make any noise. As you approached your room, you grabbed the door, and as you moved it to close it, the door made a loud squeaking sound. You knew he had heard, so you knew it was only a matter of minutes before he got to you. Closing the door and locking it, you could hear him running towards your room. You quickly grabbed your phone, which had a charge of 2 percent.

Fuck

As your hands trembled, you quickly thought about what to do. The only thing you could do was to hide. Running into your bathroom closet, you attempted to call Frank, but your phone had already died. You hear the man outside, banging on the door. He would get in soon

You grabbed the metal bar you kept in the closet, you were relieved that your paranoia was paid off. The bedroom door cracked open, you gripped the bar so tight your hands were hurting.

“I know you’re in here, it’ll be easier for you if you just come out.” He moved his way to the bathroom, looking to see if you were hiding. As he made his way, you stood and quietly emerged from the closet. As he turned back, you slammed the rod against him. It collided with his ribs. He stumbled back, and you moved to hit him again, but his hand caught the bar and yanked it toward him. You wanted to fight to keep the rod, but you knew that there was no reason. He was strong, and if you kept your hands on it, you would have been too close.

You took off running to the living room. If you could just get out of the front door, you would be fine. You could run to Frank, and he would keep you safe. He would hold you in his arms and congratulate you on your bravery and kiss your forehead, as he had done before. He would be firm against your body, and that’s all you could think about. You had almost reached the door when he grabbed your arm and his other hand wrapped itself in your hair. He shoved you on the ground.

“I just want to ask you some questions about Frank and depending on how nice you are determines how well I’ll be treating you.” Crawling to the kitchen you were hoping you could get a knife, he flipped you over on your back and stood above you. “Don’t try anything or it’s gonna get worse.”

As he interrogated you, you denied knowing anything. He became angrier, and he took it out on you. He started hitting you and threatening to kill you. You felt the blood drip down your face. The warmth of the sun started to leak into the apartment, in stark contrast to the coldness of the behavior you were receiving. You were dizzy and your eyes felt like cinderblocks. He had taken a break to use the bathroom and thinking that you were too weak, he left you untied. The knife he had wielded was left on the counter, waiting for you to grab it. As he approached you, you struck. The knife slashed across his chest and into his shoulder.

You slashed again, using your fleeting strength. You made contact over and over again, but you faltered stumbling back at a loss for breath. He knocked the knife out of your hands and slammed your head to the counter.

Frank let the coffee cleanse him of his sleepless night, but it couldn’t save him from the fight replaying in his head. The look on your face when he snapped replayed. His eyes squeezed together, and he shook his head in the hope that it would disappear. He knew he had to apologize; he needed to fix what he had broken. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his phone to call you. He had to try to make things right. He pressed the call button, but it didn't ring. It was sent directly to the voicemail. He gave it another shot and got the same outcome. He almost lost his breath. He knew you would need your space but didn't realize how much that would break him.

Your body must have woken you up. You were sweating and freezing; the sunlight made the pounding in your head worse, and you listened carefully, not wanting to show you were awake. Not hearing anything, you looked around. You were alone. You began elbow-crawling to the bedroom, praying your phone was there. Getting your arm up on the bed took all of your remaining strength. You can see the phone towards the top of the bed, just out of your arm’s reach. Trying your hardest to reach, you couldn’t make it before your eyes begin shutting and your body collapsed onto the bed.

Not waiting any longer, Frank left his apartment and headed to yours. He needed to see you, even if it meant you were mad, even if you slammed the door in his face. He just wanted to see that you were still there. Making his way up to your door, he noticed that it had been cracked open. His blood ran cold.

He called you, but there was no response. He pushed slowly inside and noted the blood in the living room and kitchen. His mind raced. Making no noise as he entered the room. His eyes landed on your sweating, bloodied form. Rushing to get to you, he gently inspected you to make sure that you were still breathing.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” You were breathing, but unresponsive. He needed a rag and bandages. He helped you quickly, cleaning the sweat and blood off you. Although you grumbled, you didn’t fight against the help. To you, this whole situation was just a fever dream. You knew Frank wasn’t here, but at least your brain was kind enough to conjure an image of him. You had accepted the fact that you were fighting a fever and probably bleeding all over your bed.

Night had passed and so had your fever. Frank kept a watchful eye on you. He cleaned up your apartment and fixed your door. At noon, you opened your eyes. Blinking a few times, you registered you weren’t alone. The smell of soup from the kitchen and the sound of low music playing let you know it wasn’t anyone with malicious intentions but instead, it was Frank.

“Frank?” You tried to call out to Frank, but your voice was too hoarse to do anything, but squeak. There was tightness all through your body. Your body was unhappy to move. Frank appeared at the bedroom door, holding a glass of water. His black shirt stretched tightly against his arms, and his hair was slightly disheveled. Damn, did he still look so handsome.

“Don’t move,” He brought the cup gently to your lips and allowed you to drink as much as you needed, his eyes soft.

“What happened?” Sitting on the bed he rested a hand on your leg. You looked away from him, having trouble finding the words to say. Frank waited, he would have waited years if needed it.

While you found your words, Frank already knew what he needed to say. When he found you lying in your bed, passed out, and covered in blood, he knew he needed to tell you how he felt once you were better. He couldn’t go without you knowing he loved you anymore.

Once you turned back to him, he held your hand. You told him everything, how the guy wanted information on Frank, how you almost whooped his ass, and how all you could think of was Frank toward the end.

“I am so fucking sorry you got in the middle of my shit, sweetheart. This should have never happened to you, you didn’t deserve this. I was so–so scared that you were gone when I got here. I have never been that scared. And I’m sorry for the other night. I shouldn’t have snapped, and I didn’t mean anything I said. I need you in my life. I want you here.” He shook his head and licked his lips, you could tell that his words were heavy with emotions. You can see it in his eyes that he wants you to feel these emotions.

His truth made you cry harder. You pushed yourself forward and hugged Frank. His arms wrapped around you tight enough to make you feel safe and secure, but not enough to cause pain. Slowly pulling back, you looked back into his eyes. He was so close, you could see the small scar on the side of his head and the little stubble growing.

Frank looked down at your lips and then back into your eyes. He brought his hand up to your face, rubbing your cheek, and gently guiding your face toward him. Your eyes closed, and you waited for his lips to meet yours. Kissing him now was far better than you imagined. You hoped Frank felt butterflies like you were. You hoped his heart was racing. If only you knew just how much of an effect you were having on him. He never wanted to stop kissing you.

Finally, pulling apart, you rested your forehead on his chest and basked in his scent. Frank’s smile was so big, his eyes were bright from the love he was allowing himself to feel. It had been so long since he felt something like this. That horrible night was far from you. Frank chased it away. Now that you had Frank, you were never letting him go, and you knew that Frank would never let you go. You couldn't help the smile on your face, as you reveled in the feeling of Frank being all around you.

[marvelmymarvel]

Eat Your Vegetables

Jiraiya x NarutoMotherFigure!Reader

Synopsis: Now that you had Jiraiya around to corral the child, you had more time to make healthier options for dinner. Naruto was displeased, but you didn't care.

A/N: I know not everyone loves when the reader is pregnant, so here's your warning :P

Jiraiya looked up from his paper as he heard you sigh inside the kitchen. He craned his neck to better see you and what you were huffing about, and he smiled softly at the sight. You were trying to get the can of green beans off the top shelf. You could do it easily, but being 7 months pregnant made the simple task rather difficult. You huffed as Jiraiya suddenly came up behind you, "Let me help you, darling."

"I can get it myself," you muttered as you swatted his wandering hands away from your body. "I don't need your help!" He smirked at your exasperated words yet ignored them as he reached for the can, barely having to move to get it at his fingertips. "That's not fair," you grumbled with a pout evident on your lips. Jiraiya chuckled as he returned to give you the food - "What? That you're shorter than I am?"

"No. It's unfair because I have to grow your massive baby and can't do things without you. I think you planned for this to happen."

His head flew back in laughter, shoulders shaking as you stood there with a 'menacing' look. You were really feisty nowadays. And it was most likely because of the lack of sleep you got. Jiraiya's fit of laughter drifted into softer giggles as he looked at you lovingly, "I know you 'hate' growing my 'massive' baby. But you sure do look beautiful doing so."

Your face started to heat up before you ripped the can from his fingers and walked quickly towards the stove. "Stop it. You're making me blush," you muttered sheepishly. He let out a snort of amusement but didn't push it.

You sighed as he came up behind you again - "Jiraiya-" You cut yourself off as he lovingly wrapped his arms around you. His hands rested gently on your stomach, thumb caressing where your shirt was riding up before pulling it down for you.

"I just want to hold you."

You bit back a sigh as he curled into you. His head rested in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses along the flesh. "I love you two more than anything in this world."

"HEY!"

You jumped at Naruto's screech, hand flying over your heart as you tried to calm your racing pulse. "Goodness! Naruto, don't do that-"

"Pervy Sage, are you trying to say you don't care about me?!"

You blinked at that; what on earth was he- Oh. You glanced up at Jiraiya, who had gone bright red. He averted your gaze and summoned his willpower to say his following words.

"Fine, I love you three more than anything in this world. Better?" You stifled a laugh as Naruto's face contorted into disgust. "I just said care about, not love. Only my Mom can say that-"

"Goodness, quit being a boy, and sit down. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Oh. Uh, can I go get Ramen with Iruka Sensei, Mom?"

Jiraiya had pulled away from you to grab the plates, but the sentence falling from Naruto's lips made him freeze. This had been the nightly struggle. You shook your head at him before looking at the pot below. "No, you've had Ramen 3 days in a row now. Sit."

"But, MOM. I rarely see Iruka Sensei!!!"

Your e/c eyes shot up to his, anger flashing across your face as you dared him to argue with you. Naruto's brows furrowed as he matched your attitude. Crossing his arms, he looked down at the food you were making - "Let's all just get Ramen then... You were never a good cook anyway, Mom - "

A gasp flew from your lips at the words falling from his, causing Jiraiya to quickly turn to stop you from chasing the suddenly brave child. Naruto's eyes widened as Jiraiya hauled you back; the glare the Sannin sent told him he had hit a nerve. A very, very sensitive nerve.

Silence filled the space as you begrudgingly shut your mouth and returned to getting the veggies heated up.

Naruto bounced on his feet uncomfortably; he didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You used to claim to be a lousy cook. But as he took in all of the dishes surrounding you, did he realize you had been trying to change that. "I'm sorry, Mom..."

"Just sit, please," your whisper caused Jiraiya to move towards the dining room, nodding at Naruto for him to follow.

Silence once again filled the kitchen space, and you rolled your eyes. It was your fault, how Naruto blurted out whatever came to mind. You didn't know how it was possible to still teach him manners and compassion at 13, but here you were, teaching him a very painful lesson.

The vegetables took little time to heat up, and within minutes you had the two food dishes in your hands. You walked carefully towards the Dinning room, but hearing Jiraiya's voice made you pause.

"Your moms just trying to get you to eat healthier, Naruto. Give her some grace."

"But she's never been a stickler about food. I don't know why she's trying now to change that; it was just fine before."

"Because she had no help raising you, she had to substitute where she could. She gave you Ramen so she could have more time to spend with you. But now that I'm around, she's got a second set of hands, and she's just trying to help you get stronger. Along with that, she's 7 months pregnant and trying to be better for the new baby. So please, for her sake at least - Eat the vegetables."

Naruto grew quiet, and you walked into the room with a soft smile on your lips. "Okay, tonight's meal is grilled chicken with green beans," You stated happily as you placed the food on the table. It wasn't the best-looking meal, but it was better than what you used to produce. "Looks good, Honey!" Jiraiya exclaimed as he rubbed his hands together excitedly. He had been the guinea pig of many of your trial dishes, and this one was the best one you've made so far.

Naruto looked up at you sadly, guilt eating him alive as you started to plate their food. He said nothing but smiled kindly at you, handing him his plate. "Thanks, Mom."

You hummed at him before sitting down, grunting as you readjusted your seat. "I can't wait to get him out of me," you joked before looking again at your food. You didn't know why you felt so embarrassed as Naruto and Jiraiya began to cut into their meat. You eyed the breasts, hoping and praying they weren't pink in the middle.

A sigh of relief tumbled from your lips as the centers were stark white. Jiraiya popped a slice of the chicken in his mouth before humming at the flavor - "I swear, Honey, you get better every time you cook."

The smile that graced your lips lit up the room, and Naruto finally began to understand you. You wanted to be a real Mom, and part of being a real Mom was making him eat healthily. It didn't mean Naruto didn't love the mom he had growing up, but he finally comprehended you were just trying to be a better mom. "Thank you, Jiraiya," you whispered sweetly, pride blossoming in your chest as you began to cut into your chicken.

"Wow"

Your eyes flicked up to the blonde, face frozen, hoping he wouldn't be disgusted. "That's good chicken, Mom, and the vegetables with it make it even better." You smiled at him knowingly. This was no Ramen; he was most likely disappointed. But the look he gave you seemed to have told you otherwise. "Really. Mom... This is really good. Thank you"

Your smile morphed into something genuine, "Thank you, honey. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Naruto nodded before digging into the rest of the meal. You reached across the table to softly touch Jiraiya, quietly thanking him for always having your back. Naruto may have hated this change, but you wanted to give him and his brother the best life possible.

And that included them eating their vegetables.

[scriberye]

      ➥  König/Ghost x Reader    |    2020    |    Ao3

⚠️🔞 Canon Typical Violence, Fluff, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Implied Character Death, Gender-Neutral Reader Dire situation prompt fills for Ghost x Reader x König. One is Ghost x König. NSFW fills are at the bottom and marked if you want to avoid them. a/n: prompts from here. header art by @ave661.

[ HIDE ] sender and receiver hide from a threat together

The prank may have gone too far.

Ghost is on the warpath, and you and König have squished yourselves together in a closet hoping to escape his wrath. You cling to one another, trying to remain quiet as you listen to Ghost stomping around the house shouting your names.

“When I get my hands on you two — !”

He sounds closer, but not enough for you to worry — until the noise stops. It goes quiet. König’s grip on you tightens, pulling you up against his chest. You both wait with bated breath, straining to hear any more sounds, hoping Ghost moved again. There’s nothing though. Only the sound of yours and König’s heavy breathing and racing hearts.

The closet doors fly open and Ghost’s shadow looms over, “Found you two.”

You both scream.

[ GETAWAY ] sender acts as a getaway driver for receiver

König kicks the door of the building open, marching out with a silver case tucked under one arm and his gun held aloft in the other. The area appears free of any enemy combatants. He remains cautious though, hugging the wall of the warehouse as he makes his way closer to the road.

“Ghost, I need a lift.”

The radio crackles to life. “Copy. I’m heading your way.”

He hunkers down, scanning around for any threats as he waits. It doesn't take long for Ghost to reach him. The unfamiliar-looking vehicle comes barreling down the road, tires screeching as it skids to a stop in front of him.

Ghost leans across the seats, shoving open the side door.

“Took you long enough.” König teases, squeezing himself into the cramped passenger seat, setting the case on the backseat. The front of the car is smeared in blood.

“Ran into some traffic.”

“Ran into or ran over?”

“Same shite. Put your seatbelt on.”

[ MEDIC ] sender arrives on receiver’s doorstep , badly bleeding

You’re bundled up on the couch with a snack and half-way through a binge watching spree when the front door opens with such force it slams into the wall. In that moment, your heart stops from surprise and the sight of König dragging Ghost inside.

“Guys!?” You untangle yourself from the blankets. König looks fine, tired, but Ghost looks rough. He’s breathing hard and clutching at his side, where blood is slowly seeping out between his fingers. “Oh my god, Simon!”

“He refuses to go to the hospital!” König’s voice cracks as he drags Ghost across the room and dumps him on the dining room table. Ghost groans. It always happens like this because Ghost doesn’t want people asking question — your guys end up doing triage on the kitchen table.

You grab the first aid kit and spread it out within König’s reach. He’s no medical professional, but he knows enough to patch Ghost up and keep his blood inside his body.

[ DRAG ] sender physically hauls receiver to safety

A bullet flies past and König hears the thud of a bullet hitting its mark, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Ghost fall. Another bullet whizzes past, grazing König’s helmet.

“Ghost!” König’s heart clenches and he sees red. He takes aim in the direction the offending bullet came from, and cleanly eliminates his target. He’s satisfied — for now.

“Leave me! Go!” Ghost gasps through gritted teeth, clutching at where the bullet struck him. König isn’t listening. He grabs the back of Ghost’s uniform and drags him back into the relative safety of cover.

“Get out, König! Now!”

“Not leaving you, bruder!” König pulls the first aid kit from his kit, ripping it open. It’s quick and dirty, but all he can do for Ghost now is to stop the bleeding. “Our sweet one would kill me. And maybe start their own war.”

Ghost laughs and immediately regrets it when a fresh wave of pain hits him. He flinches and sighs, “Fuckin’ hell, can’t have that.”

[ UNEXPECTED ] receiver comes home to find sender already inside

Today sucked. Worked sucked. Everything sucked. It’s been raining non-stop, and you forgot your lunch, so of course, when you went out to get lunch nearby, a car hit a puddle, drenching you from head to toe. Worst of all, your boyfriends have been away for weeks.

