#local man and son say to drink your milk!!

[doctorsiren]

found a really cute picture in my Pinterest folder of a guy and a kid clinking glasses of milk and decided to draw it as Reigen and little Mob

[teaberrii]

Chapter Eleven: The Way You Make Me Feel

Alhaitham has the looks and the smarts. He will also be the stand-in CEO for his grandfather's company for a year.

But, he's been mysteriously cursed to turn into a cat every night since his eighteenth birthday… until he meets you, an employee at his grandfather's company, who rescues him as a cat and changes him back with one kiss.

Alhaitham/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on AO3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

“This is a pleasant surprise,” your mother says, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Your mother looks at the small group of women around her age a short distance away. “We decided to do something different today.”

You recognize them from one of the local community clubs your mother joined last year. She had casually introduced you before because one of them has a son around the same age as you. You knew of her motives, but you played along as you didn’t want to be rude.

“Now, what are you two doing here?” your mother asks, turning back. “An early date?”

Before you and Alhaitham can say anything, one of the aunties says your name as if surprised. She looks you up and down. “My, it’s only been a year since we last saw you, but you’ve grown!”

“Have I?” you laugh. “Maybe it’s all the milk I’ve been drinking.”

Then, one of them looks at Alhaitham. “Oh! What a handsome young man!"

"Is he your boyfriend, dear?”

You and Alhaitham look at each other. You also notice the curious look of your mother. Well, you’ve made it official to everyone back at the hospital. Why should you say anything different now?

"Alhaitham?" A woman pushes her way to the front, and Alhaitham looks just as surprised to see her as she does him. But, then, the woman looks at you. "Is it true? Are you dating him?"

You raise a brow. What’s with the attitude?

“Do you know him?” your mother asks.

The woman crosses her arms. “He was my daughter’s fiancé.”

Fiancé?! You look at Alhaitham, whose expression remains calm but has a seriousness you’ve never seen before.

"F-fiancé?" one of the women gasps. "Oh, honey, don't tell me this was the man who left your poor daughter in tears!"

Of course, you have no idea what is going on. However, regardless of what happened, you’re a little amazed at how calm Alhaitham is, especially after a comment like that. Or should you be scared?

The woman looks at you. “It’s not good to get involved with this man, dear. You’ll end up with a broken heart!”

“We were unhappy."

Everyone turns to Alhaitham.

“She was happy until you ended things with her!” the woman fires back, a little too emotionally.

“No,” Alhaitham says sternly. “We ended things so they wouldn’t get worse.”

“You—”

Whatever happened, you know that violence is not the answer. When the woman steps toward him, she looks like she wants to hit him. However, your mother puts a hand in front of her.

“This sounds like a personal affair,” she says to her. “Let’s not cause a scene.”

The woman glares at your mother. "Your daughter is dating a man who hurt my daughter. I'm helping you so she won't endure what he put her through!"

“My daughter’s business is my business,” your mother says. “Not yours.”

With one last huff, the woman spins on her heel and walks away.

“...Well, this is awkward,” one of the others says. “Should we let her be?”

A woman looks at Alhaitham. “Young man… is it true about what she said? We… did hear that her daughter was engaged. She was going to show him off, but the engagement was called off.”

The last thing Alhaitham wants to do is gossip about his past with people that have nothing to do with it. However, leaving it be would cause more misunderstandings. He's not hiding anything. He didn’t do anything wrong. Yet, if he stays quiet, things might escalate out of control. Alhaitham can care less what the aunties think, but he cares about what you think. He also cares about what your mother thinks.

“With all due respect, auntie,” you say, and the women look at you. “That’s his business.”

“...Well, I suppose you’re right.”

Once the women walk away, your mother turns to Alhaitham. “As an outsider, I have no interest in your past affairs. But”—she looks at you—“as you are involved with my daughter, I want to know the kind of people she’s with. You do understand what I’m saying, right?”

Alhaitham nods. “I do.” He takes a short breath. “It’s true that her daughter and I were engaged. I was one the who broke it off.”

“...What happened?” you ask.

“...In short, I didn’t love her,” Alhaitham says.

“Yet the two of you went as far as to get engaged,” your mother says.

“We were young,” Alhaitham admits. “We didn’t really know each other. Not at the level that would make a lasting relationship work.”

You can understand where he's coming from as you've been there yourself. It's all fun and games, like going to the movies, shopping, or hanging out at someone's house in the beginning. But, when it comes to the bigger, serious, "adult" things, that's when you truly get a feel for who this person is and whether this relationship would really work.

“I just made tenure when she brought up marriage,” Alhaitham continues. “Our relationship was also still in its early stages. It was far too soon, and I wanted to focus on work.” A short pause. “I also didn’t want to start a family, and that caused a rift between us.”

“Then, what made you propose?” you ask.

"Her mother was aware of our problems. So, she came to see me. She told me how after getting married, everything would change. We would be more loving towards each other. She told me about her experience with her husband when he proposed."

"Oh boy…" your mother sighs. "Don't tell me that was how she convinced you?"

“...I was inexperienced." He sighs. "I went with her mother's advice, thinking that maybe things would change with something more tangible as proof of love."

You're getting shivers just from thinking of the consequences if something more... dramatic were to happen if Alhaitham really tied the knot. Money. Property. You can't help but think that the mother might have some ulterior motive if she wanted her daughter to get married to Alhaitham so soon.

“And this girl accepted?" your mother asks. "I don’t expect an answer… but it sounds strange that she would accept a proposal if she felt something was wrong.”

"...There was hesitation from both of us. Even after she accepted, there was something that felt uncomfortable. I… wish I could put it into words, but I can't."

You never thought Alhaitham would have a past relationship like this. Then again, you’ve never really thought about Alhaitham’s past relationships until now. You've always thought he would have stable, loving relationships that just didn’t work out. The last thing you’re expecting is a broken engagement.

“...But I finally went to talk to her."

“...I’m sorry,” Alhaitham said quietly. “I can't do this.”

“Are you scared to admit it, Haitham?” she asked. “You just… you don’t love me. That’s it. Plain and simple.”

The strange thing was that Alhaitham thought he did. The spark was there in the beginning. The attraction was there in the beginning. So, where did it go wrong?

Was that why he was so absorbed in this work? Yes, he loved what he did. But was it also because he didn’t want to face the ugly truth? He didn’t love her. Now that he heard those words out loud, it was like a breath of fresh air.

"Truth is, I already knew," she continued quietly. "We weren't the people when we first started anymore. I thought you would change... I kept waiting for you to change, but you never did."

She took off her ring and put it on the table.

“...You know what’s annoying?” she asked, looking at him, and he saw the pain in her eyes. “I can’t bring myself to hate you.” Then, a wry smile. “You should’ve just cheated.”

“...Despite the mess, I must applaud you for focusing on your career at a young age,” your mother says. “Young people nowadays are too easily swayed by others.”

“Mom,” you say. “You’re generalizing again.”

"I hope that clears things up," he says.

Your mother smiles at him. “Well, you didn’t do anything criminal.”

You gently nudge him. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“Now… after that large detour… the two of you still haven’t answered my question yet,” your mother says. “Are you two on a date?”

The little smile and look you and Alhaitham give each other tells her everything she needs to know.

“Well,” your mother says with a small smile, “I expect my daughter to be back at a reasonable time.

Alhaitham chuckles. “Of course.”

“Wait… since when did I have a curfew?” you joke.

Your mother gives you a look. “I don’t want you to get too carried away.”

“Alright, I understand.” Then, you sigh a little dramatically. “I’ll be back at a reasonable time.”

“...It sounds like you don’t want to be.”

You gently elbow Alhaitham, and your mom laughs.

Once your mom leaves, you turn to Alhaitham and ask, “If you don’t mind my asking… how many past relationships did you have?”

“One.”

“Just one?”

“Is that surprising?”

“I just thought you would’ve had a few relationships. And… I remember you said you even went to a matchmaking party.”

A short chuckle. "My grandfather knew someone running the event and insisted I try it."

The two of you walk side-by-side along the path when you say, "I guess nothing worked out."

“...It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Not one that I would try again.”

You nudge him. “I bet you were a hit.”

"It wouldn't matter because I wasn't interested in anyone." Your hand brushes against his, and he seizes the opportunity. Alhaitham takes your hand and slides it into his pocket just as a chilly breeze blows by. Even after it passes, he's still holding your hand. He leans slightly closer. "...I never met someone I wanted to pursue so badly… until now."

Your heart almost stops.

"Did, um, did your ex know about your curse?" you ask.

“I told her, but she didn’t believe me. But, by then, our relationship was beyond saving.”

You can hear your heart in your ears as you and Alhaitham continue the journey down the concrete path. How long is he going to hold your hand? But maybe the better question is: how long will you let him hold your hand?

◆◆◆

Childe has a hand on the wheel but has no idea where he's going. He'd lied to his parents that he was busy with errands. He'd rather not subject himself to snarky conversations from relatives who sang high praises for their kids but none for him.

It's not like Childe wants praise, though. But respect, at least even from his parents.

“...That’s a surprise you’d want me to come,” Childe said over the phone. “I thought you’d forgotten that you even have a son.”

“Childe,” his mother said sternly. “You know that’s not true.”

“I’m busy that day.”

“With what? Work?”

“And if I said yes?”

His mother sighed. “I don’t understand how you could be busy with work.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“...Nothing. Forget I said anything. I don’t want to fight with you again.”

Childe didn’t bother to say goodbye.

His mother works in finance, and his father is a doctor. While Childe initially thought they didn't understand what he did for a living, he later realized that was not true. Rather, his parents look down on people in the entertainment industry. It's obvious in their attitude, but they stopped trying to get him to switch fields as the job still brings in money. However, they have no idea how it works and still thinks those working in the industry are "failures in the traditional field."

Childe still remembers the day he ran to your house and spent the night with you and your siblings. The fight between him and his parents got so bad that he didn’t want to spend another minute in the house.

The car slowly comes to a stop at a red light, and Childe sighs loudly. Is this how it's going to be… forever?

As Childe casually glances to the side, someone immediately catches his eye. Childe quickly moves into the next lane and honks once to get the girl’s attention.

Childe rolls down his window and smiles. “Hi, Lulu.”

“You got a car?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always had a car.” He gestures for her to get in.

Lumine narrows her eyes. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Trust me, Lulu. With you in the car, I’ll be extra safe.”

Once Lumine gets in, Childe rolls up the window and drives off.

“You’ve always had a car… but you don’t drive to work?” Lumine asks. Then, she smiles. “Ooh, don’t tell me it was because you wanted to get with Sis.”

“If I wanted to get with her, I would come to pick her up every day.”

“...Fine. Good point.”

“Were you heading home?”

“Yeah. I was visiting Aether today.”

“Oh? How’s the brother doing?”

Lumine smiles. “He’ll be discharged by the end of the week.”

“Congrats. Bet the kid’s happy.”

When Childe merges onto the highway, Lumine looks at him. “Um… I thought you were going to take me home.”

“Did I say that?”

Lumine frowns. “If this was anyone else, I’d be worried.”

“But since it’s me… you’re excited, right?”

Lumine scoffs. “No, I’m even more worried.”

“You sure don’t look like it.”

"Well, let me call Sis right now, then." When Lumine takes out her phone, Childe grabs her hand, startling her. She immediately looks at him, and he glances at her. "What are you doing?"

“...Could you keep me company tonight?”

Lumine blinks once. Twice. Her? Keep him company? Tonight? Surely he isn’t talking about the whole night, right?

Childe looks at her again. “Do I have something on my face? Why do you keep staring at me?"

“W-well, why me?” Should she also ask why he’s still holding her hand?

“Because I enjoy being with people. I thought it was obvious.”

Whatever fluttery feeling she had has just vanished. Now, she’s giving him a deadpan look. “Do you also enjoy holding hands with other people?”

Childe gives her a slight, mischievous smile. “Nah. That’s only with you.”

Lumine almost wants to throw him out the window.

◆◆◆

You and Alhaitham are back at your place as that ex-fiancé business dragged your walk out longer than you thought. When you and Alhaitham leave the lakeside, you have only an hour to spare before his fluffy transformation. So, any dinner plans have to be put on hold.

You’re leaning against your counter, drinking water, when you see the bathroom door open. However, the last thing you’re expecting to see is Alhaitham wearing nothing but black pants. Yet, that’s not what surprises you.

Why is he not a cat?

You put your cup on the counter just as Alhaitham says, “This has never happened before.”

“You mean… your transformation has never been late?”

Alhaitham looks at the clock. “No. Never.”

You know this is not the time, but your eyes start to wander. From his lean biceps to his abs, you stop before it gets too obvious. However, when you meet his gaze, you know it's too late. He knows you were looking but doesn't seem affected in the slightest.

“Well, um, did we do something different this time?”

“...We almost kissed,” he says, approaching you.

The calm way he says it makes your mind go blank.

"...But we didn't," you say.

Then, a silence settles in, but it teems with unspoken messages.

When he gently touches your cheek, you continue holding his stare. Your hand is on his shoulder and slowly makes its way to the back of his neck. You hear his breathing quicken at your touch. Do you have that big of an effect on him?

By now, Alhaitham has leaned closer to you, his lips close to yours. One of his hands is on the counter; his forehead is against yours when he quietly says your name. Your other hand grips the counter tightly as if letting go means that there would be no going back.

However, when you feel his soft lips brush against yours for the first time, you know you need more.

When you gently press your lips against his, Alhaitham's tongue grazes against your lower lip, and you instantly welcome him into the warmth of your mouth. One taste. That's all it takes to realize you'll never get enough of this man. His hand caresses the small of your back, amplifying the wild tremors along your nerves.

You never thought you'd be pressed against Alhaitham, his hand carding through your hair as you kiss each other again… again… and again... yet his kiss is almost deeper and harder than the next. It's as if he found something and needed more. You're clinging to him, using him as an anchor to steady yourself in a world that spirals into beautiful, desirable chaos.

No one has ever kissed you like this before. Reckon, you've only kissed one other person, one that left you more empty than loved. Yet, Alhaitham's kisses draw something out of you, unleashing a desire you've never known, a feeling you wouldn't mind getting addicted to.

Reality hits when you break apart for much-needed air.

Looking at each other makes you want to lean in again. However, Alhaitham is faster. Yet, what you thought was another kiss is a low whisper in your ear.

“...It was so much better than I imagined.”

Poof.

You're still recovering from that statement when you slowly look down. Kitty Alhaitham slowly makes his way out of the pants lying on the floor. He gives his head a quick shake just as you crouch. Then, he stands on his hind legs and puts his front paws on your knees. He stares at you, and you stare back. Then, he leans closer and happens to look down. You're wearing a loose tank top, and when he sees the space between your breasts, he immediately uses his paws to cover his eyes.

“...Don’t tell me you’re getting shy after that?”

You slowly remove his paws, and he looks up at you.

"I wonder if this will affect your kitty transformation now."

Alhaitham meows softly and puts his head on your legs, his tail swishing upwards. You scratch his head.

“...I’m going to take a shower.”

As you're in the shower, Alhaitham takes a little tour of your counter, looking through some of the pictures and miniatures you have. When he comes across a photo of you, your siblings, and Childe, he slightly smiles at how cute you look in a school uniform. What kind of student were you? Definitely a studious one. Then, he slightly narrows his eyes at Childe and puts his paw on Childe's face just as you come out.

“Haitham? What are you doing?”

Alhaitham looks over his shoulder, and the frame falls with a soft thud on the counter. You walk over and pick him up.

“Are you being naughty?”

Him? Naughty? Never.

His wide, innocent eyes as he lies in your arms like a newborn baby have you convinced. Just as you put the frame upright, Alhaitham stretches and his paw brushes against your breast. You immediately look down, and he freezes.

Wait. That was an accident.

Alhaitham meows and looks from you to his paw, slowly lowering it while keeping his innocent stare on you.

“I’ll pretend that never happened,” you say. Then, you rub his fluffy tummy. “But don’t think I’ll overlook it the second time.”

Alhaitham meows, and you gently tap his little nose.

Just then, your phone dings with a message as you put him down on the counter.

Collei: I’m so happy you’re coming!

You texted Collei earlier, telling her you're attending the school reunion. You're still looking at the message when you hear a soft meow beside you.

Alhaitham is beside you. While he’s not looking at your phone, you can tell what’s on his mind.

