#my throat still hurts like a motherfucker and i feel like i’m about to puke BUT i can fucking breath!!!!!!!

[s1xseasonsandamov1e]

excited to announce that after 3 days of being ill i can finally breathe through my nose again!!!!!!

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

jameson whiskey send tweet. BLOWHOLE.

A/N: WHALE, WHALE, WHALE KITTEN... here we are... another installment of the siren series with Captain Flip and finding his sultry sea maiden! I hope ya like it kitten @maybe-your-left 🖤. I did a few time jumps to cement the story a little further. If you haven’t read the beginning of my Blowhole series please refer to it in my Masterlist under the Flip Request section for context. 

Warnings: Mild angst, pining (from Flip and us too), mostly plot hardly any porn I’m sorry everyone, mentions of alcohol, mentions of possessive behaviors, masturbation, Flip is an irritable motherfucker as usual, and of course pirate slang slathered throughout the entire story, coupled with Little Mermaid slurs

(Y/N’s POV, the day you saved Flip) 

You startled awake, gasping as a flurry of bubbles left your lips, a nightmare that had stirred you awake from your restless sleep. 

You rubbed your tired eyes, stretching your muscles and tail from the king-sized clamshell bed in your extravagant palace of opalescent towers, gazing out at the majesty of the underwater mecca you’d called home. 

The bustling of merfolk swimming in all directions, schools of fish making their ways in and out of the caverns, and the heart of the city blossoming with light as the shining palace glistened in the light of the morning. 

It was truly a paradise in the depths of a trackless sea, an epicenter of life only visible to those seeking it out the most. And in this hustle and bustle, you felt lost. 

The longing to be free from the chains you’d been given since birth only growing as your age advanced. Being the daughter of the king of the ocean had its perks, including the charmed life you’d grown to know and love. Showered with affection and attention by all who had come to know you, attending galas and balls weekly, being taught the highest educational studies the merpeople could offer, and the access to the most precious possessions in the ocean, to which any man or woman would kill to have. 

But the worst part of all of this was your indifference to it. Yes, as a child the affection and material prizes were all the rage, but as you got smarter, grew into the stunning beauty you were, so was the pressure to uphold the family traditions. 

Those included taking your rightful place on the thrown, with the strongest merman as your king to lead the people in keeping the peace between land and sea, just as your father had done and his father before him. 

This had been cemented into your studies from your preschool years and on, the consequences racking up as your age did, and the pressure to find a suitor as well, which nauseated you to no end. 

One evening at dinner, you’d not been in the mood for foolish tricks, settling to quietly consume your seafood as your parents droned on and on about foreign relations with the land folk and treaties of such nature that you’d tuned out. 

“My darling,” your mother prompted as you were pulled from your distant state, “you haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on sweetheart?” gazing as you shrugged, rolling the shrimp on your fork and pushing your palm into your cheek. 

“It’s nothing mother,” sighing as you took a sip from your chalice, avoiding all eye contact with both parents while the room grew more silent. 

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with her,” your father booming out, stuffing his face with the delicacies like the titan he was, “she’s neglecting her duties!” smacking his lips together and boring his eyes into yours. 

“I am not!” slamming your fork down to lift yourself from your chair, “you don’t even know what it’s like to be me!” tears welling in your eyes as he lifted his hulking body to meet your eye-level. 

“Do not raise your voice at me, Y/N!” he commanded, a swirl of water whirl pooling as he grew angrier and angrier, “you will comply with my choices and you will marry one of our chosen suitors by the end of the full moon celebrations!” forcing an imaginary hold on you to stay in your seat. 

“It’s time you stop fucking around, Y/N!” he bellowed, your emotional state the furthest from his mind as he stuffed tradition down your throat, “you’re not getting any younger!” cementing his point to cause you to wail out in a pained cry. 

“Let me go, father!” squirming in his magical grip as you struggled to release your body from all of the stresses of being in the family, “I don’t want to be someone’s possession! I want to be in love!” screaming with pained tears as you writhed free from him. 

“Love!” he chuckled, the word a foreign thing to him as he married your mother for the sake of treaty, “my sweet stupid siren, you know nothing of love because it doesn’t exist!” his laughs ringing through the dining hall as you sobbed into your hands, your mother trying to comfort you as you were given the harsh reality of the rest of your days in the palace. Her silent tears falling under the mixture of your hurt as well as her own sad significance to her husband.

“Y-you’re w-wrong!” you stifled, heavy cries releasing from your lungs as you grasped for something to parch your aching thirst, wiping the heavy tears that dissipated into the saltwater. 

“Y-you’re s-so w-wrong f-father!” speeding your tail out of the great hall, the echo of his angered voice radiating through the hall as you burst out of the castle, swimming at the fastest speeds you could. 

Your tears clouding your directions as you rocketed through the masses of folk passing through the town square, fish hurrying their way out of yours as you cried through your pain. 

“I-I’ve got to g-get out of h-here!” you hiccuped as the lights faded from your view, the darkness of the ocean enveloping you in a mysterious veil as you tried to curb your sobs. 

You stilled your breath, stopping in the abyss to gather your surroundings, knowing you were far enough from home for your father to pull you back with his vortex with the flick of his wrist. Scoffing in sobs and flipping the bird in the direction as a thunderous roll hummed through the ocean. 

The light from above striking the surface in a lightning cloud as thunder boomed from the skies, your eyes gazing at the majesty from below as you solitarily floated in the swells, watching the huge waves ebb over each other in a frenzy. 

Suddenly, a huge object grew over the surface, the oval shape of it covering the crackling sky above, pulling you towards it like a beacon. 

Your tail moving unconsciously as you neared the large wooden hull, noticing its undoubtedly characteristic figures from the books you’d nosed through in your study. 

“Holy sh-,” barely getting the words out as a crack of light shot through the bottom of the ship, sending debris into the seas as the wooden vessel disintegrated before you. 

Bodies strewn amongst barrels of alcohol, cannonballs, and masts fell to the depths of the ocean, maneuvering the wreckage as you surveyed the devastation. 

Amongst the chaos, floating in the ebbs of the depths, you noticed the most striking being you’d ever come across in your years. His ravened hair flowing in the ocean as his lifeless body rag-dolled in the currents, his chiseled features glimmering in the crackling lightning as you came closer to his hulking figure. 

Running your scaled hands over his nose, his facial hair, his plush lips as you finally came to grips with what you had to do. Taking his dead weight into your arms as you turbo your way from the shipwreck, the bubbles trailing your tail as you figured out your next move. 

The panic set in when you realized this man wasn’t like you, his pulse no doubt fading the longer he was under the ocean. 

You hastily tried to find a speck of sand, bobbing your head up and down out of the water as you clung to the surface, trying to give him the slightest bit of oxygen as the thunder rolled over the stormy seas. 

“Come the fuck on!” you cried out, looking left and right as you caught the glimpse of a palm tree wavering in the hurricane winds several miles away. 

You barreled yourself and your extra weight towards the shores, dragging his thick muscle onto the sand as the wind howled through the patch of trees settled in the middle of nowhere. 

Laying him out on his back, trying to shield him from the ebbs of the shores, and the debris flying through the air as you surrounded him with your slick tail. Holding his deadened face in your chest as you covered him from the turbulence above. 

“Dammit, dad!” grunting into his ravened hair, cursing the swells that had grown familiar to you when he’d been stirred the wrong way, “would you fucking calm down?!” yelling into the thundering greyness that only swirled into a bigger frenzy as you gave it life. 

“Fine!” you screamed out, the swells howling as the clapping continued over the vast sea, “I’ll do whatever you fucking want, just please, stop this tantrum!” tears streaming down your face as the words left your lips, sentencing you to a life of loveless encounters all for the good of the merpeople. 

Upon your claims, clouds cracked, the thunder dissipated, and the waves calmed as if there hadn’t been a tsunami wrecking the open ocean in the slightest. Seagulls squawked as they elevated into the clear blue sky, the smell of the sea penetrating your aching lungs. 

The sun crept through the whitening clouds, beaming its light on the tanned shores, your eyes squinting as the tears steamed off your cheeks in the searing fireball. Choking on air as you savored the last moments of your freedom, feeling the land beneath you and the spray of the seashore on your tear-stained face.

“T-thank you,” the bile straining from your throat as you gagged back the fake appreciation, looking back to your sailor, his skin glowing in the sunlight as you removed your tail from his body. 

He stirred underneath you, heaving his chest as he puked up seawater, gasping for air as he writhed on the sand. 

“H-holy f-fuck!” grunting out, trying to shield his eyes as you quickly shape-shifted to avoid more shocking revelations from your handsome stranger. 

His thick pectorals straining in his shirt as he coughed up more spit and water, trying to grip himself back to reality. 

His eyes straining upwards towards your silhouette, the frame of the sunlight sitting perfectly on your glistening face, your nude form covered in sand as it clung to the beads of water sporadically strewn on your legs and arms. 

“H-hello?” he strained out, taking in your features as you melted in his amber gaze below, his honeyed bellow rippling through your shocked body embracing you in a warmth hotter than the beating sun. 

Your breath left with the tropical winds as you watched him sit up towards you, his chiseled tanned features becoming more human as he gained more consciousness. You felt something you’d only read in storybooks, something you had hoped for, ever since you were a guppy.

You stared at him, watching his chest heave in and out, his rippling arms gathering himself to sit up, his grunted breaths penetrating the sea air over the waves crashing around him. 

“Well good morning to you too, sailor,” you sang out in the most enchanting melody possible, losing yourself in lust as the morning peaked over the palm trees. 

Figuring that you had sentenced yourself to a lifetime of duty to your people, what was the harm in getting at least one romantic fling before heading back to reality? 

And it devoured your body up and down, right in the sandy shores of the Atlantic. 

__________________

(Flip’s POV, in search of Y/N)

The heavy swells of the sea cast over the proud Jolly Roger, relentlessly plowing through the white water in the bright light of an Atlantic morn. The course had been set by the fearless buccaneer in his quest to find his elusive mermaid lover, his focus not wavering even when he laid to rest his eyes at night. 

He filled his head with folktales and legends of the lost city, hoping to find an Easter egg to lead him closer to his precious prize. Every port they landed on, he was nose deep in the libraries, swilling rum to curb his irritation at the exclusivity of information on these folk and where they hid their secrets.

“There has to be something,” he sat in the candlelight, puzzling as he rubbed his ravened mustache, maps and books strewn over his desk, combined with notes he’d added to help or hinder his progress. 

“For fuck’s sake there has to be!” slamming his fist down, throwing the texts on his wooded floor in a thud, rubbing his temples as he filled his cup with another helping of his precious hooch. Slamming a shot or two down with large gulps as he fed the demon brewing within, becoming more and more frustrated at his dwindling expertise. 

He had found treasures buried in the bellies of beasts for God’s sake, been to all corners of the ocean, even dared to look Davey Jones in his squid tentacles and spit on the ground he walked on. It couldn’t be that fucking hard to find his precious scaled dame, who captured his heart and wracked his brain every single day since the moment your sultry eyes met his. 

He got up from his seat, rubbing a hand through his silken waves as he sighed. Taking another swill of his poison to cleanse his dried throat, rubbing his eyes from the headache that had built up in his desperate attempts at finding a sign. 

“I just need to quit for the night,” heavily sighing at his failures, angrily going to remove his effects from his person, his tensed muscles aching as he rubbed the back of his neck in a strained groan. 

“Mmm, fuck,” he growled, stripped down to his skivvies as his half hardened cock waved in the motions of the ebbs and flows of the ship, the pained movements egging the erection to grow harder and harder coupled with his thoughts of you. 

He laid in his chambers, the warm light caressing his freckled skin, showcasing his muscular form as he propped himself to stifle his need for your soft pussy. 

The more he laid staring at the ceiling, the more he conjured up thoughts of you. How perfect your hair glimmered in the warm sunlight, your enchanting eyes swirling in his mind, boring into him as if you had actually been in the room. Your glistening skin that gave off an opalescent hue in the light of the beach that morning, your perfectly pouted lips, begging to be covered in his as you coaxed him to you. 

He laid uncomfortably now, eyes furrowing as he gripped his mast in his thick digits, slipping his wet tip in them to slide the moisture down his veiny shaft, “Y/N,” he whimpered, his mind racing with more images of you that morning, “Y/N please,” begging as he sped up his motions on his throbbing cock. 

Your perfectly plump tits, shimmering on the sand, grit covering parts of your coconut-scented skin, the curve of your ass showcasing your siren charms as you coaxed his mind into his own pleasured memories. 

‘What are you gonna do to me sailor?’ a melodic and enchanting voice ringing through his psyche as he palmed his girth in his hand, his balls tensing as he thought of you and your wiles. 

“Oh fuck darlin’,” he sped up his assault, “I-I’m gonna storm your shores so f-fuckin’ hard,” he groaned, feeling his orgasm build and build on his fantasy of you sand-covered, begging for his cock, “y-you’ll be cummin’ in w-waves on m-my, f-fuck!” he cried out feeling the heat spread over his lower half. 

His motions speeding and squeezing on his Kraken even harder as he finished his thoughts, ‘come on captain,’ you purred, covering your body in more and more sand as it stuck to your glistening curves, ‘blow your load all over me,’ your lips whispering to him as your eyelashes batted in his direction. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” he shouted, his release clouding the image of you as he snapped back to reality. Hot cum spurting in waves as he dumped his wasted spend on his chiseled abs, balls tightening as it cascaded down over his knuckles. 

“M-mother f-fuck,” groaning as he threw his head back into his pillow, feeling the wetness cover his hand as he finished his ministrations, recoiling after it began to feel like too much on his softening cock. 

 He glanced down at the mess, huffing and puffing at the wasted release, shuttering as he saw the amount that had come out of him. He wished it was six feet deep in your velvet cunt. Wished it was dispersing itself in your vacant womb, seeding itself so deep that he’d marked you his forever. 

He shook his head, the ache returning in his temples as he laid there. Completely spent from his quest, wishing you were laying on his chest, smelling your tropical scent on his nostrils. Feeling the kinks and curls of your freshly fucked hair, hearing your sweet breaths escape your lips as he’d try to kiss on them before lulling you to sleep in his chambers. He only wished. 

Suddenly, a series of hasted knocks threw him out of his daydreams, the sound of Ron begging him to open up. 

“Captain! Captain!” he cried, seemingly in distress, as Flip hurried to make himself decent, throwing on his pantaloons and white undershirt, grunting as the knocks came quicker and quicker. 

“Hold the fuck on!” he bellowed, slamming his boots on the wooded floor to kick the books he’d previously thrown from his desk, ready to strangle his mate for disturbing him so late. 