You struggle to get the key in the door, and honestly, you’re ready to cry cause fuck this door. Fuck this day. You get inside and toss your things aside.

“I’m home.” You sigh, knowing full well no one is going to answer you back.

“Welcome home, mein häschen!”

You look over and see König standing there, arms open as wide as the small space allowed and waiting. He wiggles his fingers, and smiles, and you scream. You jump right into his arms, throwing your arms around his neck. “My bear!”

König’s arms engulf you and you both laugh as he lifts you up off the floor, twirling you around. It’s a flurry of frantic, little kisses as you both try to talk, laugh, and kiss at the same time.

He sets you back on your feet, chasing you for one last peck.

“Where’s my kiss?” Ghost huffs, fresh out of the shower in just his sweatpants with a towel around his neck.

"Simon!” you coo and move into his arms, leaning up on your toes to kiss him. Unlike König, kissing him is much calmer, but more intense. He takes his time, leaving you breathless and weak in the knees.

He cups your cheek, and you lean into his calloused hand. “Welcome home, love.”

“And you, too. Welcome home, guys.”

[ STRANDED ] sender and receiver become stranded in the woods

“It’s dead.” Ghost says, slamming the bonnet of the car down with an irritated sigh. Just their luck that the car would decide to die not even half-way to the cabin. Now they’re stranded in the middle of the woods without a ride. “It’s getting dark. We’ll camp out in the car tonight, then hike the rest of the way to the cabin.”

With all the seats folded down and moved forward as much as the vehicle would allow, König and Ghost climb into the car and you squeeze yourself in-between them. It’s a tight fit, but you manage, throwing your leg over Ghost’s with a loud sigh.

“Everybody comfy?” Ghost grins when you finally seem to settle down.

“No.”

“Nein.”

“Great,” Ghost leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead, “Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a long hike ahead of us at first light.”

“You know, since we’re camping outside —” You grin, hearing Ghost groan. He knows where this is going and he’s already against it. “We should tell scary stories!”

The car suddenly lurches and rocks from König trying to scoot impossibly closer in his excitement. “I’ve got one!”

[ EMBRACE ] sender kisses receiver thinking it’ll be the last time

Ghost pushes König’s veil up, and his heart breaks seeing the tears swelling up in the other man’s eyes. They both knew, in their line of work, that death was always a possibility and they had made their peace with that a long time ago. But this wasn’t how they wanted to go.

Ghost grips the back of König’s neck, pulling him down and into a kiss. He kisses him over, and over again, hoping each time will keep the tears from spilling over. Anything to distract König — and himself — from the inevitable fate that’s barreling toward them.

[ TOKEN ] sender gives receiver a lucky charm before they go into battle

It was a race against time to get the patches finished. König would deploy first, KorTac needed him somewhere, then SpecGru would ship Ghost off a few weeks after. The patches aren’t perfect, but it’s the best you’re going to get after binge watching crafting YouTube videos. At least it’s obvious what it is now — a skull, a bunny, and a bear all held together by a bright red heart.

“They’re not the best, but here.” You held the patches out to König and Ghost after dinner one night, “You don’t have to wear them or anything I just… thought it would be nice to have something personal, you know?”

You press your lips together to keep yourself from rambling. Nerves did that to you sometimes. König seemed over the moon with joy, examining his patch like a kid with a new toy. Ghost, on the other hand, gave nothing away.

“What about you?” Ghost says.

“Oh, I made one for me too!” You pull a matching patch from your pocket to show him, and that seems to please Ghost.

“Thanks, love.”

“Danke!”

In return for your gifts, you’re given loving kisses and the sight of two grown-men chatting excitedly amongst themselves about where they’re going to put the patch on their uniforms.

[ CORNERED ] sender menacingly backs receiver into a corner

There’s only so many ways to react when Ghost backs you into the corner of the shower, and that’s getting on your knees. He leans over you, a forearm braced against the tile, his other hand on the back of your head guiding you toward his cock.

You’re all too happy to oblige, swirling your tongue around the tip before swallowing his cock. His breath hitches, and his length twitches in your mouth.

“Damn, sweetheart.” Ghost says with a groan, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Love your mouth — so hot.”

You flush at the praise. Oh, how you want to make him happy. You hold on to his hips, flattening your tongue and dragging it along the underside of his cock as you bob your head. It doesn’t take long before Ghost takes control, thrusting himself into your mouth in short, rapid motions. He’s already wound up, and you know exactly what he likes.

Ghost’s muscles go rigid as he spills into your mouth with a soft ‘fuck’.

[ SHELTER ] sender and receiver must find shelter from a storm

A snowstorm wasn’t part of the plan when König dragged you and Ghost to a cabin in the middle of Austria. Or maybe it was. A scheme carefully planned by König to get you both naked. Not that you minded when you found yourself trapped between two heaving, sweat slick chests.

“One more, love.” Ghost says with a groan, his tongue chasing a bead of sweat down your throat. “Just one more, know you got it in you.”

“I can’t.” You slump back against König, mouth agape and chest heaving. The guys have been at this for what felt like hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were all drenched in sweat.

“You can.”

König’s hand slides over your stomach and between your legs, coaxing you toward the crest of another strained orgasm. You gasp, reaching back to grab a fistful of his hair, tugging fruitlessly on it as if he’d take mercy on you. Ghost pushes you along, grinding his hips into you, pushing his cock deeper into you.

You bite your lip, back arching, and leg twitching as you came again for them.

[ HUSH ] sender clasps a hand over receiver’s mouth to silence them

There were drawbacks to sleeping with König. His size made quickies impossible, but he made you scream every time he pinned you down and stuffed full of his cock. You didn’t mind, and neither did he, but your neighbors certainly did.

Naturally, you both decided to have sex more often and König had fun in finding out how loud he could make you moan — and the various ways to keep you quiet.

You shudder beneath him, and König’s hand flew over your mouth, muffling your scream as you came hard. Your body shakes and twitches beneath him. You grab at the sheets and whine as König slows down, grinding his hips into yours as you ride it out.

“Mein häschen, so well-behaved.”

He pulls his hand away, pressing tender kisses on your back and shoulders. You slump forward, breathing hard and drooling on the sheets. König only gives you a moment to collect yourself before he braces his hands on the bed and slams his hips into you again.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside. 

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact. 

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager. 

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”  

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked. 

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~ 

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.     

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. 

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me. 

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras. 

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean. 

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.” 

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”  

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina. 

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same. 

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet. 

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try? 

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.” 

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late. 

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary. 

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down. 

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright? 

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago. 

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.” 

I’d kept my promise. 

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.” 

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date! 

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions. 

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey. 

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away. 

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp. 

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat. 

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.  

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus. 

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth. 

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin. 

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath. 

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.” 

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming. 

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie. 

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open. 

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere. 

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean. 

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the  basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~ 

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El.  What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to.  Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again.  It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due. 

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger. 

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year. 

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer. 

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice. 

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going.  I just want to tell you that I love  need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean  

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam. 

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 3: Me and the Devil

Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton × OFC Stella Daniels

Rating: M? (Still figuring out the rating system) (might eventually be M anyhow)

Warnings: violence, language, I’m not even sure what to add, I think this chapter is pretty tame?

Word count: 4,892ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot for being a sounding board for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, a cheerleader, and allowing me to screech at her about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far.

Author’s note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well! 💛🤓

After Stella had jumped out Abigail’s stall window, she raced to the bunkhouse. She was pretty sure she had left her keys on the kitchen table. Swinging the door open, she saw the orange wrist strap on the table in front of her. She bounded forward and snatched them off the table then raced off to her car. Her brother and Colby had perplexed looks on their faces, but they shook it off as she drove away.

Pulling up to Monica and Kayce’s portion of the reservation, she got a few weird looks before people realized who it was. She placed the car in park behind Kayce’s truck. Hopping out she heard Tate holler from across the yard.

“Aunt Stella!”

“Hey lil dude!” She let out a small oomph as he ran into her legs and gave her a quick hug.

“Me and dad found a dinosaur! Come look!” He grabbed her hand and tugged her in the direction of a giant crater.

“A dinosaur?! What? That’s so cool!” She exclaimed. Most people would probably just be placating him, but Stella actually thought it was pretty neat. She gave Kayce a glance and a smile as his son dragged her past him. Stella slid her glasses back up her nose. Tate hopped down into the hole and explained everything he could about the fossil at lightning speed.

Kayce strolled up to the edge of the crater he had made in his yard. He focused on Stella and watched her show genuine interest in what his son talked about. He thought it was sweet.

“So you wanted to talk about a horse?”

Stella nodded and backed up from the hole. “Yeah, about Tank.”

“That horse, which you’ve apparently named,” he gave her a pointed look, knowing how she was once she named something, “was a gift to my father. That’s his problem now.”

“And by default it’s a problem child that I also have to work with.”

“Well that’s part of your job, Stell.”

“Thank you, smart ass. I know that. However, that horse is very much yours.” Stella gave him a sharp look of her own. “His demeanor and deliberate, planned movement says it all.” She giggled at the memory of this morning. “Not to mention his high distaste for your father. He barely listens to me, let alone anyone else that isn’t you.” Kayce snorted in amusement. “Hell, he almost wrecked your dad this morning before I got to them. He flipped on him.”

“I feel like it’s an even trade then.”

“Kayce…” Stella chided him. “There was also something else I wanted to tell you —,” before she could get any further, the sound of a truck caught their attention. Stella’s heart dropped as she saw that it was John. She wasn’t sure what exactly the conversation she overheard was about, but she knew it couldn’t be good. She also wasn’t entirely positive they didn’t hear her trying to leave.

She bit her lip as she tried to convince herself that John hadn’t heard her. He had bigger fish to fry it seemed. Surely he wouldn’t be concerned with some random noises in a barn.

John walked up to the twosome. “Stella, what are you doing here?”

“I was talkin’ about that horse like you asked, sir.” He raised an eyebrow at her, wondering why she came here just for that.

He looked at Kayce. “I’m gonna go see my grandson.” He then walked over to the fossil and Tate.

Stella turned to her best friend. “Hey, I got Monica some flowers. Is it okay if I go to the house?”

Kayce shrugged. “Yeah, just knock first.”

Grabbing them out of her passenger seat, she made her way to the front door. She thumped the door a few times before she heard light footsteps make their way to the door. She was greeted with Kayce’s wife looking confused.

“Hey, Stella. What are you doing here?”

“I had to talk to Kayce about that horse he gave his dad. John asked me to this mornin’. I had asked Kayce if I could meet him here and he said it was okay with you guys. I hope you don’t mind?” Stella brought the flowers close to her stomach.

“No, no. It’s okay. Come in.” Monica ushered her inside.

“I brought these for you. That’s also why I wanted to stop by here. I’m really sorry about your brother.” Stella couldn't even begin to fully understand the feeling. If she went far enough into the thought, it made her want to shut down at the thought of losing Ryan. She might not have been the biggest fan of Robert herself, but she wouldn’t have wished death on him.

It was quiet as Monica studied Stella. Almost as if she was feeling out her intentions. “Yeah, me too.” Monica stepped forward to take the flowers and the condolences. She gave Stella a quiet thank you and placed them in the center of the dining table. Stella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“So what about that horse?” Monica busied herself in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast before her shower.

“Oh it’s a thousand times your husband's horse. I told Kayce that I understood it was a present to his dad, but he’s not the one that works with the horses every day. So that means that mustang is my problem as well. If his dad lets me keep the position, that is. I’m good at my job. I mean as good as Kayce and Lee got me to be, but that stud ain’t gonna completely listen to anyone who isn’t Kayce.”

Monica huffed out a laugh as she placed the dish towel on the counter. “That sounds about right for him.” Stella joined her with a laugh of her own. Monica motioned to the couch. “Let’s sit.” Monica seated herself on the plush couch but the window. “So how are you holding up? You seem fine, but you’re just like Kayce. You hide it well.”

Stella shrugged with a flat chuckle. “I wouldn’t say we hide it well. I like to call it compartmentalizing.” She made eye contact with Monica. Both women knew the best friends held things in, dealt with them alone, and eventually reached a boiling point. Stella was blowing smoke. “I dunno.” She reached down to fiddle with a loose string from the couch. “I suppose I’m alright. I’m more worried about Kayce because it was his brother. You know?”

“I do.” Monica paused. “But Lee was also your coworker. Your friend. The Duttons aren’t the only ones who lost someone. All of the employees did too.” Monica was being logical. Stella struggled with feeling selfish, even though her grief was just as appropriate as the Duttons’ was.

Monica chimed in again. “You’re allowed to miss him. You’re allowed to be sad, Stella. I’m almost certain Kayce would tell you the same thing.”

Lee had been around for the very formative years of her life. And just like Kayce, Lee had been a constant. Stella pushed her glasses back up and looked at Monica. “I know.”

Monica sighed. “I can hear your “but” forming already.” The one thing she wished Stella wouldn’t do, was ignore herself to take care of everyone else she cared about.

Stella groaned. “I just don’t want anyone to worry about me. Plus, do you know how hard it is to talk to a bunch of cowboys about feelings?”

Monica nodded. “Yeah I do. I have one who’s clammed up tight, remember?” She looked out the window at her husband and father in law. “Has he said anything to you? At all?”

“No. He usually goes to you before me, which I would expect.” Stella crossed her leg over the other at the knee. “Enough about me. How are you? Like truly? Because you lost someone too.”

There was a sigh and a long pause from Monica. The dark haired woman looked longingly out the window again at her husband. “I’m alright. Taking it day by day. Trying to work through the feelings as they come. I’m just confused as to why he won’t talk to me about what happened out there.”

“I know it’s not my place, but can I offer my opinion?” Stella looked between the window and Monica.

Monica shrugged. “Sure. It couldn’t hurt. You knew him before I did.”

“Coming from someone who, like we determined earlier, also clams up when things get heavy, he probably doesn’t want you to have to carry the burden. He wants to make sure you and Tate are good and safe. He wants to worry about himself last. I don’t think it’s out of distrust or anything like that.” Stella pursed her lips in contemplation. “Just like I do with the horses, let him come to you. Drop little reminders that you’re here to talk when he’s ready. He will definitely take his time, but he’ll break, and make his way to you.”

“I hope you’re right.” They both heard John’s truck pull away.

“I think that’s my cue. I’ll talk to Kayce again about Tank some other day.” Both women stood. Stella asked, “can I give you a hug?” Monica nodded and they embraced just long enough for the sentiment to be passed between them.

“Thank you. Be safe on your way home, yeah?”

Stella giggled. “I always try, but I make no promises.” Stella winked and headed out the door. She almost tripped over Kayce, who was now seated on the steps that led up to the porch. “Shit!”

“Sorry, Stell. Dad just left.”

“Yeah I heard. What did he have to say?”

Kayce didn’t look at her. “Ah, just his usual bullshit. You know him.”

Stella scrunched her face up at his back. Something felt off. She noticed he was quieter than normal. He wasn’t lying, but to Stella, it felt like he was glazing over something. She placed a pin in that for later, deciding to choose her battles today.

Stella hopped down to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m gonna head out too. I’ll talk to you more about Tank man later on, okay?”

“Yeah.”

She turned and peered intently at him. “You sure you’re okay?” It was a loaded question, but she had to ask. She couldn’t bring herself to leave without doing so.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You be safe on the way home.”

She laughed. “Why does everybody think I’m gonna drive off the road?” She walked over to her car and Kayce followed.

“I know you, that’s why.”

“Pfft. Yeah. Sure you do, cowboy.” She stood up on the sidebar of the car to see over top in Tate’s direction. “See ya later lil dude!”

They heard a faint response of, “Bye Aunt Stella!”

She turned her gaze back to Kayce as she swung into her car. “See ya later, cowboy.” She smiled at her best friend’s wife still standing in the doorway. “Monica.” Kayce shut her door behind her.

Stella had gotten back to the ranch in one piece. She decided to hang out with her brother for a little bit. She missed him. The craziness of the last few days had taken over and she needed her safety net. The siblings sat in the same position on Ryan’s top bunk. Their backs were against the wall, their legs drawn up not quite to their chest, but high enough to have their feet on the bed.

They looked like they did when they were younger. There were many nights spent like this before they got to the Yellowstone, and even after. Some nights they were planning their next steps, others Ryan was comforting Stella; letting her know everything was going to be alright and he would stop at nothing to keep her safe. Other nights they were just happy being.

Stella had her arms crossed against her lap. She let out a big breath as her eyes closed. Things in the house were quieter tonight. For that, she was thankful. She might be able to sneak in a nap before she headed home.

Ryan visibly watched Stella decompress. He was happy she still felt safe with him and the other guys. He always wanted to be her safe space. He nudged her shoulder lightly with his own.

“What, Ry?” Stella cracked open her eyes. He raised his eyebrows and nodded at her. She acknowledged him back with her own sleepy nod.

He leaned fully against the wall and slid close to her. He whispered. “You know you can talk to me about it, right?”