“It’s an old friend,” you say. “Her name’s Collei.”

Alhaitham tilts his head slightly.

“I told her I was coming to the school reunion.”

School reunion? This gets Alhaitham curious. Then, he remembers the photo with you in your school uniform he saw earlier and subtly smiles.

“What are you thinking about, Catman?”

Alhaitham takes one step and presses his nose to yours. You feel a soft lick, and you chuckle.

“I wonder what will happen if I kiss you now.”

Alhaitham cleans his face with a paw while you smile mischievously.

"But, I kinda like you more in cat form."

Is that a little pout? Alhaitham must know he's cute, but you already imagine him saying he could please you more in his human form.

Whoa.

You stop your thoughts from going any further.

Alhaitham gently bonks his head against yours, and you give him a quick scratch.

That's when you hear your phone buzz again. But this time, it's a message and a photo, something you definitely aren't expecting. The photo is of Childe and Lumine, and he's the one taking the selfie. Both of them are doing finger hearts.

Hang on. Why is Childe with your sister?

You finally read the message that came with it.

Childe: We’re in the area! Could we drop by?

Chapter Twelve

Tag list: @lxry-chxn @suoshiii @seirenspinel @lordbugs @sakiimeo @ashtree-and-the-cats @ceylestia @forsh4dow @deathkat657 @kalpie @elernity @sentieence @chichibleeps @sunsethw4 @hjjks @tanspostsblog @nqctre @just-simping-over-genshin @uchihaeirin @vynbin @ayanokomu @dksfl920 @alatus2716 @itztaki @thetwinkims @imkaaayy

[mistresswriter19]

It's Called " Inspection " Ma'am~ Cop Doppelganger Francis X Reader " NSFW 🔞 "

Author's Note: 🔞 SMUT WARNING NO MINORS 🔞. Did a fan au of what if Francis became a cop and made it into a one-shot you're in for a quite of a ride. Thank you all so much for the support of my previous fic more Milkman content on the way X ❤️

~1965~

You smile everytime you see the Milkman passing by delivering fresh milk door to door. You wish that he would talk to you for hours because Francis really did enjoy your company and vent about his stinking dead end job sometimes. You always smile and encourage Francis to keep going no matter how hard things are and by the end of the day Francis did think about you even when he looked at the milk labels all he could think of was your beautiful face.

"Your so helpful Francis "

"I always keep the milk jugs for anything i use and I never throw them out "

"You always bring fresh milk and that's why I encourage myself to drink more especially for my bones"

"Thank you Franics "

After picking up more crates from his job Francis one day is going to ask you on a date but he was afraid of rejection and what would it do for his other job that no one knows about even his all time crush would hate his guts.

Every milkman left for home except for Francis he had to change to a different uniform for the next job either it was day or night and when he delivered milk, he had to be right on time. Francis heard on the walkie talkie that a new doppelganger has been spotted and his job was to eliminate them. Since it was still dusk Francis walked with this long rubber boots heading to his motorcycle that ( SPO) " Secret Police Organization " has offer him to get there faster and people will only know that Francis is a traffic cop in public. Starting up the engine with his leather gloves on the steer he went up the highway wearing his black shades. Wearing all black, a police badge, and a helmet was a perfect way to stay anonymous. A way Francis is able to find these doppelgangers is to pull them over for a ticket or when they are sleeping. Sometimes when they're awake and not paying attention he pulls the trigger from his pistol and of its more then one he brings out his M21 assault rifle unfortunately he also had to take down witnesses.

No rest for the wicked ~ Francis mutters as he gets off his motorcycle, Turning off the engine takes his bag where he has a display of weapons he carries whenever he has to do the job.

Getting ready, Francis places the bullets in the insert place of the gun and clicks making sure it's ready to fire. His target was Angus Ciprianni the local businessman, more of a cyster everytime he grins to make deals with other companies knowing he'll get most of the profits. Another companion he noticed close to Angus were two, Dr. W Afton and Mia Stone, Francis had seen them before but he had restless nights being up from them having sex.

It was more of a quiet night which Francis preferred as he spies on Angus who was putting his folder away and drinking bourbon with him. This was a good time to strike.

Back At Y/N's apartment

You just finished helping a neighbor of yours Mclooy Rudboys who was a retired he kind of look like a little bit of a the colonel from the KFC commercials. You always helped him whenever his son Steven was on airplanes far where his father was at so weather it was lifting boxes or buying things Mclooy needed you're always there to lean a hand .

Well thank you kindly Ms. L/N this was definitely be all for today.

It's always a pleasure, Mclooy, you said, placing the boxes to the other side of the room and using your elbow to take the sweat off your face.

Are you seeing anyone? Mclooy asked sitting on the bed taking his boots off pretty odd for him to say that out of the blue.

Umm no.. not really

Francis is quite an interesting man I tell ya and I'm saying that is because Steven tells me that you would always look at Francis for a while even if he doesn't notice you.

Well I really do like him alot, I'm just afraid of rejection you said lowering your head with your hands behind your back. As Mclooy chuckles puffing a cigar.

Y/N I see you got sprirt, you work hard, you help others like me, and I'm sure if you ask Francis out it wouldn't make you so anxious. Just get a try and I'm rooting for you and him if it works out. Mclooy said patting your back as he lays back reading to get some shut eye

Thanks Mclooy you said with a warm smile having the courage once more. You did want to ask Francis for a very long time even when it came to his work hours but hiding every place where he won't see you can't keep up forever.

I'll see him tomorrow morning you said as you wave to Mclooy closing the door and heading downstairs going to your apartment second floor and went your room and flopped on the bed.

Will he like me… you said tugging on the pillow to get some rest since tomorrow you'll be on the road for a while.

In Angus Apartment

Francis stays silent for a moment as he had the ringing of the girls voice it was Y/N once again. He didn't want this job but how can he keep others like Y/N safe from this contamination of doppelgangers even if he has to kill anyone because witness are forbidden to see unless your a SCO like Francis was.

"Francis your always welcome to come over "

( BOOM)

Opening the door Angus holding his bourbon looks to see Francis aiming his gun but he dodges and and runs out of the run as Francis speed walks. Angus grabs Francis the side of the back punching him and slamming him against glass picture as Francis fights back punching him more and reached out for the gun, Angus used the bourbon bottle to hit Francis causing him to collapse while Angus goes to the door and knocks. The one who open the door was Dr. Afton as Mia who was fully nude stands by his side confused

Angus what the hell happened to you? Dr. Afton said his hand over his head seeing the injured businessman.

Doctor what's the hold up? Mia said pouting tugging on Afton's hand to come back to bed with her

Franics has lost his fucking mind, bastard trying to kill me!? Angus explained using a towel to hold his wound not sooner or later Francis comes in starting to shoot, Mia screams in panic as she sees Afton being shot by bullets ad Francis shots her right in the skull on the bed, Afton makes a rub for it to the exit but drops on the ground when he felt a bullet on his chest not making it. Francis sighs seeing the damage and mess just for hunting down doppelgangers. Using his leather boot he turns to see Francis face more closely, seeing worms coming down. Leaving him like this Francis got on his motorcycle and headed back home had to wash the blood off his uniform and face.

You heard a pair of footsteps coming up to your floor, you decided to get up adjusting the lace nightgown open the door a little to see who it was and you guess correctly. It was Francis but was strange for you. He wasn't wearing his milkman uniform and why would be out this late. You heard your door creek causing Francis to turn his head and come forward to you.

Francis… you said your hands covering your chest a little slowing walking back

Y/N… what have you done. Francis just blur out as he look at the blood dripping down his black leather glove and the fear mixed with guilt upon Y/N's face he wanted to touch her face but his glove hand turn into a fits as he slames the door while you were puzzled and stuttering. This wasn't the Francis you knew it had to be a doppelganger. It couldn't be the real him. You had a hard time managing to sleep so you rest your eyes a little holding a knife close to your chest hoping he doesn't come back in.

FUCK! Francis yelled throwing his empty glass milk jars on the ground Y/N wasn't supposed to look or be a witness now he had to kill her but he didn't want to. Y/N has been the only one who understands him and make him smile and always opens the door for her fresh milk. Francis attend to sleep but in the morning he would have to exterminate Y/N .

Morning

You got up and noticed you kept the knife still all night but your lack of sleep didn't help you move much. You had a strangest feeling that you were being watched or a target. You put on some usual clothes, your heels, and duffle bag because you had to get away, you knew being in your apartment wouldn't be safe. You look at the time the sun was going to rise, grabbing your keys, used a sun hat and glasses to hide your face and added scarf in general locking your apartment door and started to speed run downstairs.

Francis was up cleaning his gun and heard footsteps, putting on his boots, jacket, helmet and glasses he went to next door to your apartment he adjust the knob nothing, so he kicked the door open and you were gone. Francis speed walk down the stairs and got onto his motorcycle to find you.

You were riding in the middle of nowhere full on gas of your vehicle took a few turns and you were the only one on the road. You went to apply lipstick since you didn't had time to make yourself look pretty like you always do every morning. You wish to confess to Francis but now it was more like a huge question mark in your brain.

You look back to see a cop on his motorcycle but he didn't put on his siren which you find odd since most cops turn it on when they follow you all the way. Your fingers curled up with pressure on the steering wheel as the cop got closer. You turn the other way to pull over and turn off your engine.

I wasn't speeding, did I ever pay for a ticket? You thought to yourself millions of questions trying not to panic. You exhale in and out as you see the cop approach your car with a gentle knock on your windshield.

Tap, tap, tap,

You look to the officer waiting and you took a good glance and already you were mesmerized from his black jacket, black leather pants, his boots, gloves and shades why did a anonymous cop like this one was making you feel have heat in between your legs.

Hi Officer, is there something wrong?

Hello Ma'am yes there is, do you know why stopped you? The cop leaning closer as your face was an inch to is making your cheeks turns shades of red.

No you said trying not to get distraction from his unnecessary charm.

You were speeding, and I understand if you need to be somewhere but as a cop I have to keep on check for anyone who breaks the law~ The cop explained placing his glove hand on his chest as you nodded

I'm sorry officer but I don't think I was spreading consider maybe passing through but I didn't go over 50 and above you explain.

License and registration please ma'am the cop answered waiting for you to do your part.

Oh right here you said giving your license to the cop as he took a look but then he look back at you.

I need to see your full face ma'am just to be sure that this is you the cop ordered but you afraid but also didn't want to be put behind bars. You sigh and took the scarf, sun hat and sunglasses revealing your face the cop didn't move for a second.

Ma'am there's no way you could look that… beautiful..( Coughs)

Thank you, you said but then you heard the ringing in your ear that tone of that voice was familiar and he kept saying ma'am most cops do say ma'am or miss but this one kept saying it constantly.

Francis? You blur out as Francis look back in complete shock that you recognize him but he stepped back going back to his motorcycle. As you wait for a while but saw him reloading a gun. You turn back and started your vehicle and immediately drove off.

Ma'am, Ma'am .. Y/N! Francis shouted your name but you were already back on the road. Aggravated, Francis start up his motorcycle and went on the trail to follow and hunt you down like a wolf and bunny chase you down.

You looked around no cars still but look at the back you saw Francis catching up to you pulling out his gun starting to shoot at your window. You swift and swerved your vehicle it was a technique that you're father had taught you when it came to dealing with people coming after you. Francis speed up his motorcycle inches to your window going through the highway and made a turn to a nearby exit where it lead to an factory of mattress and pillows. You yield on your car causing Francis to slide off his motorcycle from the speed and falling. You manage to park your car to open the factory backdoor running around to find a place to hide.

Ugh… Dammit… she's got Spunk in her blood. Francis mumbled as got up from the ground and look at the stains of blood from his cuts and marks when he fell. He spit on the concrete back on his motorcycle and riding again until he found your vehicle parked in a mattress and pillow factory. Francis got off the motorcycle, pulling out his gun heading instead walking in a medium pace looking around the building. He pulled out a flashlight since it was pitchblack investigating around the area he was in.

You were roaming around thousands of mattress and pillows, kneeling down you hid for a while, holding onto your breath as you heard footsteps coming and bullets being fired.

I know you didn't want to me this way Y/N, but now you know, I'm not just your local milkman every fucking day. He said reloading his gun from the bullets falling on the floor as he steps more while looking .

I'm a cop but not the ones your use to, a cop that exterminates doppelgangers and witnesses and unfortunately for you. Francis replied as he pulls off the mattress to see you as you were opening the doors running downstairs and going to a room were there nothing but completed beds ready to be delivered.

Your a witness and I can't let that go. Francis said as he got close as he three his shades off the ground and reveal his face nothing but black eyes and a large smiling mouth he was a doppelganger. You screamed in and immediately felt your arms being grabbed and pinned as you kicked Francis causing his gun to be thrown on the other side. You went to reach it only to have your face being hit on the ground a few times, you used the bag wrapped around Francis bag causing him to choke but he spin causing you to bumper into a few shelf letting go. Francis rip the bag but you grabber onto him using your hands as fits but he just chuckles and put the gun close to your face.

FRANCIS I LOVE YOU, I ALWAYS HAVE, BUT WHY WOULD YOU EXTERMINATE ME!? AFTER ALL I DONE FOR YOU? You said on the verge of tears and face dripping blood with a few cuts. Francis look back for a moment his finger on the trigger but the fact he couldn't believe that you confess to him made him think more.

You loved me? Francis said as he black droppy ink soulless eyes were returning to his normal face the one you yearn for so much and deeply missed.

Yes Francis I don't care if your different and kill doppelgangers but if you even you pull the trigger let just do this.

Francis still had the gun on your head but you lean into him giving him a long passionate kiss causing Francis to hold onto you with your arms upon his black leather jacket shoulder kissing you a little force and tongue slipped in between. Francis wanted this more then over he finally let's go

Fuck it.. I can't take it anymore.. Francis said as he lower the gun, grabbed you by the own throwing you onto the nearby mattress where he got on top your hands pinned as Francis kissed you uncontrollably as you did the same legs spread a little as Francis takes off your top seeing you had no bra with a few whimpers he gently sucked on your nipples, nice, perky and perfect to rest his face on.

Your nipples were made for me, perhaps one day I could milk them in my private time when I deliver my daily milks door to door~ Francis cooed as he wip the salvia from his bottom lip and sucked slowly on your neck, your fingers dangled around the leather for a grip and hear the rubber sound tightened whenever he hit your sensitive spot making you moan.

Ahh… Francis.. oh Francis..ahh you said having a hard time with words because everything Francis did was pleasure and indulgence. You felt his glove caressing your hair with his lips getting more sloppy with yours as he let's go and unbuckles his pants while you were hyperlating as Francis look back at you

So beautiful, yet so delicate, you want this cock inside your wanting slit~ Francis said teasing his cock rubbing in your entrance making you bit your lip in between

I might have to warn you darling ~ I like to go pretty rough~ think you can take this cop's cock hmm~ Francis as you were on the urge to just let him be in

Please Franics, do it already….I need you

What a lovely answer darling your such a minx~ Francis replied as he slammed his cock in the bulb of your entrance making you jolt as Francis holds you down with his leather gloves inside your mouth to keep calm as he starts to thrusts inside your wet hole.

You like that baby~ Fuck you're so tight, should have done this a long time ago~ Francis said slamming more of his cock back and forth you felt so horrible about fucking a doppelganger but you needed sex and the way this Francis made you so wet you just wanted him. You gagged in between words from the fingers inside your mouth as he pulls out he slams more of his lips into your lips.

Francis..ahh… yes..ahh haa…you said with your eyes rolled back as you manage to get his jacket off and top feeling his fit muscular body slapping to your body with the two of you hold on as Francis pick up the pace.

Ahhh ahh ~ you kept saying feeling your inside being tear painful yet but the pleasure really made it more enjoyable the mattress rocking back and forth.

Fuck….fuck I'm close…I'm going to cum inside you need slut and you're going to take every inch of me~ Francis said as he held onto the bed frame saw the mattress was already sticking with cum and lipstick marks.

Please yes, please Francis ahhhh~ You said in between your head back with Francis hair a mess slamming in more and more as he made a loud groan when he felt the cum dripping down your pussy with the wave of lust finally released.

Fuck Y/N~ you were incredible Francis praise as he leans into to kiss you more softly a little aftercare.