Throwing open the heavy door “what the hell is going on, Ron?” his clearly irritated demeanor causing his buddy to jump back, shying away as his intentions seemed to be overzealous in their action. 

Flip lifted to his full height, crossing his arms to practically cover the doorway, the smallest slivers of light from his room emitting in a halo around his head, huffing his chest to hear what the commotion was about. 

“Uhmmm, Z,” he timidly questioned, not making eye contact with his captain as he knew the second he’d panic knocked, he’d signed a death warrant on himself, “I-I think you need to see this,” leading to the doorway that pulled them on the main deck of the massive ship. 

“See what, Ron?” gritting out as he lumbered behind him, a mixture of puzzled and pissed as he helped him jiggle the latches on the double doors. 

The cool sea air penetrated their faces, the sounds of the waves crashing the hull as it pushed its way in the set course, the night sky spotted with bright stars and a moon that illuminated the entire ocean as his night crew was busy with their chores, raising and lowering the sheets to readjust the direction from the winds. 

Ron led him to the captain’s wheel, being manned by a crewman who had taken Ron’s station for him to alert Flip to the sight. The man scurried away when he saw them approach, Ron gripping the wheel to keep the ship in the right direction as his other hand gripped the telescope laying by the maps given to him. 

“Here,” he gestured, placing the tool in his captain’s hand as he lifted to extend it out to look through, “about two paces to the right from where the ship is headed,” he pointed, to which Flip did as his mate had told him. 

Zeroing in on the spot he’d mentioned, eyes squinting as he took in the scene from the spyglass, “what the fu-?” he adjusted the fine vision on the lens to reveal something he’d never seen before in his life. 

A bright beam of lights, emitting from the horizon, colored in blue and green hues as it danced on the trackless shoreline they were headed. The streams seemed to pulse with life as they danced on the waves, the stars beaming through as the light show continued on and on. 

“What do you think it is?” Ron’s voice, stern but concerned as Flip closed the glass to glance over at him. 

He huffed, stalking over to the maps on the other side, looking at them to see what the answer could possibly be, caressing his goatee as he forked through the latitudes and longitudes. 

Dragging his large index finger over the directions he’d mapped out, looking at landmarks, squinting as the light of the night didn’t help his vision. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the possible answer, shimmering in the light of the moon like a beacon, calling to him like your siren song had rung through his ears that day. 

“This,” he slammed a sausage down, a devilish smirk painting his face as he glazed over the name labeled on the parchment. 

Ron glanced down to notice the name inked on the spot, looking in his direction, noticing his demeanor changed in an instant as he marveled at the map. 

“The Bottom,” he chanted, as he gripped the ship’s wheel, watching Flip snap into action, a frenzy of map tracking and smiles at his traction gained on finding his prize. 

“The Bottom, Ron,” he chuckled, the both of them looking up as the lights grew larger in the sky, seemingly large fingers coaxing the Roger towards it in an enchanting procession. 

“You really think it’s there?” he steered puzzled now as the lights brought them closer and closer, Flip’s eyes beaming with the shadows of them as he was entranced by the thoughts of you in his arms again. 

“Only one way to find out, buddy,” he grinned, placing his buccaneer’s cap on his thick locks, reaching for the bottle that was kept on top of the map. 

Taking a large swig of sweet nectar to let out a huge gasp, rubbing the remainder from his mustache as he tossed the vice to his mate, who took a swig too, aiming the ship still as he gripped the glass. 

“We gotta go to the bottom of that barrel, Ron,” cocking an eyebrow as he prepared his crew for all that would be beyond the lights. 

_______________

WILL HE FIND YOU IN TIME BEFORE YOU’RE SHIPPED OFF TO MARRY ANOTHER UGLY FUCK? 

FIND OUT ON THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF BLOWHOLE AND HIS SIREN LOVE!

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

[bigscaryyanderewriter]

I would love a sequel to Drider Dabi! Never though I would fantasize about having sex with a spider xD

Heya, I didn't make this smut, so yeah! Hahah, jokes on you, spiderfucker.

Tw: Bug Bites, Puss, Yandere themes, Pregnancy, Vomit, Blood, Past Noncon, Bondage, Angst

The fact that you woke up with a horrible ache between your legs and in your abdomen was just as alarming as the fact that you were still stuck within the silk of the spiderweb. Panic was your response as you pulled and tried to rip the silk. It was useless, only getting you more trapped. Your hair was sticking to it too… The strings of the web were as thick as your fingers, so you may not be getting out of this web. The soft breath of a sigh left you. Your limbs were not akimbo like you remembered them being at least on the web while you looked about the surrounding area. As well as you could with being as bound as mummy. It was in a small outcrop of rock in a tree filled cove with a sort of half-formed fence of boulders. Rocks large enough to be considered boulders in your book anyway. 

Laying there, you really were beginning to feel issues with being bound by the web for so long. You were hungry and had a severe need to go relieve yourself, but Dabi wasn't around… Or he hadn't shown himself to be. You didn't want found, for the capricious spider might rape you again or decide to just eat you, but then a faint pull on the web roused you. 

"Good morning, little butterfly. You have been hibernating for a good while, hm? Feeling rested?" The voice of the drider said, only visible out of the corner of your eye as you struggled to look back. "Calm down, I'm not going to eat you… If you're good." He laughed, stroking your bare stomach. A little bulge was still there.

"Please, Dabi? Please, I have to go home. My.. My friends will be worried most likely, I can't stay here. I don't want to lay eggs or whatever you've put inside-" You spoke with your voice wavering before he was in front of you, pinching your left breast and squeezing it to the point you were in pain, claws digging in. Your neck was hot and it hurt when you cringed, your head having turned onto the place where he bit you. The large spider bite was swollen and leaking slightly with the venom and lymph fluid. You were sure there were other things on you… Cuts, bruises.. Your ankle still hurts and you doubt you could have walked to begin with even if you had gotten out of the web and the silk bindings. 

"Shut up, be grateful you're even alive now. Unlike most driders, I didn't try to eat my mate after having sex. That can be changed though, because the more you ask to leave… The less you look like my mate and the more you look like an annoying little fly inside my web." He purred, letting go of your breast, it would definitely bruise… The pain lessened quickly and now he brought his face closer, staring with those bright blue eyes into yours. "Though, you're… such a tempting lite fly, aren't you?"

His lips locked with yours and you squirmed. The feeling of him slamming his mouth onto you, teeth clacking and aching now. You were fast to turn your head away to stop his tongue from entering your mouth. Though, you still got that quick taste, despite not having the thick, slimy appendage shoved down your throat. You spat towards the ground. That spit in his mouth was like a venom of its own… Wait, was that venom?

You looked at the smirk as he wiped his mouth off and pulled you down from the web you had been stuck to. Still you were wrapped up like a little human burrito and essentially it left your limbs useless to you with them trapped against your body. His body was so warm against you as he held you close.

"What the fuck?! L-let me go. Please, just let me go back to the city. I told you before. My family is there." You hissed to him, his human arm wrapped around you as he carried you deeper into the cave, away from the sunlight as he hummed in thought.

"You already have a new family on the way. I promise you, you won't have to worry about anything with me, little butterfly. Wrapped up in my silk, I'll take care of you if you just behave. I expect you to hold and raise my clutch, but you know… That's your feminine duty." He said with a laugh before setting you on the ground and began shuffling through something in the darkness. You could hardly see as he pressed something against your lips. 

"Feminine duty, are kidding me? It's not what I want. St-stop, get that away from me." The voice use to protest is cut off by the pastry being shoved into your opened mouth.

It was soft and sweet smelling, "Eat it, you need to be well-fed. If you don't stay healthy, your body won't last gestation." He hissed with a low, voice that dripped with the promise of pain to come if you didn't listen to what he advised you to do now. Closing your mouth, you bit the spongy cake of… A twinkie? Of course, they never went bad. The nutritional value was probably not much though. "Good girl, such a good girl…" His voice was a quiet coo, his hand stroking through your greasy hair. "You're such a good place for my eggs… It is like you were meant to take them."

Your skin was oily and your hair made you feel even dirtier with the fact that you knew that no bath would probably be allotted to you. An uncomfortable sticky wetness still in between your legs from your unwiped arousal and the dried cum from the copulation with the drider. You doubt you would be given free movement for a while or allowed to see the day… 

The smells of decay and ash in the cave made you nauseous, Dabi slowly moving to feed you more. More of those disgustingly sweet cakes. "We have to fatten you up, don't you worry… Your mate will take good care of you. Fat with food and eggs, doesn't that sound wonderful?" He murmured with a smile in his voice. You could feel your eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness as the slight glint of those fangs showed the grin on his face. His eyes still shone in the low light. "I don't normally act like this, just… You're so wonderful, I can't help it. A perfect slut walked along, lost and confused. Just begging to be used with that sweet smell, eating from my lands. You really did just fall into my web, especially during mating season. What a lucky, lucky spider to just be gifted a little human."

"Please, you can't keep me here, someone will come looking for me." You said softly, trying not to ignite his ire and burn yourself here. He moved his hand to your neck and squeezed your bite, a hiss came from it. An audible fizz of puss and hot fluid ran from it. It hurt like a motherfucker, white pain erupting as he pressed harder and emptied the bite. It was a flaccid pouch of skin, leaking blood slowly now that he was done. Moaning out from the pain, it was like a giant irritated pimple… Disgusting. You gagged.

His hand ran over your stomach covered in silk, a sharp nail cutting through the sticky bondage to let him caress the bump under your skin. The clutch of eggs incubating beneath your flesh, you struggled not to vomit. His wet hands on your stomach now, covered in the fluid from the bite. The hot bile and frothy cream of a twinkie burbling half eaten out of your mouth as you couldn't hold it back. 

Dabi avoided the vomit as he held your hair, tilting you forward. He seemed to have known you were about to puke due to the noise of gagging. He held you enough to not get it on yourself as it splattered onto the cave floor. Disgusting. The sharp acidic smell stinging your nose.

"Guess I shouldn't have fed you sweets that fast. Let's try something less rich, alright?" He hummed, looking down at the gross mess before tucking you onto his back, between his back and spider half. The web was stick enough to keep you clung to him. The cave was cold, cold enough that your body was more than willing to be up close to him, even if you still feel physically ill doing it. It didn't matter what you wanted though.

You had something else to worry about right now and it was the clutch growing inside your womb, using your body as a nest. Your only hope was that it would die before you did. If you could get sick… Though, you didn't know what the clutch growing inside you would do when it hatched, you had a feeling that you didn't want to find out either. 

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Wrong, wrong wrong, and wrong again. You are Jameson motherfucking Jackson! You are the philosophizer, the violin player, the man braving our hallucinations in a safe laundry room, you are the most powerful magician in the world, a strong and capable adult man, and most importantly you are A FUCKING FREE MAN! Fight it, you know who you are, even through his breaking of your identity and his claws at your mind. JAMESON JACKSON, RISE UP AGAINST YOUR TORMENTOR!

Dapper can’t see past the blood. Can’t smell anything but copper. It’s in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat. His face is wet - with tears, with the lifeblood, he doesn’t know. With both?

He can’t breathe.

He feels sick.

His heart is this fading, flickering thing in his chest, pounding so hard and so weak at the same time. He pukes into the grass, but Carver is still signing at him, still dragging him by the throat and head, still pouring venom into his head and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

It never stops. It never stops. It never stops.

“Give up,” signs Carver. “Just lie down and die already. It’s what you’ve wanted for years now, isn’t it?”

“No,” signs Dapper shakily, trying to keep from crumpling into the grass. “No. I want to go home with my family and be happy and safe. I want to fight.”

“But you’re not strong enough.”

“You bet your ass he’s strong enough!” screams a voice of rage, like a clap of thunder from the sky, and vines burst from the earth and begin winding around Carver’s tortured body. “That’s my little brother and he’s my fucking hero!”

Dapper sobs aloud, reaching blindly for help. Warm arms encase him in a hug, in a shield, in a promise, and he feels their bodies rock in time, soothing, soothing.

“This is my little survivor!” cries Blue, kissing his face once, twice, all but ignoring the struggling Carver. “This is my fighter, my time traveler, my friend! Clever, powerful, kind, sly as a fox. My perfect darling. I’m here. I love you.”

“Don’t, no, please,” protests Dapper, and Marvin pulls back in surprise. “No, I don’t want you to touch me or kiss me. I’m so filthy. No one should ever touch me again.”

Prepared to draw back at a request for space, the explanation only makes Blue’s eyes harden with determination. He lunges forward again and wraps his brother in his arms so tight it makes Dapper cough, kissing his filthy, bloodied face and the side of his head over and over again.

“My darling, my love,” whispers Blue. “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing dirty about you. Oh, Dap, don’t you know you deserve the whole world? You, little brother, have spent your life surviving Anti. In all his hatred, in all his cruelty, in all his lies and manipulation. You survived. You even fought, goddamn! This is the man who slapped him! This is the man who pulled so hard against those strings! And here you are now, my brother, still striving to get up from the ground. Sick and exhausted and still trying.”

He cups Dapper’s face and presses their foreheads together, letting his little brother ugly-cry in front of him and slump against his shoulder, truly worn, down to the heart of him.

“I will help you through everything that comes after this,” Marvin vows, rocking him against his chest. “Don’t be afraid of what we’ll have to deal with. We will deal with it together.”

“Please,” prays Dapper, nodding his head against him. “Yes, please, that has been my wish for so long, though there were times I did not even recognize the desire inside myself. Marvin, Marvin. Don’t let go.”

“Here I am, my heart. Here I am.”

Carver is slumped back against the grass, staring up at the sky with despair in his white eyes. Blue looks over at him and feels the urge to snuff this deranged version of his little brother out - but it is Jameson who stops him.

With the last of his strength, JJ gets to his knees and crawls over to where the vines bind that broken, hurting child tied up in string and coated in bloodshed. Tears well in JJ’s eyes and fall down on Carver, clearing, for a moment, the trails of blood away.

“We’re not going to be a prisoner anymore,” he says, reaching out for Blue’s hand. He presses the witch’s fingers to the vines and the string.

Blue understands his request without words. Glancing once more at JJ, he turns to the strings and let the vines grow careful thorns, tearing through the white lines with cut into his flesh.

The strings fall away.

Carver’s eyes clear. For a moment, they are blue instead of white, and he is looking up at the sun.

He disappears from view, fading into wisps of smoke.