Stella’s head thudded back against the wall and she sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She started picking at the side of her nails. “I just don’t… know. What do you expect me to say?”

“I mean are you sad? Angry? Devastated? Hurt?” He suggested.

“I’m all of those things, Ryan. He wasn’t just my coworker, or my boss. He was a friend, too.” She thought about what Monica had said to her this morning. She placed her hands on her knees, bracing herself back against the wall. “There’s legitimately nothing I can do to change the fact that he’s gone. Hell, I wasn’t here when it happened. Even me being here wouldn’t have stopped anything.”

“It might have given you some closure though.”

Stella audibly groaned with annoyance. “That’s the thing. Even if I had closure,” she put air quotes around the word, “it still wouldn’t have stopped it from happening. You get what I’m saying?”

Ryan’s voice became stern. “I do, but you haven’t said anything to anyone about it. I don’t want you to internalize it, Stella.”

“I just, I don’t know what to say. I have no words. Yes, I’m sad. Yes, I’m experiencing the hole left behind. I’m going through the same shit y’all are. I just don’t want to talk about it.” Stella huffed and started to hop off the bunk.

Ryan grabbed her arm. Her head snapped back in his direction. “Ryan Stephen, let me go.” She ordered him with a low voice.

“Look, just come to me if you need to. Please?” He gave her his best version of puppy dog eyes.

Her tone softened. “Okay okay. I will if, if, I need to.”

He decided to go shower, leaving her to her own devices. Her gaze panned around the room. Jake and Ethan played the arcade game in the corner. Lloyd was at the table. Colby and Fred sat off to the side, and Jimmy was laid out on his top bunk. Stella could tell he was in a lot of pain from however long they had him on Tank. She felt for him.

Everything was business as usual. There was still a somber tone amongst the bunkhouse, but it wasn’t as heavy as it had been.

Lloyd called out to her. “Hey little bit.” She grinned at him and shuffled over.

“Yessir?”

“Care to keep an old cowboy company?”

“I would love to, my good sir.” She happily plopped down in the chair next to him. Ecstatic to be distracted from the thoughts brought on by the conversation with her brother. They started to play silent two man poker. They were just honing their skills, no real betting going on.

Ryan came out of the shower. He called out to the other guys. “Okay showers up.”

Stella looked up at the movement. She dramatically covered her eyes, as Ryan was only in a towel. “Oh my god, put your shirt on! My eyes!”

“Oh shut the fuck up, Stella!” Ryan threw the aforementioned shirt at her. She caught it and let out a cackle. She tossed it back to him. Stella started to respond to him, but Colby and Fred started to get loud with Jimmy.

“Would you two shit heads leave him be?” Stella rose from her seat. Lloyd put a hand on her arm gently to keep her in her spot. She and Fred never got along. She tolerated him a good portion of the time, but more often than not, she wanted to smack the shit out of him.

Ryan sighed, but walked closer to his sister. “Don’t start,” he whispered to her. As soon as she heard those words, she wanted to set fire to the whole place.

“And what are you gonna do princess?” Fred patronized her, adding fuel and striking the match.

“Princess?!” She snapped with lightning speed around Lloyd and leapt across the room. “I’ll show you princess you son of a bitch!” Ryan raced forward and grabbed her around the waist causing her to snap like a rubber band forward and back. Ryan heard the air leave her as she connected with his chest and started swinging.

“Fuck you Fred!” Stella shouted. Ryan wrestled her for the upper hand. Stella pushed and shoved at Ryan’s hands and arms. She pushed his head. She tried to step on his toes. Anything to get him to let her go. Colby tried to keep Fred back with the same amount of dedication. They didn’t want either of them to get their hands on the other.

“Stella!” He struggled against her pull. “Stella! Stop!” Ryan yelled at his little sister.

“No Ryan! Let her get her ass handed to her! Your bitch of a sister needs to be taken down a peg or two!” Fred screamed.

Stella pulled forward hard and heavy. Ryan’s hold on her slipped. She launched her body as fast and hard as she could at Fred. Fred wasn’t expecting her to make contact with her fist, but the crack of his jaw as it snapped shut was heard around the whole house. It was deathly silent as he staggered back.

“You dirty whore!” Fred screamed as he lunged at Stella. He grabbed for Stella’s neck, but Ryan stepped in his way. Ryan shoved his sister backward to Lloyd. He squared his jaw and stood to his full height.

His voice was deadly. “If you’re feelin’ froggy, Fred. Leap.” His eyebrows jumped upward as he said leap. “But the second you touch my sister?” He stepped closer to Fred to get in his face and make his point clear. “I will cut your fuckin’ head off and not feel any remorse.”

“I’ll help him feed you to the fuckin’ bears!” Stella screamed while she fought against Lloyd.

Lloyd hollered, wrestling Stella back. “Knock it the fuck off! All of you!” They all stopped and looked at him. It was rare that Lloyd would raise his voice.

He practically handed Stella to her brother. “Ryan take her outside.” He pointed to Fred. “You simmer down.”

Ryan dragged her back toward the door. She finally stopped fighting against it and went outside. She let out a snarl and kicked at the dirt. Her knuckles let her know they were angry from the hit. She shook her hand. ‘That’s gonna suck in the mornin.’

“You should have let me punch him in the throat. Give him something to choke on.”

“Listen, I know we all don’t like him, but you can’t be doing that.” Fred would have most likely beaten the absolute hell out of her. He had no control over his anger.

“He fuckin’ deserves it though.” She shouted.

They heard the gravel crunching off to the side. “Who deserves what?” John asked.

“Fred deserves to have his ass beat within an inch of his life.” Stella explained hotly.

Ryan scolded her. “Stella!”

She glared at her brother and fixed her glasses. She held her hands out to the side. “What? Fred is a bully and I’m just saying what we’ve all been thinking.” Ryan remained silent because he knew she was right.

John let them settle out then interrupted. “Stella, I actually came down here to ask if I could talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“It’s about that mustang. Come to the barn with me so I can show you.”

“What did y’all do to him??” She rushed to the barn.

She got in there and hurried her way over to Tank. Both Tank and Abigail made happy noises at her approach. She pet the mare quickly, and moved to Tank to look him over.

John followed behind her at a slow pace. He took his time and observed her doing what she did best, what he paid her for, but also in general. He needed to decide if she was taking Lee’s place. It depended on how the next few minutes went.

He knew she was hot headed, exemplified by the previous conversation about Fred; but she was focused when she actually put her mind to whatever she was doing. Quiet, but could be boisterous with the right people. Smart and mean, a dangerous combination. Kayce wouldn’t have chosen to be her friend if there wasn’t some level of trust there. Lee wouldn’t have worked with her if he didn’t think she was trustworthy. He shut the small door behind him with a thud.

Stella stood and looked at the door and then to him with her brows crinkled. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The expression on John’s face was impassive. That bothered her. She hated that he was one of the few people she couldn’t figure out. Even Rip seemed to have more expressions than John did some days.

“He looks fine, sir. What did you need to show me about him?”

“I didn’t bring you in here to talk about the horse, Stella.” Dread ran through her.

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows in question as she tried to keep her face flat. Her heart jumped wildly in her chest as she hoped he wasn’t about to interrogate her. Her mouth fell open to take in more air. She started to feel like the walls were closing in.

“Why were you at Kayce’s today?”

She leaned against the outside wall of the stalls. “I told you sir. I was talkin’ to him about Tank because not only has he become your responsibility, mood swings and all, he also became mine.”

“Is that so?” John leaned a shoulder against the wall.

She shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It’s part of my job. It’s what you pay me for. I also hadn’t seen him since —,” she cut herself off. She didn’t want to think about the loss more than she had to, but also didn’t want to put salt in John’s wounds either. “— well, you know. So I wanted to check up on him. Monica too.”

“When Jamie showed up this morning, where’d you run off to?” He grilled her.

“I got a text from Kayce that it was cool to stop by. So I went to my car to head out.” He stared at her in contemplation.

“I just find it very convenient that you ended up there after Jamie talked to me. Here. In the barn.”

“I mean, I left before you did?” Stella tilted her head confused and adjusted the frames on her face. “What did he talk to you about?”

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter, is why you feel so comfortable lying to my face.” Her mouth dropped open, opening and closing, but she couldn’t seem to find words. “That’s right. I saw you sneak around the broad side.”

Stella’s mind grasped for anything she could muster. There was absolutely nothing she could find.

He questioned. “What did you hear?”

“N-not much, sir.” She fought to get the words out.

“What did you hear, Stella?”

She swallowed hard, stood up straight, and came to her full height. She squared her shoulders, prepared for whatever storm was brewing. “I was originally gonna call Kayce. That’s why I stepped away, to find somewhere quiet. I chose to leave the barn at the point I did because it wasn’t my place to know what was being spoken about. I had heard more than I should have, and I didn’t want this to happen.” She motioned between them. “I was gonna leave and ignore it.”

She continued. Her voice got stronger as she went. “I don’t even know the context of what you were talking about. So I’m just as much in the dark now as I was before.”

“Damnit, Stella. Don’t make me ask you again.” John’s voice was harsh.

“Jesus, Mr. Dutton.” Calling him that was a habit that she hadn’t ever really broken out of. “I overheard you ask if they, whoever they are, had identified Kayce. For what? I don’t know. Then something about who the investigators were and something about Lee. That’s it. I promise. I don’t even really remember what I heard because I didn’t wanna hear it in the first place.” She slapped her hands down on her thighs in frustration.

It was deathly quiet in the space between them. Stella glared at him trying to catch her breath. The fact that she tried, and failed, to give Kayce a heads up about whatever his dad was bringing his way would stay with her until she was six feet under. She cocked her jaw to the side and ran her tongue along the side of her teeth. Being put on the spot by not only her best friend’s father, but also her boss, really killed her vibe.

John studied her closely. In the 12 years he had known her, she had never toed too far over the line. That was a feat in and of itself, especially being his youngest son’s best friend. There had been moments when she had needed some coaching to get back to the straight side of things. It was the normal rebellion of a teenager that John expected. Ryan and the wranglers had reined her in well during those times. John had expected that.

As she grew older, the fire inside her grew as well, but she put it to good use. She was a damn hard worker. She could put his men to shame most days. She also fiercely protected his son. His ranch. He respected that in her. She also wasn’t afraid to stand her ground. ‘Must come from dealing with all those stubborn horses.’ His thoughts broke in between. ‘Or dealing with your hard headed children.’

She had been around for a lot of things. She hadn’t ever mentioned anything about the affairs of the ranch to anyone that he was aware of. John didn’t know if she had actually picked up on the events that happened around her, but he wanted to give her intelligence more credit than that.

“Sir,” she fixed her glasses while she cleared her throat and continued, “I understand you’re worried about discretion here. I’m not gonna say anything to anyone. Why would I? Especially when I don’t know what it was about in the first place?” It didn’t make sense to Stella. Logically or otherwise. I mean to give Kayce a heads up that his father was on his way to spew some of his regular bullshit? Yeah, but she wouldn’t just go tell Joan at the local grocery market.

She had seen John angry at other people, but now his ire was directed at her, and her foundation felt shaken. She was reminded of when she stood up for Kayce when she was 18. That day and the following weeks were a doozie.

This job was her livelihood. Her brother’s. This place had become home. John kept quiet while she pleaded her case.

“That’s why I left and was gonna ignore it. I didn’t hear anything, I didn’t see anything.” Stella admitted. “I’ve never told anyone anything I may have ever caught. And if you think I would say something that would potentially jeopardize Kayce?” She shook her head. “You’re dead wrong.” Her voice hardened with the last sentence as she looked him directly in the eyes. She was banking that she had that working for her.

The fact that Rip trusted her, that Lee and Kayce trusted her, said a lot. Even though she had been around for so many years, for John, her lying to him made it a little harder to give his trust to her.

John’s lips pursed together. “You’re on thin ice, little girl. Tread carefully.” He left through the door behind him.

She sagged back against Abigail’s stall door. The mare walked up and stuck her head through the door and nuzzled at Stella’s back. Tank gazed at her from the side. They both knew she was stressed at this point. She had no idea where that left her in John's eyes. She didn’t know if she was fired, or kicked off the ranch, or anything.

After Stella had gotten herself calmed down some, she returned to the bunkhouse. She knew she couldn’t let herself go in front of Ryan, or Lloyd, shaken. They would immediately know something was wrong and grill her to the third degree.

“Hey, Ry?”

The man in question glanced up from the cards in front of him. “Yeah Stellee, what’s up?”

“I’m gonna head home for the night. I’ve gotta work more with Tank tomorrow, so I’ll see you then. Okay?”

He nodded and stood. “Yeah I’ll see you then, sis.” He wrapped her in a hug and she breathed for the first time since the barn. He rubbed her back quickly and released her. “You text me when you get home. And be careful.” He gave her a stern gaze. She faked a giggle and acknowledged him with a nod. She waved to Lloyd and made her exit swift. She had a lot to think about on her way home.

Comments, thoughts, commentary, and asks are welcome! Just please be gentle lol. 🤓

[yoonguurt]

It's finally here! I'm really excited for this week of celebrating my best friend and soulmate. Happy birthday week, Ki! I love you!

Pairing: Wooyoung x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is stuck between a bookcase and a wall, unprotected sex, anal play (buttplug, fingering), oral sex (f receiving), spanking. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed anything!

You stretched your arm as far as you could, just wanting to grab the book on the very top shelf. Wanting to try a new recipe for dinner tonight, you wanted the old cookbook your mother had given you, which for some god forsaken reason had managed to get itself onto the top shelf of your very tall bookshelf. Being a small woman, you know you didn’t put it up there and since Wooyoung isn’t a tall man himself, you doubted that he had done it. You suspected that Yunho had put it there when he helped the two of you move in, not thinking about you being vertically challenged. 

There was a small gap in between the bookshelf and the wall, and you were determined that you could squeeze yourself in there and if you stood on your tiptoes, you thought you could reach the damn book. Sure, you could have chosen one of the cook books on one of the lower shelves, but you had yet to use the one of the top shelf and it was handed down in your family for years and you wanted that one. With a new determination, you pushed yourself into the gap, back to the opening of the gap. Stretching yourself, you were so close to being able to reach. If you just could get farther on your tiptoes, you’d have your finger wrapped around its spine. With one final push, you let out a little groan from the strain and you were finally able to grab your prize.

Dropping back down onto flat feet, you did a little victory screech and tried to back out into your living room. That’s when you realized you were stuck. Trying to push yourself back, you used every bit of your strength to wiggle yourself out. Didn’t work. Starting to panic, realizing that Wooyoung had yet to make it home, and of course your phone was on the kitchen counter. You knew he should be home any minute now, but your heart was starting to race. You tried to wiggle yourself back, only managing to get your ass just past the edge of the bookshelf. Just as you had gotten yourself back a little, you heard keys jingle and the door open. “Babe! I’m home!” Sighing in relief, pulse slowing a bit, you heard him ask where you were, hearing the little pout you were sure he was wearing in his voice.

“In here! Help please, I’m stuck” You could hear him chuckle, and you huffed knowing the amount of teasing you would endure over the next few days would be beyond endless. You heard his footsteps come to a stop behind you. “How in the hell did you get yourself stuck? Why are you even there?” Feeling a little annoyed that he wasn’t immediately helping, you couldn’t help the small bite in your voice as you answered. “I just wanted to get the cookbook that’s on the top shelf.” You could hear him chuckle again and you wiggled your ass in response asking him again to help you. “Babe, stop wiggling your ass. Makes me want to take you right here. You know how much I love your ass. So juicy.” You felt his hands run over the curve of your figure, squeezing once he reached the fullness of your cheeks. As if your body was programmed to react to his touch, you could feel the wetness between your legs, a small whine escaping from your throat. You could hear Wooyoung’s breath hitch behind you, knowing this could take a turn. 

“Are you telling me that all I have to do is squeeze your ass to get you horny?” His voice was lower than it had been just seconds ago, and of course that sent another wave of arousal out of you, your breathing speeding up slightly. “Baby, do you really like the idea of me taking you right here, just like this?” His hands were running along the parts of body he could reach, mainly your ass. You let out another whine, this one slightly louder than the last one when you felt his hands squeeze harder than he had before, massaging you and digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass before sliding down to grab your thighs. Wiggling your ass one more time, trying to get him to take the hint, you let your voice ring out to really drive the message home. “Please.” Another devious chuckle came from behind you, sending a shiver up your spine. Wooyoung had a voice that you couldn’t help but love, he could have a high pitched giggle one minute and then immediately switch to a deep voice that just oozed sex. You took a shaky breath, waiting for his next move. He ran his hands back up your thighs to slip under the curve of your ass. You honestly had never been more grateful that you were wearing a dress as you felt his hands slip under the hem. 