Francis… please stay with me… you said with your nude body cuddling up to his with your face hiding against his broad chest as he sighs his fingers caressing your hair and his other hand holding the edge of your palm

I'm not going anywhere darling Francis replied with a warm smile which made your face flushed pink since you haven't seen Francis really smile that much. It felt so inviting and he was really open to you.

The two of you rest in the mattress where you both made love with your liquids around of course both of you have to clean up your mess after a few hours of resting.

End~

[butchniqabi]

Yessss I would love to see your tea opinions! Also have you tried silver needle? It’s a white tea that kind of tastes like cucumber water

i havent tried that! any good brands you recommend?

and my grand list of tea brands i love...

brands of color:

al-kbous tea: the fine grain black tea....j'adore. i use it primarily to make chai or when i make tea jams

tazah tea: the damask rose....swoon

alwazah tea (swan brand hehe): i love ceylon tea what can i say. black teas are my fave but i do also enjoy their green tea

wagh bakri: i used to obsessively drink their loose leaf masala chai blend 🙇🏽‍♀️

three rivers: when i lived near it my local halal market had their kashmiri pink tea and my GOD.....ive been thinking about it for years but i think they stopped having them in stock a couple years ago :(((

the bagged loose leaf tea i get from this random man at a local farmers market: ill have to ask his official brand name again but the assam tea he sells......good god its sooooooo smooth and i love it

el sol de méxico (i think thats the brand...?): just a big ole bag of dried hibiscus for agua de jamaica, also good for making hibiscus jam hehe

nitto kocha: ROYAL MILK TEA....because im basic and its good :(

3:15pm: the rose fruity milk tea is my favorite but i do adore their original milk tea and cafe au lait

white people brands:

downton abbey branded republic of tea: this raspberry rose tea....im sorry but its so good 😔 forgive me my trespasses

nina's paris: their marie antoinette tea which is black tea with apple and rose (see a pattern?)...i love it i do

harney and sons: i have their ~paris~ black tea rn which is alright, but i really Love their victorian london fog...need her....

my correct tea opinions are: black tea is superior, rose in tea is always good if its balanced correctly, fruit is best paired with something floral or earthy, and masala chai is always going to taste better when you make it for someone else

[ruralbi]

You know what's really sad? I'm 31 I'm slowly entering the end of my twink years. But that's not the sad part, as I'm planning to do a graceful transition to a beautiful otter, probably around 40yo. On God I'll get proper hairy one day.

(aparté, as a younger man I used to bemoan the end of my twink years at like 23 but I was sorely mistaken. Now I realize every day as I stand next to regular degular men that I am..... still a fucking twink. Now distinguished by less MDMA and more face lines, but still very obviously different than the just some guys next to me.) (I call this the Wilson life stage) like idk I got older but the older guys I'm into got older as well so in comparison with them I'm still twinkish? Drug addicted club slut is the burgeoning stage of twink life and now I'm blossoming into a beautiful bitch who listens to eurodance at Sunday brunch. Before if I did a huge scene bc whoever I was dating didn't pay me enough attention it was bc I had too much coke, now it's because I'm just a melodramatic brat like that. And that's growth baby. Find out who you are and do it on purpose.)

Anyway the sad part is the abysmal bear prospects in my area.

There's the mason who calls me beautiful and loves to talk about what he would do to me if he were ten years younger, but I've become friends with his wife.

There's the farmer who asked me to go to the sauna with him but he's friends with my parents AND his son is my age. (Tbh I'm kinda convinced I fumbled that one and should've gone for it, but the SAUNA as a FIRST DATE??? I do need substance abuse for that one chief, at least do the bar bathroom so I can have a drink beforehand I beg you) I could've gotten railed in the normal very much not gay sauna with like the third grade history teacher and my coworker's mother wondering what the hell is that noise in the next room, what a miss. I still buy his milk, it's a small comfort to me. He pretends he never invited me to the sauna and jokes about women ay what can you do! with my dad.

(moment of silence for the builder bottom who ended up threatening my housemate (his coworker) and almost hit me when I intervened about it. A Chihuahua can still bite bitch, I hope I never see him again BUT he was hot and a proper bear)

Best prospect currently is a local radio announcer but he's possibly not fat enough idk I need to see him naked, ideally in a jockstrap... to really make up my mind. And unlike all the others he's not propositioned me already, so I'm doing the eyes with force of a thousand suns. My resolution is to invite him to the bar in two weeks and if he says yes I'll see what he does in the bathroom.

And yes the current obsession with older bears is because I'm still holding to my word to not fuck my toxic ex (who was a young bear, unbecoming of myself really).

I haven't been touched in SO long like I seriously need to hold hands while watching telly but I would settle for cocksucking at this stage. local radio host please call me.

I hold hope bc we had several conversations where I batted my eyelashes and he told me that he's old, poor and okay with trans people. I'm like bitch me too! We have so much in common, let me suck your dick about it.

[ducknotinarow]

[Teen!Buddy - again, they love you Richy, but, they are a teenager]

Buddy looks up from their phone to their papá, before looking back to it, "Okay Boomer."

| Muse interaction The air was dense thanks to the cold, letting Richard see his own breath form a cloud with each small breath given out through his beak. Trying to cool down his self and take control over his breath as he slowed down his speed from his morning jog around the block. Going far more into a walk, so that he could wind down from the work out. heart pounding strong in his chest as he slowly breather in and out panting breaths slowly gaining control as he stopped at the mail box before making his way up to the house. He peered in side and tail feathers spared out a moment to fan with a little excitement. When he saw the name of 'Shark' labeled on to a small package rest on top of few envelopes. He grab at it first nearly forgetting the rest in the moment of excitement. Before he made his way inside.

Where unlike him his husband and son we're happily enjoying the warmth of the house over the cold brisk air. Happily content with warm drinks Richard whip up for the pair of them before he had stepped outside. Though he was sure Baileys was likely cold, partly Richards fault on that he wanted to try making marshmallows the other day. And for some reason that meant he just had to make cute little pink heart ones for Bailey specifically in mind. With a near mile high mound of pink whip cream to set them on so they would melt away. Buddy of course had a cup of coffee waiting for them but Richard did also make little jellyfish shape marshmallows for his son since you know he was already trying the process out. With gingerbread flavored whip creme mostly because it was the closet to yellow he could find at the store, and it would add to the flavor of their gingerbread latte Richard made for them. Mostly to be his test taster for it.

Married life truly changes a man.

Richard soon joined the pair of them in the kitchen pausing to ruffle up Buddy's hair as he peered over to see their near empty cup. Smiling a bit he took it as a good sign. "Good? despite all the sugar up top Mijo?" He asked before he moves over to stand beside his husband slight pout to his bill the second he sees the drink still in the same condition he left it. "Why can't you drink it when it's hot it would taste better." an idly complaint before Richards attention returned to his package. Clearly trying to pull attention towards it, as he slightly shook it. Buddy seemed to take the hint or a literatel child was just easier to gain the attention off. As Richard ripped the bag opened and pulled out the small glass looking jar.

"See this Mijo?" there was clear excitement in the egeal's voice as he set it down for the little android to look at better. "it's a milk frother, Its unique design makes frothing hot or cold milk fast and easy. The glass frothing beaker is microwave safe for added convenience. Of course, BPA free. Enhance everything, from lattes to cappuccinos, with a delicious foam topping and forget about waiting in line at your local coffee shop. In black to match the rest of my set." Richard happily recited out to his son as he pushed it over for them to have a better look. That clearly sounded like commercial talk from how he was pitching it.

Richard truly never left the Café he worked at, even at home the kitchen was nearly a small Café with his inclusions over time. It was kind of a surprise he didn't just have a coffee bar set up at home yet. This frother just clearly another step closer to all of that. What could the egeal say that neither his husband nor son already knew. The bird lived and breathed for his passion. A barista in profession and just general sense. He did happen to caught Bailey's look aimed his way as he turns to face them. "I couldn't sleep so I may have watched the shopping channel again. But in my defense this one is different from the frother on the coffee machine and the hand one." Expression souring when he sees that bratty smirk on Bailey's face over the admission he was watching infomercials again. Richard simply flicked his tongue against his teeth and rolled his eyes to ignore his husband.

"Well unlike you, Buddy here will truly appropriate my late night TV find." Expect Buddy didn't seem all to focused on it at the moment. Richard had noticed their attention was locked to his own screen. finally peering up from it when he was being addressed just then. Buddy had always been the little biscotti to his coffee cup after all. As he liked to see it. But Buddy also could be a hint of a brat thanks to the roosters influence and they seemed to decide and display that as well.

"Okay Boomer."

Was all they said before looking back down to their phone. Richard in part knew they were mostly just messing around. As he turned to look towards Bailey. "Can I ground them for that?" He nearly sounds serious despite it though, though Bailey looked pretty amused by Buddy's little remark. But Bailey always loved to refer to Richard as an old man you were swear he was from the boomer generation from how Bailey spoke after all. Richard swears there is a bit of pride in his husband face over it even. Before turning back to his son because no he can't ground them for calling him a boomer.

"For the record I am not a Boomer, first of all I was born in 92. Second of all I am only three years older than your Dad. Despite how he acts" As if Richard wasn't also guilty for not acting his age just in the opposite direction. Grabbing at the prized frother he was just so very proud of "And third of all I do not vibe with this."

Ah yes the true punishment to a young teen, a parents using a word of slang. It might also be some punishment towards Bailey who Richard picked up the word from in the first place. "Since the pair of you want to be rude and not appreciate my latest addition I refuse to use it on your drinks. No cap" Another term he over heard though hes not even sure what it means he just heard a bunch of teen boys saying it in the Café on day. "Periodt." He emphasis the last word with a huff before muttering a few words to himself in Spanish. Hating any of what he said himself.

Before he started to remove the forther from the packaging. As he let his feathers bristle just slightly. Ignoring any remarks either from his husband and son may be making over that little display just now. He knew it would catch them off guard which is why he decided to do it but seeing as he can't really ground Buddy here. Not that Buddy's ever been grounded before they were too good a kid after all. But Richard was still petty and needed the final say even if saying any of that slightly inflicted more damage to himself. Worse since he had to commit to his bit there and go on about his business of cleaning out the new forther. Richard maybe last ten minutes at best before he hung his head and set his hands on the counter. He could feel Bailey gently pat his shoulder to offer support at the egaels moment of distress. "I hated every second of that I don't understand how any of those are words spoken in actual conversation. Please never bring it up again." He sure that won't happen from either of them.

[homelander-rp-blog]

“what do you mean by that?! I take it as a joke, I don’t know anything about this house! Didn’t know offering a helping hand means being nosy! Hmpf!” he doesn’t even hide the irritation, turns around to fetch glasses anyway. “a son you say?” now he has John’s full attention. Screw De Santas, the brother here is a mysterious person John doesn’t mind figuring out “so you’re married! But why always showing up around here alone? I mean, if there’s a lady at home, then you shouldn’t visit your brother this much! Or at least you’d bring her over! Talking from my own experience, women can be really hard to handle sometimes! I got divorce myself and can tell keeping a wife satisfied is really hard.. from all aspects!” he winks at Tommy with a knowing smile “our dear Amanda here is for example! Never seen a couple like them having this much of fight during just a day! But, whoever your wife is, I’m sure is a lucky woman” minus bearing his annoying jabs, Tommy seems like a nice man. He busies himself with nursing milk like it’s fine wine and not dairy. “it’s not just golf club around here. I’m part of neighbors committee and a special member of the local club, too! You know, those ones for dancing? You don’t look like the type but whenever you want, we can go there for a drink maybe. Of course if your lady allows” he takes the first sip, keeping the man in front of him under his watch above the rim of his glass.

Tommy set the plate down on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the other open the cabinet with mild interest. He would absolutely love to stick John in an interrogation room in an attempt to pick him apart. Clearly he had some sociopath tendencies; his disregard to listen to Tommy's request to not touch anything while only moments prior agreeing not to was proof enough of that. Tommy refrained from fighting it, though. He turned his back to go to the fridge - rolling his eyes only once he faced the opposite direction of John, opening it to grab the milk. "Since you seem to know the cabinets so well, care to find your own glass?" He asked, turning back toward him, his expression hanging off the edge of amusement. Tommy set the milk down on the counter next to the plate of cookies. "You know, Mikey mentioned you were a golfer. I'm not really sure I'm up for joining any groups right now. I don't get out to the club much myself, honestly, and when I do I prefer to just play a game or two with my son."

[thefifthsister-notactive]

CHB ‘22 #44: Welcome To The Madness

Season Six

He really doesn’t know what he was expecting, he’d heard stories, but the reality was far different. He was perched on a stool, sipping on a cup of coffee and waiting for his daughter to be ready. He’s taking in the decorations, watching his future son-in-law as he straightens the kitchen.

“Help yourself Jim,” he gestures to the candy. “Kate told me you like candy corn. Picked some up for you.”

Jim appreciates it. Appreciates the care the man in front of him shows every time they get together. If he were a more suspicious man he’d think he was trying to win Jim Beckett over but after all the stories he’s heard from his daughter, he knows that Richard Castle genuinely enjoys doing things for other people.

“I used to have to hide this from Katie,” Jim chuckles, reaching for a piece. “Her mother never liked it, but Katie and I would eat it and watch movies. One Halloween she ate so much she got sick though, never touched the stuff again. I still have to hide the milk duds.”

Castle laughed. “I tried to buy her her own box but she still eats mine too.”

Jim smiles. “Thanks for inviting me for a movie night.”

Castle comes round to sit next to him. “Kate says you enjoy them. Did Johanna? I’m sorry, is that okay to ask?”

“It’s fine,” Jim nods. “She didn’t mind them. Didn’t appreciate me showing them to Katie but once she was too old for trick-or-treating and too young for parties, it was a fun way to do the holiday. My father, he was an amateur magician. So Halloween was big for us. He’d put on a show for the local kids and Katie, she’d be glued. There was no one in the world like her Grandpa. She loved him. He’d teach her a little trick to show off and she’d surprise Johanna and I when we took her trick-or-treating.” Castle pictures that little pint sized version of his love. Knows she’s great at slight-of-hand, had always wondered how she’d learned it. She’s heard her talk about her grandfather but hearing Jim, seeing how much love he holds for his daughter and that place his own father held in her life makes him grateful for the insight.

“Thank you for sharing that. She only ever teases me about being a troublemaker. Think she likes to make me fear for Alexis discovering a wild side.”

Jim chuckles. “Oh, I can and will tell you those stories one day but we’ve only got a few hours tonight.”

“You know I can hear you two ganging up on me, right?” Kate calls as she heads into the kitchen, changed out of the suit she’d worn for work. “Grandpa was the king of Halloween though. Gave you a run for your money, Castle.”

Jim looked on as she swipes Castle’s drink, sips from it and the amusement on her face when he huffs and playfully tries to take it back.

“Psycho tonight Dad?” She checks with Jim. 

“A classic,” Jim agrees. He follows his daughter, accepts the bowl of candy corn Castle offers and enjoys an evening reliving a little of the past, thinking about his wife, his father and so very happy to have his daughter by his side.