[narcis-the-monk]

FC5 GFH Tag

tagged by @chyrstis​ thank you soooooooo much!!!!!!!! This was a hell of a lot of fun, and I’m going to eventually do my other deputy as well. I went with Val the first time because I’ve been writing her for a minute now. ^^;; But this honestly helped me figure her out a little more, so thank you again <3

Deputy Valya Vitale

With Fangs for Hire:

     • Boomer: “Hey boy, you’re being a real good dog. I’m sure your folks know that.” / *patting her legs* “Who’s the best boy? Who’s the best dog that rips out peggie throats? That’s right!” *sound of laughter* “It’s you!” / “I fuckin’ love this dog.”      • Peaches: “Never been a cat person, but I’ll make an exception for you.” / “You think catnip works on cougars? I’m looking for some every place we check now.” / “Yes ma’am. You will absolutely get that treat I have for you when we stop next. I know you smell it.”      • Cheeseburger: “This is the best fuckin’ day of my life. I’m fighting with a bear. I think we’ll win.” / “I never knew what I needed in life was to pet a big ol’ grizzly bear. I mean, I’ve been hugged by bears before. Just not this kind. And I love it just as much, if not more.” / “Next time we stop to fish, I’m catching you so much food. Just for being you.”

With other Guns for Hire: Sharky      • “Hey Shark, remember when we got trashed down by the river? Pretty sure this is the spot. Cause I remember you puking there. And there. And me over there. And that’s where I lost my shoe. Hey! There’s my shoe! Small mysteries are solved each day.”      • “Hey buddy, how about if the enemy is say…whatever you’d rank a 3 out of 5 or higher…we don’t set it on fire?”      • “You won’t hear me say this one a lot, so appreciate it. But you were right. Fire was the answer.”      • “You are an absolute mad man and I love the shit out of you, but I need to fight upwind of you from now on. Smoke in my eyes and throat when I’m trying to scream in the face of some asshole that punched me in the tit isn’t what I’d call fantastic. Your aim is so much better now though.”

Grace      • “I’ll give you 20 bucks and my last good beer if you can shoot three peggies in the dick at the next outpost.” *when she’s met with silence* “Guessin’ that’s a no, then.”      • “You have the patience of a saint. I can’t wait even 30 seconds to let my food cool, let alone wait for some asshole to walk out from behind a pole. Fuckin’ amazin’.”

Hurk      • “Watch where you point that thing! And stop laughing, you know I’m not talking about your dick. That’s not an actual threat and we both know it.” *eventually starts laughing with him*      • “I ever tell you how much I love your stories? I never know how they’ll end. I love a good plot twist.”      • “Remember when you, me, and Shark got that moose drunk and we all spent the night in a tree? I’m pretty sure that moose remembers us. He is not a fan.”

Adelaide      • “You keep wonderin’ how they fuck—and that is a point of interest we can revisit later—but I’m wonderin’ how they do every day shit. Like, Jacob’s—does he hunt or does he fish? If he prefers hunting, that tells me big facts about him. They’re both about sittin’ and waiting, right? Schemin’ the right moment to move. One just makes you feel like a big boy, cause you get to hold a gun.  Hey, look at that. This time I left you speechless.”      • “Been considerin’ this for a minute, and if anyone ever asks I’ll deny it up and down and throw you under the bus all in one but…fuck Faith, marry Jacob, and kill Joseph. Last one was hard as fuck.”      • “I need you to just…stop talking for a while. Let’s say 30 minutes. 30 minutes of silence so my brain can finish bleaching itself. Thanks.”

Nick      • “You’re lucky you’ve got guns on that thing, or I’d be giving you a lot more shit about never putting your feet on the ground. I got literally nothin’ else to pick on you with that’s fair.”      • “So how different are planes from cars on a scale of one to ten? I’m just figurin’ out if some shit went wrong and you aren’t near…how fucked are we? Things to think about.”      • “You know, never really liked flyin’. My head’s in the clouds too much for my feet to be too. But I gotta say…you are damn good at it. Almost makes me wanna try. Almost.”

Jess      • “I mean, sure, its satisfying to line up the perfect shot from a mile away and nail it. I’ve been hunting, Jess. I’m just saying, for me personally, I’m a bigger fan of an oar or a baseball bat to the face when I can get it. Makes it personal, and all of this is very fuckin’ personal now.”      • “Look, I don’t like talkin’ about my feelings either, so I’m just gonna hug you.” *stalls after getting the evil eye but hugs quickly* “You are two feet tall and maybe ninety pounds. Like I’m scared of you this close up.”      • “If you were a part of breakfast, you’d be the coffee Jess. Dark and harsh, but great for a wakeup call.”

In Combat      • Seeing an enemy: “I’m on ‘em like flies on shit.” / “You got that one?”      • Sneaking: *mumbled string of ‘fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck’ whenever she moves a long distance* / “Man, fuck this sneaking shit right in the skull.”      • Killing an enemy: “Boo-fuckin-YAH bitch!” / *if you make your shot* “Hellyeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”      • Reviving: “Nope. Not today. Gotta keep you on your feet.” / “Get the fuck up, it’s not the time for a lie down!”      • Hurt: “Well fuck me sideways. I’m alright, keep moving.” / “That’s definitely leavin’ a mark!” / “Oh go fuck yourself!”      • Downed: “Just need a minute here.” / “I think I need a hand up here!” / “Keep goin’, don’t waste time if you don’t got it.” Driving      • If asked to drive: “This may be the best decision you’ve made all day. Buckle up tight.” / “Alright, but seatbelts on or we don’t go anywhere at all.”      • Driving recklessly: “See, this is why I insist on seatbelts!” / “Slow the fuck down or you’ll fuck this car up! I ain’t seen another available ride in a minute!”      • Changing radio stations: “Will you settle on something? Oh, sorry, forgot where I was. Thought everything was normal and Shark was fiddlin’ with the radio again.” / “Cult’s fucked…but I’m okay with their music for the most part.”

Idle      • “Used to have a snake. He was a huge boa constrictor. He liked to kinda just wrap around me like I was a tree. It felt like the best hug there ever was.”      • “Did you know I grew up in Vegas? That place really is a constant party, even away from the strip if you know where to look. It’s not a great thing when you’ve got an addictive personality and prone to efforts of escapism. That’s why I moved out here. It’s pretty, its quiet, and the cost of gas to get anywhere is enough to deter the acquisition of drugs. So did working with Whitehorse. Man’s a saint. Reminds me of my Grandpa Conner—don’t tell him I said that. He’ll think I mean old.”      • “I taught myself how to be a mechanic. Books and experience, and it all started when my old truck broke down when I was 16. Couldn’t afford a mechanic, so I got my grandpa and some tools and learned a lesson that day. Then I had to learn the rest. I still have that old truck. Musta rebuilt that motherfucker from the ground up three times. Only a few things left of the original. But I’m a sentimental fool, and it was a gift.”      • “Callie says an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Well, she didn’t say it but she quotes it a lot. But I’m thinking…maybe this time, we all just need to be blind. We need a reason to step back and reassess and neither side is gonna be the first to do it. So I’m skeptically hopeful of our win, but still down with the blind thing.”

Location Specific      • In the Henbane region: “Hey, if we could avoid bliss as often as possible…that would be great. Shit makes me feel like I dropped acid non-consensually.” / “Hmmm…there’s the tinglies in my spine again. Where is that little bitch of a plant? I’m gonna rip it apart.”      • In the Whitetails: “If we get a chance, I'd like to swing by my place. Make sure things are fine. Grab some tools. Get Reggie's ashes, since these fucks don't have respect for dead people, they definitely won’t have respect for dead pets.” / “Man, I miss hiking. Well I mean, technically we’re hiking right now. I mean I miss hiking without the sounds of an actual war. Birds and wind and shit. I miss that. But this is good exercise too.”      • Near any body of water: “Please say maybe this time we’re just out to fish. No? Worth a shot. One of these days.” / “This county has the best fishin’ spots in the world, but the best one’s require a hike and some camping gear to really enjoy.” / “If they hadn’t started dumping bliss in everything, I’d say let’s go for a quick swim. The water here is never as cold as you think it is.”      • Fall’s End: “Mary May runs a tight ship, but she can throw a hell of a party.” / “Pastor Jerome set me up with AA when I first moved to the county. He’s a damn good man, and a great listener.” / “As stupid as it is, I look forward to the Testy Festy every year. Love a good tradition. Sometimes you just need something to look forward to, you know?”

I’m going to tag @deathvalleyqueen​ because I’d like to learn more about your characters, but you may have been tagged before. ^^;;;

Thank you so so much! I don’t think I have many people I can tag that haven’t already been, but consider it an open tag if you see it on your dash. <3 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Mount Everest Ain’t Got Shit On Us (Fezco x fem!reader, part 19.) - The Aftermath, Part 2.

Description: You were always told that your life will be as you wish it to be if you’ll study enough. That it will pay off if you work hard. And some people were given you like a scary example of what will happen when you don’t obey. But sometimes it feels good to disobey.

A/N: Inspired by Post Malone’s Circles because I feel it is a happy song to sing when everything goes to shit.

Warnings: Suicide mentions, psychologistic and police investigations, Rue being fucking high.

Word count: 3.7 K

Read the rest here, babe: PART 1  PART 2  PART 3  PART 4  PART 5  PART 6  PART 7  PART 8  PART 9  PART 10  PART 11  PART 12  PART 13  PART 14  PART 15  PART 16  PART 17  PART 18

Masterlist and declaration: H E R E

Tagging: @charmed-asylum, @jeyramarie, @pantherxrogers, @analia-analia-analia​

If you remember and I remember correctly, I told you about the lottery called life. The one you can't win, the one you can't give up on. The worst lottery you could actually be a part of.

Sometimes, it does happen rarely, you get a second chance. You scratch the ticket and hold it in your hands, looking at it with an opened mouth; or that's the thing you're expected to do.

Sometimes, your life isn't such a lottery as it is a secret formula that you need to be careful to manipulate with. There is a lot of numbers and letters you don't know the meaning of and every little change in it can make an explosion which will make your life completely different. That usually happens when you win the second chance in the Russian roulette.

You couldn't exactly name what had woken you up. Then the only thing you could remember was that you felt how your feet got almost extremely cold and that you were freezing at the moment.

Your body and mind felt dizzy like it didn't even belong to you. Every muscle in your body hurt like fuck. You couldn't even move. And your knee wasn't exactly in its position either. What... The fuck was going on?

The last thing you could remember was that it was a November night and that you went to Fezco's after... Fran pushed you on a fucking cabinet. And then something happened - but to be honest, your brain was too tired to show you that shit. Plus you were drugged our of your mind - both the night and the morning you have regained consciousness.

When you looked out of the fucking window, you were trying to see what is out there for a long time, it was all white - you were afraid that you have cocaine hallucinations, but it was... Snow. It was fucking snow. 

You tried to look around nervously, furrowing. As you wanted to talk, your mouth felt extremely dry. As you wanted to move, your muscles didn't respond. But the change in your biorhythmic called the nurse to your room. She went into your room at a slow pace, playing with her keys, but just as she saw you, it looked like she just saw a ghost.

“Doctor Mortensen?” - She screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran through the corridor where you laid. - “Doc? She has wakened up. That young girl. Yeah. That one with the bruised liver and stomach, fractured and elbow and knee. Yeah.” - She spoke quickly as she thought that you don’t hear her clearly. But it made you freak out - your breath raised up and you tried to speak. At the moment, you finally knew why you couldn't talk. It was that something you had in your mouth and nose. 

“Hello, miss Y/L/N.” - A young, female doctor with Asian looks came to your room with a smile. She was beautiful, at least you saw her as beautiful, and she started to control every inch of your body. The needles were stretching your veins in a numb way, straining your skin on both your knuckles and your elbow hole. It should hurt, yet you were numb to it. Oh right. Probably morphine. - “ I am doctor Mortensen and I'm taking care of you for the last two weeks of your hospital stay. How are you feeling?” - She started to take the tube out of your throat - wonder that you didn't throw up at the spot. 

As soon as it was out of your throat, you started to cough. Before you could speak, the nurse gave you something to drink. It hurt and scratched so much. 

“How long have I been there?” - You looked at the doctor and she changed the vitamines which were pumped into your blood flow to help the nurse out. It was a young doctor, still full of those false, sweet ideals and maneuvers.

“Since the day it happened, since the thirteenth of November. Are you able to recall anything that happened that night?” - She asked you worriedly. You wanted to chuckle and ask her, why she asks you such a dumb question, but then you stopped and actually tried to remember what happened. 

It was completely blurry, the only thing you knew was that you were scared to your death - and the numb pain and cold feeling going through your body. 

“I... I actually can’t remember a single thing, doctor. I’m sorry.” - You said quietly and continued with drinking the water from the glass the nurse gave you. 

“Okay then, I will send our psychologist, doctor Hill. He will help you with recovering your memory and trust me, you need to remember.” - Doc Mortensen smiled at you. You slowly nodded with a frown. - “If you feel dizzy, it is completely fine. We tried to give you not much of morphine, sometimes we gave you something different, so your body wouldn't get addicted to it. But if you feel signs of dizziness, headache or an urge to puke, just tell our nurses. Your body is starting to detoxicate itself. Ok?” 

“Yeah.” - You smiled silently. Everything started slowly - nobody was allowed to visit you, the first two days you weren't even eating normal food; only drank water and ate something... Weird. But as soon as you could talk normally, eat normally and sit without having morphine injected into your veins, doctor Hill was sitting in your room with a notepad on his knee and a pen in his hand.

It was a young, smiling and seriously handsome doctor with a well-built body and black-ish hair. He had white doctor trousers and a black t-shirt. You smiled, because you would try something if you weren't dating... Fezco.

You stopped yourself from eating the pudding they gave you to eat. Fezco. Something happened to Fezco - you had a feeling that you saw it. That terrified you. 

“Hey, miss Y/N. Can I call you by your name? Is that a problem?” - Doctor Hill asked patiently. You nodded and tried to concentrate. You were weird since you have wakened up - quiet because you barely had talked to anyone except nurses or doctors and your brain was surrounded in a mist. You tried to remember what happened that night, but something was keeping you away from it. 

Today is December 18th, alright? You were in a coma for the last month and your body was bruised, you had broken bones, fractures, hematomas, and ruptures. How are you feeling now?” - He tilted his head to his shoulder like a little boy and smiled. 

“Doctor Mortensen told me that my knee is still kind of out of place and my knuckles are a bit fucked up too. Plus I have something with my head and my memory is fuzzy.” - You talked slowly and then you looked next to your bed. They gave you some morphine again because you told them that your knee is still weirdly hurting. the truth was you loved to drift off from the reality. You had something you called the “Rue” tendencies. - “But I’m kinda good thanks to my little pal here.” 

“I see. Can you remember anything that happened that night? Feelings, anything that took place?” - Doctor asked you again. Doctor Mortensen couldn't give you the therapy you needed - as she said. But you could talk to doctor Hill. 