Wooyoung grabbed the edge of your panties, pulling them down torturously slowly, filling you with an intense sensation of anticipation. It felt like years before your panties hit your ankles and tried to step out of them, but it wasn’t really working so you quickly gave up. You felt a sudden breath on your dripping cunt causing your body to shutter. “Damn baby. You’re already so wet. I haven’t even done anything.” You knew just from Wooyoung’s voice that he was teasing you and you chose to respond with a needy whine causing the man behind you to chuckle. Before you could voice a proper response, you felt him lick a slow stripe from your clit to your entrance, causing you to let out a loud moan of his name. He hummed against you, swirling his tongue around your entrance before breaching your hole, dipping in quickly before backing back out. “You always taste so good, love. Could eat you all day and never get tired of how delicious you are.” As he spoke, his hands gravitated back to your ass, pulling your cheeks about to get a good look at your puckered hole. You felt the smirk grow on your face at the thought of the surprise you had prepared for him earlier in the day.

You heard the gasp from him almost immediately and you knew he had found the pretty plug you had in your ass, complete with a pretty little heart on the end. The gasp quickly turned into a groan as he grabbed the end of the plug, pulling it out slightly before pushing it back in so slowly that the moan you let out dragged out for longer than normal. “Pretty baby had a surprise for me, huh? Did you plan this whole thing for me, babe?” The entire time he spoke he continued to fuck the plug into slowly, causing you to get more and more turned on. “N-no. I didn’t I p-promise.” You couldn’t help but stutter as the pleasure built up in your stomach. Wooyoung knew you like the back of his hand, knowing that this was one of your favorite things to feel. Before long he had you a moaning mess, his non occupied hand sneaking up from behind to rub fast circles on your clit. The contrasting feeling of the speed of the stimulation on your clit and the slow fucking of your ass had your orgasm quickly approaching and you knew that Wooyoung could tell. “Go ahead, baby. Let it go and come for me.” That was all you needed for the band in your stomach to snap causing you to come all over Wooyoung’s hand. His soft praises helped you work through your high before he stopped completely. 

Trying to catch your breath, you managed to speak, still breathing slightly heavily. “Please, Woo. Need you. Need your cock. Need you to fuck me.” Your words came out whiny and needy, but you were too far gone to even care. Your body desperately needed the feeling of Wooyoung filling you up and you needed it now. Wooyoung cooed behind you as he slowly slipped the plug from you, making you whine at the empty feeling. “It’s ok, baby. I’m gonna take such good care of you. I promise.” You really wished you could kiss him, but your position wouldn’t allow it, so you settled for wiggling your ass one more time. You could hear Wooyoung groan behind you, along with the sound of a zipper being pulled. It was silent for a moment before hands grabbed your ass and you felt Wooyoung’s cock start prodding at your entrance. He ran his tip along your slit, making sure to get it thoroughly soaked from your wetness before he slammed into you with no warning making you emit a small scream at the intrusion. “So fucking wet and warm for me, baby. You always feel so goddamn good.” All you could do was whimper as Wooyoung rutted into you with shallow, slow thrusts. “Please Woo. Need more. Faster. Harder. Please.” You felt a stinging on your ass as Wooyoung gave your flesh a harsh slap as he began to push himself harder into you, speed and force causing you to push forward slightly, even though there wasn’t really anywhere for you to go. 

“Look at you, baby. All helpless and taking what I give you.” He took the chance to slow his thrusts, pulling a whine from you. Your boyfriend chuckled behind you, grabbing your hair and giving you a harsh tug. “Poor baby, am I not fucking you good enough? Here you are, stuck and at my mercy. I’m in charge here, sweetheart. Remember that.” His words came with another harsh slap to your ass, a lewd moan escaping your throat at the combination of his words and the spank. He rubbed the red skin, soothing it a little. His hands came to pull the cheeks of your ass apart, and you gasped as you felt something wet hit your hole. Wooyoung rubbed his spit over your puckered hole, spreading it out. “If you want more, you’re gonna get more and you’re going to take what I give you, do you understand?” You quickly nodded your head, hoping he would speed up, anything to push you closer to your orgasm.

Before you could give it much more thought, you felt his thumb breach you, a loud moan erupting from your throat at the intrusion. He held his thumb still, thrusts still at a slow pace. You could feel the tears prick at your eyes, needing more. “Woo, please. It’s not enough.” You sniffled, the tears falling free and rolling down your face. “Aw, my poor baby. Are you crying for me? What did I tell you, angel? You take what I give you. If you need to tap out you know what you have to do.” You could hear the mocking tone in his voice, and your tears only fell faster. He was giving you just enough for you to feel pleasure, but nowhere near enough to get you where you desperately wanted to be. You wanted to beg, you knew he loved when you did, but you decided to be good for a little longer, letting him go at his own tortuous pace. His pace suddenly picked up along with his thumb pushing further into you. The sudden change made your insides heat up, your hand clawing at the wall in front of you. The angle of his hips had him hitting the spongy part inside of you, his thumb fingering your ass with vigor. Your high was approaching fast and you knew that you should warn him. 

Your apartment was filled with your moans and Wooyoung’s groans as he pounded into you, giving you a spank every now and then after digging his hands into your skin. “Woo! I’m gonna..” Before you could finish, Wooyoung interrupted you. “Don’t you dare. We’re coming together.” You could tell that he was gritting his teeth and you did your best to hold your orgasm off until you could come with him. After a few more pumps he spoke up letting you know he was close. “So c-close babe. Come on. Come with me, love.” Your orgasm ripped through you, so intense it caused a scream to emit from you. Wooyoung groaned loudly from behind you as you felt his release coat your walls. He slowed his pace to fuck you both through your highs, before he pulled out completely. “Shit. I think we just unlocked a new kink, babe.” You rolled your eyes at his giggle even though you knew that he was absolutely correct. This was something you would definitely be doing again.

“Alright, baby. Let’s get you out of here. I think I might need a round two in the shower."

@kwanisms

[justnerdy15]

she keeps on growing (slipping through my fingers all the time)

Fandom: TLOU Series: many lives that could've been Prompt: @ailesswhumptober 12. Character Death Summary: in another life, the daughter loses her father. Warnings: MCD, gun violence Read on AO3 here!

Dad’s carrying her. Amidst all the chaos — fires burning behind her eyelids, the smell of leaking gasoline, all the noise (crying, and yelling, and screaming, oh my god, all the screaming) — all she can focus on is the tight grip of Dad’s hands, the soft worn flannel against her cheek, the familiar scent of their shampoo drifting towards her nose.

She doesn’t understand. How could this have happened? What is happening?

She wants to go home. To be back in bed, safe under her covers.

Sarah shivers, burrowing further into dad’s neck, and tries to forget what she saw.

“Hold on, baby girl,” Dad says into her hair as they duck into an alleyway. “Just a little longer.” His feet pound against the asphalt and their tremors make their way up to Sarah, causing her stomach to squirm uncomfortably at the jostling movements and the way her ankle twinges with every step.

There’s grumbling, a strange groaning, something wet, and she can feel the way Dad’s chest stutters with a shocked breath.

“Shit,” he says, picking up speed. “Shit!” His shoulder slams into a door and they’re suddenly in a kitchen, Dad scrambling around bulky equipment.

Sarah opens her eyes and peeks over Dad’s shoulder as they enter the dining area — Josie’s? the cafe? it’s all blurring together under flickering neon lights — when a door slams open and — and —

Something — someone? — crashes through, a snarling bloody mess, and Sarah can’t help the scream that escapes as it chases after them.

Dad speeds up, cursing under his breath, and for one brief second, fear over takes her. They’re not going to make. They’re not. They’re going to die —

He hits another door and they’re out onto some side road and a car barely misses them, but it does hit the monster following them with a heavy thunk and scream as it crashes into another building.

Sarah pants, trying to calm her racing heart, hands shaking where they’re bunched into Dad’s shirt. She looks over her shoulder, where a glaring white light illuminates the area, showing a hole in a stone wall.

Dad doesn’t hesitate and slips down the sandy hill, coming across one of the nature paths that litter the city. There’s a high pitched screech, like when they hit a dead radio channel, and Dad follows it, rubbing soothing circles into her back. “It’s alright, baby girl. It’s going to be alright.”

Dad turns a corner and then —

“Stop!” a voice shouts at them and Sarah turns away from the blinding light shinning in her eyes. “Stay where you are!”

Dad’s grip tightens on her. When he speaks, he sounds nervous. Or afraid. “My daughter’s hurt,” he tries to explain. “Her ankle.” She presses her face into his shirt. “We’re not sick, I promise.”

Steps in sand. A click. “Command? I’ve got two civilians here, one injured.”

She forces his voice out, focusing on Dad, when the thought hits her.

She swallows and tries to speak. “What about Uncle Tommy?” she asks into his shirt. He helped them get away. They haven’t seen him since.

“I need to get you somewhere safe. Then I’ll go look him,” Dad assures her.

There’s the sound of talking, but she can’t understand it. Like her head’s underwater.

Dad stiffens underneath her. He takes a step back.

Sarah raises her head and looks over her shoulder.

Why is he pointing —

Dad throws them to the side and there’s a loud noise, like bubble wrap popping, and something warm touches her face as they hit the ground rolling. Dad lets go of her and she tumbles out of his arms.

When she finally stops, her ears are ringing and breathing in dirt where her face is pressed against the ground. Her ankle’s on fire.

Sarah whimpers and pushes herself up onto her elbows.

“Dad?” she asks. She barely manages to turn her head. “Dad?”

She can barely see him, his face turned away from her. It looks like he landed in a puddle.

She tries to shift again when a bright light hits her once more.

Flinching, Sarah squints her eyes and spots the soldier.

He looks scared. Maybe it was an accident.

The soldier says something and raises his gun again.

There’s another pop, but this time the soldier drops to the ground.

“Joel! Sarah!”

Uncle Tommy.

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah cries, trying to push herself up. Relief sinks into her when she sees him running towards her, sobbing when he pulls her up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, running his hands over her. “Sarah, honey, are you okay?”

She nods and looks over his shoulder. “Dad’s hurt,” she croaks out, pushing him away. “Uncle Tommy, we gotta help Dad.” Sarah takes a step towards him, wincing at the flare of pain that lights up her leg, but keeps going.

“Sarah,” Uncle Tommy breathes out, reaching for her hand. “Sarah, honey.” She pulls away.

Sarah shakes her head and she drops down next to Dad. “Dad,” she says, laying a hand on his chest. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

Dad turns his head towards her slowly. He groans as he lays a hand on hers. It’s warm and slick and doesn’t feel right.

“Dad,” she says again, shaking him a little. “Come on.”

There’s a hand at her shoulder and she jerks away.

“Sarah.”

She presses her lips together. “He’s fine, Uncle Tommy. He just — you just need to get up, Daddy. C’mon.” Something burns in her eyes. That same warm slickness is underneath her hand now, seeping through Dad’s shirt. “Daddy, get up!”

Dad’s staring at her, tears at the corner of his eyes, and when he breathes out, there’s a rattling noise from his chest. His fingers tighten around hers.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, no, no. Daddy. Come on. Just — just get up. Daddy, please. I need you to get up. It’s going to be fine. Please. Uncle Tommy!” she cries, looking over her shoulder. “Help me! You gotta help Daddy! Uncle Tom —” Dad’s other hand reaches up to cup her face, turning her back towards him. Tears fall down and she’s afraid they’ll never stop. “Please. Get up. Daddy, please.”

His thumb wipes away a runaway tear. “Sarah,” he pants out, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth. “L — Love —” He stills, breaths coming out in shutter-y bits, before it stops completely. His hand goes slack and it’s only due to Sarah clasping it to her face with her own hand that it doesn’t fall away.

“Daddy?” she asks, alarm rising. “Daddy?” A sob breaks out and she crumbles against his chest and she doesn’t hear anything.

Nothing at all.

Get up. Please get up. Let me wake up. Please. I want to wake up now. Don’t leave me alone.

When Uncle Tommy pulls her away, she doesn’t fight him.

She doesn’t do anything at all.

Twenty Years Later

Sarah groans, pushing herself out of bed just enough so her feet touch the floor, and sighs. She opens her eyes to early morning light streaming in through a poorly covered window, illuminating her ramshackle apartment. There’s arguing outside, the same old familiar tune from the couple two doors down from her, and Sarah tunes them out, already knowing how it ends.

She rummages through the kitchen trying to find some food and comes up empty-handed. Sighing, Sarah picks up a container of water, taking a long sip, thinking about the empty cabinets and backpack. A trip to the ration office is definitely in order. She also needs to go to Abe today, see if he’s heard anything from Uncle Tommy. Sarah pulls the bottle away, wiping at her lip, and shakes her head.

What a goddamn mess.

She’s just about to check again, hoping she’s just missed something, when there’s a knock at her door. Sarah looks towards the entry way and frowns, putting the container down.

Another knock.

Sighing again, Sarah approaches the door, stopping by her jacket long enough to pull out her pistol from her pocket, and peers through the pep-hole.

What the fuck?

She unlocks the door and swings it open.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she says, pulling in her unwanted visitor. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

Bryony shrugs her off, jamming her hands into her pockets, and scowls at her. “Christ, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

“You,” Sarah says flatly, putting her gun on the table. “When you show up unannounced and FEDRA’s looking for trouble.”

Bryony waves her off. “Well, I’m about to make your day a whole lot fuckin better, so get over it. Marlene’s got a special assignment for you.”

“That’s supposed to make my day better?” Sarah asks, walking back to her bed to get dressed. She snags a pair of jeans and starts shoving them on. “What does she want?”

She hasn’t been an active member in over a year. You’d think she get the message.

“Transport. Needs something smuggled out of the city. Ah —” Bryony holds up a hand when Sarah opens her mouth. “— It’s not far. Don’t worry. We just need to get it the capitol building.”

Sarah reaches for her shirt. “And what is it exactly?” she asks, muffled. Her head pops through the opening and she pulls out her hair. “Well?”

The other woman frowns, looking away. “I can’t say.”

Sarah scoffs. “Figures.” She reaches for her watch on the nightstand. “You can tell Marlene I’m not interested.”

“Sarah,” Bryony sighs exasperated, but Sarah shakes her head.

“No. I’m not Marlene’s errand girl. She can get you or someone else to do it.”

“She doesn’t trust anyone other than you to do this. Trust me, I tried.” Bryony holds up her hands, placating. “I know you don’t want anything to do with Marlene or me or the Fireflies, okay? I know that. But, Sarah,” she walks over to her and takes her hands, “this is important. This is going to change everything. So, just hear her out, please?”

Sarah looks down at cool blue eyes, focuses on the familiar warmth of hands in hers, the bite of the watch at her wrist.

Fuck.

“Fine,” Sarah says, pulling away, pretending she doesn’t see the way Bryony’s face falls. “I’ll talk to her.”

Whatever this is better be worth it.

[northern-polaris]

So I started a wip that I feel is fine to post so here you go. Hopefully, I’ll be able to finish this before starting my bigger project. As always, no beta we die like Andras(or do we?).

World’s Smallest Violin(1/?)

There was blood everywhere. It was invading his senses and drowning him. He kept trying to swim to the surface but waves would force him back under. The screams and screeches resonates in his mind, overlapping and overwhelming.

“Tam?”

He could hear them all crying out. His mother, his brothers, the citizens of his court, his sentries, the Hybern soldiers, even his father, and they wouldn’t stop.

“Tam.”

They won’t stop and it hurts and he can’t breathe and he’s choking and the blood is in his mouth and on his hands and he never wanted this and he just wants sink into the bottomless depths and disappear-

“For fuck’s sake, Tam. wake up or I’m not buying you Starbucks.”

Tamlin was ripped out of his restless sleep and groaned loudly. His ears were ringing and his heart was racing. After a few moments of simply breathing, he collected himself enough to open his eyes to regard his friend who was perched at the end of his bed of his shitty dorm bed, dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down. His small tattoo of a wolf’s eye was visible on his wrist.

“Why?” Tamlin croaked out. He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was absolutely parched.

“Why what?” His friend slowly raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you buying me coffee?”

Andras let out a humorless chuckle. “Because you look like you could use the charity right now.”

“Thanks.” Tamlin muttered sarcastically, but his lips couldn’t help but twitch upwards. Andras smirked and the bed creaked as he stood up and straightened his back. After a rather loud crack from his spine followed by a quiet, “Ow shit.” Andras strolled out of the room.

Tamlin chuckled lightly, “Old man…”

Andras’ shout reverberated throughout the dorm. “I’m only two years older, you brat!”

“Aw, sounds like someone is grouchy, did you lose a bingo game?”

Loud cursing echoed from the small kitchen and Tamlin let out a snicker in response. Once he finished, he turned to lay on his back and sat motionless, staring up at the ceiling with his arms dropping off the bed. A minute passed before he dragged himself to a sitting position. He then sighed loudly and pulled the thin, green blanket off of him.

Carefully stepping over and around the piles of books and music sheets, Tamlin made his way over to his small closet and opened it. Randomly grabbing a hoodie out of the sea of green and a pair of worn, ratty sweatpants, Tamlin started his morning routine of getting prepared for the day.

After a quick shower, he walked out of the bathroom, combing through his long, wet hair and his green toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

Andras was still in the kitchen, eating out of a jar of strawberry jam with a spoon.

“So… care to talk?” He looked expectantly at Tamlin.

Tamlin tried to say ‘what,’ but it came out muffled on account of the toothbrush.

“You looked like you’ve been to hell and back when you woke up.”