[autisticandroids]

Okay so this was a while back but im preety sure you had mentioned an au of yours where dean is a serial killer and cas successfully stalks him but i don't think you talked about it more than that and i just really want to hear a bit more bc that idea sounds so tastefully fucked up

okay so. weeks later i finally end up answering this ask. it inspired this post btw. anyway spn is a show that's like. all about justifications, as i said in the post inspired by this ask. it's about having no choice and doing what you have to do. and like there is the phantasy embedded in it, a phantasy that is both indulged and punished. but most importantly it's justified. the monsters are super strong to show how brave our heroes are for fighting them, the main characters let out great wails of grief every time their lady loves are violently ripped from them (even though now they are free to do whatever they want), the narrative twists to show our heroes as correct whatever they do. the fantasy (of being allowed to enact violence, of being free from feminine "control," of being right) comes first. the material construction of the universe of supernatural comes afterward. whatever the fantasy is, the universe of supernatural will provide material conditions to justify its acting-out.

and what this means is that our protagonists, dean in particular, are constantly doing just horrific things, which in any other circumstance would be unconscionable. but the universe of supernatural provides justification for these acts. the point of my serial killer au which i think about so so so much is to ask the question: what if these justifications melted out from under their feet? what if dean was left holding nothing but a lie and the weight of everything he's done?

therefore, the premise of my au is such (under the cut because this baby is long):

john and mary winchester, in the mid seventies, joined a doomsday cult known as the men of letters. the men of letters were rather unusual for a doomsday cult, in that they believed that the apocalypse could be prevented by human behavior. this started as correct living, correct worship, yadda yadda, the kind of behavior and thought control that cults are known for, but with the justification of: if you don't do this, the world will end. eventually, this escalated to human sacrifice. the men of letters managed to untraceably kill two homeless people in the late seventies. but they eventually fell apart. however, a month after john and mary left the men of letters (mostly john's choice, mary still believed), mary died in a house fire. john took it as a sign from god that actually, the men of letters were right, and the world would end unless john himself did something about it. so he took some of the (intensely numerological) theology of the men of letters. and he worked out his own formula. and he applied it to the yellow pages. and started ritualistically killed people to prevent the apocalypse, with his two sons in the back of the car.

now, obviously, this is some kind of grief induced temporary madness on john's part, shaped by the mental abuse he suffered in the men of letters. but the thing is, once you've killed a couple of people to prevent the apocalypse. well. there's this thing called the sunk costs fallacy. john wasn't gonna question his own beliefs after that.

and he raised his boys to believe it, too, or at least he raised dean to. they didn't tell sam what they did until he was twelve, and sam didn't buy it, tried to call the cops on them several times but in the end, they always prevented him. eventually sam ran off to stanford, where he now lives under a cloud of guilt that he's too loyal to his family to rat them out.

john died a few years back of a heart attack, but dean is convinced it's because he messed up a ritual two weeks before it happened, so it pushed him further into this belief system.

dean's killings (and john's before him) are ritualistic and distinctive, obviously the same killer each time. but they happen anywhere in the united states, seemingly at random, there are inconsistent amounts of time between each one (sometimes as short as days, sometimes as long as years), and there is no particular victim profile. obviously, since our killers are following an arcane mathematical formula to make their choices for them, but the police don't know that.

castiel novak is an unemployed shut-in with a small inheritance which he's living off of, a cryptography degree, and an obsession with all things morbid. he spends most of his time on the reddit true crime forums, playing amateur sleuth. by complete chance, he happens to recognize one of the symbols frequently used in corpse displays by the so-called sioux falls satanic slaughterer (so named because the first time three of his victims were in the same part of the country, it so happened that they were all in sioux falls, south dakota. this was in the late eighties.) as being mostly only used by a little known cult group called the men of letters, which dissolved in the mid eighties.

he only notices this because, as a teen, he had a special interest in cults and fringe religious groups. the men of letters weren't a particularly notable or well known phenomenon; they were small, and a lot like every other cult that formed during the seventies cult boom. (no outsider ever heard about the human sacrifice; there were rumors, of course, but they were garbled, sensationalized, and mixed up with satanic panic fodder.)

(the men of letters' two sacrifices were nothing particularly romantic or fantastical. they first lured panhandler josie sands back to their compound with promises of food and a warm bed when she admitted she couldn't get a bed at a shelter, and was thinking of getting caught shoplifting just so she could be under a roof in the county jail. the men of letters' leader, a man who took on the name alistair, forced his inner circle to dress in the ceremonial black robes he had given them when he initiated them into his nearest and dearest, and which his wife had sewn out of old bed sheets and dyed black with home made oak gall dye. these robes still left black smudges on the wearer's skin occasionally if they sweated too much. josie was laid, bound, on the altar, a slapdash thing constructed over the course of two days from scrap plywood and a couple of milk crates. a rich red tablecloth purchased at macy's for $3.99 hid its ugliness and gave it grandeur. alistair attempted to kill the struggling miss sands by bringing a sharpened kitchen knife down on her bosom and piercing her heart, but, having never killed a human or even slaughtered an animal before, was unaware of the problem presented by the human ribcage. after rather ineffectually poking at the area beneath sands' bosom with his knife while she shrieked in pain and terror for about ninety seconds, alistair tried a different tack, and slit her throat, which worked just fine, and she bled out quite nicely. the second and final victim of the men of letters was a local vagrant named larry ganem, an older gentleman who walked with a limp. he was lured back to the compound in approximately the same manner as sands, but instead of being bound, he was fed stew laced with sleeping pills. even if alistair hadn't slit his throat, he wouldn't have woken up. it's actually arguable whether he was still alive at time of sacrifice; mary winchester (eight months into her first pregnancy), who, as a member of the inner circle, was in attendance, actually tried to take ganem's pulse as he lay on the altar (now covered by a different tablecloth; the red one had turned stiff with sands' blood and been subsequently burned) and found nothing, so it is entirely possibly only sands' death can be directly laid at alistair's feet, and ganem's is the fault of mrs. ellen harvelle, who prepared the laced stew. regardless, these two deaths are lessons in the nature of human evil: it is very rarely skilled, suave, or smooth. it's often slapdash, half-hearted, and just plain incompetent. but that makes it no less grisly. alistair may have begun to drink his own kool-aid, as it were, and escalated this far out of genuine belief that the apocalypse was coming and it was up to him to stop it, but it is far more likely that he sensed the imminent collapse of his little empire, and wanted to bind his subjects to him through the horrors of shared guilt, considering two lives a small price to pay for the continued loyalty of his inner circle. and the tactic worked: the men of letters didn't start to collapse in earnest until almost four years later. perhaps if alistair had continued the killings, the men of letters could have lasted for far longer, maybe even up until the present day. but it seems that alistair, a psychiatrist by training and unused to violence, simply didn't have the stomach for it. unlike, say, john winchester, who before his time with the men of letters had done a two year tour in vietnam, during which he had killed three living, thinking human beings with the american government's go-ahead.)

anyway. castiel is the first person, ever, to make the connection between the men of letters and the sioux falls satanic slaughterer. and once that connection is made, castiel begins to research the men of letters far more in-depth. and he notices something: the theology of the men of letters was intensely numerological, filled with patterns, significant numbers, and even spiritual equations.

castiel thinks of the seemingly random selection of the slaughterer's victims, and has an epiphany.

he cracks all his fingers, and gets coding.

six months. it takes castiel six months to discover an equation that could fit the slaughterer's pattern. it's complex, but also clearly based on several of the men of letters' holy numbers, and accounts for every single one of the killings. it also suggests that there should have been two or three more deaths scattered across the years, but more than likely those did happen, it's just that they weren't reported as part of the slaughterer's portfolio.

but much more importantly, castiel's model can also make predictions. there will be two killings, fifteen days apart, in a city seven hours' drive away, six weeks from now.

so castiel waits. and he books a hotel room. and two months later, he's waiting outside 217 oak street when a shadowy figure climbs up a tree and lets itself into the upstairs window.

dean winchester is feeling particularly all alone in the world when he breaks into maisey banks' home (217 oak street). his father has been dead for half a decade, and he hasn't spoken to his baby brother for twice that. it's not like this whole grizzly saving the world business makes him a lot of friends. so once he's done killing maisey (which is easy, she was ninety three and dying of cancer anyway. she doesn't even wake up when he slits her throat) and arranging her corpse in the appropriate manner, with prayers and sigils, he turns around. and sees a man standing behind him.

smiling slightly.

as he watches dean gut this old woman.

dean freezes.

the man takes a step forward.

"you're very attractive for a serial killer who's been operating since the eighties."

dean is silent.

"family business, is it?"

silence continues.

"i'm not here to report you to police. i'm just here to see if my algorithm worked right."

and dean finally breaks his silence: "what the hell is wrong with you?"

what's fun here is that dean knows (or rather "knows") that he isn't a serial killer. so he finds what cas is doing, this amoral serial killer stormchasing, morally repugnant. because cas has no way of knowing he isn't a regular serial killer.

there's also the fact that that cas proceeds to flirt with him. aggressively. and follows him back to his motel.

but the thing is that dean is all alone in the world. and as cas continues trailing him around, he starts getting, well, flattered. and feeling a little bit less alone.

it doesn't take very long before they fall into bed. even if cas is an amoral stalker with a fetish for what dean considers a distasteful yet necessary vocation.

so. they fall into bed. they fall in love. they make a little life together, in dean's big sexy car. dean tries to explain to cas that he's saving the world. that these people's lives are a necessary price to pay. and cas seems to listen.

of course, castiel doesn't believe a word of it. but he's found that he likes dean. really likes him. and he realizes that the collapse of dean's belief system would destroy him.

so he sets about becoming as complicit in it as possible.

even to the extent where, when dean is hit by a car and ends up into the hospital a day before one killing is meant to take place, castiel agrees to take on the job. (he doesn't actually kill anyone, obviously. but he does use his extensive skill with computers to create three fake newspaper articles which make it look like he has.)

but five years later, something goes wrong. really, really wrong. dean miscalculates the formula. and by the time he checks his work, the actual date of the next kill, as demanded by the formula, has passed. in fact, so have three others. and the world didn't end.

dean collapses. he hyperventilates. all those people. all those people. for no reason. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people.

cas seems totally unfazed. dean stares at him in shock. but cas just takes dean in his arms, and whispers in his ear: "oh, dean, i never believed in the equation. i love you no matter what you've done."

and dean buries his face in cas' chest.

[mandoalorian]

Happiness [Maxwell Lorenzano x f!Reader]

Author’s note: Please heed warnings before you read. This is angst. There’s a little fluff and a few spicy moments, but at its core, this is a pretty angsty read. It’s a different interpretation of Maxwell, post WW84. Reblogs are so appreciated. I worked really hard on this and it’s not showing up in tags so if you could reblog it... it would literally mean the world to me :( <3

Summary: After the dreamstone debacle, Maxwell Lord loses custody of his son, his home, his job and all his wealth. He has nothing, and what was once the simple task of ‘living’, is suddenly proving to be extremely difficult. Until a beacon of light enters his life. He can only hope that you don’t find out who he really is.

Word count: 4000+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: depression/suicidal thoughts, PSTD/trauma implications, poverty, starvation, binge eating, allusions to sex, male masturbation, food and drink mention.

Masterlist

Max is usually pretty good at keeping himself to himself, but when he hears the commotion from outside his small shanty apartment, he cautiously stalks towards the front door and leans into the wood, gazing out the peephole. He spots you, struggling to unlock the door located on the far side of the hall. Your arms are filled with brown paper bags and an abundance of cardboard boxes circle around your feet. He hears you curse as you drop one of the paper bags. It rips, and groceries spill onto the floor with a clatter. He swallows thickly, feeling his tummy grumble at the sight of fresh fruit and colourful veg. Max hadn’t eaten a single meal this week.

He spends a few more seconds watching you struggle, before the guilt swarms over him and he feels like a creep. He does wonder if he should leave his apartment and help you out though, but eventually he decides on turning his heel and walks back to the torn leather sofa. He just knows he’ll be some kind of intrusion on you. If Max has learned one thing, it’s that he needs to stay away from other people. Otherwise, he’d just hurt them. Even if hurting them was the last thing he intended to do.

Still, he finds himself marvelling over you. He wants to go over and introduce himself. He thinks you’re absolutely stunning. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t seen a woman (other than his ex-wife) in just short of a year, or maybe it’s something more genuine -- like the way you wear your hair or that glimmer in your eye. Once upon a time, Maxwell would’ve strolled on over to your apartment with the utmost confidence and charm, with the sole intention of winning you over and taking you back to his place. He wouldn’t dare do that now.

He stares at the wall clock, and watches as the minute leg ticks. It’s painfully slow. It’s 5:52pm, and Maxwell is just waiting until 6pm, because he knows at 6pm he can call his son, Alistair. If he tries calling a second earlier though, he is certain his ex-wife will throw a rage, claiming that he’s breaking court order. Maxwell had never been one to follow rules, but now, he didn’t have much of a choice. As he waits for the leg to strike 6, all he can really do is think about you. Truth be told, he hates that he’s thinking about you this much. He doesn't even know you.

But you’re so pretty. Your features are soft and delicate. Your clothes fit you perfectly and hug your body in all the right places. He can’t help but think what you sound like. He wonders if you’re from around here. He wonders why you moved into this particular neighbourhood, out of all the other neighbourhoods in rural D.C. He should go over and say hello at least. It would be the polite thing to do. He considers bringing over a bottle of wine to make a peace offering, but then he remembers all he has in his refrigerator is a stick of butter and a bottle of milk that has grown old and fermented. He assumes that you probably wouldn’t care for such housewarming gifts.

Maxwell calls Alistair as soon as the clock turns six. As always, Alistair is more than excited to speak to his dad, beaming brightly down the line. Alistair tells Maxwell about his step-father, and how he’d built a pool in their back garden for Ali and his mom. Max’s lips curl into a frown when he realises that his ex’s new husband is giving Alistair everything Max couldn’t. And once again, Maxwell feels like he has failed as a father.

For a short while, Alistair babbles about his day at school and how he got full marks on a pop quiz. Maxwell is as proud as punch. He has no doubt that success will one day find Alistair, he just hopes Alistair has an easier time handling it. Max can hear a faint yelling in the background of the phone call and eventually Alistair is interrupted.

“Oh-- mommy is calling me to eat dinner.” Alistair says softly, his voice suddenly growing oddly timid. Max’s stomach grumbles again at the mention of dinner.

“But we still have ten minutes left of our phone call.” Max replies matter-of-factly. He hopes Alistair can’t hear the disappointment in his voice. This isn’t his fault. He hears his ex yell again and Max can’t help but feel his face harden with disdain.

“I know, I’m sorry daddy, but I have to go.” The croak in Alistair’s voice is enough to break Maxwell’s heart. He wishes this could’ve been different. It should’ve been different.

Max knows he can’t argue though. It’s only futile. So he accepts the fact that Alistair has to leave the phone call early -- at least he was getting something to eat. Maxwell remembers when he was Alistair’s age. His mom always struggled to put food on the table because his dad would spend all the money on drinks at the local bar. Maxwell is just grateful his son isn’t starving.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Maxwell reassures before taking a shaky exhale. “I love y--”

But then, the line went dead. Max assumes that Alistair’s mom has ripped the phone from his hand and hung up. Sighing, Maxwell forces himself to stand up and walk on over to his bedroom. The bed is unmade and there are several piles of dirty laundry all over the floor. He jams open the sticky window and climbs onto the balcony, inhaling the cool evening air and lighting a cigarette. Smoking was a habit he’d gotten himself into when he was much younger, but he’d grown out of it when he’d hit limelight. Now though, it was growing back in to be a shameful addiction that he just couldn’t shake. It helped him stop feeling hunger, though.

As he flicks the orange lit ash over the edge of the balcony, his eyes catch on you again. You are standing on the street, talking to some guy. You’re laughing, and it looks like this mystery man’s hand is caressing your arm. It’s probably your boyfriend; Maxwell assumes, and the pang of jealousy in his chest turns into unadulterated sadness as he realises he was probably never going to find love again. He peers over the edge of the balcony once more as he takes a final drag of the cigarette, and he wonders if the jump would kill him.

Maxwell’s eyes begin to sting, and he climbs back into his bedroom, knocking his head on the window pane in the process.

He can’t sleep that night, and he tosses and turns in his three quarter sized bed. He could feel every spring in his mattress. What he would give to just sleep one more night in the soft, plush king sized bed he used to take for granted. He switched on his amber tinged bedside lamp and swatted away a moth that flew towards it. Maxwell stared at the ceiling and wondered if the damp had gotten worse. Even if it had, it wasn’t like Max had the courage to bring it up with the landlord.

He finds himself thinking about you again. He lived to see the way you smiled when you spoke to that guy, or the way your hair blew ever so slightly in the evening breeze. Max wraps his hand around his semi-hard cock and begins to jerk himself off. To nobody’s surprise though, he doesn’t finish -- the overwhelming feeling of revolt consuming him. He thinks he’s disgusting, and that nobody would ever want to touch him. He can’t even stand touching himself.

He falls asleep not long after that.

Max once had a pretty decent sleep schedule, going to bed at 10 and waking up at 6. But now he was up until the early hours of the morning, overthinking and hating himself. He wakes up three or four times a night from the same recurring nightmare. It’s a replay from the clear night of July ‘84, when he took over everyone’s TV screens. His doctor prescribed him therapy for it, which would probably help, but Maxwell just can’t afford it.

He wakes up to the sound of a bang on his front door. Max scrambles to his feet in a panic, checking the time on his alarm clock. It’s 2pm. And the person at the door could easily be his landlord, finally having enough and kicking him out. Max’s rent is two months overdue.