“I remember that I was at home and that something pissed me off, so I left to go into my boyfriend’s apartment. I know that he had someone there, someone he knew. And after that, I know I was terrified. But I told you, it's fuzzy.” - You exhaled out loud and closed your eyes. 

“Okay. We will try something now, okay?” - Doctor Hill sat closer to you and wrote some information to his notepad. - “Now, lay down or at least lean down to the bed, close your eyes and imagine your bedroom. Are we there?” - You hummed in response as you concentrated. - “Let’s say, that... You are listening to your favorite song, just relaxing... What happens next? Say whatever comes naturally to you.” 

“A knock on my window. Somebody knocks on my window.” - You answered and fully dive into your own mind. You had only a huge tee and panties on, laid on your back and listened to a song as the leaves were falling down from the trees. It felt so real. It felt so real that you would say that you were there once. 

“Right, great. Who is it?” - The doctor’s voice slipped into your imagination. - “Would get off the bed for me and try to look at them?”

So you imagined as your feet slipped off the bed and you stood up to look into the garden. 

“I would expect Rue or Jules because Fez doesn’t have the time to come... But... I think... That it is my sister.” - You furrowed and didn't know why she is in that imagination. 

“Alright. You have one sister, am I right? Her name is Fran.” - You hummed again. - “Will you let her in or not?” 

“Of course I would, its cold outside and she... She isn't looking well.” - You nodded and Doctor wrote something down. 

“What happens next?” - His voice slipped into your ear again. 

“She lays down to my bed. We are talking a bit, but then she is mad... At... Me.” - You say slowly and then you stop yourself. At that moment, some memory opens up in your head. Fran was drunk and drugged again when you two talked. You had an argument and then she pushed you down on a cabinet. No. You couldn't tell that to the doctor. Fran would have problems because he would tell to other people. 

You were lying to a doctor. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Why is she mad, can you tell me?” - His voice intensified. He knew something. That motherfucker knew that she hurt you.

“No. I don't know... But after that... I get up and slip on my tee I forgot on the floor. Mom asks me if everything is alright, I tell her that it is okay and because I am angry with the argument I had with Fran, I exit the house by the window. But... I hurt my head. My temple is bleeding.” - You open your eyes slowly and take a look at the doctor. You were able to manipulate a manipulator with a degree. You sly motherfucker.

But after that, you only knew you saw Fez at his place and that he had someone over. And after there, there was only terror. You were truly in the dark just as much as Mr. Young's doctor was.

"The great thing is that you don't have any sort of amnesia. But it is really important to me that you'll be completely honest with me, alright?" - Hill asked you and looked you in the eyes. - "Were you honest with me?"

"Doctor, I didn't even remember that any of it happened and you just got it out of me. Can I even be more honest with you?" - Your eyebrows rose a bit. You were lying, of course, but you couldn't just tell him that your addicted sister fucking pushed you. That would be fucking disgusting to just tell on her. You still felt the need to protect Fran, still giving you a chance... After a chance... After a chance.

"Well, try to focus on that night. You need to tell us everything you know. There was a murder near the place you were hit and the police think that your side of the story could be useful. They'll come and talk to you." - He got up with a sigh. Could he tell that you were fucking around? You didn't know. You hoped he wasn't having a clue. - "But enjoy your pudding now, I heard that they're delicious. And I have a surprise for you." - He opened the door to your room nonchalantly and gestured to someone that that should come in. - "I'll see you tomorrow again, Y/N."

It was Rue looking like a piece of fucking crap. You could tell since the first move she made that she's high on something again. But she was a good pretender, so the doctor didn't notice. She nodded at the doctor and shoved her fists into the pockets of her coat.

She waited until he left the room and she shut the door.

"Ya had an appointment with doc hottie as well, huh?" - She said with a contented smile and sat down on me chair opposite of you, where doctor Hill sat. - "He tried to convince me dat drugs are bad before I went to rehab. Sorta nice guy."

"Rue, what you've taken? You're fucking high. And don't you try to lie to me." - You furrowed at her and she just giggled. Her eyes were kinda dead, and if you wouldn't know her, you wouldn't even notice that her face is strangely sweaty and swollen.

"Lex or Val. Not sure." - She put her ankle on your bed, grinning at you. You rolled your eyes and put the pudding away. Rue immediately took it and started to eat it as if she hasn't seen food in a couple days. She looked like it.

"Why are you here? High in a hospital, for god's fucking sake?" - You whisper-shouted at her angrily.

"Gee, haven't talked to yo ass in a month and the first thin' yo do is to yell at me? Fuckin' rude, man. I ran fuckin' out of school just to see ya." - She laughed. She was out of the fucking world. - "Came to tell ya somethin' before cops come to play truth or dare with ya. Fezzy..." - She breathed out loud. You immediately sat up and the beeping became more intense as you started to panic.

"Is he alright? Where is he? He's the one who..." - You started to cry and high Rue leaned in to hold your face in her hands. She was giggling, shushing you. You didn't find that fucking funny at all. But Rue was too high to know. So you pushed away slightly since your hands were barely working.

You were getting rehab almost every day so you could feed yourself again and walk. Your muscles were too tensed and stuck since you laid in a bed for a month.

"He's fine. That boy is fine and he can't wait to see ya, babe. He's the one who shot fuckin' Mouse down." - She said with a nod. She wasn't lying at that point. Fezco was completely all right and carrying on with his drug business. And he cried when he heard you woke up.

But there was no time for that fucking love story you two have. There were more important things to go through at the moment.

"So if yo don't want his fuckin' ass rotten in jail, better listen to every single word Imma tell ya." - All of a sudden, Rue looked sober and serious, which made you serious too. But you were still sobbing - Fezco was somewhere out there, fine and alright, safe and sound and still in love with you. You couldn't wait to see him.

"We won't talk about dat part where Fran pushed ya on the fuckin' cabinet because she's already too fucked up to do any good. Leave 'er out, ok?" - Rue’s lips came too close to your ear as she started whispering. You cleaned your face from tears and nodded again.

"Yo need to say that Mouse made ya do everything. Tell 'em I and Jules were there and that we saw it. Nate and Maddy were waiting outside to pick us up for a late-night brunch or whatever. Mouse made ya do PCP, repeat after me." - She took your hand and held it tightly.

"You, Jules and I came to Fezco's. Mouse made me do PCP and Nate and Maddy were waiting for us. Why the fuck should I talk about Nathan? Was he there?" - You wondered and Rue rolled her eyes.

"Better not be an ass to dat dickhead. He's helpin' out big time. Okay. You took da PCP and then you don't have any idea what was up." - She stared you down.

They have already told the police that you were drugged, but you needed to confirm it, so they would not take you seriously at all.

"Okay. I, you and Jules went to Fezco's, Nate and Maddy were waiting outside, but when we were inside, Mouse made me took a pill. After that, I don't know anything?" - You repeated, not sure if you told every detail right.

Rue sat back, smiled and still hold your hand. Jesus fucking Christ, she thought. You were the last piece of the puzzle.

"Should I tell that he had a gun?" - You rose your eyebrows at Rue.

"Oh yea, I forgot dat itsy bitsy thin'. He had a gun. Good thinkin'. How did ya think of dat?" - Rue looked at you. It would be fucked if you didn't tell them he was aiming at you.

"He was a dealer. They always have one." - You smiled sadly. Then someone knocked on your window - it were to police officers, a young lady, and a tall man. You nodded at the unsaid question and they came in.

"My name is Anna Diaz, this is my colleague Cole Treshman, we're from the local police department. May we talk to you?" - She smiled. You liked her, she looked nice and you liked that.

"Sure, it's about the night, right?" - You said quietly with fear in your voice. Anna just simply nodded, not adding anything else.

"We have to ask you to leave, miss..." - Anna looked at Rue like she knew her from somewhere. Rue just stood up and shook her shoulders playfully, not giving Anna a proper answer. Rue leaned down and kissed you, then she left the room. That didn't make Anna change her posture or the look she was giving you.

"It will be quick and simple, we just have a few questions." - Treshman said in a cold voice and you nodded. So there was the nice and bad good tactic, nice.

"Can you tell me what happened, sweetie?" - Anna came closer and sat on your bed partly.

"So..." - You coughed nervously. Anna just nodded with a smile. Like it was alright to be nervous. - "It's pretty blurry, but I left the house after having an argument with my sister."

"Were there any friends who were with you?" - Anna asked with true concern. You shook your head a bit.

"Not at the moment. But when I got to my boyfriend's apartment, his name's Fezco, Jules and Rue were there with me." - You nodded and looked at both of them. Anna nodded and looked at Treshman.

"Was there anyone who you planned on meeting?" - Treshman asked.

"Yeah. Nate Jacobs and Maddy Perez. We were supposed to take some food and chill a bit after that. I was fucked up from having an argument with Fran." - You nodded again.

"What is your relationship with those two? I mean... Are they your family? Friends?" - Anna asked with her eyebrows rose up. Jesus. Have you fucked up something?

"Both of them are my classmates. We know each other from school." - You said quietly. Fucking Nate Jacobs. Couldn't they beg to help anyone but Nate and Maddy? Obviously, they couldn't.

"What happened after you entered your boyfriend's door? Can you tell us?" - Treshman spoke from the other side of the room; he quietly stepped to the window and looked on the falling snow.

"There was a guy, they called him Mouse, and he had some pills with him. He had a gun and made me took one of it. After that, there's a blackout in my head. I don't know what happened after that." - You said quietly, looking at the both of them with your best innocent face.

“So you don't know who was shooting? Could your boyfriend have a gun with him by any chance?” - Treshman asked in a calm matter, but you could tell from the position of his body that he is disappointed in your utterance.

“I don’t even know that someone was shooting.” - You sighed and looked him in the eyes. - “And my boyfriend never told me that he is possessing a gun. I don't believe that he had one with him.” 

“Well then,” - Treshman wanted to ask one last question when the silence was interrupted by Anna’s walkie talkie starting to break as someone spoke on the other side. She gave both you and Treshman a look and the man stood up in front of your bed while she walked onto the other side of the room. 

“I can hear you. Yeah. I just finished with the young girl who was hit by a car while drugged. Yeah. I understand - we’re on our way.” - Anna looked at Treshman and smiled at you. But she was stressed all of a sudden. 

“Thank you for talking to us. We need to leave now.” - She said loudly but then turned to Treshman as she thought you cant hear her. - “We have a reported attempt at suicide. Fran Y/L/N. Trying to get any information out of this girl is pointless, shes traumatized and doesn't remember a good portion of that night.” 

But blood in your veins froze down completely.

Fran tried to take her own life.

[jay-and-dean]

Captive Chapter 6 : Secrets

gif not mine

_Dean x Reader_

Summary :

Dean Winchester is an enemy.

Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.

During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.

That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…

He is going to kill me, right ?

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***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***

***MASTERLIST***

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Future warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Chapter Warnings : Angst, heartbreak, secrets, swearing, blood, fluff, smut.

Words : 8.5 k (I did it again…)

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Sam's pov

           Billie never answered. Angels never let Cas go to Heaven to check on Dean, they didn't even confirm he is there. Rowena can't bring him back, not the real him anyway.

           I'm desperate.

           The first minute I was stoned, dizzy. I watched Y/n has she understood faster than me, she was screaming and begging, her breathing was whistling. And my brother was lying in her arms, inert but intact, not like when the Hellhound tore him apart or when Metatron broke his face before stabbing him.

           It's almost like he is sleeping.

           Then I have to call Cas and he tells me, tears in his eyes and in his voice, that we can't stay in that parking motel. I spend an eternity trying to make Y/n let go of Dean's body. She won't, she yells at me. And when Cas and I take him from her, she begs. It's unbearable.

           I lose track of hours. I'm frenzied. Trying to find a way to bring him back, I forget to eat or pee... Everything. I need my brother. I can't lose my brother. Not again, not for good. Y/n stays by his bed completely silent, looking at him, barely blinking. She just sits there, dry tears all over her face, his hand in hers.

           It's her that makes me react. That's her complete torpor, like she died with him, that makes me realize we have to burn his body now. She refuses, silently at first but when Cas enters the room she panics and starts yelling at me again. It's like she was possessed, her screams make the walls tremble, her blue eyes shine like never, she fights us like a lioness would fight for her cubs. But when she unintentionally hits me hard, she stops and falls on her knees, crying.

           She doesn't come with me to the hunter funeral, and even if I'm a little afraid to leave her alone, I have to say this is a relief, her pain is more than I can bear. I cry for hours watching Dean's body burn, even after everyone left.

           And a week pass... I still try to find a way to bring Dean back and I try to keep Y/n alive. She doesn't eat, she lays on his bed all the time and when I try to talk to her she just says she's sorry, that she can't move.

           Then I realize she is going to die. That's what she wants to, she has nothing left I guess. And for a second I envy her, because right now I want nothing more than to lay next to my brother's ashes in that forest and sleep forever. But there is Jack, and Cas. And there is her. Dean, he loved her truly, like I never seen him, like he was ready to let her in his life. That thing between them is sacred, and it is my duty to take care of her now.

             I knock on Dean's door and bite my lips as I come in, it still kind of smells like him in here.

"Hey Y/n..." I try.

She doesn't answer so I put a knee on the bed to get closer. She squeezes the pillow she's been cuddling.

"Let me help you" I say weakly. "Talk to me."

"I can't..." she whispers.

I sigh and come closer, then I lay on the bed beside her. We stay silent for a moment, she, turning her back on me and holding that pillow, I, looking at the ceiling.

"I miss him like crazy, you know" I start, hoping that talking to her would make her talk to me. "This morning I found expired bacon in the fridge and start crying like a baby... This is so painful I don't think I'm realizing fully."

"I do..." she says with a broken voice. "I realize perfectly" she starts to cry. "I realize that I won't see him ever again and that I won't hear his voice, he will never say knew words and taste new food... Th-that he will never know what happens at the end that show we watched together... I perfectly realize that his smell will fade and, and that nothing will ever compare to it."

Her words break my heart and I start to cry. The things she says are true and I have a thousand more of those ideas when it comes to my brother, but it is her voice, that tone like every one of her cells were in agony.

"I... I need him to take me in his arms" she sobs. "I need him so bad and he will never come back. I... I'm not ev-even human... I'm not sure I'll see him in Heaven. But I c-can't, I'm sorry Sam I can't keep going. There is nothing left for me..."

"There is me" I try, strangled.

"And I love you Sammy, you are the only friend I ever had... But I..." she's struggling to breathe. "I can't... It has to stop, that p-pain. I can't take it... I can't take it Sammy. I can't..."

           I turn to take her in my arms, spooning her. She's shaking and cold, her stifling sobs preventing her from talking. I know I can't make her feel better, I have to give her a purpose so she won't kill herself.