Tamlin held up a finger to stop him and finished brushing his teeth, he put his comb and toothbrush away and walked back to Andras.

“It was a nightmare, I’ll be fine.”

Andras looked doubtful but he didn’t say anything for a while.

Finally, he looked up again and asked, “Do you remember what it was about?”

“No, and honestly? I don’t think I want to.” Tamlin whispered.

[vinular]

ℙ𝕖𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕟

 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 (����𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒘 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒚) 

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝑺𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝑨𝑼 

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆’𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕.

𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: 𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒉.

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤! : 𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥, 𝕄𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕊𝕦𝟙𝕔𝟙𝕕𝕖.

“How are the potatoes looking?” I say, as I put down my work bag and slide a hand around my husbands waist from behind, his fingers skilfully allowing the knife to slice through the potatoes before plopping them into boiling water on the stove. I clasp my fingers together, and he takes a deep breath in. He laughs, tapping my knuckles with the blade of the knife. I let go, inhaling the smell of the red wine he had just poured for me. I picked up the glass and smiled. 

“Hey love. How was work?”

I groan and roll my eyes.  “I tell you what, it’s particularly exhausting at the minute. They’re making so many redundancies in the company, it’s making me a feel a bit frightened. The company needs to be making more money than it currently is, so they’re trying to lay people off but.. well, you know. I just think it’s a matter of time before they come to me one day and that’s it.” 

Sam sighs and puts the lid on the pan before walking over and putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He strokes my face slowly and looks at me.  “Even if they do lose you, you’ll be able to find somewhere better in no time. You’re awesome.” My heart swelled and the only response I could generate was a soft smile.  Sam turned his attention back to the food. 

I exhale the stress of work out of my body and into the air. I look around the kitchen, suddenly proud of everything I’ve achieved; the house, the job... and the family. 

“This is the life. Having a Husband to cook for me... pour me wine... one would think I did something to deserve this!” I joke, but Sam looks at me, his eyes sparkling. 

“Of course you deserve it love. You do a lot for our little family. Just think about how hard you work for us - this is the least I can do as a Househusband.”

I laugh and take a sip of the wine, tilting my head back in delight.  I look around the kitchen and squint my eyes in suspicion. 

“Talking about Lil’ man... where is he? I haven’t heard him utter a word.” Sam shrugged his shoulders and turned the heat up higher on the stove. 

“Last time I saw him he was waddling upstairs to find a toy of some sort. It’s kept him quiet so I’m not complaining!” I furrow my eyebrows. What toy? All of his toys were downstairs. 

I placed my glass on the counter and picked up my bag.  “I’ll be back just a sec, I’m going to get changed.” I kissed Sam on the cheek and made my way upstairs. 

The silence of my own child was alarming me. Not that I was an anxious parent, but I had gotten used to the shouting and screeching of playing with toy figures, footsteps racing around the house and shouts of delight when I came home from a long day at work.  Now my son was quiet and I wasn’t used it. 

“Love? Are you ok? You haven’t said hello yet!”  I peeked my head round the doorframe to his room, expecting to see his rosy cheeks stare back at me.  Empty. 

I frowned.  Where is he?

I slowly make my way toward me and Sam’s room. I open the door, crossing my fingers in the hope to find Bash in there, despite it being very rare to have him in our room unless we were there.  “Love-”

A bang, and a quick scuffle in an attempt to hide something, but I’d already opened the door. Bash had something behind his back, his blonde hair styled in a very bizarre manner. “Hey bud! What you got there?” I ask. I don’t allow my anxiety to show in my voice as it was clear he was under the bed and found something worth concealing. Many possibilities flashed through my mind and I shivered. 

“N-nothing. I missed you!” I was quickly bombarded by the biggest hug a little boy could give. As soon as his arms wrapped around me, my anxieties almost faded completely. I allowed myself to rest my head on his, and his grip tightened around me.  “I missed you more!” I mumble. 

I peeked under the bed whilst I was entrapped in my boys arms, and saw the indistinguishable shape of a large photobook. Confused, I slowly pulled away and looked down at him. 

“Dear, were you looking through my school photos?” Bash looked at me with the guiltiest face I’d ever seen him make. He looked as though he was going to cry. 

“I-I’m sorry! I was curious I didn’t know-”

I placed a hand on his scruffy hair and I smiled.  “Hey lil man it’s alright! I’d just like you to ask next time ok?”

Bash nodded his head and I walked gingerly over to the book.  “I’d forgotten I even had this...”

I picked up the book, sitting on the bed, and allowed Bash to sit in my lap as I blew the mounds of dust off the books surface. 

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the long supressed memories of my teenage years. 

-

-

-

Being at Stardrop High School was either a hit or miss. You were either popular, like Shane or Abigail, or you were the nerds such as Emily and Maru.  A lot of the popular kids were dickheads, but god damn were they beautiful. I spent most of my teenage years envying the likes of Abigail, with her purple hair below her shoulders, her sparkling blue eyes... either I wanted to be her or I was in love with her. I still didn’t know to this day, even whilst looking at her face in the yearbook. Shane was not much different either; he constantly was swarmed by girls everywhere he went. Such a shame he was a Class A Manipulator. I remember the day I saw he had been arrested on the news for horrific crimes involving younger women. That was enough to make me block out the remainder of my memories from them days. 

As I flick through the book of echoes, one by one I am telling my son everything I can remember about the students. Of course, I did not know everyone in the school - hell, I barely could even remember those in my class. 

My throat seized as my eyes landed onto a particular young, handsome face. Bash felt my movement beneath him as my limbs froze, hand shaking as I rest a finger upon the lip of a boy that I thought I could never forget. 

Chocolate brown eyes, magpie blue hair that covered one side of his face. Freckles like constellations decorating his pale white skin.  He wasn’t smiling - he rarely, if ever, did.  I wish I’d realised at the time how troubled that young boy was. I was too mesmerized by his silent beauty, his solitude that for some reason drew me even closer to him. 

As memories flooded to me, both wonderful but painstaking, I found my mind wandering.  What if... I’d have gathered the courage to talk to him?  What if he had not been alone in every class? 

Although the school was almost segregated into beauty and intelligence, at that age I believed Sebastian had it all. A boy who sat in such silence must’ve had something to say, but something that would’ve been misunderstood. A boy so quiet, but when he looked at you with such kind, understanding eyes his presence was as loud as a firework exploding into your chest. 

What if I’d asked him when we were alone, the answer to a problem I was struggling with in Maths?  What if I’d asked him how to convey the emotion of infatuation to help with an English essay that I'd never actually been given to do?

I wondered what his answer would be to love. To the universe.  Would he have broken his lonely character and told me something profound? Or would he have kept that cold gaze, a gaze that only I could see through? 

 They took Sebastian’s grace and delicacy and ruined him.  A teardrop fell onto a frozen, plastic face as a flash of the boy’s beaten and bruised face entered my mind. 

The boy’s, Shane and Alex, never should’ve done that to him. It wasn’t Sebastian’s fault. No one should be jumped or beaten for living their own life. But people who thrived off popularity would never understand people’s gratitude toward themselves.  I remembered that one day when he broke his silence whilst I sat next to him, dabbing a wet cloth onto his wounds. 

He didn’t flinch, not the entire time. He only said one thing. “Why are you helping me?” 

And I never responded. 

Maybe because in the end, I didn’t help him.  I never forgotten the scar on my heart, a result of the muscle tearing into two when I walked into class and my eyes travelled to his seat.  Except there was something else there, something that wasn’t my Sebastian. 

A potted poppy plant took the empty chair and claimed it as its own. It stared at me in the face, mocking me, its seeds threatening to shoot bullets through my chest. 

Sebastian had had a voice; but that voice had become the loudest in the class when he could no longer use it.  From that day on, I had frequent night terrors. Although I hadn’t been close to his family, rumours spread quick. The rumours spiralled, engulfing me to the point of suffocation, each story stabbing daggers into my body as I helplessly wailed in my own head.

It wasn’t until a few weeks after the incident that the school told us. And when they did, the memories of Stardrop School flew away on broken wings. 

That day, Sebastian had gone home, playing with his siblings. He had cuddled with his smaller brother and played Barbies with his sister. After making food for his family, he kissed his mother goodnight, snuck out the house and walked his last walk to Stardew Bridge.

Somebody had heard the screams of mental anguish as it ripped through their ears. A boys’ vocal chords were straining, his lungs bursting for air. He screamed, and he screamed, and he wailed into the night. The boys’ foot stepped out into the black void, and a passer-by would claim that he had seen a true fallen angel. An angel never to resurface from the gates of a self-induced Hell. 

-

-

-

The feeling of small arms around my neck snapped me back into reality. I looked down at the book to find it had been tainted with tears, and my son was holding me in a hug around the neck. I looked down and I gasped.  The reason his hair was so messy was because he was trying to style it much like Sebastian had. 

“I only wanted to look like him...” He mumbled, and he hugged me tighter. “I’m sorry. I thought because he had my name...”

I shook my head and looked down at my angel.  “It’s alright Sebastian. Come here and I can help you.”

[utterlyinevitable]

⇒ read on ao3

2. Hit me on the phone 

Pairing: Mason x F!Detective (Felicity ‘Lia’ Bastra) Rating: Teen+ Summary: Lia butt dials Mason. Sometime after book 2. 

a/n: this is a series of drabbles where my detective is caught in a love triangle between Mason and Nate

An unassuming evening. For once Wayhaven is silent. Comfortable. There’s no looming disaster hanging over her head (at least nothing bigger than the overarching threat Lia’s come to live under). She’s safe in her apartment after an uneventful day at the station (uneventful workload-wise, Douglas still keeps testing her patience). Everything’s fine. 

A click of a couple buttons has soft music playing through her soundbar, filling every corner of her modestly cramped box of an apartment as she dresses down from the day. Her boots kicked off by the kitchen alcove, her jacket thrown on the couch, her badge and her phone haphazardly chucked on her bed before she retreats to her haven of a warm shower. Everything’s fine. 

Except it’s not, not really. 

Before she’s even fully soaked, there’s grumbling and groaning, and high pitched screeching sounding from the depths of her bedroom. So quiet she couldn’t hear over the stream of water overhead. 

It’s not fine. 

Because as Lia washes shampoo out of her hair, there’s a supernatural circling her building. 

And another scaling the fire escapes until they stop at her ajar bedroom window. 

And two others sneaking up the steps, breaking down her door with restrained force. 

She doesn’t hear any of that as the two intruders invade her space, too absorbed in relaxation to notice the way the air shifts as she lets the steam roll out of the bathroom. Too calm to notice two large figures in her room. That is until she takes three steps past the bathroom doorway. 

She doesn’t even recognize the blood curdling scream that leaves her lips.  

The three of them stand there stunned for a moment. Enough for Lia to take in the scene she’s unwittingly a part of: she’s stood in nothing but a blue fluffy towel, her heartbeat running races as she stares at her intruders - her friends. She’s taking breaths to calm down, but it’s still jarring to be caught unawares in her own home. She feels them watching her intently, too. At least one pair of eyes burning into her flesh. 

Lia stands there wide-eyed and naked, pulling the edges of the slit in the towel closer together so as to not flash them her lady business. Why isn’t anyone saying anything?

Faster than a bolt of lightning, two hands are gripping her by the shoulders and she’s teetering on the balls of her feet. His gray eyes are piercing, all harsh lines, but she can pick out flecks of relief in his irises as he stares and assesses her being. 

Mason breaks the tension between them with a gallantly venomous, “What is fucking wrong with you?!”

“Huh?” her brows knit together as she stops swaying, her grip on her towel loosening in their shared space. “What’re you talking about?” 

He lets her go with a little less than a shove, stomping over to hold up her phone where their call was still connected. 

“Oh… I didn’t do that on purpose. Must’ve been an accident.” She shrugs so cavalier. A response Mason certainly didn’t agree with by the way his face has contorted in a less-than-attractive sneer.   

“You should be more careful, detective,” Adam notes, breaking the weird tension between the totally-not-a-couple and reminding her that there’re other people in this room too. The entire unit is now packed in a bedroom that is barely big enough for five pieces of furniture. 

“Yeah, Mason almost had a heart attack before we even left the warehouse,” Felix adds, a knowing smirk permeating the darkness. 

Mason sneers, “I did not.” 

***

Everything is quiet. Comfortable. Enough that Mason can sit on the roof in relative peace, reflecting and trying not to think of a certain detective. 

Speak of the devil

His phone rings with that irritating melody Felix seemed to set for her. And even though his ears grate at the sound, Mason can’t help the self-satisfied smirk from taking hold. 

“Hello?” he says, anticipating the reason for her late-night call even before she speaks.  

When she doesn’t greet him he adds, “Playing hard to get, sweetheart?” 

Still, no response. 

“Detective?” 

He sits up, every limb in his body rigid as he focuses his senses on the other end of the line.

“Lia?” 

Mason can’t hear anything in the background through that shitty phone speaker. Everything is muffled and eerily quiet. Too quiet. Much too quiet for a fight - because he knows she would fight. Lia Bastra would go down kicking and screaming before letting anyone take her. 

“Felicity!?” 

In seconds Mason has fled his perch, rounded up the rest of Unit Bravo, and is racing to Lia’s apartment. The entire time Mason’s mind is running an unsettling what if what if what if 

Adam stalks the perimeter of her building. Felix scales the side, checking the fire escapes. Nate and Mason head for the door, moving deathly silently up flights of stairs towards her apartment. 

The door is locked. Fuck. Without a second thought Mason breaks it the fuck down with a swift kick of his heavy boot. 

And there’s nothing. Just a small side table lamp illuminating her eclectic living room.  

All is quiet and nothing is out of place and there’s just… drops. Pitter patters of water on porcelain.  

Mason barely shares a concerned glance with Nate before the two move quietly into Lia’s bedroom on high alert. 

And there’s nothing here either. Besides Felix perched on the metal fire escape and her clothes on the floor and her bed still made perfectly… There’s no sign of a fight. Her mirror is still fully covered so there’s no chance the maa-alused could have come for her again. Mason can feel her. He can hear her heart beating and her breaths coming, but he can’t sense anything else. 

Everything is quiet. 

and then there’s a creak. 

and then a heart-shattering scream.

and the two vampire’s spin around to the source of the noise. 

Lia. 

And no one says anything. 

The three of them stand there stunned for a moment. Mason sees her standing before him alive and well, but he doesn’t tune into anything save for her deep breaths and frantic heartbeat. His eyes rove over her, searching for signs of distress. Any rational reason as to why she’d call him and then fucking disappear. 

Lia stands there wide-eyed, pulling the edges of the towel closer together. Mason can’t take one second more - he rushes over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders, barely holding onto the thread that’s keeping him from shaking her silly. 

He hears Adam and Felix make their way inside, and he knows. Mason knows he can’t make a scene, can’t make demands or overreact in the ways his body is urging him to. He stares at her, chronicling every inch of exposed skin. 

When he’s sated and assured she’s not in any danger, he explodes.   

“What is fucking wrong with you?!”

“Huh?” her brows knit together in the most vexing of ways. As if she still doesn’t understand the dangers at play in this town. “What’re you talking about?” 

He lets her go, striding to pick her phone up off the duvet and waving the device in front of her face so she could see just what she did - that she’s connected to Mason.  He wouldn’t admit that he was too scared to shut it off. Fearing what could happen if he did and there was a chance he could hear something. Mason would never forgive himself if something happened to her and he wasn’t there to help. 

“Oh… I didn’t do that on purpose. Must’ve been an accident.” She shrugs, and if Mason didn’t like having her around so much he’d throttle her on principle alone. 

“You should be more careful, detective,” he hears Adam say, watches as her eyes flicker over to the commanding agent in this stifling room. 

And there’s some sense of relief for Mason as he feels everything settle. He takes a deep breath. But it’s cut short by Felix adding a very incriminating; 

“Yeah, Mason almost had a heart attack before we even left the warehouse.” 

Mason quickly retorts, “I did not.”

But he catches the flicker in Lia’s eye. And with that Mason is able to settle. 

Everything is fine and she is here. Heart beating and blood kept in her body. 

Mason doesn’t hear the further comments about him the last hour from Felix. He also doesn’t catch the other’s telling her to be more careful. 

Now that he’s settled, his scowl of relief can dissipate and his mind can catch up to the moment. Mason may not know why he’s feeling these odd feelings, but he knows he’s been in more perilous situations and this all feels different. 

Weird. 

Felix is still yammering in the background telling Lia how worried Mason was isn’t helping. And Nate hiding a smile isn’t helping. And she’s standing there in nothing but a cloth towel with beads of fresh water and that damn body wash fresh on her skin and that’s certainly not helping.  

After the three musketeers he calls family finishes their lecture, the three move towards the living room to talk further. Mason can hear bits of conversation - should they stay the night here to keep a lookout, should they patrol more since they’re already here, and they really don’t need to inform Rebecca that they moved in on a false alarm, do they. Listening into the conversation is preferable to explaining why he’s still in her room. 

Because Lia has a glint in her eye, and a sly grin on her delicious lips as she closes the distance between them. 

“You worried about me, Sunshine?”