But it’s not his unforgiving landlord. It’s you. And you’re holding a fruit basket.

“Hey neighbour!” you smile pleasantly before introducing yourself to him. “I just moved in across the hall. I wasn’t sure what you’d like… but I figured everyone likes fruit!”

Maxwell stays quiet, standing there in complete disbelief. No one has shown him this amount of kindness in so long…

The prolonged silence makes you feel a little strange. He still hasn’t accepted the fruit basket, nor had he said anything. He was just… staring at you. It wasn’t a slimy gawk. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what his dark eyes were trying to tell you.

“—I’m sorry,” you continue eventually when he doesn’t speak, dropping the fruit basket by your side and turning away. “I uh— would you like me to get you something else?”

Maxwell’s eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he exclaims, opening his front door wider and taking the fruit basket from you. “I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I uh— I love fruit.”

You smile at his fluster, and you swear you notice a rosy pink blush cross his cheeks. It’s adorable.

“Oh okay, that’s good then.”

Maxwell prays you can’t hear his stomach grumble at the sight of the fresh fruit. He’s so excited to eat it all. “How can I repay you?”

You raise your eyebrows at his proposition and chuckle awkwardly. “Repay me? No no,” you laugh. “It’s just a fruit basket,”

It wasn’t just a fruit basket though. It was the only food Max had.

“I mean, you could tell me your name.”

Maxwell curses, realising he hasn’t even introduced himself. Gods— he wonders when exactly he’d lost his charm.

“Right, I’m sorry. I’m Max.” He extends his arm and offers you a handshake. You giggle, but accept.

He feels a bolt of electricity run up his arm when your fingers interlink with his, and he wonders if you can feel it too.

“Very formal Max,” you acknowledge with a smile.

Maxwell genuinely hasn’t communicated with anyone since July 1984. It’s probably about time he ditches the businessman persona, although he doesn’t realise he still uses it from time to time. Old habits die hard.

“I must say, I feel like I recognise you from somewhere.”

“No. You don’t.” Maxwell quickly snaps back and you’re afraid you struck a nerve.

There’s a longer silence and you find yourself wondering about your neighbour. He’s right in front of you and yet you can’t help but feel as though he’s some kind of enigma. Maybe it’s the crinkles in the corner of his eyes or his wry smile.

“Um…” you mumble, your gaze trailing behind him as you try and peer into his apartment. You can’t see much though. From where you stand it looks very empty… and brown. “If you weren’t busy tonight maybe you could come over and we could get to know each other. I uh-- don’t have many friends yet.” you explain shyly, nervously biting your lip.

You didn’t usually get nervous talking to new people, but there was just something about Maxwell that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His presence made butterflies flutter in your tummy and your hands feel clammy with excitement… or maybe anticipation. He stares at you blankly before clearing his throat.

“I uh-- yeah I mean-- maybe,” Maxwell shrugs cooly. “If I’m not busy.”

Pft, busy. Max hasn’t been busy since the dreamstone debacle.

“Of course,” you nod your head and smile. “Well, you’re welcome to come on over anytime.”

And then, without thinking, Maxwell replies. “And you’re welcome to come over here anytime too.”

You feel your smile grow into a grin and you reach out, placing your hand on Max’s arm. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you.” you bite your lip.

Max’s heart stops when you touch him, and for the first time, he doesn’t flinch away. You’re holding his bicep and… he likes it. It’s not sending him into a spur of anxiety, in fact, he feels better just for finally plucking the courage to talk to you. And now you’re touching him. You’re not repulsed or disgusted… in fact, you’re smiling. You look happy, and maybe Max is happy too. Maybe. Max doesn’t even realise the small smile that’s crept upon his lips.

“Nice meeting you too.” He swallows and you wave goodbye.

He watches you walk back into your apartment, drinking in your appearance. You were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt today. It was casual… but he liked it.

Even when he finally gets back into his apartment and slumps against his front door, he’s still smiling. This feeling is so unfamiliar.

Maxwell finds himself pondering whether or not he should visit you tonight. He so desperately wanted to see you again-- see your pretty face and sparkling eyes and that perfect smile. Maybe Max could have a friend. That would be nice.

But he quickly gets scared again. He knows immediately that you’re too good for him, and that he’ll only end up hurting you. And then he’ll be left alone again. Max doesn’t know if he can survive another heartbreak.

Once again, he lights a cigarette and sits on the balcony, and wonders if the jump will kill him.

Then he realises he suddenly doesn’t want to die. At least, not yet. He wants to see you again first.

Max doesn’t even bother finishing the cigarette. He taps away the ash and climbs back inside, stripping himself of his clothes and turning on the shower. If he was going to see you tonight, he’d at least make the effort.

The soap he uses is from Dollar Tree, and it doesn’t really have a scent. It made a change from his favourite Jo Malone pomegranate fragranced soap, that’s for sure. He gets annoyed trying to squirt out the very little remenints of his shampoo bottle. Although he doesn’t have much, he’s satisfied when he comes out of the shower. He feels clean and fresh.

Maxwell rakes through his tiny collapsing wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that will make him appear somewhat presentable. He’s probably overthinking this whole thing -- after all, it isn’t exactly a date. But he still feels the strong inclination to impress you. He so desperately wants to be liked by you.

Most of his everyday wear is stained or ripped or very aged. But then he spots the small duffel bag at the bottom of his closet and he remembers he packed some of his old business wear when he moved out of his manor and into this apartment. He hadn’t looked in the duffel bag once since moving though, afraid that seeing the clothes would unleash some kind of trauma on him.

Max crosses his legs and hesitantly unzips the black bag. Inside, he finds a few fitted shirts, a few tailored pants, and one suit jacket. He even spots a belt and two patterned ties. He’s a little upset though when he can’t find the suspenders he used to wear. They were always his favourite part of his outfit.

Maxwell can’t bring himself to dress in the whole get up, but he does pick out a white button down shirt and grey pants. He tucks the shirt in, and wraps the belt through the loops in his pants, clicking it into place. Opting to look slightly more casual, Max leaves the first two buttons of his shirt undone and rolls the sleeves up to his elbows.

And for the first time in a long time, Max likes the way he looks. He wishes he had some cologne to spray, and he could definitely do with a haircut, but this is good enough.

He doesn’t want to seem desperate, so he does wait (albeit impatiently) until 8:30pm to see you. In the meantime, he eats over half of the fruit basket. He tells himself he’ll stop after an apple and an orange, but strangely enough. He can’t. He can’t stop. It just tastes so good and he’s so hungry -- so he eats until he feels sick. He wants to lie down because he really doesn’t feel too good at all, but he’s not going to pass up this opportunity to see you for anything. He feels a little cold, so he throws on his suit jacket which is grey in colour and matches the tailored pants. Max chokes down a glass of water, straightens up his posture, and knocks on your door.

He’s not waiting for long, and he’s delighted when he sees you answer the door. Your lips are painted a ruby red colour and you’re wearing your hair differently. Not only that, but you’d changed out of your sweater and jeans, and now you’re doting a knee length flowy dress. Your feet are slipped into some fuzzy looking slippers though, and Max admires the small diamond stud earrings that you don. They really bring out the colour of your eyes.

“I was hoping you’d come.” you reveal nervously, opening the door wider and looking your neighbour up and down. He looks so incredibly handsome in his change of outfit. Max feels himself blush under your gaze and he smiles.

“I just couldn’t pass this up.” he laughs nervously.

You move out the way and gesture for him to enter your apartment. Max notes that it’s roughly the same size as his, but it’s already filled with more furniture. Judging from the plentiful cardboard boxes in every corner, you hadn’t finished unpacking either. You find yourself watching Max as he takes in your front room. You take his jacket and hang it on your coat peg which stands by your front door. You definitely do recognise him from somewhere, especially seeing him in that shirt and those pants…

You shrug off your curiosity temporarily though, and take his hand, pulling him into your kitchen. Max loves the way your hand fits so perfectly into his. He doesn’t want you to pull away. And you don’t, until you reach the refrigerator.

“I have cranberry juice, tea, coffee-- no milk though, uh…” you trail off and check the cupboards. You beam when you see the bottle of champagne that your friend had gifted you. It was to celebrate moving out. You present him with it and grin. “Would you care to have a glass with me?”

Max remembers the distinct taste of the bubbles on his lips and he nods in agreement. You don’t have any fancy glasses, let alone flutes, so you pour the pale yellow liquid into two plastic tumblers. You hand one to Max and cradle your own in both of your hands.

“You should propose a toast.” you laugh jokingly.

Luckily, Maxwell has always been able to handle being put on the spot. He only takes a few seconds to come up with something.

“To new friends.” he announces with a charming smile, and clinks his cup against yours.

Max hasn’t had a drink in a long time, so it doesn’t take long for it to reside in his system and he begins to feel a bit tipsy. It’s not bad though. Maxwell is relaxed, and he’s comfortable. You bounce off each other and make each other laugh right up until the early hours of the morning. You bring out Monopoly and you’re surprised at how good he is at it. He gives you advice on buying properties and investments and it truly sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. You wonder what he does for a living.

“I didn’t say this earlier,” Max says as you pour out the last of the champagne. The alcohol has him buzzing with confidence. “But you look breathtaking, really. That dress and those earrings and your lips…”

And you don’t know what it is, but Max just makes you feel so good. “My lips?” you repeat breathlessly, gazing into his honeyed brown eyes.

Max nods wordlessly when you climb into his lap and straddle his hips. You place the palms of your hands flat against his chest and nudge your nose against his, giggling playfully. Max feels scared -- he’d never been this close to anyone in so long, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself.

Gods, he’s so handsome too. A small piece of his hair has fallen out of place and it crosses his forehead. You’re quick to brush it out of his face with your finger, and one of your hands cup his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the warmth of your touch, humming in contentment. When he opens his eyes again, they’re noticeably shades darker.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice low like it had dropped a few octaves.

You nod desperately and your lips crash against his.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the adrenaline but he’s an amazing kisser -- perhaps the best you’ve ever had. You roll your hips over his lap and he moans, but doesn’t break the kiss once. His large hands roam around your back and squeeze at the soft flesh of your thighs. The Monopoly game has been long discarded now, leaving only you and Max revelling in each other’s touch.

You want more. You want him. You dip your hand in between your bodies and find his belt, trying your best to undo the buckle so you can get him out of his pants. You’re certain you can feel his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh, and you’d be right in thinking he wants this too.

But what he wants the most, is to not ruin things between you both, and Max feels like that maybe this is all happening a bit too fast. He doesn’t want to reject you, and he’s afraid of hurting you, but he’s also afraid of you getting so close to him -- that you find out who he truly is, and the things he does. He doesn’t want to lose you because you make him feel so happy. For the first time in potentially years, Maxwell feels genuine happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up, not when he’s been doing so well.

So he pulls away from you breathlessly and moves your hands away from him. He holds them though, brushing his thumbs in comforting circles against your soft skin.

“I really like you,” he smiles. “And tonight has been… great. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed myself. But I-- I really want to see you again. And do this again. And have a good time with you. I just don’t think we should-- you know--” Maxwell tries to explain. He feels bad for rejecting you. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Because trust me,” he sighs, closing his brown eyes. “I really really do. But--”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you smile, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “I understand, and honestly, I think you’re probably right. I’ve had a good time too though.”

Maxwell can’t help but beam knowing that there’s no hard feelings between you both.

“So we can do this again?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes.” you reply, pressing a chaste yet sweet kiss to his lips.

You wiggle off his lap and Maxwell stands up. “I should head back home then,” he says. “It’s late. But maybe we can do something tomorrow?”

“I’d like that a lot.” you agree.

Max gives you one final kiss and part of you wants to ask him if he’d be willing to stay the night. You shake away the temptation and tell yourself there’d be plenty more opportunities for him to stay over. Before he leaves, you see him abruptly spin around on his heel and point his index finger towards you.

And your heart drops.

You freeze.

You think you can feel your blood run cold and the colour drain out of your face.

Because in that moment, when he points his finger at you, you recognise him.

You remember him.

You know who he is.

“I almost forgot my jacket.” Max laughs, sliding past you.

You feel like you can’t move though.

This was the man who single handedly almost destroyed the entire planet.

But how -- how could it be Maxwell Lord? He was so sweet and kind and funny. How could the man you just made out with, the man you shared a bottle of champagne with -- your own neighbour…

How could it be Maxwell Lord?

How hadn’t you noticed sooner. Hell, his name was literally Max Lorenzano.

“Goodnight.” Max tells you.

You try and force yourself to say it back but no words come out. Your throat feels dry and you’re panicking.

Max doesn’t even notice though. He’s too busy beaming with happiness when he leaves.

You aren’t sure if you’re going to see him again.

When Maxwell gets back home, he can’t rid himself of the grin that’s plastered across his lips. He sits out on the balcony and lights a cigarette, but this time, when he looks at the ground beneath you, he doesn’t wonder if the jump will kill him.

His eyebrows furrow together when he notices the florist across the road, and he wonders how much a bouquet of flowers will cost him. He wants to get you something; as a thank you for giving him a good time.

He simply can’t wait to see you again.

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[peaktotheocean]

catchy

pairing: jaskier/lambert notes: written for flashfic 45 summary:

Lambert brings Jaskier to the farmer’s market.

It’s all downhill from there.

Jaskier normally had gigs on Friday nights. As much as Lambert loved seeing his partner perform, Saturday mornings were prime farmer’s market hours which meant Jaskier got home around the same time Lambert was preparing to head to the farm to help Geralt pack up.

He and his brothers had their system down to an exact science [most of the time]. Vesemir might have started what became their family farm a few decades prior but all his sons had stepped in with gusto [or eventual gusto in Lambert’s case] as they grew older.

On Saturdays, Eskel handled the cheeses. From molded goat cheeses and aged rounds to the metal vat of floating mozzarella balls he stirred with a wooden paddle every once in a while. Not to mention the occasional raw milk sale to the adventurous type who desperately wanted to attempt their own mozzarella. 

Lambert’s eldest brother hadn’t yet laughed in the face of a confident-turned-sheepish customer who followed up a raw milk purchase with a mozzarella order a week later. Wouldn’t do much for sales if he had, but Lambert saw Eskel tempted plenty of times. 

Geralt was in charge of the meats. 

No, not like that. Not if his wife had anything to say about it.

But more and more people wanted their meat, whether poultry, beef, or otherwise, right from the source and to know the animals were treated well, at least up until their slaughter. And Geralt provided that service with a smile [most of the time].

Yennefer took advantage of the trend too. Not just for the meats but all the products from the farm. She worked with smaller shops and local suppliers to get their farm label into stores and restaurants, not just at outdoor markets. She also got them a website for online preorders so occasionally, Geralt didn’t even have to talk to customers. All he had to do was take a look at their order number, open the big freezer chest, and hand over the packaged meat.

While growing up on the farm, Lambert never imagined staying there. The grumpy teenager he used to be wanted nothing much to do with livestock or his family.

Adult Lambert was still a grumpy bastard, don’t him wrong. But what he and his brothers built out of Vesemir’s dream? Successful in-demand products? Working with his brothers?Waking up to Jaskier in his bed every day? He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And yes, perhaps he was a bit less grumpy now with Jaskier by his side. Not that he hadn't mellowed a bit regardless as he grew older, but certainly meeting the musician playing at Geralt and Yennefer's wedding had helped. 

Lambert knows he's monopolizing the guitarist’s time [Jaskier, he reminds himself, Jaskier's time], but he can't help himself. And if the way Jaskier is leaning into him is any indication, he doesn't seem to mind much. 

His eyes flick away just for a second, to the dance floor. There’s an older couple dancing to the pre-recorded track but beyond that, it’s empty, most guests opting to refresh their drinks during the band’s break. Lambert tries and fails not to picture himself leading Jaskier out onto the floor, holding him close, and swaying to the music.

When he looks back, Jaskier’s eyes are soft and it’s like the man just read Lambert’s mind.

"Darling, my break is only fifteen minutes. I'd love to dance with you but your sister--"

"Sister-in-law," Lambert corrects him, though he supposes that Yennefer is kind of his sister at this point. That’s how weddings work, right?

"Right then. Your sister-in-law will have my non-existent balls if she doesn't get all the music she's paid for."

He's right. Yennefer might be as close to marital bliss as possible for her and Geralt [which really just means they've been trying to escape for a quickie for the past half hour] but Jaskier's read on her is accurate. 