"Martins did that" I whisper. "The man who hurt you all those years took Dean from us. Don't let me avenge him all alone. Fight with me, one last time, Y/n. Fight."

She stiffens in my arms.

"Okay..." she says and I silently take a deep breath.

 Reader's Pov

             I totally lost track of this motherfucker. I found one or two Men of Letters and they told me Martins was missing. He just vanished a few days after he killed Dean. I guess he fears what I'm going to do to him.

           He has no idea...

           Even if I'm a wreck, I stand like a hollow shell. I eat to power my body but nothing have taste, I shower because that's what people do, but I don't remember I did most of the time, I puke most of what I eat, and I still can't sleep, pleading the pain to stop at night. I can't feel anything, neither real physical pain nor pleasure, only that unbearable agony of him being dead, each and every second. I have that image of Dean burned inside my eyelid, so I cry whenever I close my eyes... But I'm still alive.

           My body is constantly craving, but I don't really understand what it asks for, except Dean. I guess that's what they call missing.

           Sam is the kindest human being. Even with the immeasurable loss he's dealing with, he's still sweet and patient with me, yet I can see him lose weight and grow more tired every day. Dean would know how to take care of him...

           I killed exactly fourteen Men of Letters since my love was taken from me. They all told me the mission was aborted, because Martins was missing. No more recruitment, no more talking about the Blue Death. Dean would have loved that. But he's not here to hear them, so I cut their throat and move to the other without any relief.

           I come back home covered in blood and nod to Sam when he asks me if I found one more.

"I bought pizza" he says.

Dean will never eat pizza again... I'm not hungry, I'm nauseous even, so I frown and leave the room telling him I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say, he's trying so hard to make me live. But he has to understand I'm already dead.

           I get in the shower and wash the blood off of my hands, watching it run around my fingers and fall in the water at my feet. I'm dizzy, my stomach hurts but I don't care. Dean will never shower again... I play in repeat that time I yelled at him in that bathroom in my head. I was so afraid he would break my heart ; that's strange to think of this now...

           I remember him thrusting inside of me and it's almost like I could still feel him there, stretching me too reach deep within me. How I felt full and whole with him around and inside me. I put a hand on my lower stomach. I would kill to feel him here again.

           Tears fall from my eyes and I bite my lips to focus on revenge, to let the sharp pain going through me without killing me. Not yet.

           When I wrap myself in his blanket, knowing I won't sleep at all, I start to pray out loud.

"Please... Just please tell me he's in Heaven... I'm begging you" I burst in tears. "I won't- I won't ask anything anymore, I just need to know he's happy and warm. I... I need to be sure someone takes care of him. Please. Please. Please..." I ignore how pathetic I sound.

"Dean..." I cry. "Dean baby, please..."

 Sam's Pov

             She's crying again, begging Dean to come back, pleading him, saying she can't breathe, saying she needs him to make her breathe like he used to do.

           I'm crying against her door again. Is it possible that she loves him that much ? Is it possible that my brother will never come back ? Tonight I can't come inside the room 11 like I sometimes do. This is beyond my strength.

           And my lie is killing me.

           Castiel said I shouldn't lie to her, but I can't do other way, she would have died if I told her what I did.

           I killed Martins.

           I found him, and I watched life leave him as I killed him slowly, high on grief, not even recognizing myself. I hid the lead I was following because I knew if she finds him, she'll kill him and die. And she's the best hunter, so I knew I had to find him quick, I had to do it first. He was strong, he was redoubtable, I almost got killed during that fight, but I had my hate to make me stronger. He asked me why I would care for that girl, that monster. And I stabbed him once more.

"She was just a baby angel..." I told him.

"You have no idea Winchester."

           I stole her vengeance, for Dean and for her childhood, for her life.

           Since then I watch her look under every rocks, follow every path, torture and kill to find him. And I just don't say a word.

           I lied to her about those bruises he made on my face, and about the one Bobby made on my jaw that time we fought. He told me it was her fault Dean was dead, and I lost my temper, I just hit the man in the face, and he fought back.

           Everything is falling apart...

 Reader's Pov

             I get up at 5, I fell asleep for the first times in a long time, I slept three or four hours. I'm still exhausted, defeated by despair, but I need to find Martin. Sooner I get him, sooner I can end this hell.

           But lately, there is something strange about me, I mean, except the fact that my soul shattered, it's like my energy wasn't regenerating anymore. My wounds don't heal, the bruises don't fade, the exhaustion won't leave me. Is it because of how bad I want to die ?

           As I try to get up, I fall loudly, taking the bedside lamp with me when I try to lean on the nightstand. It shatters on the floor. I'm stunned for a moment. It never happened to me before, not even when they poisoned me to see if my body could heal without antidote and I was extremely sick for a month.

"Y/n, you're okay ?" Sam says, opening the door.

When he sees me on the floor he rushes to help me.

"What happened ?"

"I don't know" I frown. "My head keeps spinning."

"You have to eat and sleep" he sighs.

"But I eat ! I ate a full meal yesterday, I even drank the smoothie you made me..."

I struggle to get on my feet, even with the tall hunter's help.

           In the bathroom, I grunt. If I can't stand properly, I will fail in front of the enemy. And I can't. I can't fail because I look forward to stop feeling anything.    

           "Maybe you should rest today" Sam states when I enter the kitchen to take a piece of bread.

"No, I can't offer that son of a bitch a bonus day. He has to die, this is taking too long."

"Y/n... Are you sure you're eating ? Because you look skinnier everyday" he says and I point at my mouth full of bread.

"Well I don't know, you don't look so good..." he shrugs.

"Of course I don't" I say with my mouth full and drink milk from the bottle.

           When I turn I almost fall again, catching myself on the counter. Sam gets up and grabs my arm. He sighs.

"Y/n..." I push him away. "Dean would have wanted you to live" he whispers.

I look at him with so much hurt in my eyes, it reflects on his.

"Dean would have wanted to live" I grunt.

"He sacrificed to save your life, are you going to act like it means nothing ?"

"He died because of me..." I murmur trying not to cry again.

"That's not what I said. I just... You fought all your life, are you going to just give up now ?"

"Yeah ! Why not ?" I groan.

"You know what ? Dean would be so disappointed in you right now !" Sam mutters, clenching his fists.

"FUCK YOU SAM !" I yell running out of the room.

             I hate myself and I hate everything. I hate that Sam is right, and that I yelled at him.

           I enter Dean's room and let my body fall on the bed. My stomach and my head ache. I put my face in my hands and take a deep breath. I feel like I could faint.

"Y/n" Sam says, entering slowly.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I shouldn't have talked to you like that" I whisper.

"I guess I had it coming... Y/n, let me ask Cas to check on you, please."

"Sam... Sam can't heal me, you know that... he tried once, remember ?"

"Please Y/n..." he pleads.

"Bring me mac and cheese..."

"What ?" he raises his eyebrows.

"Dean always made me mac and cheese. I want some... If you do this for me I'll let Cas check on me even if I'm sure he won't be able to see or do anything. I have to be in a good shape to fight Martins."

           Sam offers me a beautiful smile and I see the Winchesters genes on his face, somehow it makes the pain even worse, because those similarities remind me of a thousand ways Dean was different.

             When he leaves, I look down at my body. What is happening to me ? I undress and stare at myself. Bruises are still not fading, even that one Dean made digging in my hips while we were making love.

           I put my hand on the three little blue points his fingers made, and start crying. I would like them to never vanish, I want Dean everywhere on me. I want to keep every remains on my skin.

           My body is an altar, my body is his. They tried to control it, break it, own it, but he made me feel it and love it...

           Thinking about that I notice the tattoo on my hip. That fucking enochian symbol, the same Ketch carved on my skin. Except Dean took care of it and the scars disappeared completely... Now it's my turn to make the unwanted marks go.

           With steady hands and a straight, determined face, I decide I won't die with their mark on me, only Dean's. I take a knife.

           I don't want to get my love's room dirty, so I take a tank top of mine, panties, and leave it.

           I enter the dungeon and take a deep breath. Who would have know my time in here were among my best memories ? I sit on the floor where my mattress were. I think about that first kiss, about Dean's wrinkles and about the way he used to smile when he was tired... I just, as always, think about him.

           The knife enters my skin, right below the tattoo and I clench my teeth. I'm done being marked like an animal, I know what love is now, I know what I want and what I deserve.

           Blood is running abundantly on my thigh and I try to remove the entire tattoo without damaging my muscles and nerves too much. I have to fight soon and I clearly don't heal fast, or at all, anymore...

"Shit..." I grunt when pieces of my flesh fall on the floor. Still, I don't really care about anything anymore.

           But before I can finish completely, my head spins and the smell of blood unexpectedly makes me sick. It never has before.

I faint.

             I open my eyes and see I'm bathing on my own blood, half naked on the dungeon's floor. My stomach aches so much.

"You're beautiful" a voice makes me jump.

I lift my head in a moan of effort, realizing I might actually be dying.

           A man is here. A middle aged man, not that tall, with dirty blond slightly long hair and incredible golden eyes.

"Who are you ?" I mutter trying to sit. "Where is Sam ?"

"Sam just run out of gas..." he says calmly.

"If you want me dead, get in line... behind me actually" I groan, putting a hand on my lower belly. Is that what women describe has period cramps ?

"I'm not here to hurt you" he states.

"Does Martins send you ?"

"Actually, he prevented me from knowing about you for years. I'm not fond of him. Good thing he is in hell."

"He's not..." I frown. "He killed Dean."

"Yeah and Sam killed him" he shrugs. "Let me look at you... Wow, you are really pretty and brave."

I take a deep breath because just talking is exhausting now.

"He didn't find him..."

"Yes" he insists. "He did, and never told you because, well, you know our sweet Sam, he's going to do all it takes to keep you safe."

A tear roll down my eyes as I think about Sam lying to me, I don't have enough strength to be furious, but I feel anger punch my chest.

"Now I have a mistake to undo" he says. "Y/n... I'm so sorry they used me to do this to you. And I'm sorry for your mother, she seemed like a brave girl, and you clearly got her looks."

He kneels next to me and helps me sit straight.

"Who are you ?" I ask with my jaw clenched.

"They call me Gabriel."

"Gabriel ?" I sigh puzzled. "The archangel ?... Didn't you die ?"

"Well, hiding I'm not actually dead has been my specialty... And Y/n... I'm your father."

"What ?" my head spin and I have to put my palm under it to keep straight.

"That tattoo kept me from knowing about you, they used me. I don't know how they found out I was on Earth back then... I'm here now."

I look into his eyes and feel cold heavy tears fall on my thighs.

           I prayed all my life, I begged Heaven, I cried so many night and waited for an angel for so long. And my father is Gabriel. The last archangel alive... All I had to do was removing that tattoo... That's why they carved it so often on me.

"Too late" I sigh.

"It's not, I can heal you. I'm here to make things right."

"Dean is dead. Nothing matters anymore. The only thing you could do is tell me if he's in Heaven"

"Rah ! Dean... If anyone had told me my daughter would... Dean Winchester. I mean. Fate won't let me forget about them... Listen. He is. He is in Heaven and it's a beautiful Heaven..."

I inhale like I just escaped drowning, loudly and powerfully. And the stranger claiming to be my father continues talking :

"I know about you now. Let me take you back in time, I will protect your mother and you, give you a good life. No more pain, loneliness, no more misery. Dean promised you no one would hurt you again, I can promise you no one would have ever done it..."

"What ?" my head's spinning.

"I never knew I wanted an offspring, until fifteen minutes ago, for you, for me it's been months. Now I need to protect you. My first thought was to go back in past and turn down your mother's mouthwatering offer... But you are my daughter, Y/n, just seeing you..."

"No, thank you."

"How can you refuse to let me offer you the life you prayed for all those years ?" he frowns, searching my face. "I heard all your prayers in one go when you ripped that off your skin, you know. I started to cry in the middle of a poker game..."

"If Dean is not part of this life, it means nothing at all..."

"Dean again !" he rolls his eyes.

"Unless that means he doesn't die because of me..."

"Y/n... I froze time I spent an entire year digging into your past, I can't stand what they did to you. You could grow so powerful without those spells, you could compete with Jack, with me... No one would be able to hurt you ever again."

I bend because of the pain in my belly. And he sits, soaking his pants in my blood.

"You are not changing you mind, aren't you ? You're suborn, just like your father" he seems to fight an internal war, and finally sighs. "Okay listen. You are going to live."

"What for..." I cry.

"Because those strange feeling you are experimenting, the headache, the sharp pain in your belly, this dizziness and all... This is pregnancy."

My eyes widen, my hands start to shake like crazy even if I'm not sure I'm processing what he just said.

"What ? Are you crazy ? I'm not... I can't !"

"I'm used to announce pregnancies, now I guess" he tries to joke, referring to the Bible.

"I can't be pregnant !" I yell, indifferent to his humor.

"Except it happened, true love can be surprising sometimes... I just learned I was a father, and I have to be a grandfather right away..." he smiles wistfully.

He touches my sweaty hair but I'm too shocked to protest. I look down at my lower belly and burst in tears.

           I can feel it now. I know he's not lying.

"Listen to me Y/n."

I don't, I rub my stomach, and breathe laboriously.

"Y/n, listen to me carefully" he says seriously, taking my face in his hands. "I give you two options : Either you come with me, I make you happy and powerful, give you the childhood you deserve, clean this mess... I can even show you Heaven. Dean... he will die anyway, but you will never miss him because you won't know him. You won't need him to be happy." I cry even more but keep my eyes on his beautiful golden ones. "Or... I let you there, with that little boy in your belly. But you have to fight for your life. You have to take care of you because he takes your energy, and you can't allow to brutalize your body like you always did. You have to eat and walk and sleep. You have to take care of you, and him."

I nod.

"Tell me" he says letting go of my face.

"I- want that b-baby" I stammer, shaken by emotions. "He's Dean's. I won't ever choose a life in which it disappears. This baby boy is a part of Dean..."

"So... you are ready to suffer that agonizingly sorrow of losing the man you love because you love him too much to forget about him or to lose something you never wanted..." he shakes his head. "Are you sure ?"

I nod.

           He touches my hair and the pain on my waist fades. The bruises vanish, the dizziness calms a little. He bends and puts a kiss on my forehead.

"Dean tricked the Trickster good in the end, knocking up my daughter, depriving me of the opportunity to be a father..." he looks a bit sad. "But he's a good man. I never thought I'll say that but the Winchesters are great men, I'm happy my grandson will have this name... I guess he's the only one that could make you happy now I missed this opportunity as a father. I'm sorry for everything, Y/n, I know you don't need me in your life, I'm too late like you said. Please let me see him from time to time, if he looks like you it will be quite a sight" he kindly takes my hand.

"I hope he'll look like Dean" I smile in a sob.