__________________________

a/n: we all know the N/M LT is coming so I ask.... How do we think Nate felt in this moment? Was he all flustered at the naked detective too??? 

[mochegato]

Marihood in the Neighborhood

Marinette woke with a pounding headache and a hazy memory of the night before.  She was almost positive the attack on her was just because she was walking alone and not because she held the miraculous. There was no way to be absolutely positive, but she was fairly certain it was her paranoia speaking and not reality.  But then again, she still didn’t remember most of the fight.  Everything had gone black mid-fight.

She blinked and looked around her bedroom.  She wracked her brain trying to remember how she got home and into her bed.  Her hands flew to her clothes, and she breathed out a sigh of relief to find all her clothes still in place.  She stared at the ceiling for a few minutes letting her headache subside before braving the cold floor to get something to drink from the kitchen.

She padded out to the kitchen with soft steps.  Jostling her head as little as possible seemed like the wisest move currently.  She would just stay in her bed, but she really needed some pain killers and a gallon of water. She had just started the coffee maker when a loud sound stopped her in her tracks.  Her eyes widened as her heart started pounding.  The good thing about an open concept living area was she could scan the entire kitchen, dining room, and living room without moving. The bad thing about an open concept living area was there was no place to hide.

She searched the room for the source of the noise. It didn’t sound like the regular kwami noise, and for that matter, she hadn’t seen them flying around since she woke up.  Normally, they wouldn’t hesitate, which definitely indicated something was going on. The kwami were many things, but discrete and quiet were not among them.

The noise sounded again, drawing her attention to the couch, which since it was faced away from her, produced one of the few blind spots in the area.  It sounded suspiciously like a snore, but for the life of her she couldn’t imagine who it would be.

She edged closer to it cautiously.  She wanted to be prone to run away if needed but her body was not responding appropriately, so the best she could do was angle her body toward the exit.  She peeked over the back of the couch and screeched at the sight of a very large man sleeping there, one arm thrown over his eyes and one leg hanging off the side of the couch.

She slapped her hands over her mouth and backed away in fear.  It seemed she wasn’t the only one though, the man bolted up, his head whipped around the room looking for the source of the fear before his eyes settled on her.  He groaned and collapsed back onto the couch.  “Jesus, Pixie Pop.  You just about gave me a heart attack.”

She stared at him incredulously, one hand still on her mouth, but the other migrated to her chest in an effort to calm her racing heart.  “What are you doing here?”

“Sleeping,” he answered groggily, topping it off with a yawn.  “What does it look like I’m doing?”  He went to rub his eyes only to find his domino mask instead and grumbled in annoyance.

“No, yeah, that’s what it looks like,” she granted. She rubbed her forehead in a vain effort to stem the overwhelming pain from her migraine.  “Why are you doing it in my apartment?

“You didn't exactly kick me out last night.”

“I didn't exactly invite you in either… probably.”  She winced at the uncertainty in her own voice because she didn’t have any idea what she said or didn’t last night.

“I could have just left you in the hallway I suppose,” he observed.

She eyed him suspiciously before finally turning her back on him for the first time so she could enter the kitchen.  “Not sure that would have been less safe,” she grumbled.

Red Hood followed behind at a comfortable distance, so she still felt safe.  He plopped down on the stool at the kitchen island on the opposite side from her.  “I’m only dangerous to dangerous people.”

She glanced up at him quickly as she poured two cups of coffee.  “Are you so certain that isn’t me?”  Her voice was teasing as she held one of the cups out for him trying to pretend having a crime boss in her apartment wasn’t the most bizarre thing to happen to her since coming to Gotham.

He took the cup but held it away from himself, eying it warily.  “Well now I’m suspicious.”

Marinette downed her coffee in one long drink and reached for his.  “More for me.”

“Not that suspicious!” he exclaimed.  He yanked the cup out of her reach and took a long drink from it, emptying half the cup in one go.

Marinette laughed dramatically.  “You fell for it.  You are now in my control.  Mwahahaha.” Red Hood rolled his eyes so hard Marinette could still see it even with the domino mask on, causing her to start giggling but she quickly stopped and groaned with a wince.  Genuine laughter did not sit well with her head.

“You would make a terrible villain.  So dramatic,” he chastised with no heat.  He finished the rest of his cup in a single gulp.

Marinette scoffed.  “If my entire childhood watching Disney, teenage years in Paris, and the past few years here in Gotham have taught me anything, it’s that you can never be too camp to be a villain.  If anything, it’s a requirement.”

Red Hood gasped in offense.  “I was not camp.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him.  “Weren’t you though?”

“I was dramatic, not camp,” he insisted.  “There’s a difference.”  He tried to scowl at her, but the effect was lost as he held his cup out for her to fill again.

Marinette filled his cup, face scrunched in exaggerated skepticism.  “Is there though?”

He narrowed his eyes at her with a glare he was sure would have had more of an effect if he wasn’t wearing the mask and took a sip of his coffee.  He watched her carefully, looking for any reason the goons might have targeted her, but as far as he could tell from his observations of her and his search of her apartment last night, there was no reason for her to have been attacked other than wrong place, wrong time.  He absentmindedly rubbed a kink in his neck as his eyes followed every rise of her cup. “How are you feeling this morning? How’s your head?  It got hit pretty hard last night.”

She hummed noncommittally and took another sip.  “Hazy… but that’s pretty normal for mornings,” she followed up quickly when she saw his brow furrow slightly at the first part of her statement.  She scrunched her nose and took another sip from her freshly topped off cup.  “Terrible things, mornings.  Invented to torment the innocent.”

Red Hood chuckled in response.  “It’s afternoon.”

“It’s what!”  She whipped her head toward the windows, only then noticing the bright afternoon light, but immediately winced.  She barely got the cup set down before her hands flew to her head as she brought her head down to the cool counter surface with a whimper.  “Damn.”

Red Hood rounded the island in an instant; his hands hovered around her without touching in case he might accidentally touch another bruise or if having his hands on her might make her more apprehensive. “Yeah, head hits will do that. Can I…” His voice was gentle and light, sympathy oozing from it thicker than molasses.

She side eyed him for a few seconds before nodding tentatively.  His hands gently separated her hair, faltering only slightly when she whimpered.  His fingers danced gingerly over her knot, prodding the extent of it with a touch much gentler than she had expected.  “Oh yeah, that’s a knot.  Damn, girl, it’s like you’re trying out for a vigilante spot.”

“If I was, it would be a terrible audition. Worst vigilante ever,” she grumbled into the counter.

“Nah, I’ve seen the injuries other vigilantes get. This didn’t even require stitches,” he assured her gently.  “You should have seen the damage Batman took when he first started.  I wasn’t there but I did see the scars.  He has a lot.”

“I’ve had stitches.  I’d prefer stitches.”  She pulled away to sit on her couch, or rather collapse onto it, which is exactly what she would have done if she wasn’t carrying her coffee cup with her.

“Depends on what it’s for,” he retorted.  “I’ve had some that hurt far worse, I can assure you.”  He took a quick look around her place.  “You have pain killers and an ice pack?”

She hummed in affirmation.  “Pain killers in the first aid kit under the sink.  Ice pack in the freezer.”

He grabbed the ice pack on his way to the sink but stopped short at the massive first aid kit.  “Wow.  This isn’t a first aid kit; this is a mobile medical unit.”

Marinette smiled at him as he set it on the counter and started riffling through it.  “I’m madly clumsy.  I actually go through it pretty quickly.”  She laid her head against the back of the couch for a few seconds to catch her breath. Now that she wasn’t jerking her head around anymore, the pain had subsided to a manageable level.  Which had the unfortunate disadvantage of allowing her to consider her situation.  A crime lord with a truly vicious reputation was in her apartment, apparently had been all night, and was showing concern for her?  Stranger things had happened to her, obviously, but this was pretty up there because as far as she could tell, no magic was involved.

“Here,” he urged.  He held out the pain killers in one hand and the ice pack in the other for her, waiting until she took them to sit on the arm of one of her armchairs. He watched her silently for a few minutes.  Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on the icepack.  The pain and apprehension melted from her face allowing it to ease into a peaceful expression.  The afternoon light streamed in through the windows, the sheer curtains softening the beams as they fell on her face giving her an angelic glow.

He quirked his head to the side as he examined her face, taking note of the way her hair fell around her face and over her shoulders, and immediately winced, unintentionally letting out a sharp groan as his hands flew to his neck.

Marinette opened an eye to look at him questioningly. “You okay?

“You need a new couch,” he grumbled while he massaged his neck.

Marinette snorted and reached for her coffee cup.  “You offering to buy me one?”  She paused for a moment just before reaching the cup.  “Actually, don’t answer that.  I don’t want to know what crime lord tendencies are.”

“Antihero now,” he corrected her.  He glared at the couch like it had personally offended him. “And it would be a solid investment.”

“Only if you’re planning on spending more time sleeping on my couch,” she responded pointedly.  “It suits me just fine for sitting, and I sleep in my bed.  So, I’m good.”

“Is that an invitation?”  He leaned toward her and waggled his eyebrows.

“It is not.”  She deadpanned.  Her unamused eyes met his over the rim of her coffee cup, hiding the amused uptick in the corners of his lips.

He snorted and nodded to her.  “Okay, Pixie Pop.  I think you’ll be okay on your own now.  Stay safe.”  He saluted her as he made his way out of her window… in broad daylight… in the middle of the afternoon.

“Um, maybe you can use the door?”  She motioned weakly toward the door.  “A little less conspicuous that way.”

Red Hood looked back and forth between the window and the door, his leg, which had been raised to climb through the window, slowly lowered to the floor.  “Right. Yeah.”  He made his way to the door in a manner that should not have been as awkwardly adorable as it was, especially for a crime lord.  “I’ll just…” he motioned toward the door.  “See you, Pixie Pop.”

><><><><><><><>< 

It had been a ridiculously long day.  It would have been an exhausting day just with work and the major impending deadline and difficult client she’d had to deal with All. Day. Long.  But add to that a random attack as she was almost home that caused her and all the other civilians around her to seek refuge in whatever corners or crevices they could find?  And her day felt unending.

She was ready to crawl into bed as soon as she got into her apartment.  Actually? Strike that.  She’d just sleep on the floor on the way to the bed.  She wasn’t picky at this point.  She might even sleep on her couch, just to prove a point about how perfectly satisfactory it was.  Skip dinner and catching up on her show and just sleep.  The idea sounded heavenly.

She slid her key into her lock after the fourth try.  Honestly, fewer than she had been expecting and blinked at the lights that greeted her. She could have sworn she’d turned those off when she left that morning.  Maybe she’d just started the day out tired and that was why she couldn’t remember.

She just about jumped out of her skin, letting out a muffled screech when a body walked past her from the kitchen to collapse on the couch.  “Welcome home, Pixie Pop.”

“What are you doing?” she whisper shouted.  She slammed the door closed behind her and locked it quickly.

“Borrowing your first aid kit,” he answered holding up the first aid kit, his voice so flat, it was almost enough to knock her out of her impending panic to laugh.

“Do not get blood on my couch.”  She eyed the wound he was working on.  It didn’t look too bad.  Not even in need of stitches, just in an awkward place for him.  “You were in the attack.  Are you okay?”

He hummed in affirmation.  “I’m fine.  It would take more than a few goons to take me out.”

She gave him a flat look, making completely sure he understood she didn’t believe a word he was saying.  “Either you’re hurt enough to need immediate medical attention or that’s not why you’re here.”

He shrugged with just a hint of a wince.  “I needed some better than average bandages and I happened to remember the MASH unit you had,” he answered lightly.

She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms, her lips pursed in annoyance.  “And you don’t have safe houses or a home base or a bat box for that kind of stuff?”

Red Hood stared at her incredulously.  ‘Bat Box’ he mouthed in mock affront.  He mouthed it again with a snort and a shake of his head.  “Wow. That’s cold.  I come here instead of going to my meticulously decorated and very well-maintained home to check on you and this is the welcome I get.”  He shook his head in mock offense.  “Unbelievable.”

“And do you check on all the potential victims with such care?”

He smirked.  “Only the gorgeous, smart-mouthed ones with ER rated first aid kits.”  He glanced up at her quickly, a glint of sincerity flitted in his gaze so quickly before his eyes returned to his first aid work, she almost missed it.  “Only the ones I’m worried about,” he answered honestly.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds unsure how to respond to that.  It was far more honest than she had been expecting from a crime lord.  She watched in exasperation as he tried to angle his arm so he could get the bandage to properly cover the worst of his cuts.  It shouldn’t be as cute as it was, his brows furrowed in concentration, his teeth gripping his bottom lip as he tried every conceivable angle to get at the cut.  She huffed and yanked the bandage out of his hand, motioning him to lean away so she could see it.  “Here let me do it.”

He yielded immediately, almost like he was expecting the response.  She gently laid a small bandage over his cut before tightly winding the longer bandage around his arm, in efficient, assured movements.  Her fingers lingered on his muscular biceps unbidden as she checked the smoothness. She yanked her hands away from him as soon as she realized and took refuge on the far side of the couch.  She wracked her brain for something to say to deflect.  Anything. Literally, anything… okay, not anything. But something.  “Why are you so worried about me in particular?”

He inspected the bandage in mock judgement.  “Maybe I want to keep my medic healthy.”  He nodded in approval but when he looked up, he shot her a teasing smirk.  “Or maybe I want to make sure you're healthy so I can ask you out.  Always have someone to patch me up.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.  “First of all, tragically not the least flattering way I’ve been asked out.  Second, in the suit?  It isn’t something you would do as a civilian?”

“Maybe I thought I’d have a better chance my suit,” he shrugged.  “And I can't ask you out as the civilian now, because you would know who I was.”

Marinette scoffed.  “You don't know how many people ask me out.  Maybe you just get lost in a sea of potential suitors.”

Red Hood’s smirk became softer.  “I don't doubt it.”

Marinette’s cheeks immediately flushed.  She attempted to look away to hide it from him. Why did a crime lord look so soft? Who gave him permission?  It was completely unfair.  “And... And what if I'd brought one of them home?  They could have seen you.  Or what if they were actually a bad person, which let’s face it, is a strong possibility in Gotham, and followed you back home and found out your identity? And then…”

She stopped when Red Hood’s loud chuckle interrupted her.  “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Marinette pouted and threw a pillow at him.  “It’s not funny.  It could happen.”

Red Hood shook his head and settled his face into mock seriousness.  “I guess I’m just extra lucky you didn't bring anyone home.  Secret identity safe.”  His mock seriousness morphed into mock curiosity.  “With so many suitors, I have to ask why you didn’t bring one home.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at him.  “Maybe I have a secret identity I want to protect, too.”

Red Hood hummed and nodded playing along.  “The question is which one.  You can’t be Spoiler, she has blonde hair.  You could be Black Bat, she has black hair.  But she never talks, and you never stop so…”

“Hey!” Marinette objected.  She threw another pillow at him.

Red Hood caught it easily with a laugh.  “You could be Arrowette but I didn’t see a bow anywhere and from my experience Arrows always have bows and arrows everywhere. Or Black Canary, but again, blonde hair. Oh!  I know.  Wonder Woman. Black hair, blue eyes, fierce. Definitely could be Wonder Woman.” Marinette snorted and shook her head.

“But I know her,” he continued over her, “and I know she’s currently off-world so…”  He pretended to analyze her.  “But you could always be a different Amazon, one that doesn’t have a hero name.”  He pursed her lips and looked at her again.  “Yes, definitely an Amazon.”

Marinette bobbed her head to the side in consideration and stepped off the couch.  She smiled at him and he raised an eyebrow at her curiously.  She leaned down and pretended to try to lift the end of the couch.  She was far too tired to actually put effort into it and the effect would be the same regardless.  There was no way she was going to be able to move it.  She looked back up at him with a shrug.

Red Hood sighed deeply.  “I guess you're not a superhero then.”

Marinette shook her head and chuckled.  “You realize there are superheroes outside of the US right?  Many the Justice League doesn't even know about?”  She mentally facepalmed.  She fully blamed her exhaustion for her lack of filter.  This was not a conversation she intended to start.

Red Hood quirked his head to the side curiously.  “You don't say, Pixie Pop?  And do you know them?”

“I've seen a few,” she answered vaguely. She settled back on the couch, melting into it almost as soon as she sat, the previous energy burst draining away instantly.

Red Hood made a clicking noise, his head straightened as he examined her.  “And how do you know the Justice League doesn't know about them then?”

“Because nobody in the Justice League came to help us. The Parisian heroes were on their own protecting us,” Marinette said quietly.  She closed her eyes unintentionally and could feel the consciousness draining from her.

Red Hood furrowed his brow.  He wanted to press further but she looked so tired, it didn’t seem like the right time to press.  It seemed like time for her to sleep and he wasn’t about to let her sleep on the couch like he had.  He picked her up in one quick sweep.  She let out a squeak and had to stop herself from jumping out of his arms.  “What are you doing?”

“You need to sleep.  And that couch is no place to sleep,” he said, like that explained anything to her.  He carried her quietly for a few steps before speaking up again.  “I’mma buy you a new couch.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped.  “You’ll do no such thing.”