Even in his fuzzy dance floor fantasy, Lambert isn’t surprised when she comes back through the hall to demand extra time from the band in exchange for however long Lambert wants to spend with Jaskier in his arms. Which right now...is a long time.

"Tomorrow?"

"It's a date."

While Eskel handled the dairy and Geralt managed the butchery, Lambert usually took care of the egg sales. 

They offered quail, chicken, and duck eggs. Occasionally a few ostrich eggs when he could convince his friends over at Cranes to let him hawk a few. Not many buyers but the huge eggs certainly grabbed attention of people walking around. And once Lambert drew them in, he rarely had anyone leave without carrying a dozen eggs off with them.

The point was that it was rare for Jaskier to be attendance for a Saturday morning farmer’s market unless he showed up around noon with coffee and pastries for everyone.

So Lambert supposed that his first mistake was bringing Jaskier to the farmer’s market. The second was leaving him alone at the table for an extended period of time.

Long enough for Jaskier to take the very few eggs that had broken in transit and make some kind of twisted sculpture. Where had he even gotten string? Was that butcher’s twine? Geralt was an instigator and Lambert fully intended on enacting revenge at some point.. 

His mad boyfriend had set the some of the smaller quail eggs inside the empty chicken and duck eggs as well, hanging them off a wicker arch in what certainly must read as a warning to all poultry. 

“What the fuck?” Lambert managed to get out before remembering just where he was. All of Vesemir’s boys have gotten official warnings from the farmer’s market board about their swearing but they’ve yet to even attempt to ban them. Still, he doesn’t want to tempt fate.

Jaskier looked up from his book and smiled at brightly at just seeing Lambert that he almost forgot why he cursed in the first place. His partner’s smile turned into a sneaky smirk and Lambert  quickly remembered. 

“I thought we needed a catchy display,” Jaskier said calmly. He stuck his phone in the book as a placeholder and slid it onto the table behind the mountains of eggs and his “catchy display.”

“But why? It’s just the egg table.” Lambert rubbed against his temple.

“Yes, but there was nothing to showcase the eggs.” Jaskier was clearly trying to hide a bigger smile while Lambert attempted not to pull his hair out. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tackle Jaskier to the ground in general or to kiss him senseless. It often was a tough decision. 

“It’s a farmer’s market, not a craft show.” Lambert caught the eye of an older woman who was a regular and a mask fell over his face. A bland smile and a nod hello that very much said that he wasn’t at all exasperated with his partner.

Jaskier, the bastard, just kept going. “It’s a bit like a craft show!” He insisted, delighted that Lambert played along with him. “You made things and now you’re selling them.”

“I didn’t make these eggs,” Lambert reminded him which gained him such a leer that he wished he was behind the table to adjust his pants.

“No,” Jaskier murmured thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed. “I suppose you didn’t.” 

Before their banter could escalate into either shouting or PDA, little Ciri came skipping up to the egg table. 

“Uncle Lambert!” She squealed at a range that should be illegal before 10AM. “Do you like the display I made you!”

Lambert’s head shot up but it was too late, Jaskier was holding his book up in front of his face in order to laugh without his niece seeing it. 

“It’s wonderful, princess.” Lambert swallowed. “Very…inventive.”

“What’s in-ven-tive?” Ciri sounded out as she wandered the perimeter of the table, peeking at each egg as though it perhaps would magically hatch. Jaskier saw his opportunity to herd her away from anymore breakable items and did just that, leaving the table’s chair vacant for Lambert to gaze at longingly.

“It means that people will be so captivated by your art that they’ll be drawn in!” Jaskier motioned to the slowly increasing crowd entering the market’s field. “They’ll be so compelled to stop at our table and once they’re here, they won’t be leaving without eggs.”  

Ciri’s eyes shone brightly, captivated by her uncle’s explanation. She came around and hung off of his waist even as he gesticulated.

“Now Lambert…” Jaskier started, too sweetly, and mildly threatening. By god, Lambert loved this man. “You were saying something about the display?”

Lambert reminded himself how much he loved the two people in front of him. And how Yennefer and Geralt would eviscerate him if he made their little girl cry.

“Just how marvelous it is,” he told her, hands on his knees and leaning towards her.

There was that squeal again and Lambert shook his head. Ciri took the opportunity to rush around and admire her art again while Lambert grabbed Jaskier’s waist. 

“You absolute twat,” he whispered into Jaskier’s ear, punctuated it with a kiss.

“I know you are, but what am I,” Jaskier teased. Two could play that game.

“I’ll show you after we pack up for the day.”

“Promises, promises.”   

From the front of the table, Ciri looked up and announced, “Uncle Jask, I’m hungry.”

“Well, we certainly cannot have that.” Jaskier unwound himself from Lambert’s arms, kissing him as an apology and a promise both in one. He snagged his phone off the table and stuck in his back pocket. “We simply must go forage for sustenance. I’m thinking breakfast sandwiches, sweetness. How does that sound?”

“Yes please!”

“Darling, would you like one?” Jaskier called over his shoulder. 

“Yes, please,” Lambert grumbled with a sigh. Jaskier kissed him on the cheek one last time and sauntered off, Ciri in tow, still chattering. 

Lambert lets himself flop down into the chair and watches them both go, right through the hole in Ciri’s monstrous egg sculpture.

By god, he did love his life. 

-

-

-

on ao3 here

[slasherfilth]

You Are What You Eat – Chapter Three (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

Luda Mae was a simple woman. She wanted simple things. Food on her table. A nice cup of tea with (y/n) every now and again. And for her baby boy to be happy. And she had quickly come to the desertion that two of those simple needs were far more entwined than she had first anticipated.  The day she had sent Thomas to the bakery had been a blessing in ways she hadn't fathomed before. Tommy had come home with the basket of goodies and a difference in his demeanour. He was never an angry man, but he did have an air of annoyance around him every time he was sent out to the shops. She didn't blame him of course and made sure to only send him when she had no other choice. She knew how people treated her boy. She would get weird looks, but with her own quick wit, people were quick to shut their mouths around her, she made sure of it. But Thomas was different. Thomas genuinely didn't want to hurt people physically, it would only cause more issues. And the second issue is that he couldn't verbally do it, like Luda Mae. So, he had to deal with very verbal threats and ridicule against himself. Despite being a very large man, people had learnt that he wouldn't retaliate and their awful behaviours grew bolder and bolder.

That being said, whenever he did return from town, he would generally be in quite a foul mood. One he would rid himself of in the basement alone, working. Because Holt never did appreciate a moody Thomas. However, today was different. She had been expecting him to be short, give her the basket with a huff and make a beeline for his work. But he didn't. Instead, he walked into the house at a leisurely pace. Holding a cookie in his hand while he gazed ahead, lost in his own thoughts. It wasn't an odd thing for Thomas to do, with nothing to say one would imagine you would spend quite some time in your own head. But Luda couldn't fathom what had brought on such a difference to his usual arrive-from-town demeanour. Maybe someone had said something that really affected him? But he wasn't angry or even frustrated. He was his usual calm self, perhaps even gentler than usual as he rested the basket on the counter, nodding in her direction absentmindedly.

"Thank you Darlin', did you meet (y/n)? Lovely girl, ain't she?" Luda watched on curiously as Thomas nodded, more enthusiastic than she was anticipating. Usually, she would receive a shrug as he never really cared too much for other people outside the family, they would usually make a comment about him or something, and Thomas had just learnt to ignore everyone. So this was more than a little surprising, but she couldn't help the grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"Yeah, she's a real sweet thing, that one. No family left though; the poor girl is probably lonely over in that big house by herself." Luda's keen eyes taking in every furrow and huff that Thomas made, his interest clearly displayed as he stayed and listened to her, his head tilting at her words. She felt like dancing inside.

"Maybe you could go over and keep her company. She keeps saying that big house feels lonely all the time. She also mentioned needing a few things fixed around the place. I'll tell her you can help." Luda shooed him away with her hands, appearing lost in thought as she began to unpack the basket. Thomas left immediately, but she could see he was still partly in a daze. Oh, her little boy was growing up! She hadn't seen Thomas react to anyone in a blatantly positive way since he was a child. Oh, how she would milk this. Maybe she would finally be able to cross off another dying wish of hers. Grandchildren!

-X-X-

You had been so busy with the bakery lately you barely felt like you had time for yourself or your thoughts. But ever time you did seem to get lost in your own mind, it would always travel back to Luda's son. God, you had been stupid to think that he was a teenager or something. You tried to convince yourself it was because you were unprepared for the very masculine man that walked into your shop. That was the reason you couldn't get him out of your head. Yes. You were just shocked. Sighing, you continued to make the new pie recipe with chicken meat. All the alternative meats you tried were okay, but they just weren't exactly what you were hoping for.

You just wanted a well-cut, well-fed red piece of meat for your pies. You didn't need very much with all the extra gravies and sauces, but it annoyed you that you couldn't find any, anywhere in town. The only place that stocked some red meat was the little store at the end of the road, and it was ridiculously overpriced for the pathetic amount you received, and it was god awful. Full of fat and grainy in texture. You wondered where he even managed to get something so terrible. You sighed and wondered if it would be worth perusing Luda Mae. Thomas was a butcher, wasn't he? Indeed, he would be working with red meat? And as if hearing her name filter through your head, you listened to a jingle of the shop bells. You looked up to see one of your favourite visitors standing in the doorway with a fresh basket of goodies.

"Darling! It's been far too long. I'm sorry I wasn't able to come out sooner, busy with the farm and all. Charlie can be a real slave driver when he's not busy boozing." You giggled as the lady rolled her eyes and took a seat in her usual spot. You absentmindedly began making her regular order and grabbing today's cake special.

"That’s okay! I understand I’ve been quite busy myself. I’ve been trying to find a nice meat pie with alternative meats, but it just isn’t what I want it to be sadly. A bakery without meat pies. I’m a fraud.” You sighed dramatically as you began to walk towards Luda with your drinks and plates. Setting them down, you took a seat with her, admiring her new basket. Oddly enough, you noticed a few drops of blood on the handtowel that covered the ingredients. You shrugged it off. It happens sometimes. Especially on farms, you would know.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up. Everyone has the same issue here. I’m sure you will find something. Besides, you have a wonderful collection of desserts the town dies for. I’ve seen all those empty cabinets when I walk in.” Luda winked at you, and you flush mumbling to yourself.

“I’m just glad people like them at all.” You laugh half joking and half serious as you move for the food in front of you. Luda stops sipping her drink for a moment and nods, pushing the gift towards you more.

“Oh, yes, yes. Go ahead, dear. It’s not much, but I made a few things I knew you would like and also left a few recipes in the bottom for you.” You smiled wide; you really did love her recipes. They were so homely it reminded you of your mother on rougher nights when everything felt too much and too big for you. It was comforting. Although you assumed everything about Luda was motherly and comforting. Grabbing the basket, you pulled up the towel and smiled as you first saw the bouquet of flowers, you quickly grabbed them and got up to put them in a vase, to place front and centre in your bakery.

“I assume the gardening had been going well then, Luda? These are beautiful! And smell absolutely lovely. I don’t know how you do it in this heat. All mine would wither up and die.” You finished arranging the flowers to your liking as you heard the older woman chuckled.

Time and patients, my dear. And lots of water. Thomas goes and fetches me water form the lake almost every mornin’ for my flowers.” You flushed as you were once again reminded about the man that barely left your mind lately. And oh god, you had forgotten about all the little deeds he did for his mothers to make her happy. You were doomed. However, you kept walking back to your seat, unaware if Luda had noticed your sudden silence.

“That reminds me, Thomas came back in a mighty fine mood yesterday, which is different than he usually does when returning from town. Given his looks and all. Would you happen to know anything?” You froze for a moment, thinking back to yesterday—your surprise and anger at how people treated him and his mother so openly. God, you were still confused. Thomas looked like he could break your neck with one hand and yet people were so casually rude to him. You would be terrified to do that to someone so intimidating.

“A-Ah, yes. He -um- had a bit of a run-in with the locals…” You looked down, saddened that you were unaware of what would happen when he arrived. You wish you had stepped in sooner. “Some people in the bakery were saying some mighty rude things to him, but I shut them up with a warning. Ain’t no one gonna be rude to you guys in here, or they can find their asses on the curb.” You frowned and narrowed your eyes slightly.

“If anyone ever tries to tell me you aren’t a little angel, I’ll slap them upside the head, I tell ya.” You looked back to Luda, who was wearing her own little smile. You were confused. Wasn’t it wrong that people said things to Thomas? Luda laughed at your confusion.

“Thomas is quite used to the comments, but he’s not a violent man. He’ll just let it slide and come back in a huff of annoyance. But he was in a good mood yesterday. Not many people stand up for him. In fact, Charlie and I are probably the only ones who do. So, thank you (y/n). You’ve been nothing but an angel to our little family since you arrived.” You once again blushed a bright red. You began to wonder if you had any blood anywhere else in your body by this time. You mumbled out a thank you and continued to look through the basket. Not used to praise and certainly not accustomed to responding to it. Your finger grazed against something cold. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you wrapped your fingers around cold plastic. Usually, Luda would make you dry things so they wouldn’t go out of date quickly.

Looking down as you pulled out the packet, your eyebrows sudden disappeared into your hairline as you looked at the slightly bloody package of red meat. The packet was only so big, but it was more than enough meat to make at least a dozen small meat pies. You looked up at Luda questioningly. Wondering if maybe she had accidentally placed it in the wrong basket at home.

“Oh. Would you look at that? Thomas must have had some leftovers.” The way she said it was almost nonchalant, but you could see the surprise in her eyes too before it dissolved into happiness with a bright smile to match.

“Maybe, it’s a small thank you as well.” You hummed and turned back to the meat, deciding you would make a small batch of meat pies and give the Hewitts some to try as a thank you as well.

“Thank you so much, Ma’am. And be sure to tell Thomas thank you as well. Oh, you have no idea how happy this makes me. I’ll give you some pies to take home next time you come around! I’d love for you to try them and tell me what you think!” You excitedly stood up and made your way to the back, placing the meat straight into the cooler so it wouldn’t spoil. You moved back to Luda and gave her a big hug from behind, muttering your thanks a few more times.

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear. Like I said, you’ve been nothing but an angel to us. You deserve it. That being said, I did mention for Thomas to go visit your house at some point, you mentioned you wanted some help fixing the furniture and pipes, well Thomas is a bit of a handyman as well. And he seemed happy to come to help ya out.” You bit your lip and flushed a bright red before nodding. Oh god. Would you be able to handle the sight of him fixing things in your house? Using your tools? Maybe even shirtless since that’s how most men seem to fix things when it was this hot out. You tried to stop your cheeks for burning too brightly at the thoughts before shaking your head. No, bad (y/n). You only just met him, behave.

“T-That would be fantastic. He’s more than welcome to come at any time passed six.” Your breath out, hoping you don’t sound as stiff as you felt. You watched as Luda stood up and nodded.

“Alright, then I’ll send him over at six sharp tomorrow.” You could have sworn you seen a mischievous smirk curl on the older ladies’ lips. But you shook your head and gave her a hug before she left. Surely you just imagined it. She was just trying to be helpful is all. Yes. Helpful.

-X-X-

Hello! Sorry, this has taken a bit longer to be published. This chapter is a bit shorter as the next will be a bit more on the longer side and lots of you and Thomas getting close and friendly. And I can’t wait!

[marvel-and-mischief]

Safe Haven Part I

Title: Safe Haven. 

Words: 3200

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Pero x Reader. You are the owner of a tavern in England when a mysterious stranger asks to stay in your lodgings whilst he works for the Lord of the town you live in. Soft, awkward, grumpy Pero! Post TGW (no William). 

When you thought about the past eleven months, you couldn’t believe you had gotten this far. You had three wonderful, hard working women under your care. Gwen kept to herself in the kitchens, baking meat pies for your customers and keeping the tavern clean and tidy. Darcy could talk the back legs off a donkey if given the chance, but her charm kept the customers coming back and those passing through remembered to come back the next time they were near town. And Adelaide, or Addy as she was known, helped you with the business; counting money, keeping on top of the food and drink that was needed, finding new ways to attract guests to the lodgings out back. 