"Just know your prayers are heard from now on..."

With that he vanishes in a majestic sound of wings.

             I look down at my still flat belly and try to calm my heart. I can't do this without him. I can't do this without Dean... I need him...

"DEAN !" I scream in sobs.

           Sam enters running. He let himself fall on his knees and takes me in his arms, he's shaking and sweating.

"I thought they got you... I thought... I knew for sure I had enough gas and suddenly... Someone wanted me to be far from you..." he looks at my face and my body. "Did somebody hurt you ? What is all thas blood ?" he panics.

"It's mine, but I'm okay. He healed me."

"What ? Who ?" he pants.

"Gabriel."

His eyes widen.

"Gabriel is dead" he says.

"No... He... Sam it's him. My-my father..."

He searches my eyes and stop breathing for a second.

"The archangel Gabriel ?"

I nod.

"He was the Target, they knew he was on Earth, they knew he was among humans and let the ladies... the tattoo kept him from feeling me but now... I... removed... Sam I'm pregnant." I blurt out.

"What ?" he asks puzzled.

           I sit and tell him everything, I tell him what the archangel said. I'm confused and crying and clinging to his flannel but he listens to me.

"He has to bring Dean back !" he says. "He owes you that !"

I shrug, lowering my eyes.

"He gave me a choice, Sammy..."

           I'm sitting on the war room table, stroking at my still absent baby bump, Sam is talking continuously, about Gabriel, about using him to bring Dean back, about that child in my belly, about everything... He's walking fast between the kitchen, the bathroom to bring me what I need to remove the blood, and the war room, giving me tones of food while he asks me a thousand questions and answers it before I can open my mouth every time.

"I can't do this without him..." I whisper, making him stop.

"You can, you are the toughest person I've met... And I've met my family" he smiles. "And you won't be alone, I'm right here, Y/n."

"I want Dean, now..." I cry like a child.

           The doors opens in a loud noise, and when I look up it's like the sun had just switched itself back on.

           Dean.

           Dean is there.

           He looks down at us and sighs in relief, a hand on his heart.

"Shit ! What happened ?" he looks so worried.

I can't move, I stare at him while he quickly goes down the stairs and Sam join him in long steps to hug him roughly.

           In the arms of his brother, Dean doesn't stop looking right in my red puffy eyes. I didn't even remember how beautiful he was. I stand there, tears still running down my cheeks but I stay silent, motionless.

"You were dead, Dean !" Sam cries in his brother's arms.

Not being the one against his chest is painful but keeping my eyes on him eases everything.

"I know... I woke up in the forest... How long ?"

"Almost two months" Sam says letting go of him.

           And Dean turns to me. He walk slowly as if he didn't want to scare me. I get up.

"You look exhausted and leaner..." he says low.

"You were dead" I shrug.

"Shit angel, look at you..." he whines with tears in his eyes.

"I love you too" I says, sniffing.

He bends slowly and cups my face like I was fragile, then he puts his lips on mine gently.

"I love you..." I cry against his perfect plumb lips.

He kisses me again.

"You were gone and I..." I continue. "I can't live without you, Dean. I can't..."

"I'm here" he takes me in his arms. "I'm here, angel..."

             I don't know how long I stay in his arms, but when I stop focusing on only his face, I'm laying on the couch on him, he strokes my hair while talking to Sam.

"Gabriel !" he suddenly says a little louder.

He looks down at me. I nod.

"Angel, you're the Trickster's daughter ?"

I nod again and wrap my arms tighter around him, almost afraid he would be mad at me for that.

"She's an archangel Nephilim, Dean, that makes sense" Sam says handing his brother a beer.

"Your father killed me a hundred times, you know that baby ? With a piano once, and with a taco..." he smiles at me, squeezing me a little more. "He also helped us so many times..."

           Sam talks about the fact that he killed Martins, and I don't even react. I know I'm mad at him deep down, but Dean is here, nothing else matters.

"Sammy..." Dean cuts him. "I'm going to bed."

"But you just came back !"

Then there is a silence and I look up. They're having a silent talk like they often do.

"Okay we'll talk about everything tomorrow" Sam says. "I'm so glad you're back, Dean."

He gets up, kiss my forehead, touches his brother's shoulder, I take his hand and squeeze it, like I was thanking him. He smiles sweetly and leaves, taking a book with him.

           Dean hums slightly, puts his beer down and wraps his two strong arms around me, crushing me just a little.

"What did you tell your bother ?" I whisper, snuggling even more against him.

"Something like : The last thing I told her before I die is that I love her, I would love some private time with her to talk about that" he says and I can't help smiling.

"All that ? What did he answer ?"

"A lot of things angel... That he had been worrying like hell for you, that he can't believe I'm back, that he understands... And there was something else in his look..." he wonders. "Like... I don't know."

I look down at my stomach and start to shake a little. I was too drown in him, I had almost forgotten. Shit, what am I going to do ?

"Are you okay angel ?" he suddenly worries, sensing my body tense.

"Yeah..."

"Did you eat today ?" he says kissing my cheek.

"I did"

"So come here" he says taking me in his arms to help me get up. "We're going to bed" he slips a arms under my knees to carry me. "You don't weight anything angel, you better gain weight."

I bite my cheek, thinking about my belly going round in a few weeks.

"I will" I promise in a sigh.

           He puts me down on his bed and takes his shirt off. When my tank top goes up and shows my stomach I tug on it to hide, even if I know he can't see it yet. It's too much, I'm just not ready, I'm afraid I'll ruin his life. He's a hunter, he doesn't want this...

"Have you seen my pillow ?" he asks in a soft murmur and I start panicking again.

With trembling hands I take it from the side of the bed I've been crying every night and give it to him.

"Hey, calm down. I'm here now. Breathe angel... look at me... breathe. Look at my mouth, baby" he says making that o with his lips.

"I couldn't b-breathe when y-you were..."

           He lays next to me and take me in his arms, making me feel the warmth of his soft skin, and his lips on my shoulder.

"My bed smells like you" he whispers in a shy smile.

I would like to tell him how I was terrified by his smell fading away but I stay silent, and lower my head to allow my lips to touch his hair.

           "How was it ?" I murmur after a while.

"What ?"

"Heaven ?" I dare, moving his hand a little when it rest on my lower stomach.

"Hum... It was you mostly..." he murmurs and I feel a tear run down my cheek, but not a heavy, painful tear ; that one is calm, silent.

Then we fall asleep, not right away, but after a while I just let it take me, focusing on Dean's body, feeling him wrap me like he does, like only him can do, with the large and warm wings of his magnificent soul.

 Dean's Pov

             I wake up before her. Of course I do, I don't really need sleep, I slept for weeks. She looks so tired and so beaten. I can't even imagine what she's been through, if what she says is true, if she loves me... The idea of losing her is killing me.

           Is it possible that she loves me ? I tortured her, captured her, kept her locked up, yelled at her... And yet, just by the way she's holding me, I could swear I can feel it. That love. No one ever touched me like that, no even Lisa.

           I look at her body, the tattoo is gone, the scars are gone, and yet she's so pale, her tank top still stained with blood. I want to kiss her lips and every part of her skin, but she has to sleep, so I stay still, watching her.

           I try to find resemblance with Gabriel, but I don't, I guess his vessel doesn't really count. It's strange to know I fell in love with his daughter... I think about what we've been through together, about everything, even Casa Erotica, I hope he doesn't know how I Casa-eroticated his daughter. I smile for myself at the thought...

           First a cold blooded monster, then Sam's murderer, then a cute lost girl, an experiment, a fierce warrior, then the woman I love. And now, an archangel daughter... She is full of surprises, that is the thing she has in common with her father.

           She moves and puts a hand on her stomach, whining a little in her sleep. I take her hand away and stroke where it seems to hurt, she wraps her arms around my neck. But soon she stars panting and sobbing in her sleep.

"Dean" she calls. "Dean please I can't... bring him back... please" she cries.

"Hey, hey... angel, I'm here. I'm right here."

           She opens her eyes and for a second she seems confused, then she turns to nuzzle against me.

"It was a nightmare, I'm here to stay... I want to take a shower" I add. "Will you come with me ?"

           I can't help it. I know I should just give her some time, she obviously went through a lot, but having her naked against me is a new kind of torture, and she's not helping, brushing against me and kissing my chest all the time. My hands lay on her waist and go up on her currently too visible ribs while she's washing her hair.

           Just with that gesture I make her moan under her breath. She puts her head under shower head, her arms above her head and my cock twitches. The foam is sensually running along her skin like it wanted her as much as I do. When the shampoo slides along her pussy down her inner thighs, I groan.

           She opens her eyes and bites her lip, her eyelashes wet, making cute spikes. I bend to kiss her jaw and start nibbling at it. I'm getting hard, I can feel my stomach tremble in anticipation already.

"Dean..." she moans.

"God Y/n..."

Her hand brushes the head of my cock and I jump a little.

"Yes... Yeah baby, touch me please..." I whisper in her ear.

           She wraps her hand around my length and comes closer, flattening her breast on my chest. I close my eyes and let my head fall on her shoulder under the water, breathing droplets of water with each inhale.

"Don't drown" she murmurs with that deep voice she has when she's aroused.

I shake my head and take her hand in mine, adding pressure. Shit, I should stop. But when I'm about to push her hand away she kisses me deep, her tongue obscenely caressing mine, her hips rolling against me. She making me crazy again. I can feel her hunger and it's the hottest thing ever.

"Let me make love to you, angel" I pant, letting go of her hand.

"Yes..." she moans.

"Not here... Shit, this is..." I feel that electricity go through my body, and I know exactly what this feeling means. I'm going to loose control. "Oh fuck Y/n stop touching me. Please... You have to stop now."

She smiles and bites her lips. Then teasingly strokes me again, very slowly. I have to focus hard not to come in her hand, I have to grab her hair but that makes her moan, so it's even worse...

"You remember Dean, that you promised I could taste you ?" she sensually purrs in my ear, rolling her wrist.

"Sh-shit... yeah I remember..." I wince.

"Because right now I really would love to have this" she squeezes my cock just a little more. "On my tongue."

While I take a shaking breath, she licks my earlobe.

"But baby..." I whine pathetically. "I want to make... I want..."

"Can't I have both ?" she purrs again.

"Yes... damn angel. Please, do it" I give in and she falls on her knees.

           The minute I feel her lips on me, I groan low. She takes the base in her hand and starts licking at the head like I was fucking delicious. I put my two hands on the tiles to steady myself and look down at her.

           When she takes me in her mouth I groan, watching her beautiful lips around my cock, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes looking up at me.

"Fuck !" I cry out.

And she takes me even deeper, swallowing around me, her eyes watering as I hit the back of her mouth, feeling the tightness of her throat. The bobs of her head are steady, and my heart is not anymore. I feel it violently beat my chest. I try not to move, I try to fight the urge to thrust forward, and somehow I manage to stay still while she takes me even deeper when I thought it wasn't possible.

"Oh God..." I pant. "Y/n, I... I'm gonna..."

But when I thought she would move away, she takes my ass with both hands and pushes me further inside, making me moan loudly as I come hard, not able to hold back anything anymore.

           I'm a panting mess, shaking and smiling like an idiot when she gets up.

"I missed you" she says, wrapping her arms around me. "Never leave me again."

"Never."

 Reader's Pov

             Dean went to the kitchen to bring food. I wouldn't dare to remind him how horny I was : he wanted me to eat something, so I'm going to eat.

           I take the towel away and look down at my body, I can't believe a little Dean is growing in there... I never thought I would become a mother, I still don't really realize I will. I never imagined living long enough for that, or my body allowing that. I don't even know if I can be a mom, if I want to... I'm pretty sure I can't. I only know torture and fighting, suffering and running away. But this is Dean's. Oh God, Dean has been inside of me all this time.

           He opens the door with a tray and his eyes widen. He closes the door quickly.

"Angel, you're naked !"

"And ?"

"I almost asked my brother to bring the food while I was washing my hands" he smiles.

He puts the tray on his bed and cups my face, kissing me slowly.

"I don't want to rush you, but... would you move in with me, baby ?" he says stroking my back.

"I already kinda live here..."

"Mh... In my bedroom" he kisses me, staring that fire again, the wet one that was waiting between my legs. "I want to be with you baby" he whispers in my ears, making Goosebumps appear on my skin. "Do you want me ?"

"I always want you..." I moan when he cups my ass.

"I mean in your life Y/n... I want to be yours" he kisses my throat one time and searches my eyes.

I nod, not really knowing what to say. I'm his. I'm just his...

He lays me on the bed and starts kissing me everywhere, I try to stop thinking about that secret inside my womb and focus on every parts I love about him. Freckles, lips, hands, that little chubby part on his waist, and those piercing eyes... absolutely everything. He gives it all to me...

           When he takes his pants off, I'm already trembling, clinging to him like my life depends on it, and actually I think it does.

           He takes his time, kissing every inch of my skin, letting me touch every scars, count every freckles. His kisses are slow but passionate, his hands are calloused but soft. I feel that connection between us, I feel that perfect warmth coming from his soul, and those perfect tickles from his nails.

"Dean..."

He kisses my jaw and go down my body.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, keep saying that angel..."

"Dean..." I moan when he wraps his lips around my nipple.

And just then I realize how sensitive my breasts are. I arch my back and grab his hair, tugging at it. His tongue keeps teasing me and I bite my lips to hold back screams.

           Then he lets it go and kiss under it, nibbling at the skin, licking at it. When he reaches my lower stomach and kisses it I freeze, and push him.

"What ?" he asks looking up at me.

"Just... come here, I want you up here with me" I answer.

           He comes back up and looks right in my eyes.

"I love you" he smiles.

"I love you" I say seriously, stroking his hair.

           When he enters me, I stay silent, mouth open wide to adjust to all those feelings, of him being so strong and tall, and stretching me, but also of him being back.

           His thrusts are slow, lazy even, like it wasn't even about chasing the end, but just about being together. He looks at me the whole time, and I wrap my thighs around him to have him deeper.

           Just like that. I want to spend my life just like that. With his arms holding me while his beautiful thighs contracting to thrust softly inside me. With his mouth leaving burning kisses all over me, with his voice so low and lost.

"Y/n, angel... You're perfect... I love you..." he praises the whole time.

           But the pleasure builds too fast, Dean is inside of me, making love to me, so even if I want it to last forever, I start to sweat, and my thighs squeeze him...

           Before I can tell him how much I love this, I come, in a strangled breath, with a happy tear. And he fasten his thrusts for just an instant before he fills me with his cum in a low groan, reminding me of my secret...

 Dean's Pov

             I open my eyes and yawn silently, feeling her asleep in my arms. I have to stop doing that, I didn't know I was such a cuddler. Every morning I wake up all wrapped around her and she's sweaty, telling me my body's too hot... But I can't stop touching her. I just can't.