He smirked back down at her.  “I make no promises.”

She blinked at him but easily melted into his hold against her will.  “Is this going to become a thing?”  She was trying to sound annoyed, but his embrace felt too warm and too welcoming until even the facsimile of annoyance couldn’t exist.

“This?” He placed her down gently and pulled the sheets down so she could crawl under.

“You checking in on me.  Me coming into my living room to find a crime lord sprawled on my couch.  Tucking me into bed.”

“Antihero.  And I don’t know…” he crouched next to the bed with a smirk that was far too charming for a crime… antihero.  “Are you going to keep getting into trouble?”

Marinette snorted and raised up onto an elbow to face him.  “I don’t get into it.  It stalks me lurking in the shadows until it gets bored and ambushes me in an all-fronts attack.”  She fell back onto the bed.  “I mean, two attacks in two weeks.  That's a lot.  Hell of a coincidence.  And I can't tell if that's Gotham or me.”

Red Hood hummed.   “I think you might be onto something.  That does seem a bit more than a coincidence,” he agreed gently.  He didn’t want to scare her, but he needed her to be aware. “That’s one of the reasons I slept on your couch before, the first attack seemed pointed.”

She stared at him in surprise, not having expected him to answer so honestly.  She stole a glance toward the sewing box seemingly haphazardly tossed in the corner of her room. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to hide in Gotham as easily or effectively as she thought she would be able to.  She needed to call Adrien the next morning to come up with some ideas.  “Well, that's not good.”

Red Hood nodded.  “It is not.  I want you to be more careful over the next few weeks.  I'll keep an eye out and I’ll ask the bats to keep an eye on you as well.”

Marinette hummed uncertainly as she closed her eyes. “Oh goodie, stalked by a furry.”

Red Hood snorted as he left.  “Sweet Dreams, Pixie Pop.”  Marinette was asleep before he left her room.

><><><><><><><>< 

Despite Marinette’s stringent objection, it did become a thing.  And she couldn’t even do anything but shake her head in exasperation when a couch that looked like it cost more than half a year’s worth of her rent showed up one Saturday morning along with movers to take away her old couch.

She also couldn’t offer more than a weak chastisement when Red Hood appeared later that night, or rather early the next morning, to ‘test it out’.  Apparently, it required a lot of testing as he stopped by frequently over the next few weeks to do so, each time staying a bit longer and talking a bit more.

It took almost three weeks for her to finally get hurt on the couch, catching her hip on the arm of it as she rounded it with a bowl of snacks for their impromptu viewing session.  She pouted at him when he chuckled at her.  “It’s not my fault.  It’s the couch.  This couch is monstrous,” she exclaimed motioning toward it.  “It could fit like two of me.”

“Yeah, but it can fit one of me,” he grinned. He pressed further into the seat and back cushions, letting out a sigh of contentment.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds before poking him repeatedly.  “You. Don’t. Live. Here.”

He ineffectively batted her hands away with a pout.  “That hurts.”

Marinette scoffed and rolled her eyes.  “Sure it does.  Worse than your neck did?”

“Far worse.  It hurts in my heart.  Right here,” he tapped his chest with a pout that would have made Manon proud.  “You say such hurtful things.”

She hummed.  “I didn’t think crime lords had those.  I thought you had to barter them away when you signed the Crime Lord Contract.”

Red Hood snorted, quickly devolving into raucous laughter.  His eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed.  “The contract?” he asked through the laughter.  He wiped away tears that started to form.  “Really?”  Marinette shrugged innocently but her smile was pulled up in a teasing smile and her eyes were twinkling in mischievousness.

He shifted his face into a mask of seriousness.  “Well naturally, but you get it back when you leave the business.  It’s like a deposit.”

“Ahh,” Marinette nodded in understanding.  “I see, I see.  Yes.  That makes sense.”  She looked up at him curiously.  “So, you have it back now?”

He nodded.  “Slightly battered and bruised.  A little worn and a few cracks.  Maybe not as strong as it used to be.  But it’s back.  It’s mine again.”

He said it so flippantly, like he wasn’t expecting them to be taken seriously.  Marinette studied him curiously for a few seconds before speaking up again.  “And is it healing now?  Getting stronger?”

Red Hood froze like he’d been caught by Alfred drinking milk from the carton.  He turned just slightly toward her, not enough to fully face her, but enough to watch her out of the side of his eye.  He was silent for a few moments while he weighed how to answer, not only how honest to be but what the honest answer would be.

The longer he watched her the more his body twisted to face her on its own, seemingly drawn in by the authentic concern in her eyes.  When he realized what his body was doing without his consent, he turned toward the television again.  “Yeah, it is.”  His voice was barely above a whisper, almost like he wasn’t addressing it to her.

She stared at him, her head cocked to the side, her brow so slightly furrowed, it was easy to miss.  “Why do you keep coming back here?”  Her voice wasn’t harsh, not annoyed, more like a curiosity about a situation she tried to puzzle out but couldn't.

“I mean, you have a pretty comfy couch,” he joked, settling further into the couch as if to prove a point.  His eyes only flicked to her for a moment before returning to the television.

Marinette followed his eyes and allowed her focus to settle on the television, expecting that dodge was the end of the conversation. She was not expecting him to continue speaking, her eyes instantly returning to him once he did.  “Like I said before, I’m worried about you.  The attacks seem targeted, and I can’t figure out why yet.  So I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Marinette hummed and nodded.  Her eyes drifted to an arbitrary spot on the wall.  It was a reasonable explanation even if something about it sounded off.  Her eyes snapped back to him when he continued speaking, but he was looking out the window this time, almost refusing to look at her.  “And… I like talking to you.  You make me feel calmer.”

He wanted to say she made his heart feel like it was healing.  Instead, he snorted.  “You seem like an honest to God good person with a spark and a fight.  I haven’t laughed that hard in I don’t know how long. I mean I laugh.  I have good friends.  We laugh. But…”  He took a deep breath.  “I like the way you talk with me,” he finished more earnestly than he intended.

Marinette smiled shyly at him, her eyes lowered, avoiding his eyes like he’d been avoiding hers earlier.  “I like the way you talk with me, too.”  She glanced up at him quickly and back down.  “I’m not sure I should though.”

Red Hood frowned, brows furrowed in thought, but nodded in agreement.  “I’m not sure either.”

><><><><><><><>< 

Not for the first time, Jason wished he had been wrong.  He would love it, he really would.  But he rarely was when it came to danger and villains.  He researched and observed and planned to make sure he wasn’t.  But despite all the work he put into it, he desperately wished he had been wrong about it all and Marinette was just an innocent bystander.  Instead, there were several dead assassins, a traumatized civilian, a minorly injured bat, and a more significantly injured bird who was dressed as a civilian at the time, that said otherwise.

And the most frustrating part of it all was that he still didn’t know why.  Well, he knew why, but not why. He knew she was targeted because of her affiliation with the Parisian heroes, but not why her.  There was an obvious link between her and them, but other of her friends were publicly outed as one of the heroes themselves.  Granted they had been retired, but still it was a stronger association than he had been able to find between her and the underground heroes. And yet, she was the one they went after, not her friends.

And, God he hated them, the Parisian ‘heroes’. They left so much evidence of their association with Marinette, making her a target even to this day, especially the cat one, he really liked announcing his affiliation with Marinette.  Even years later, people were still trying to use her to get to them.

He growled to himself and held Marinette closer against his chest as he carried her up the fire escape.  And he was no better.  He had been visiting her as Red Hood for weeks now, which could easily put just as large a target on her back.

When he finally got to her window, he jimmied the lock to open it.  Luckily, he’d done it so frequently in the past few weeks, he was able to manage it one restricted handed, since he wasn’t willing to let her go for even an instant until she was in her apartment, and he could be fairly certain she was safe. He nodded to Black Bat on the rooftop across the way as he closed the window and pulled the curtains closed.

He set her on the couch to assess her again for any signs of injury.  She looked okay, just shaken up and disturbingly silent.  For the life of him, he couldn’t find any cuts or bruises, which was a miracle considering Dick said they had taken several swipes at her before he could step in.  His concern grew the longer it took her to say anything.  She had been silent since Dick got hurt from jumping between her and a sword.  Her eyes had grown wide in horror as he went down, his blood streaking the alley wall behind him.

But the most frightening part of the whole interaction was the way her eyes steeled after she saw it.  The way she braced herself, like she was preparing to go into battle, like she was familiar with doing so, was what stayed with him.  It was something he needed to investigate more. It certainly indicated the people pursuing her may have had more cause in going after her than he had originally anticipated.

He crouched down in front of her to make sure she was seeing him, that she was present, but wasn’t sure she was.  Her eyes darted around the apartment calculatingly. Her mind appeared to be moving a thousand miles per minute planning and anticipating.  Thinking about things Jason wasn’t positive were healthy for her, things that made her look like she was seconds from bolting.  He needed her to focus on him.  “How are you feeling?”

Marinette heard him saying words but didn’t spare the mental capacity to interpret them.  She needed to think.  She needed to plan.  Her eyes scanned the area as she strategized.  The miraculous box, that was a definite for what she needed to take, a few changes of clothing, nothing much, nothing that would weigh her down, some snacks, and cash. That should be enough to get her through the first few days.  She could leave her phone here… actually, she could destroy her phone so nobody could get data from it.

She could use Kaalki and go to Adrien’s.  It wouldn’t be safe, not for long anyway, but he might be in danger too.  But then where would she go?  Where could she go?  The temple should be safe, but was she willing to spend her life there?  The rest of her life never leaving those walls? Never seeing her family or friends? Never seeing Adrien laugh or become a father?  Never seeing Nino and Alya get married?  Never seeing Mylene create her non-profit business to save the world?  Never seeing Red Hood sleep on her couch again?  Could she live like that?

But if she didn’t where could she go?  Even if she didn’t go to the temple, seeing her friends again might not be safe, for her or for them.  Did she even have to hide?  They didn’t seem to know who she was, beyond a vague connection with the heroes… maybe the fact that Red Hood saved her instead of the Parisian team might have assuaged their suspicions… or maybe it confirmed it for them.  Maybe they thought the bats were helping her now precisely because…

“Marinette!”

She froze staring up at the man in front of her and blinking in confusion at the very bare faced man.  With her mind already racing in its own anxiety spiral, it took a few seconds of examining his clothes, face shape, and the way his hair fell after having his helmet on for his patrol, before she realized who he was. She gasped at him in wide-eyed horror. “You took off your mask.”

He let out a small, incredulous huff.  “I tried getting your attention, but you weren’t hearing me.  I needed to take drastic measures.”  He cupped her cheek and stared into her eyes in the hope it would encourage her to focus on him.  “How are you feeling?”

She stared back at him unseeingly.  “You took off your mask.  I can figure out who you are now.  That’s your identity.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head.  He looked at her amused.  “Half the underworld does anyway.”  He stroked her cheek fondly.  “One angel in a sea of devils won't make it worse for me.”  She shook her head as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, her brow furrowing and relaxing in confusion.  “Can you tell me how you are feeling?  Are you okay?  Do you need anything?”

She blinked a few times to encourage her mind to calm and the information to settle.  “Me?  I’m fine.  I’m not the one that almost got killed.  That man is.  He almost died.  For me.”

Jason shook his head, never letting his eyes stray from hers.  “You are. You are the one that almost got killed.  They were going for you.  It’s okay to not be okay.”

“But I’m not the one that got hurt!” she exclaimed. She pushed his hands off her and backed away.  She shook her head to fight the tears that were welling in her eyes.  “He did.  He got hurt protecting me.  He got hurt because of me.”

Jason stepped in front of her again shaking his head violently.  He couldn’t let her think that.  He grabbed her lightly by her shoulders and ducked his head in front of her.  “No.  No, it wasn’t,” he insisted.  “It was because of them, not you.”

Marinette scoffed and tried to back away, but his grip on her was too tight.  She could break out if she really wanted to, but it was more effort than she felt like putting in right now.  But, he didn’t understand.  It was. It was because of her.  Those people were looking for her because of the miraculous.  It was her fault.

Jason pulled her back toward him.  “It is not your fault,” he repeated, annunciating each word.  “And to be honest, that man that got hurt was working with me.  He jumped in because I asked him to watch over you.  So, if you’re going to blame yourself, you’re going to have to blame me too.”

Marinette looked up at him doubtfully and he knew she didn’t believe him, but he was gambling on how well he’d come to know her and that she also wasn’t willing to blame him.  When she didn’t say anything, he pulled her into a hug and buried his hose into her hair.  “And from what I’ve been told, it isn’t that bad.  It wasn’t deep.  He’s trained to avoid hits like that.  His ego got hit harder than his body.  Now, do you need anything?  Something to eat or drink?  A distraction?”  His voice was muffled as he spoke into her hair.

Marinette wrapped her arms around his waist and shook her head against his chest.  “I just… I just… I don’t…”  She squeezed her eyes shut and held him tighter.

He nodded as he ran his hands over her hair in a calming gesture.  “Okay. It’s okay.  You’re okay.”  He rested his cheek on her head and strengthened his grasp around her waist, making sure she felt wrapped up by him, fully, wholly protected.  “You’re okay.  I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She let out a shuttering breath and allowed herself to bury herself further into his embrace and believe him, believe that he was safe, that he could protect her.  The more she let herself believe, the weaker she became, her knees seemed to lose their ability to hold her up, which Jason picked up on instantly.  He scooped her up in one quick and carried her to her bedroom, a path he’d become familiar with from carrying her sleeping form so many times before.

He gently laid her down on her bed and moved the sheets, so they covered her.  He ran his knuckles along her jaw and leaned down to kiss her forehead.  “Night, Marinette.”

He turned to leave but Marinette grabbed his hand before he could get too far away.  “Stay…”

He looked down at her hand on his for a few moments, too afraid of what he would do if he met her eyes.  “Jason.  My name is Jason.  I won’t go far.  I was just going to lay down on the couch, since it’s so comfortable now and all.”  Marinette continued to look at him holding onto him almost desperately.  He only had to look into her terrified, pleading eyes for a moment before acquiescing. Honestly, he was lucky all she asked for was for him to stay, because with the way she was looking at him, he was pretty sure he would have given her just about anything she asked.

He kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the sewing box in the corner before crawling into bed next to her.  He laid awkwardly, unsure what was expected of him.  Did she want him to snuggle up to her?  Stay on his side of the bed and just act as sentry? Did she just want another warm body in the room?  He almost got up to sit in the chair in the room, because surely she just wanted him in the room, not her bed and he’d just laid right down, but he froze when Marinette curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart.

His arm instinctually wrapped around her waist, his other resting on her hand on his heart.  She adjusted a few times, never moving her body away from his.  She wrinkled her nose and let out a quiet huff at how hard the Kevlar plates of his protective armor shirt was.  He snorted lightly and sat up, much to her displeasure.  He smiled at the adorable pout she sent him that dropped along with her jaw when he took his shirt off, tossing it over with his jacket.

He laid back down and opened his arms to her in invitation.  She stared at him frozen for several seconds before she seemed to be able to move and she laid back down, taking her original position.  He hadn’t thought much about the move at first, his focus was entirely on making Marinette more comfortable.  But now, he wasn’t sure if he was happy he hadn’t worn a shirt under his suit that day or not.

Because on the positive side, Marinette was laying on him as he lay shirtless, her skin touching his, her breath fanning out across his chest, tickling and enrapturing every skin cell it touched.  But on the negative side, Marinette was laying on him as he lay shirtless, her skin touching his, her breath fanning out across his chest, and her hand resting over his heart, caressing his skin like she was caressing his heart.

Her fingers ran over a scar on his chest and traced it as her brow furrowed in concern.  A frown pulled the corners of her mouth down as realization hit.  She tilted her head to look up at him.  “I never asked about you.  Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?  I should have asked.”

Jason’s concerned expression melted into a soft look as he watched the concern deeply etched on her face.  “You were a bit preoccupied.  I’m okay.  They didn’t touch me.  I’m too well trained.  Too dangerous.  More dangerous than them.  They should have known that.”  His eyes darkened slightly.  “Whoever hired them knows that now.”

He watched her hand curiously as it left his chest and made its way up to his face. She traced the lines of his face gently, her eyes trailed behind her fingers.  “I should be afraid of you,” she whispered.

Jason wasn't sure if she was saying it to herself or to him, but regardless he heard it.  He traced his knuckles along her jaw.  “But you're not?”  Marinette shook her head.  “That's a poor choice. You shouldn't trust men like me,” he warned her.  His voice was soft but broken.

“I don't trust men like you,” she murmured.  “I trust you.”

Jason searched her eyes for only a moment before pulling her up and ducking down to kiss her.  He ran his hand into her hair to pull her closer.  He let out a happy grunt when her hand cupped his jaw while her other hand pushed her up so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck to kiss her. As amazing as the kiss felt, and it felt staggeringly, heat-stoppingly spectacular, he still felt like he couldn’t get close enough or feel her enough.

He pulled away sooner than either of them wanted, only to press his forehead to hers, his breath coming in short, labored pants, his eyes still squeezed shut.  “You need to sleep.”

She looked up at him suddenly fearful.  “How long will you stay?”