When your father had suddenly come down with a fever, you were certain it would pass. The cold, damp nights had started to settle in, so it wasn’t unusual to hear of the townspeople getting ill. You sat by his bedside in the day, feeding him soup and reassuring him that the tavern would be just as he left it when he returned to work. And at night you opened up as usual, serving the locals who had come in for the warm fire and mead. You only had Gwen back then, so you were rushed off your feet without your father as well. When not even a week later your father had taken a turn for the worse, you couldn’t deny that maybe this new way of running the tavern would be a more permanent way of life. 

The fever took your father five days after he fell ill. You worked harder than you ever thought you would have to. You not only had to quickly learn how to be a business owner, but being a woman you had to earn the respect of the townspeople. They all knew you, having grown up in the tavern as your father’s only child. The town healer helped your mother give birth to you, as a small child you brought bread from the baker, you courted the blacksmiths son as a teenager. But as a businesswoman, they were a little more concerned. The regulars that came into the tavern most nights had your back, but some of the older members of the town thought you couldn’t handle it. Some even suggested they would only support you if you found yourself a husband. 

After two months, you had found your newest employee. Darcy stumbled into the tavern just as you were closing up one night, mud caking her hands and most of her dress. You brought her inside, sitting her in front of the large fire on one side of the tavern. You asked Gwen to make up a tankard of warm milk and honey and handed it to this stranger. You convinced her that if she just trusted you, allowed you to keep her safe in the tavern, you would never ask where she came from or who she was running from, and she would always have a home here. She had nowhere else to go and she had had no better offers than yours and doubted anyone else would be so kind. She agreed to work for you. 

After a few weeks Darcy opened up a little more. She had travelled from Armagh in Ireland, looking for a new life away from a family that wished to marry her off to a brute of a man. She would rather have died journeying out of Ireland than be made to live the rest of her life with him. Her sweet Irish accent hypnotised anyone who heard her speak, so custom quickly picked up and so did her confidence. 

Soon after that was your last employee. Addy was mild tempered, still is, when you found her covered in blankets and huddled against a stone wall in the marketplace. Her large brown eyes were flitting back and forth, her hands shaking where they clung to her only bag of belongings. The first time you tried to walk up to her she hid under the blankets and started crying. You left her an apple and a chunk of bread, not wanting to spook her any more than you already had. 

The next day you went back to where you had last seen her but she was gone. She had moved to the opposite side of the marketplace and was trying to hold onto her bag which was being torn away from her by a boy no older than twelve. You had rushed over to her, yanking the bag from the boy and pulling yourself up to your full height to tower over him. With a gasp the boy ran off and you turned to see Addy with her eyes down, biting her bottom lip. After assuring her you only wanted to help, you handed her the bag and brought her back to the tavern. 

Once she was comfortable with you, you realised she was literate and could help with the day-to-day running of the tavern. She was born in France but spoke very good English. She has never told you why she ended up in England but it didn’t matter. She was kind and thoughtful and worked harder than any man you’d ever met. 

Once you had your team set up everything felt like it once had. People respected your position, they supported the tavern and your guest rooms were never empty. 

Your day dreaming was disturbed by Darcy slamming a tankard on the counter in front of you. You raised an eyebrow in her direction, silently asking why she did that.

“There’s a new man in town,” she stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t unusual for travellers to pass through. The river that ran through the town lead a few miles east to the sea that separated England and France. Anyone travelling from Europe would most likely have to come through your town to reach the rest of the country. So why was Darcy making such a big deal about this one man?

“Does he practice sorcery or something just as interesting?” You asked with a smirk. Darcy came from a country steeped in superstition so you knew that would hit a particular spot.

Darcy made the sign of the cross against her chest and gave you a warning look. “Do not jest. Of course not. But everyone’s talking about him. He barely says a word to anyone. Has an accent apparently-“

“How do they know he has an accent if he doesn’t speak?”

Darcy seems to think this over. The difference between Darcy and Addy is, where Addy is educated, Darcy is smart when is comes to the realities of life. She knows to keep to the clear roads and not walk through the woods when travelling to market, but she doesn’t always understand irony. 

“Well… I’m not sure. He must have spoken at some point. You can’t just not speak!” She was getting flustered which made you giggle. Darcy realised what you were doing and grabbed the towel that had been hanging over her shoulder and whipped it in your direction, catching you on the elbow where your arms were folded. 

“Alright alright! I’m sorry. What is it they are saying about him?”

“Just that he’s a little strange. And he has a large scar over his eye.” She shrugged and began to use the towel to wipe dust off the counter. 

“A mercenary perhaps?” You had met mercenaries before. They weren’t common but they were all the same. Kept themselves to themselves and never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends. 

“Do you think he will cause trouble?” Darcy was purposefully not looking in your direction. She was worried. Trouble meant fighting and none of the girls were comfortable with dealing with that. 

“No,” you said sternly. You glanced down to the thick sharpened branch you hid behind the counter. You would nip it in the bud before any fighting started. You wouldn’t have the girls frightened to live here. This was supposed to be their safe space. “If I think he’s going to cause a problem I will kick him out. He may not even come in here Darcy.” You spoke softly, not wanting to spook her. 

She seemed satisfied with that answer when she walked away to clean the table tops. You watched as she began to hum a tune as though the previous conversation had never happened.

“I’m going to check that Gwen is ready to open up for the night,” and with that you left in the direction of the kitchen, putting this stranger to the back of your mind. 

-

You had opened up in the early evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. The night had been busy but not chaotic. Gwen managed to sell all but one of her pies so the three women were sat around the kitchen table tucking in. The last of the drinkers were stumbling out of the front door. You bid them a safe journey home when you noticed a man walking towards you. The lights from the tavern weren’t strong enough to catch any details until he was right in front of you.

He wore a black cape, hood up against the bitter air, and the unmistakable line of a sheathed sword could be seen poking through the material. He carried a bag over his shoulder and nothing else. You looked up as he took a step closer and candlelight showed you the scar of the man Darcy had been talking about earlier that evening. 

You stood up straighter, head held high. You were not going to be intimidated by this man and the permanent scowl that seemed to be etched onto his features. His facial expression didn’t change even as he spoke.

“Do you have rooms?” Darcy was right, there was an accent. But it didn’t sound like Addy’s French accent. You had had men pass through from further afield, but some didn’t speak English at all so you couldn’t ask where they came from. 

“My rooms are full.” You didn’t mean to be blunt but that’s how it came out. You weren’t lying, your earliest vacancy was in two days time but you still felt bad. This man must have walked all the way from where his ship had docked, and he hadn’t brought a horse with him. He was about to turn away when you shouted out to him. 

“I have a stable.” It was the only solution you could think of. He didn’t turn to look at you but you heard him grumble something in his native tongue. You didn’t think you wanted to know what it translated to. “It’s enclosed. With the door shut it’s quite warm. Only one horse in there at the moment too.” 

He finally turned to look at you. He raised one eyebrow rather high, and you thought if he just stopped scowling he may be handsome. So you gave him a small smile. He hadn’t done anything to offend you, yet, so the least you could do was be polite. 

“Where can I find more rooms, camarera?” His voice was deep and his accent was strong, and you don’t know what he had called you but he sounded tired. And maybe you were too kind for your own good but you didn’t want him travelling longer than he had to when there were perfectly fine stacks of hay he could sleep on for a few hours.

“You would have to travel north into town. On foot, you could reach it by sunrise.” He seemed to be mulling it over. Was he serious? He’ll drop down in exhaustion before he’d even travelled halfway. “Come into the stable. I won’t charge you anything.” 

That seemed to make up his mind because he was walking back towards you. You stepped inside to let him in before locking the door. You took him through a side door, down the side of the building and into the stables. 

It wasn’t large. Could fit three horses in at a squeeze, but the current resident was lying against the large doors and on the other side against the stone wall of the guest rooms were stacks of hay. 

The horse raised his head and let out a huff of disapproval when you both walked past him, but soon became disinterested when neither of you paid him no attention. 

The stranger sat on a stack of hay, moving about to test how comfortable it was. He looked up and nodded when he was satisfied. There was an awkward silence for a moment before you remembered that this was your tavern and you shouldn’t be feeling nervous.

“Did you want a blanket?”

“No thank you.”

“Something to eat or drink?”

“No.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Thank you.”

You nodded and turned away to leave him alone. When you got to the door you had entered through you saw he was still sat exactly where he was. He hadn’t moved in the slightest. Was he not used to anyone being nice to him? Or was he just an awkward, angry man? 

Closing the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You began to walk along the corridor, taking a turn to arrive in the kitchen.

The women had devoured the pie that had been left. Gwen was nearly falling asleep at the table whilst Addy had taken over the washing up duties. Darcy was nowhere to be found. 

Addy saw you first, holding up a finger to the ceiling when she noticed you were looking around the kitchen.

“Darcy went to bed. Are you going up?”

For the first time that night you realised just how tired you were. You didn’t know whether to tell them about the man in the stables. Maybe it was for best that Darcy was already in bed. She would be none the wiser. 

“I just need to stub the candles out in the front. I’ve let a traveller stay in the stables. Don’t disturb him. I imagine he will be gone by morning.”

Addy frowned. It wasn’t unusual to let the odd person stay in the stables. Usually poor travellers looking for work, or like tonight when you were feeling especially kind. But maybe your tone inflicted that it was unusual with this man because she looked like she was waiting for you to explain.

You refused. You grabbed some pie crumbs off the plate and shoved them into your mouth.

“Alright. I’ll stub the candles out if you wanted to go on up? I’ve nearly finished here.” She grabbed the empty plate you had just eaten off of and dumped it in the bowl of water. 

You made your way towards your room, hopefully to get some sleep and forget about the man in the stables. You don’t know why he was bothering you so much. You were acting like he was a dirty little secret. He’ll be gone in the morning and you will never see him again.

You sort of hoped you were wrong.

-

The morning started as it always did. The birds singing and the Winter sun shone through my window. 

Your room was modest. The bigger of the three bedrooms upstairs (it was formerly your fathers room). You had it all to yourself, whereas Addy and Darcy shared a room and Gwen had the smallest room furthest from yours. You had a small wooden table next to your bed which sat a candle and a ribbon for your long hair. 

Across from your bed, underneath the window, was a box to store your clothes in and along the wall on the left of the room was a tin bath, the only one upstairs. 

You were lucky, you knew that. Working in a tavern brought in more money than the average business in town. But with four mouths to feed you didn’t have a lot of money for long.

You were rubbing the sleep from your eyes when the memories of the previous night came rushing back to you. you remembered the strange man with the scar that intrigued you. The deep, husky voice, the grumpy look on his face, his curt responses. 

You should be hoping that he’s long gone but as you jumped out of bed, quickly throwing your outer dress over your underdress and slipping on your boots you realised you were hoping for the exact opposite. You ran down the stairs, rushed through the hallway and arrived at the kitchen to see Gwen at the stove.

You couldn’t help but notice the smell of warm milk and honey in the air. You grabbed a tankard off the side and dipped it into the pan that Gwen was mixing. 

“Sorry Gwen,” you muttered. You knew she’d be annoyed for the rest of the day but you’d find a way to make it up to her. You always did. 

The short walk to the stables had your heart pumping. You suddenly felt stupid. He probably wasn’t in there anymore. And what if he didn’t like honey? And why did you care so much? 

When you opened the door you almost bumped into him. You gasped as he jumped back, hand immediately reaching the hilt of his sword. 

The hood of his cape wasn’t up so you could see his face much more clearly this morning. He had a peculiarly large nose which you found yourself wanting to run your finger along, and an unusual moustache that you never saw on Englishmen. He was staring at you, mouth slightly parted when you realised you had also been staring at him for longer than was acceptable. 

You caught your breath and decided to show him the contents of the tankard.

“Warm milk with honey. Thought you might want something before you left?” You said hopefully. He was inspecting the contents as though he had never been presented with something before. It was as though he didn’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to. Just thought after a cold night, something warm would be welcome,” you shrugged and started to take it back. But he stopped you with a gloved hand over yours.

He took the drink off of you and began to sip at it. He didn’t make a face of disgust so you assumed he liked it. You were desperate to know where he was going but you didn’t want to intrude. Luckily you didn’t have to.

“Thank you, that is nice. I have to go. Work in town.” His words were to the point. Not like yours were when you rambled like a mad woman. You nodded and took back the drink he was handing back to you. 

“Good luck. I hope everything goes well for you.” You smiled, and it looked like he was going to smile back but he nodded instead.

“Thank you. For the bed.” And with that he brushed past you. You knew Addy would be at the front of the tavern to let him out so you didn’t follow. You also didn’t want to make more of a fool of yourself than you already had. 

You sighed and trudged back towards the kitchen. You had some making up to do.

[ohtobeaspettyasleah]

so. how did the coffee date go? do Ethan and Piper just talk for hours on end about life and get to know each other more? And talk about the kiddos??

Coffee. For many of us, its the one thing that makes the world go round. It’s the morning ritual we allocate time for to either enjoy on the couch before the morning news. 

Catching up on all the horrors of the world sprinkled amongst the okay and somewhat high spirited good news story of the day. For others, it’s a moment where we watch the coffee stream down into our just barley washed and slightly over pungent travel mug that you tell yourself daily you’ll throw out-- but never do. Hell, maybe you invest in a flavouring. Sugar-free perhaps? Vanilla, caramel or maybe pumpkin spice depending on the season. You wait for the milk to steam-- or maybe you fall into the heart of people who poor their oat milk over ice to make a quick and easy iced oat latte. Cost-effective. 

But then there is the very large chunk of people out there, that allocates a portion of their weekly pay for their coffee. Barista made. They know who makes their coffee each morning by name and they know how that persons day is going by the taste of the roast. Maybe it’s perfect? A good day, maybe its slightly burnt? The milk too hot or too cold? Not enough hazelnut syrup. 

Ethan Dolan and Pipper Reid fall into the same category. Because out of the three mentioned above? There are about six others that follow and we just don’t have time to sit here and talk about coffee enthusiasts all day when you wanna know about Ethan and Pippers coffee date at Average Jo’s. 

The best cup of Jo on the go:

“If you don’t promise to put your mind body and soul into this coffee Jo you won’t ever see this face again.” Ethan was joking. Maybe, deep down he wasn’t. Pipper Reid, sitting in the nook by the window smiling as she brushed her hair behind her ear as Ethan was caught out staring back at her. He froze, but his heart didn’t. Beating in his chest to loud it rang in his ears. 

“You back on the dating sense hey Pal? Haven’t seen you walk in here with a Woman no bigger than that little bug of yours since well” Jo paused, he knew Ethan knew what he was referring to, “Hows she doin’ anyway? Lex.”

“Uh--yeah yeah shes good Joey, has this kindergarten teachers whos really pushing her along, Leo’s thriving too, apparently hes some kind of boy genius?”

“What as in math?” Jo smoked as he handed over the two cups of coffee. To go, even though Ethan had every intention of staying in-store. He just wanted an excuse to leave and leave with his coffee if things didn’t go the way he was hoping for. There was a brown paper bag handed over the counter too. Strawberry tarts, free of charge. Ethan chuckled to himself with a small sigh. 

“Kid artist Joey, just think Leonardo DaVinci.” Joseph Ardale was always there for Ethan and his kids. A kind neighbour who just so happened to be the only person who Ethan would buy coffee from. No Starbucks in sight, just a small local business Ethan didn’t know how to live without. Considering the espresso machine sitting on his kitchen counter-top hadn't worked in years. Any single dad with twins lives and breathes coffee, add high school teacher to the mix and Ethan Dolan was no exception to the rule. 

“Hey, you’re back!” It was the way Pipper seemed as nervous as Ethan himself had him softening. He liked the way she moved over for him. Accepting the gesture as he handed her her coffee. An Oat milk latte with two pumps of caramel syrup. She didn’t care if it was sugar free. 

“You think I wasn’t gonna come back after asking you for coffee?” 

“Just uh, a little nervous is all, I usually don’t uh—this, um—“ Ethan chuckled as he sipped his coffee sinking into the nook. 

“Date? That the word you’re looking for, because if it is that’s not what this is, just coffee. I mean if you want it to be a date it can be.” Ethan was teasing, he liked the way Pipper smiled—he couldn’t really tell but he had a feeling her cheeks were hot. In a good way. “Date or no date I just wanted to spend—“

“Spend some time drinking coffee together.” Pipper interrupted, chuckling as Ethan nodded and laughed with her. 

“Exactly and isn’t it the best cup you've ever had?”