           I've never been so happy in my entire life, these last two weeks were better than Heaven. Just making love and cuddling, eating a lot and taking long showers. Sam says we have a case, so tomorrow we are back on the road I guess.

           Sammy took care of everything for me while I was spending my time with Y/n, he even contacted the BMOL to ask them if they heard of a Blue Death. They haven't. Every man that knew about Y/n his dead or mysteriously vanished. He tried to contact Gabriel but no one heard from him. Castiel didn't even know he wasn't dead.

           She moves slightly, her back still on me. And when she hums I know she's awake. She takes my hand and puts it lovingly on her heart like she always does.

"Morning angel" I whisper, kissing her neck.

"Morning baby..." she answers sleepily.

I pass my hand on her side, enjoying her naked form, and the curves she got back since I make her eat three times a day.

           When my hand comes front, brushing against her stomach she takes my hand, squeezes it like she was anxious, and get up quickly.

"What ? No morning cuddles ?" I pout.

"I... I'm hungry she says" but I can sense something odd in her voice again.

"Are you okay ?" I ask, suddenly terrified.

What if she was really hiding something from me ? What if she was regretting this ? Me ? It's the third time in three days that she won't let me touch her. Maybe I was stupid to think she could actually love a man like me, flawed, violent, old, damaged...

           She takes one of my flannels and this actually eases the fear a little. She always takes my flannels. Then she turns toward me with a soft but preoccupied smile.

"I have to talk to Sam about that case" she says casually.

"Yeah, but before that..." I stretch my hand to take hers and kiss her knuckles. "I need to take a warm shower with my girl."

"Yeah not today Dean..." she says, her words punching me in the guts. "Take your shower" she kisses my forehead. "I'll make you coffee."

           When she's about to leave the room, I sit on the bed and call her.

"Angel ?"

"Yeah ?"

"I love you" I say desperately.

"I love you" she says absent-mindedly.

           Then she closes the door. No "baby", no "and I love you more", no morning sex or morning cuddles.

           Is she already tired of me ?

           In the shower I try to calm. She says she's in love with me, she wouldn't lie. We don't lie to each other. She still wants me, she proved it yesterday when she bent forward on the ironing board, pushing her panties down, begging me to take her here and now. We broke the dawn board !

           I'm worrying for nothing... Maybe she just looks forward to go out of the bunker. Yet I took her out, often, that time I took her to that restaurant, I know she enjoyed it, even if she told me to never do this again. I smile at myself remembering her words while she was laughing so hard : We're not fancy people, it was great, but it was not us. We were freaking out the whole time baby, have you seen you holding a glass of wine ? You don't have to spend money on me baby. Take me for a ride, or to that food truck that makes incredible donuts-burgers next time. I want Dean, I love Dean, not Christian Grey...

           Then I remember her pushing my hand away yesterday, when I took her in my arms from behind and my smile fades instantly. I remember her smile fading when I told her I wanted to eat her out. I remember that time she turned off the light while I was making love to her...

           When I approach the kitchen I hear her voice, it's sad, and I stop walking, silently listening to what they're saying. I hate myself for spying on her, but :

"I can't tell him Sammy ! I just can't..." she whines, making me worrying more.

"He loves you, you can't keep secrets from him" my brother answers with his serious smart voice.

"I'm afraid..." she whines.

"Y/n, it's been two weeks since he came back" you have to talk to him. "You have to tell him what happened. It's was an accident... And I'm sure he'll"

"I know but every time I try..." she cuts him. "I see this beautiful happiness in his eyes... I can't undo it now, but I'm freaking out !"

"I wouldn't want you to undo this, Y/n, you hear me ? This is the greatest thing happening in ages..." my brother groans.

My heart falls at my feet. She wants to leave me. They're talking about my return, why are they... Or maybe she had an affair with my brother. I... I was away and... Now that I think about it, Sam often avoided being alone with me those last two weeks...

"He will find out, Y/n, what will you do ? Hide from him ? Sleep in another room ? You will break his heart..."

"I know ! I know... don't say that. I just have to find the right time."

           I turn around and go back to the bathroom. I put my hands on the sink, look in the mirror. Why would you love her, you have nothing to offer, she doesn't even think you belong in a nice restaurant for your dates. She hates you.

           I take a deep strangle breath. A single tear falls on the sink, I think I just heard my heart break, that's an awful sound.

__________________________________

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[kingofdirtandnothing]

wemultitudinous asked:

“ i want to be someone who isn’t a burden. ” // for john, from alex

When John wakes, the inside of his mouth feels like it’s coated with wet paint. It tastes like it, too. He tries to blink open eyelids that feel like they weigh ten pounds each, and gives up. Whatever time of day it is, it’s too damn early. He turns on his side, hooking an arm around a trim waist. All he knows is there’s something he needs to say.

“Ayer fui un cabrón. Perdóname.” Sorry for being an asshole.

“I don’t speak Spanish, honeybee.” The slow, rolling vowels drag him the rest of the way out of sleep bodily, the reality of last night crashing down around him. John’s stomach roils and he sits upright, not doing himself any favors. 

A bathroom stall. “Oui, lá, s’il te plaît—” Blood in his mouth. Don’t fucking touch me. 

Then he was careening through the street, drunk and furious and all alone of his own doing but still pissed about it. Thomas actually stopped a damn cab for him, which should have been red flag enough. But he’d leaned out into the streetlight and said my my, you look like a man who needs a ride and that was it.

And god, did he. Thomas was as much like a shark in the bedroom like he was everywhere else, and he pinged each and every one of John’s things with little more than a few minutes and copper tinged kisses.

So he’d spent the remains of his night straddling Thomas’ strong thighs, hands latched onto his shins for balance, spine like a bow and head dropped back,  lost in the damn constant stream of words from the man fucking up into him. 

(All it took was once. One single look at you and the way John’s dick twitched and filled and Thomas spent the rest of the time mashing on that particular button. You look so good for me, baby. Let me watch you, sweetie. Come for me, honey.)

John feels sick. 

Thomas, completely unbothered by John’s sudden movement, rolls to the edge of the bed and puts his feet down gently, swaggering into John’s bathroom like he owns the place. “Fuck.” John buries his face into his hands with a groan.

Fuck. 

By the time Thomas is done “freshening up”, John’s stomach has settled enough for him to go brush his teeth, though he can’t bring himself to look in the mirror. He doesn’t want to look at himself right now. God knows what he’d see. (There’s bruises somewhere on him. He can feel them.) John just has time to spit and wipe his mouth on the towel before he hears the knock. 

Fuck Fuck!

John skids down the hallway in nothing but his boxers, careering into the hallway wall hard enough to rattle his teeth. Just in time for Thomas to open the door, the prick. Right to a wide eyed Alexander, who was holding grocery bags in both his hands and looking like a kicked stray.

Motherfuck. 

“Well well, Johnny. Looks like you double booked yourself, dumplin’.” And God, it’s so fucking obvious in that moment. Because he can see Alex’s couch almost superimposed over his vision, the beautiful girl beneath him with no top on. I may have double booked myself. 

The only way John’s broken heart could be more obvious is if fate had handed him a pretty little Caribbean boy with big, impossible dark eyes for John to fall in bed with. Instead, it gave him the other side of the coin. Brash and too smart for his own good, and talkative enough to drown out the misery in John’s head. All night long. 

“Take it from an old pro.” Thomas winks at him, and John has never needed a shower so badly in his life. “Give yourself a couple of hours to rest between gentleman callers.” There’s something like rage trembling through John’s shoulders, fingers bunching up into fists at his sides. But Thomas is at the top of his game. Already dressed. Shoes on. Ready to stroll right out the door. 

He pats Alex on the chest, taking advantage of the surprise that seems to have stilled the man. “Take it easy on him for a couple of hours, Hamilton. He wore himself out on me.” John doesn’t think. He throws the first thing he brings to hand, which is one of his sneakers that hurtles out the door and hits the far wall. Thomas cackles Call Me!  In a sing-song as he makes for the stairs. 

John has never felt slimier. And Alexander has never looked smaller. 

“Jesus, come in.” He tries for a laugh, anything to break the mood, but it comes out brittle. John takes the bags from Alex’s numb hands, circling back behind him to grab his shoe, shutting the door quickly behind him. “Sorry.”

Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it. There aren’t enough apologies in the world to scrub the nasty feeling from John’s skin, but he’s stuck with it now. Just like after he falls. The drop is fun, the weeks after when he has to heal aren’t.

Looking down into the bag is the hard left that comes after the right cross of shame. Guilt. Because he sees long grain rice and pinto beans, and he can read Alex’s apology in the space between the logos. 

His mother’s recipe. And one that took all day to cook. An excuse to stick around. For Alexander to make himself feel useful, to make Alexander believe that if he had use to you, then you wouldn’t make him leave. 

And all of this was John’s fault. His stomach clenches up on him, and for one long second he’s afraid he’s really gonna puke. But he gets the bile back down his throat and takes the bags into the kitchen, laying out the ingredients with tender care, along with the pots and pans that Alex would need. 

“Lemme-” His voice catches, and John has to close his eyes for a beat, back turned to Alexander to pull himself together. “Lemme get some clothes on and I’ll come help.” He hurries out of the kitchen before Alex can change his mind about being there, and jogs into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

He doesn’t want Alexander to see the rumpled sheets that Thomas slept on. Fuck, he doesn’t want to look at them. He grabs hold of the duvet cover and yanks, the sheets and pillows coming along too. John makes a mountain of them in the corner of his room and reaches into his closet. There’s one quick glimpse of himself in the mirror that he can’t avoid, freckled chest peppered with sharp little bites that sunk in against the skin.

Of course Thomas would leave a mark. 

John murmurs a ‘fuck’ and pulls on the first shirt he sees, and a pair of basketball shorts, grabbing the first hair tie on his dresser and pulling his hair back into a messy lump, hurrying back out into the living room. 

Alex was still there. 

Relief hits him like a goddamn freight train, and John has to spend a second with his hand flat against the kitchen table to catch his breath. He can read Alex as easily now as he reads his mountain of texts, or his rants and raves at the bar, or on his couch. He says more in the dejected slump of his shoulders than he’d say in any word today. 

His fingers curled against the counter say I hurt you and I’m sorry just as his bowed head says I don’t know how I did it. Every inch of him radiates some sort of bruise. Lost friends. Lost loves. Lost family. (One time, one single, solitary time he heard Alex say she was sick and she held me and it’s haunted John ever since.)

John wants desperately to get down on his knees. To beg for forgiveness. To grab hold of some part of Alexander and swear on his life that he’ll never let go. But Alexander was water. The tighter you held him, the less you had. But if you were patient, if you laid the tracts of irrigation and waited, he’d fill your life with lush greenery. Of the mind. Of the soul. 

He stops on his way to the kitchen to turn the speakers on, lofi to fill the strained spaces of silence around them. John thinks about saying you let me love you every other way, why not this? And what about him is better than me and tell me you at least enjoyed it. But he doesn’t say any of it. John has been selfish enough for one day. 

Onto the cold tile floor on bare feet, John stops behind Alex. He can feel the breath being held between them. He swallows, drops his head. Presses a kiss to the seam of Alex’s shirt, where it curled over his shoulder. 

“Je suis désolé.”

[theflenser]

DEATH AND DISPLACEMENT

Sometimes I wonder how many hours, in total, I've spent working at degrading low level jobs that mean absolutely nothing to me or my life. Thousands, certainly. Hundreds of thousands? Perhaps.  

Every night around 7PM I park my piece of shit van about eight blocks from my piece of shit job and walk beneath the I-35 overpass, dragging my feet along the sidewalk as I hear the din from the nightclubs grow louder, the slurring roar of inebriation and weak-willed lust trickling into my head like a toxic gas, reminding me that although I've been sober for over seven years, my life still doesn't amount to much more than a sad, tired, pathetic joke. A grimy quarter marinating at the bottom of a plastic cup half full of stale, cheap beer. Before I reach the overpass, on the corner of Holly Street and San Marcos Street, there is a telephone pole covered with rusted staples and nail heads that were once used to hold up posters and signs, long since forgotten and weathered away. Whenever I pass this telephone pole, I always stop and say a little mantra to myself that helps me to feel a little less anxious and brings a moment of peaceful awareness to my mind. After I finish the mantra I knock three times on the telephone poll and then continue walking. It's an unusual habit, but I've been doing it for years, and the few times where I've forgotten to do it I feel like I later paid some kind of inner emotional toll for the oversight. As such, I try to never forget.  

I tell people I'm a "bouncer" because it sounds slightly more romantic and dangerous than the truth. The truth is that I'm a door jockey...greeting, carding, and granting entry to a neverending onslaught of shamelessly entitled little bags of piss and puke that frequent the strip where I work. Rainey Street...once a neglected row of condemned houses and crack dens, now since converted into an upscale alcoholic playland for inbred oil money academics and closeted country club racists. I've lost count of how many times I've fantasized about hurting these people...about killing these people....but instead I just keep showing up, clocking in, and cleaning up after them. Ten dollars an hour and a lifetime supply of resentment and self loathing. I realize that I'm no better than them. In fact, I know that I am much worse. I choose to be here, wallowing in my bile of regret, disappointment, and disgust. I don't deserve to live any more than they do. But unlike them, I have no illusions as to what I am.  

One Sunday night, around 3:30 AM, I clock out and start walking the eight blocks back to my van. There aren't many people out at this hour, save for other sevice industry losers like myself, the occasional gaggle of die hard street drunks, and the faceless unfortunates who have no homes to return to. As I near the overpass, I see a woman in a car parked along the feeder road lean her head out the drivers side window and spew vomit down the side of her car door and over the curb. I hear her start the engine and watch as she pulls out into the road and speeds off without bothering to turn her headlights on. I shake my head as I cross the street and step beneath the overpass, which is well lit and lined on either side with tents and makeshift cardboard shelters. There is no movement and no sound audible above the ambient white hum of intermittent traffic passing by above me. As I am about to step beneath the overhead gap that separates the north and southbound lanes, I hear a sound...no, I feel a sound unlike anything I have ever experienced before or since. The only way I can describe it is to say that it sounded as though the sky were being torn open, as though something great and unimaginable was trying to claw its way into our reality from some unknown dimension. It is absolutely terrifying, and my first instinct is to turn around and start running, even though I have no idea what's happening. I only make it a few paces before I return to my senses, and as the sound becomes less deafening I hear it morph from an immense cacophony into something more recognizable, the sound of metal on metal, the crunching of steel and broken glass. I turn around and look up through the gap between the lanes of the highway and see that the night sky has been partially blotted out by rectangular paneling. I see the shape of a wheel spinning freely in the air, connected to the paneling, but disconnected from it's purpose. I smell smoke and gasoline and realize that I am looking up at the back end of an overturned semi truck.