He tightened his grip around her with one arm and ran his hand into her hair with the other, the palm of his hand resting on her cheek.  He stared into her eyes with a steely resolve.  “Until you feel safe,” he vowed.

She searched his eyes for any uncertainty, or maybe the uncertainty was hers.  She settled back onto his chest.  Her eyes focused on her hand as it returned to its position on his chest.  “And what if I never feel like I am?”

Jason sighed and rested his cheek on her head before intertwining his fingers with hers and settling them both over his heart.  “Then I'll never leave,” he whispered into her hair.

[baroquebucky]

touch

soulmate au where when you touch your soulmate you see glimpses of your future with them; the winter soldier touches you and realizes there’s so much more out there

series masterlist // next

part one

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs !! hope u all enjoy this !! i am a sucker for soulmate au’s <3 let me know what u guys think and if u guys want a part 2 !!!

Bucky awoke to the sound of the guards unlocking the door, the metal creaking as Alexander Pierce walked in, waving the guards off to leave the two alone.

“you have another mission today” the man spoke smoothly, bucky getting up from his small bed and staring at the man infront of him, “you need to finish this before it gets out of hand” pierce spoke, eyeing the soldier as he stared blankly ahead.

“Do you understand?” He questioned, bucky looked at him, nodding his head silently as the guards took him out, taking him to get ready for his mission.

He had stopped resisting, he had nothing left, he couldn’t remember much and he had no idea who he even was. Bucky followed the motions, suiting up and grabbing his weapons alongside the other HYDRA agents.

You frowned at steve and natasha, grumbling to yourself as Sam let you into the house.

“im y/n, sorry about these two” you smiled at the man, extending your hand out and turning to your two friends.

“thank you for coming y/n, we really need you” Steve spoke, natasha nodding in agreement as she dried her hair slowly.

“yeah, yeah everyone always needs me” you joked, sitting next to them and rubbing your eyes, “woke me up from my nap so this better be good” you spoke, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back.

Steve and natasha explained the situation, telling you what they knew about the winter soldier, you soaked in the information, attempting to google him but coming up with almost nothing.

“hm, so you want me to do what, exactly” you questioned, looking at the trio staring back at you.

“fight with us, help us, we have to stop HYDRA” Steve spoke, looking at natasha before continuing, “i don’t know who to trust and” he sighed, “we know we can trust you, are you in?”

You smiled, getting up and pulling the three in for a hug, sams eyes going wide.

“of course I’m in, i care about you guys too much to let you die alone” you chuckled, pulling away, looking at Sam before speaking up, “no ones dying by the way, right?”

The four of you were on the rooftop, getting information out of Sitwell, laughing when natasha kicked him off.

“What about that girl from accounting, Laura?” Natasha spoke, looking at Steve as he thought about the woman’s name.

“Lillian! Lip piercing right?” Natasha nodded and Steve shook his head.

“yeah I’m not ready for that” you laughed at the two lightly.

“you should get with the time have a little fun!” You teased, Natasha smiling as you sided with her, nodding her head excitedly.

As Sam brought Sitwell back you began the interrogation, threatening to throw the man off for good is he didn’t start talking. Your eyes were steely and they let you handle him, getting all the information you needed.

“i didn’t know you could be so-” sam stopped, trying to find the right words.

“evil?” Natasha offered.

“terrifying?” Steve chuckled and Sam nodded.

“Insight launched in 16 hours” you spoke up, checking your phone, Natasha nodded speaking up after you, “we’re cutting it kinda close here.”

Steve looked ahead with furrowed brows nodding his head, “well use him to bypass the DNA scans and bypass the helicarriers directly.”

Sitwell scoffed next to you, blabbering on about you something, you rolled your eyes, going to say something when someone reached through the window and threw him out, your eyes going wide.

“what the fuck!” You screeched, looking up and seeing who you assumed was the winter soldier.

Your eyes were wide as you stared out the windshield, a tug in your chest as you saw him sliding across the concrete, steadying himself with his metal arm.

Natasha pulled her gun out, aiming at the man. A car rear ended you, pushing you forward and knocking your wind out. The soldier jumped atop the car, holding on tight as the truck behind you pushed you all foward.

Sam pressed on the breaks, trying to steer away from the other cars. A metal hand reached through the windshield and tore the steering wheel out from his grasp.

“shit!” Sam yelled, eyes wide as the car drove into another, Natasha reaching her gun and shooting in hopes of hitting the masked man.

Steve grabbed onto the three in the front, looking back at you with wide eyes.

“go!” You yelled, scrambling to open the door before the car crashed into the wall.

“hang on!” Steve called, jumping out, with you bracing yourself for the impact seconds after, you flew out the door, hitting the ground with a thud.

You ran to join natasha and Sam, ducking behind cars to avoid the bullets, finally pulling out your pocket knife and hitting one of the men in the chest, running again as they shot at you three even more.

You and natasha jumped down, holding onto her as she shot something under the bridge to swing from.

The two of you landed safely, you pointed to the shadow of the solider, running alongside her to shoot at the man.

You both aimed and fired, hitting his giggled and causing him to turn back. You let out a sigh, hoping they would give you a minute to recover. You both ran for cover as he leaned back over, machine gun in hand and shooting wildly.

“fucks sake” you let out, breathless as you aimed to shoot back at him, running for cover once again, hiding behind the parked cars. Your eyes focusing on the bus steve had fallen into, relief flooding your body when you saw him jumping out and hiding behind the shield safely, eyes moving to the highway and seeing Sam shooting from above.

“I’m gonna leave this recording here, ill sneak up behind him and then you try and get him, we can double team him” Natasha spoke, you nodded, letting her record the memo before setting it down and running.

Your heart raced as you saw the soldier approach the vehicle, waiting for the right moment to strike. As Natasha ran to tackle him from behind you noticed the amount of people still around you, the explosion next to you sending people flying.

“shit” you mumbled, running to help them as Natasha held her own.

“get out of the way! Run! Get out of here” you yelled, pointing at those in frenzy to run in the opposite direction, you glanced over your shoulder, Natasha being thrown into a car.

As you turned to help her you noticed a little girl crying, alone. You debated for a second before running up to her, taking her in your arms and handing her off to some random adult who was fleeing.

Natasha had messed the man arm up, joining her in her sprint as you all yelled for people to move and to take cover. You heard the whirl of a bullet and natasha groan, doubling over next to a car.

“take of her!” Steve yelled, holding off the soldier. You let eyes were wide, putting pressure on Natasha wound and looking around.

“you’re gonna be fine” you told her, looking into the car and breaking the window with your elbow, opening the compartment in the passengers seat and smiling when you found a first aid kit.

“come on” you mumbled, moving her gently and cleaning the wound, doing your best with what little you had. You tried to bandage her, the sound of the bullets hitting Steve’s shield making your hands shake.

“go help them, I’ll be fine” Natasha groaned out, you hesitated before nodding, running to where Steve was.

You hid behind a car, watching as he shoved a knife into a van, barely missing Steve’s head.

You jumped from behind the car as Steve reached to grab his shield, hitting the metal armed man, you used your body weight to twist him back.

Visions flashed in your eyes, quick flashes of a man with a charming smile and beautiful blue eyes. The sound of laughter echoing in your ears as the mask fell besides you. You saw the two of you cuddled up on a couch, you saw two two of you watching a sunset while on a picnic, giggles falling from your mouth.

Bucky saw it too, his mind flashing with pictures of a life he didn’t recognize, seeing you, his mission in them. He saw you cuddled at his side, he saw you on a stage together singing with lyrics on a screen, he saw the two of you rescuing a white cat from the rain. Bucky saw you holding out a present for him, a bright smile on you face, he saw you throwing flour at him in a kitchen, cookies baking in an over.

He stayed on the ground, memories who he used to be flooding his mind, hope of who he could become clouding his judgement.

Tears brimmed in his eyes as he looked up at you, standing in front of Steve with an equally shocked look on your face.

“it’s you” you breathed out, your heart tugging in your chest as your eyes met his blue ones, they were cloudy and they were broken but god, you already loved them.

“it’s you” he whispered. A year rolling down his face before HYDRA agents surrounded you all.

“Bucky?” Steve spoke, finally getting a good look at the man.

The super soldier stayed quiet, panic in his eyes and he looked at you, setting his weapon down. You made a move to run to him, but Sam flew in, knocking him feet away from you, Natasha soon launching a grenade.

“no!” You screamed, running to where he was. He was gone.

“No! Please i just found him no!” You cried, sinking to you knees, Sam ran over to you, holding you tightly as you sobbed, agents surrounding the four of you and telling you all to get down on your knees.

You sobbed into sams chest, only leaving his embrace when the agents ripped you from him.

Buckys eyes were wide as he sat in the chair, his heart racing as he recalled your face, your hair. He recalled the flashes he saw, his future with you.

He had something to hold onto, he had something to fight for, someone to survive for. He thought about the man who was next to you, he was familiar, he was in his old memories.

Buckys mind raced, knowing they would wipe his memories, he soaked in every last detail, praying he could hold onto to what he had after they wiped him.

He could hold onto you, his hope.

[allwaswell16]

~A Dramatic Louis Fic Rec~

A very special fic rec of dramatic Louis fics as requested in this ask where I get roasted in my own inbox lol. You can find my other fic recs here! Happy reading!

-Larry-

You You You by @isthatyoularry (M, 137k)

“Infamous boybander leaves club together with unknown,” read the headline. Underneath were pictures of a boy with dark curls, green eyes and very tight pants. They both studied the article for a moment, reading it through quickly. “Is that…?” Louis frowned. That guy almost looked exactly like... "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" "Louis," Niall said, looking absolutely fucked over. "You just fucked the most wanted guy on earth. You just fucked Harry Styles of One Direction."

Or, the one where Harry and Louis meet at a club and Louis takes Harry home, only for him to realize that the boy who just made him breakfast half naked is Harry Styles from One Direction.

An Amazing Race Around the World (And to my Heart) by Thingssicant / @sunflowervolh (E, 89k)

“This year marks our thirtieth race around the world, thirty seasons of teams bound by friendship, family, and even some people who just band together for the chance at the prize. But this year, we want to remove that dynamic,” Phil said, rubbing his hands together gently.

The cameras were whirring around them, trying to get every shocked face and gasp from the teams. Louis could feel a ringing in his ears, a new nervousness he hadn’t felt during the entire journey to this competition.

He was sweating more now, more than he could blame on the California sun, as Phil started to read the names of the new teams, the members hugging their loved ones before joining a complete stranger in their new allotted spot.

Or an Amazing race Hate to Lovers au

Sometimes You Just Know by @2tiedships2 (M, 33k)

“Dear diary. Today is going to be a good day, and here’s why...”

“What are you doing?” Louis mumbled as he bit into a piece of toast.

“It’s been almost two years and today Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson reunite. Louis is very excited about…”

Louis’ chair screeched along the kitchen floor as he flew up out of his seat, quickly grabbing the paper from Niall’s grasp. As he scanned the page he found it amounted to lines of nothing.

“What is this?” Louis asked again. “We’ve discussed how Harry Styles will never be spoken of in this flat. I don’t care how long it’s been.”

Niall snatched the paper from Louis and proceeded to draw a line across the page before writing.

“Today is the day that he-who-shall-not-be-named is coming to dinner.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis don’t believe in soulmates… until they do.

A Cuddle Guide, courtesy of Louis by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved (T, 23k)

Louis is someone who’s pretty needy and, without being dramatic, would probably die if he didn’t get enough attention during the day, that much he is aware of. Moving in with four boys whose personalities seem to clash with each other and who don’t seem too keen on being affectionate with each other appeared to be a bad move on Louis’ part. He sets a plan, and a guide for himself for this to change.

He just wanted cuddles and for that to become normal. He didn’t really expect to somehow make everyone in the flat so co-dependent on each other and end up with a boyfriend either. But maybe he should have, really.

OR: Platonic Louis-centric OT5 fluff with side Larry and a lot of cuddles and platonic fun

it would take a miracle by bravefortheboys (E, 23k)

In which Niall is the world's greatest sword fighter who's after the son-of-a-bitch that killed his father, Liam is a misunderstood fighter with a heart of gold, Prince Zayn doesn't want to hurt a soul, Harry is the most patient Farm Boy to ever walk the earth, Louis just wants to live a simple life, and somehow everything works out in the end because we're dealing with true love. You think this happens every day?

(AU based on The Princess Bride with the same amount of cheesiness and action but a significantly higher amount of curse words and penis jokes)

i'm a captain on a jealous sea by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain (E, 15k)

It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Nick. He is, if he’s being honest, kind of indifferent. Louis gets that Nick is just doing his job most of the time, being loud and prying, not having boundaries. But it’s just a little too much for Louis’ taste. Louis, who has learned over the years, when to be loud and when to know that coy is the game. But, it doesn’t matter really. He’s not required to like everyone, doesn’t have to make nice with them outside of having a camera shoved in his face. He can let Nick be Nick and it shouldn’t affect Louis at all.

Except.

What Louis actually has a problem with is the way Nick Grimshaw looks at Harry.

This Play Between The Sheets by Harriet1dfan (E, 15k)

Louis: I'm on the bus to meet Harry, if I haven't texted you back in three hours I'm either dead or I've been sold into a sex-trade ring xxHarry: Hi, this is Harry so I'm pretty sure that message wasn’t meant for me. And don't worry, I have no current plans to kill or sell you. See you in five minutes.

Or the totally gratuitous BDSM fic where Louis' is a drama queen and gets far too excited to pay attention to who he's texting.

Like a Walk in the Park by @helloamhere (T, 11k)

Louis needs a million dollars, needs a full redo and apology for Mass Effect 3, needs to redeem his birthday massage certificate. Louis does not need to sit exposed under an open sky and control his facial muscles for hours on end in front of his horrible helpless crush and three most merciless (best) friends. But Zayn is running out to the living room to hide all the controllers, so he’s got no freaking choice.

//or, OT5 has a park day. Louis will probably survive.

baby we’re the new romantics (come on, come along with me) by loustyles2828 (T, 6k)

Louis keeps getting cakes, and he’s certainly not in love with his best mate.

Three Hundred Cupcakes Later by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow (G, 5k)

Louis finds Christmas parties usually too boring or too rowdy. Nothing in between. And this one was definitely bordering on lame... Until he spotted the most handsome man watching him.

I'll Be There by @allwaswell16 (E, 5k)

Louis is less than thrilled to find out his roommate has coerced his nemesis to check on him whilst he's sick in bed. However, Harry seems to take great pleasure in taking care of Louis. Maybe this green smoothie drinking, hot yoga instructing, hair in a bun wearing, pretentious art history studying wanker isn’t so bad after all.

On Monday, Louis thinks Harry's a twat. By Friday, he's thinking of reasons for him to stay.

Love on the b(rain) by TeamLouis (G, 4k)

During a stormy night, when Louis realizes that his precious dog has escaped the house, he has no other choice than calling his ex-husband. Well, ex-husband may be a little too much and maybe Louis is a little dramatic. But stormy nights always get people closer, right?

The Kids Aren't All Right by EmmyLouWho (G, 3k)

Two university students. One left-handed desk.

ft: Louis being very dramatic, muffins, and Shakespeare.

Neapolitan by foxandbee (NR, 3k)

It’s as he’s lying there on the hard, sticky tiles that it dawns on Louis that maybe this wasn’t the best course of action. He could’ve just left the store before the boy came back. But then he’d never be able to show his face in here again and the pretty boy would be left for all eternity thinking that Louis is a weirdo. Louis pouts at that idea. He could’ve just waited for the boy, apologised, and explained that choosing just one ice-cream was so hard, what with their bountiful array of flavours. But no. Louis always has to go for the most dramatic option doesn’t he? He just can’t be a normal human.

Or the story where Harry's a pretty boy in an ice-cream parlour and Louis embarrasses himself.

If I Can't Have You by Janie_17 (T, 2k)

After Harry turns him down, going out for Karaoke is the last thing Louis wants to do, but his friends are persuasive. When Harry shows up with Nick Grimshaw in tow, his evening goes from bad to worse. But will his choice of song manage to turn things around?

-Rare Pairs-

 Pretty Little Plaything by Phillipa19 (Zayn/Louis, E, 55k)

Louis is Zayn's little toy, his precious pet, to play with and keep safe. Zayn is a millionaire and has a lot of work to do he can't always be around to entertain his young lover. Louis's insecurity about losing Zayn's interest means he ends up lying to the older man. How will Zayn react?

driver's license by wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment (Zayn/Louis, T, 6k)

“I said to turn left.” “No, you said to turn right.” Louis has no idea what he actually said, but who cares? He’s tired of this superior tone. “Are you seriously arguing with your examiner right now?” See, that’s exactly what Louis is talking about. The guy—Zayn, or whatever—pointedly waits for an answer, and Louis scoffs. “Doesn’t matter who you are, does it? I still know what I heard, and you said ‘right’.” Or: Louis is taking the exam to get his driver’s licence for the 3rd time (okay, sue him), and the examiner keeps getting under his skin. When they suddenly get stranded in the middle of a snow storm, they have to learn to cooperate.