“It’s pretty good, companies even better.”

“There’s no way you’re trying to flirt with me right now?” 

“Would it be so bad if I was? Still confused about the wedding band but hey—you said you aren’t a married man? Fair game right?”

“Oh completely fair game, as fair a game is the kindergarten teacher with the not clinically diagnosed Psychotic son.” Pipper gasped. 

“My son is a handful, But he’s a good kid.” 

“Have you seen my eye? If I wore an eyepatch in this joint Joey over there wouldn’t stop laughing for a decade.” 

“Learnt from the best I guess.” Pipper sipped her coffee, there was a slight change in her tone. Ethan almost didn’t pick it up, he pressed though.”

“Box with his dad huh?” The silence and delayed answer said it all. They both came before the drop in facial expression.

“Ollie doesn’t have a dad.”

“Oh—“

“I mean, sure yes there’s a guy out there whose sperm helped create him but, sorry this is uh, I should probably get going.” Ethan thought he was going to be the one who dipped. Tan off with his take away coffee because this was all too soon and he wasn’t ready for this. But watching as Pipper stood from her chair, his chest hurt. Reaching forward to grab her hand. 

“Hey, no, wait wait wait wait.” Ethan stood, placing his coffee on the table and a hand a little too low on Pippers hip. For a second he saw his past—for a moment he saw his future. Pulling his hand away because hell, he didn’t want Pipper to think he wanted something more. “I—“

“Ethan—“

“I crossed a line, too personal.”

“Ethan—“

“I don’t know anything about you, you’re good with my kids, that’s all I know and I just, I wanna get to know you because—“ it was Ethan’s turn to pause, Pipper watched as Ethan looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Because?”

“Because, you are the first and only woman I have looked at since.” Ethan took a deep breath. 

“Since I lost my uh—my wife.” 

“You said you weren’t married.” It was out of shock. Pipper didn’t mean to sound rude. “Sorry—“

“Well I mean, yeah I wear my band, I uh— but you can’t be married to someone who just isn’t here anymore. I don’t, please don’t think this changes anything, I wanna get to know you—to me? Yeah, this was a date.” Pipper was silent. She just watched as Ethan sat back down and ran his hand through his hair. Defeated. He knew this was a terrible idea even if his heart told him otherwise. Pipper sat beside him. Her hand reached out for the coffee on the table, handing back to Ethan as she leaned back, settling in. 

“My ex is a piece of shit.” It shocked Ethan. He just listened though. “I’m not the person who you want to get to know Ethan—I’m, I’m a mess. There’s this book I read, called getting your shit together and apparently out of Simon, Theodore and Alvin? I’m Simon. I uh—I’m a grade-A mess but I hold it together well, I don’t show it.” 

“That’s the weirdest metaphor or analogy I’ve ever heard.” Ethan laughed as pipped did. Comfortable again with one another. Drinking coffee. “But it doesn’t change anything, we’re both Simons.”

“You’re wife? How’d she uh—“

“Car accident, drunk driver about three years ago, just been me and the kids since.” 

“That must have been difficult, is difficult?”

“Twin two-year-olds? That’s hard enough on anyone, Leo doesn’t remember her, he was in the car accident, doctors think he lost his memory or something, his body’s way of preventing more damage. Lexi just knows her mum isn’t here anymore. She’s in the sky, creating the clouds for her.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything, I went to therapy, I proceeded everything, I still have days where it’s hard to function but damn it Pipper the moment I saw you, the second, I just knew, I knew I had to get to know you. Even if just as a friend, more would be great but I’ll settle for anything because like I said, I haven’t looked at anyone the way I looked at you in three years.”

“Well, if it means anything, I like the way you uh—look at me.” Pipper smiled before taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Oh really?” Ethan smirked, eyes just taking in Pipper. Wondering what she was thinking. Maybe that her coffee was shitty or he’d shared too much too soon. But as she smiled and just stared back softly he couldn’t help but hope she was thinking about maybe wanted to kiss him. Because he was thinking that, shamelessly. 

“I do, nobody has ever looked at me the way you look at me.”

[fandom-blackhole]

I love that you established that Paz and Din are practically a family because now our au can work in many ways!

Like social worker!reader x kindergarten teacher!Din with cameos of chef!unclePaz and vice versa.

So we need to connect Boba with the boys in our set up. My head is kinda empty in this deparrment. Boba financially supporting Din's school perhaps?

So as I was lurking at your earlier asks now we can have social worker!reader x mob Boba babysitting Grogu for Din??

Also your expansion on Paz's being eco friendly and all about educating younglings!

He is w o k e king we don't deserve but we all need.

Random thot, Paz of course is a sweetheart but he still represents BDE. He is not about any macho shenanigans so picture this:

You and Paz on lazy Saturday evening, drinking matcha made by our chef, obviously, spilling the tea about his workers. He is throwing a shade left and right sassy king (of course no ill will because he is a teddy) and all of that while you both are using those cute, korean face masks. Can we agree that he is a skincare king?? Like after leaving the army, he taught himself that practicing self-love is really important! Also back to Boba, he doesn't really talk with you about his ''work''. I know communication is the key, but maybe he thinks you are too innocent and selfless doing all that social work, that even though, as you mentioned, he has morals, he won't talk with you about what he'd done to that afwul person from the rival family. Another thing for Boba, he is filthy rich but he does not flaunt his money? Like, of course, he gets you the best of the best gifts just because but deep down he is a simple man.(Jango didn't come from the wealth, he was a self-made man and taught his son the importance of hardworking). He'd rather spend his evening with you, watching the sunset in his penthouse (okay we need to keep this kind of boujee for him) than going to any fancy parties.

Sorry, my writing is all over the place but I feel so pumped up. I love creating this universe with you! - 🐣

God don't be sorry because I can and will jump around as well! I love this little world we are making too and im just super excited...

Ok ok, thinking about how to tie Boba into all of this, what if because he donates so much, Boba is also like an elected official like on the school board for the city?

That way he has a tie to Din, and as for Paz, Boba supports and donates to Paz's eco friendly organization he's started to help clean up the city

And Boba just kind of take both boys under his wing a bit because they both remind him of himself a little

Because Boba is like an big brother to the boys, when Din is super busy he does occasionally ask Boba to watch Grogu

Which always results in a disaster, because Boba always teaches him things he shouldn't, like naughty words, rude gestures, and how to hurt someone

Now as for his money, Boba doesn't flaunt it, but he also uses the money, he isn't just going to let it set there

So he has a nice house(s) in, and out, of the city, he has nice cars with great paint jobs, and as you said spoils you with nice gifts

He also always has the nicest tailored suits, and beautiful watches and tie clips, but his cuff links were his fathers and he wears them all the time and refuses to get new ones

You don't spend much money, wanting to keep it safe for emergencies, so you kind of off handedly comment about something and it shows up at your house, with a note that just says, "for you princess. -B"

Boba very much does like to keep you in the dark about his work, not only for plausible deniablity with law enforcement, but also because it is refreshing to have someone so 'innocent' and untouched in his life

Ok so PAZ, our boy, (first off I LOVE matcha, and I am like the only person that orders it at our local coffee shop, the barista has even told me that lmao)

So he is so into self care, once he left the military he dove into self care because it helps his spirits and it was something he could enjoy while he was away

He always buys the absolute cheesiest masks he can find, and he always looks silly with them half covering his beard (because he has one and I will fight people who say he doesn't)

Also also, so Paz is super economical so what IF he lives in a tiny home?!?!? Like they are better for the environment because they are smaller, and he doesn't use as much energy, though he also has solar panels at his house, and he showers with rain water

God just imagine him, a huge giant, living in a tiny house

He likes how small it it because it means more room for his garden and handful of animals

He owns a clutch of chickens, a goat (he makes his own goat cheese and goat milk soap), and he has a small pond with geese and ducks

(Send me THOTS!!!!!)

[criticizing-blogger]

I Promise - Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: cursing, gory details

Word count: 1973

Sam and Dean sat at the motel room table, going over the small amount of evidence they had collected. The men still had yet to question the parents of the other missing kids. They had called it quits for the day because it was getting late. Sam’s laptop sat in front of him, multiple tabs open about mythology. Yet, he couldn’t figure out what’s been terrorizing the town. Of course, they do have little evidence to go on. Dean, on the other hand, had books open of almost every monster that they had faced.

Sam sighs as he closes his laptop, rubbing his face with his hands afterward. "I can rule out most of the monsters we’ve hunted."

Dean closes the book he was reading. "Same here. We just need to keep figuring this out. And fast."

Sam nods leaning back into his chair. With it being late at night, he decided to check the local library in the morning to see if he could find any information for the case. Maybe a folktale, since the internet isn’t giving him much, the books Dean was reading weren’t helping either. Hopefully, the library will help, Sam thought. The two brothers didn’t have a clue as to what was terrorizing the town. “I’ll check the local library and see what they have. Check with the parents of the missing kids and see what they have to say.”

Dean nods his head.

__________

It was early in the morning when Dean woke up. He sits up stretching his arms over his head and yawns. He grabbed the pillow that laid behind him, throwing it towards his brother. “Rise and shine, Sammy.” But there came no response. Usually, Dean would hear a groan or a shout, or would even be hit back. He looks at his brother’s bed only to see it empty.

The door to the motel room opened to Sam in joggers clothing walking in. Shutting the door, he looks over at the brother in bed to see him staring. “What?”

Dean rolls his eyes and groans as he falls back onto the bed. He closes his eyes hoping to fall back asleep. 

“Dude, get up.” Sam spoke but when he got no reply, he told him again. And still, no reply. Sam knew Dean was just ignoring him so he huffs and grabs what he needs for a shower. When the man in bed hears the bathroom door close, he pops one eye open looking towards it. He hears the water start running and a grin makes its way onto his face. Dean stretches his arms up over his head then flips onto his stomach, putting his arms under his head and gets comfortable.

Not much longer later, Sam finishes his shower, quickly drying off and getting dressed. He walks out just to see Dean had fallen back to sleep. Sam walks over to his bed grabbing the pillow. He slowly and quietly made his way over to his sleeping brother. Knowing Dean, he can fall asleep faster than Crowley can snap his fingers which according to Sam, it did not surprise him.

He stood next to Dean’s bed, the pillow raised with his arms. The white object slammed right into the sleeping man's head. Sam quickly pulled it back in time just as Dean pulled the gun out from his other pillow sitting up, pointing it at Sam. “Damn it, Sam!” He sticks the dangerous weapon back in its original place. “I was having a hot dream with a sexy stripper.”

“Gross, Dean.” Sam states with disgust evident in his voice. “Get ready.” When Sam turned around, Dean sticks his tongue out at him.

____________________

Sam got dropped off at the town's public library. He walks in through the clear glass doors and looks around as he walks towards the books. Only three, maybe four, people were here. Of course, Sam didn’t think people were just going to wake up early in the morning just to read.

He starts at the town’s history section. His hands reached for books called ‘The History of Southhollow,’ ‘what Lies in the Hollow Tree,’ and ‘The Diary of Edgar Smith,’ and so on. Gone through so many cases before, especially with small towns like this one, Sam knew how to go about research. Specifically topics of witchcraft, rituals, and even folklore that might’ve taken place at any point in time.

Sam looked around more and grabbed books he thought would help him solve this case then headed towards an empty table in the back corner of the library. He sets the books he chose down and gets as comfortable as he could get and starts reading ‘The History of Southhollow.’ 

The History of Southhollow 

Southhollow, founded in 1659, was one of the many permanent settlements in what would become part of the United States.

On September 1st, 1659 the governor, Edgar Smith, declared the land he and his men discovered to be called Southhollow. The site for the new town was quickly picked for many reasons.

It only took Sam a couple of hours to the short book as it did not contain information that would have been relevant to the case. He sets it aside and starts on the next book.

‘The Diary of Edgar Smith,’ Sam thought. ‘ this might give me something.’ 

February 3rd, 1659

It was evening when my men and I arrived at this empty plot of land surrounded by trees. I chose that we are to camp here for the night and return to search for new land on the morrow. The journey to America was rough as storms clouded the seas and the tides were difficult to pass. My men and I come from Europe. We are in search of land in America to make a new home. 

 Sam read the entry, and just like the other book, he didn’t see anything of importance. He started to feel hopeless. The first book didn't give him the information he needed. So Sam had decided to skim the entries not to waste any more time as he did on the first book. 

 _________________

        Dean, on the other hand, was on his way to talk to the parents of the first missing child and to find out any more information Sam might have missed. He steps out of the impala, fixing his suit as his eyes roam over Johnson's large, luxurish house. He shuts the vehicle door and makes his way to talk to the porch. Dean rang the doorbell hearing Mozart play as a jingle. The man closes his eyes and sighs muttering, “freakin’ rich people.”

Movement from inside the house could be heard causing Dean to quickly fix his stance, opening his eyes as seriousness took over his face. It took a moment before a woman’s voice was heard through the door. “Yes? Who is it?”

“My name is Agent Lee, ma’am. I’m with the FBI,” he grabs his fake badge from his black suit pocket and flashes it to the lady through the peephole. The door sounds an unlock and opens to show a brown haired woman. He puts the badge back as she moves to let him in the house. His legs carry him through the threshold as his eyes look over the expensive objects.

“I’m Elizabeth. Can I get you anything to drink?” She asks, closing the door and watches him turn around at her voice.

“Coffee, please.” Dean smiles.

She nods her head, gesturing her hand towards the living room. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Dean watches her leave before taking a seat in a chair that sat on the right side of the room. A coffee table, with a photo frame and flowers in the middle, sat before him and a couch on the other side. His eyes notice a photo of a man and woman whose arm is hooked through his and a young boy. Dean carefully picks it up and examines it. It reminded him of when his parents were alive and he didn’t know monsters existed.

“That’s my husband, William, and our son, Noah.” She walks into the room holding a tray with two cups of coffee on saucers and a bowl of sugar cubes. She bends down, setting the tray on the table. “I’m sorry. I don’t have milk or cream. How many sugar cubes would you like?”

Dean sets the frame back down. “Uh, none,” he spoke and he watched her shaky hands hand the cup and saucer to him, taking a seat on the couch. “What can I help you with, Agent?”

“I’m here about your son's disappearance.”

Elizabeth nods, a sad sigh leaving her mouth. “You must be partners with the other man that was here yesterday. He disappeared a month ago. My husband left for work early leaving me to take Noah to school. And when I went to pick him up at three p.m., he never came running to my car like he did everyday after school. I waited for thirty minutes thinking he was doing a test or something. After those minutes had passed, I walked into the building and walked to his classroom. He wasn’t in there and none of the staff saw him leave.”

Dean nods for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “I went straight to the police station. They said I cannot file a missing persons report for twenty-four to seventy-hours. So I left calling my husband. He wasn’t worried. He thought Noah probably went to a friends house. I called all his friends' parents but none of them saw or had him. So all I could do was wait. The next day, a new police officer, Oliver Davis, was doing his rounds outside of town the next day. He noticed something bright red in the trees. He drove down the path into the forest and stopped a long way in. He went to check it out. He took a good look at it and saw my son's name on the tag.” She let out a loud sob. “The sheriff gathered a search party a day later and it lasted late into the night. No one found anything until the third day of searching. A group found an abandoned house and told the sheriff through the walkie talkie. He searched the house and found my son's dead body.”

“Was there any scratches or bite marks of any kind?” Dean asks.

“There were scratches over his chest and stomach and back. I, uh, I have photos.”

He watches her get up and walk over to the entryway dresser by the front door. She pulls the top drawer open, grabbing a manila-yellow colored envelope. Elizabeth makes her way back to her seat handing Dean the proof. "The coroner said it was an animal attack." 

He opens it pulling out the crime scene photos. The woman looks away not wanting to see them and puts a hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out.

The picture shows Noah’s full body lying on his back. His red shirt torn with a piece missing. Deep scratches lined from his chest to his belly. Pants littered with holes and dirt and no shoes with one dirty sock. He moved onto the second photo. It showed a close up of the cuts. Flesh could be seen and pieces of skin ripped in multiple places as blood oozed out. On the last photo was a trail of blood leading to the body on the abandoned house floor.

Dean looked up at the mother and felt instantly bad for her. He couldn’t imagine what it was like losing a child. “Can I borrow these?”

“Take them. My husband wanted copies but I don’t. I want to never see those again. Is that all?”

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