I stand there for a moment, looking up in disbelief. I hear some cursing and grunting from within one or more of the makeshift shelters and then everything is silent. I continue on, heading towards the other side of the overpass to where my van is parked. When I reach the other side of the interstate I turn around and look up. I can see the wreckage of the semi and at least one other vehicle. There is dark smoke curling upwards into the sky. All of a sudden I hear the faint sound of a baby crying.  

Without thinking about it, I sprint up the side of the gravel embankment and pull myself over the guard rail and onto the shoulder of the highway where the wreck is. The semi truck is both completely jackknifed and toppled over, the rear portion of the tractor trailer stretching horizontally across the space between the two lanes. There is no discernible movement from within the cab. The other vehicle is practically unrecognizable, though it appears to have been some sort of luxury sedan. The back half of it has been completely crushed and the front end is a tangle of impossible angles and certain death. The windshield, somehow still intact, is now a nearly opaque white map of cracks and serpentine splintering, the drivers side half of it folded outwards like a partially open book. The vehicle is filled with blackish smoke, and it's clear that the sound of the crying is coming from within what is left of the car. About ten feet away, lying amid the rubble of glass and debris, is the shape of a man lying on his side. My heart freezes as I see movement and realize that he is still alive. I walk towards him and I can see that he is desperately trying to crawl back towards the vehicle and the sound of the crying baby. It's at this moment that I become aware of something incredibly strange. I look north towards the direction of downtown, and then turn my head in the opposite direction, looking southward to where the highway stretches away from the city. Looking in both directions I can see that there are no vehicles approaching from either direction. The highway is completely deserted. Even at this hour that seems impossible, especially this close to downtown. It's as though the world has fallen asleep, and the only things left awake are me, this man, and the baby crying from within the automobile behind me. As soon as this thought enters my mind I hear the crying suddenly choke up and cease. Everything is silent again. I look down at the man and see his face is covered with blood. One of his legs appears to be completely destroyed, the pant leg a flattened mound of blood and sinew. There is a bone jutting out through the front of his shirt near his throat, possibly a rib or a collarbone. I'm no doctor so I can't say for sure which. The man appears to have no awareness of what is happening, yet he continues to try and crawl towards the vehicle, pulling himself an inch at a time with one arm, his ruined leg and torso leaving a trail of blood behind him. All at once I recognize the man. He's a regular at the bar where I work. I've seen him there many times over the years, sometimes with his wife, sometimes with other women, and sometimes alone. When he's there alone he always stands in the same spot, drink clutched in his hand, scanning the room for available females like a hawk surveying a field for hapless mice and squirrels. He's just one of countless others who follow this same pattern. That's the nature of the environment.  

I kneel down next to him and lean in close to his ear. I can smell a mixture of blood and booze wafting up from his open mouth. One of his eyes is swollen shut and there are shards of glass stuck into his cheek and forehead.

"Stop it. Stop it right now." I speak directly into his ear. "It's over. Your baby is dead, and so are you." I don't feel pity for this man, or contempt. I don't feel anything at all. "What were you doing driving around drunk at four in the morning with your baby in the car?"  

It's clear that he can't hear me. He stretches out his arm again to try and pull himself closer to the wreckage and I put my foot down on his hand.  

"I said stop it, motherfucker."  

Suddenly his upper body lurches forward and a mixture of blood and yellow fluid dribbles out of his mouth onto the concrete. There is a gargling sound coming from his throat. I slide my boot under his shoulder and flip him over onto his back. The gargling sound intensifies. From the corner of my eye I see the blue and red strobing of police cruisers heading towards us on the feeder road from the direction of the courthouse on 7th street. The world appears to have woken back up. I look down at the man's face and take a deep breath. The gargling has stopped and he appears to breathing again. I realize that it's possible he might actually live.  

In one rapid, fluid motion I raise up my boot about knee high and bring it back down as hard as I can against his throat. I feel it collapse between my heel and the pavement. Blood and fluid shoot up from his mouth directly into my face and across the lens of my glasses. I lick my lips and taste gin and iron. I take one last look at the cab of the semi and what's left of the sedan. No movement. No sound. I turn around and dart back down the embankment towards Holly street where my van is parked. When I get to the corner of Holly and San Marcos I stop at the telephone pole and clean my glasses with my shirt. I look up towards the moon and recite the mantra:

"I love you God. Thank you for everything. Please keep me sober for the rest of my life. Until Death, God, keep me sober. I love you God. Thank you for everything."

I knock three times on the telephone pole, walk the rest of the way to my van and drive straight home, where I sleep more soundly than I have in years.  

[conceptstage]

Let’s Get Punched

Beau sighed as she stepped in the rundown dive bar and smirked, turning to Caleb as his nose scrunched up in disgust. “Smell that?”

“I smell… many things,” he said. “Which exactly are you referring to?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a baby,” she teased as she walked farther inside. The bar wasn’t quite full but there were some people scattered between the wobbly wood tables and the scratched and stained bar. The bartender washing glasses behind the bar raised an eyebrow at him and looked him over so he hurried to catch up with Beau.

He pressed against her side and cleared his throat. “Am I in danger here?”

“Course,” she said casually. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let you get hurt. Too much.”

“Beau!” someone called in greeting and she grinned, waving her hand as she took a seat at a little two seater table near the back wall.

“You know that guy?” Caleb asked.

“Beat him up once. He bought me a round of drinks.” She hummed as she looked around at the people in the bar. “Let’s see, who would be a good first opponent?”

“That guy that called your name?”

Beau snorted. “No. He’d kick your ass. Sometimes we get college kids in here trying to act badass, you could probably take one of the little ones. Avoid anyone named Chad or Brad or something like that because those fuckers fight until someone’s on the ground.”

“Is this really the best way to learn how to fight?”

“You can’t learn to fight until you get in a fight. What exactly do you want to do, read about fighting and call it good?”

“No, I mean, couldn’t we have gone to a gym and you could have taught me with pads on?”

“Eventually. That’s all fine and good, but you’ll never get over your fear of getting punched until you get punched, bare knuckle and for real.”

“I’m not scared of getting punched.” Beau raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. “I’m a little scared of getting punched. Okay, then you punch me. I trust you to punch me.”

“That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me, but that won’t work either because you trust me not to hurt you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then trust me when I say that I know what I’m doing, alright?” She started rooting around in her pocket and handed him a dollar. “I’ll get us drinks. Pick out something decent on the jukebox, these last few songs have been shit. Pay to play it first.”

“I need another dollar for that.”

Beau huffed and rolled her eyes but handed him a second dollar. “It better be a good fucking song, you jackass.” Then she got up and walked to the bar. “Hey, Johnny!” she called, waving. The bartender paused his conversation briefly to flip her off and she sneered. “Johnny! Don’t fuck with me, man! I’ve got money this time!”

The bartender continued talking and paid her no mind. She rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder as Caleb finished up at the Jukebox. He met her eyes and gave her an awkward thumbs up as her favorite song started to play. She waved him over and he nodded, reaching down to take his change from the machine first. Before he could walk over to her, two dwarves and one half orc walked up to him. The dwarf in front said something to him and Caleb curled in on himself defensively before answering.

She frowned and pushed herself off the counter. This looked like bad news. “Caleb?” she called, starting towards him. He looked up at her just before a meaty fist impacted the side of his face and knocked him down to the floor, limp like a doll. “Caleb! You motherfucker! I’ll kill you for that!” She kicked the dwarf who’d hit Caleb square in the face when he turned to look at her. She heard a crack as his nose broke under her heel. The half orc grabbed her by her hair and she yanked away, feeling her hair tie and some strands of hair pulled out. She threw her head back at him violently and smashed her skull into his face as her hair fell around her shoulders. She reached back and grabbed him by the sides of his face. She bent at the waist and threw him over her shoulder to crash into the second dwarf. She glared at the first dwarf who was watching her with wide eyes.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he asked, stepping back into a defensive position and holding up his fists to defend himself.

“Hell, motherfucker! And that’s where I’m gonna send you if you touch my friend again!” She kicked him across the face and then punched him twice in quick succession in the stomach. He punched towards her but she swept out of the way. She grabbed his beard and pulled him hard into her knee. She threw him backwards to the ground and left him there. She sighed and turned to Caleb, who was still laying on the ground clutching his face. “Let me see. Hey, let me see.” She pulled his fingers away from his face and saw his eye starting to swell up. “You think you’re gonna live?” she teased, pulling him to his feet. He groaned and leaned heavily against her.

“I feel dizzy.”

“You feel nauseous?” He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me. Are you gonna puke?”

“Nein, just… disoriented.”

“Good. You didn’t get knocked out. I’m honestly impressed. Here, take a seat.” She walked him up to the bar and took the cold bag of peas from Johnny with a grateful nod. “Hold this over your eye. I’ve gotta make an announcement.”

Beau cleared her throat and started to climb up on the counter.

“Hey!” Johnny called. “Get your ass down, Beau, I’m not kidding!”

“Just give me a fucking second!” She turned out to the bar to find all the eyes on her. “I have a little public service announcement. See this squishy guy right here?” Caleb gave an embarrassed wave and pressed the bag of peas over his eye. “He’s my brother! He belongs to me! Anyone who thinks they can fuck with him are gonna be eating my fists for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and getting my boot in your ass for dessert! Understand?”

Johnny threw a lemon at her and beamed her in the side of the head. “Get the fuck down!” Beau sneered at him but hopped off the counter.

Caleb looked at her curiously as she pulled the bag away from his eye to look it over. “I’m not your brother.”

She waved dismissively and replaced the bag once more. “They don’t know that. Family is the only thing these people understand.”

“Hey Beau.”

She looked up to meet his good eye. “Yeah?”

He smiled softly. “I got punched.”

She snickered. “Yeah, you did. You still scared?”

“Yeah, but I think I can take it now.”

“Good. When that eye’s healed we’ll start training at the gym.”

“Thank the gods,” he moaned. They both looked across the bar as another fight started up in the other corner. Caleb frowned. “I hate this place.”

Beau grinned and leaned against the counter. “I love this place.”

[whaddyameanno]

David/Patrick: What I Did for Love

So this is what happens when I have an idea in my head and then I actually sit down and write it...yikes. 

It’s super angsty so I understand if no one wants to read it, but it ends up being okay. 

Tumblr messed with the formatting, I’m sorry. 

Patrick knew who Sebastien Raine was, of course. The very name of the man made his blood boil.

Shortly before he and David had gotten together, Sebastien Raine had been in town and David had gotten revenge and closure, in that order, but Patrick still hated the man.

David and Patrick had sat down and talked about each other’s histories after the whole Rachel debacle at the barbecue. Patrick had never wanted another surprise appearance from an ex to come between them and so they talked.

David had, of course, made offhand comments here and there about experiences he had been through and many of them had made Patrick sad, and even more of them had made him angry, but nothing could compare to how he had felt when David had disclosed the details of his and Sebastien’s relationship.

David had told him all about how Sebastien had made him feel special and how he had actually felt something for the man and would’ve done anything for him. He went into details about how Sebastien had told him to be in bed, naked, waiting for him and how Sebastien had stumbled in, drunk off his ass, with another person in tow. And then, of course, there was the manipulation. How David would be unsure of doing something and Sebastien would convince him he should “do it for him” or “for their relationship”. The best example of this was the nude photoshoot. He explained to Patrick that that was why he didn’t want Sebastien anywhere near Stevie, he didn’t want her going through that too.

As much as he didn’t want Patrick to see, David had been unable to hide the tears in his eyes as he told Patrick all about their three month-four if you counted the month where Sebastien was seeing other people-relationship and how much it had completely shattered him as a person. He had been unable to leave his bed for a long, long time. A lot of people had hurt him, he had told Patrick, but never had it hurt as badly as what he went through with Sebastien.

And that was how Patrick found himself making a promise to himself, were to ever get his hands on Sebastien Raine, he’d let him have it. He knew, of course, the chances of that happening were slim to none, but sometimes, after witnessing and helping David through one of his particularly bad anxiety attacks, the thought would cross his mind.

***

Patrick hated being away on business. He would much rather be at home, with his fiance wrapped up in his arms. Fiance. He would never get tired of referring to David as that, well, that is, until the better, more fitting term “husband” was applicable.

He was sitting at the bar in his hotel, drinking-maybe one too many- but he was feeling lonely and missing David when he saw him. At first, he thought maybe he was seeing things because there was no way Sebastien Raine would be here in this same hotel in Chicago, but he had seen pictures and was unable to get the image of the horrible man out of his brain. There was no doubt about it. Sebastien Raine was here and he was going to give him a piece of his mind.

He stood up, quickly paid his tab, and then took a seat closer to where he was sitting with some other people. Were they acquaintances or his next victims? Patrick couldn’t be sure. Had he thought this through exactly? No, but he was drunk and seeing red and the only thought in his mind was that Sebastien needed to pay.

He was smart enough to know that he couldn’t just make a scene in front of a bunch of people. He needed to wait until the timing was just right. He bided his time, watching and if he were less drunk, he would realize that most likely he looked like a stalker, but he didn’t care. He saw his opportunity when Sebastien got up and headed for the bathroom and he followed him. Yep, he definitely looked like a stalker.

He entered the bathroom to see Sebastien staring at himself in the mirror. Patrick wanted to roll his eyes and he pursed his lips to keep back the biting remark he wanted to make about how vain he was.

Patrick took a step closer and cleared his throat. Sebastien looked at him, briefly, and then turned back to the mirror.

“Sebastien Raine, right?” Patrick asked, nonchalantly, as if he was a fan looking to confirm it was indeed him. Make no mistake, he was not a fan.

“Yeah, that’s me, can I help you with something?”

“Stand still,” he said as he rushed towards him and punched him in the face.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“That was for hurting David,” Patrick said.

Sebastien, who had been clutching onto his nose up until this point, smirked at him and said,

“Oh, so you’re his new boy toy, huh?”

“I’m his fiance.”

“You seem like you’re holding onto some anger there,” said Sebastien and Patrick wanted to punch him again if only to wipe that condescending smirk off his face.

“Hell yeah, I’m holding onto some anger. How dare you prance about acting like the world owes you everything when you take and you take and you take and you never give?”

“You know, I’m not really understanding the problem here, bud. You got the guy, you won, I lost.”

Patrick got right up in his face and yelled, “YOU’RE the problem because you think people are there for you to do whatever you please with. You stomped all over him, broke him down to nothing. And the worst part is, you don’t even see it, either that or you don’t care.”

Clearly, anything Patrick said to this guy would mean nothing to him and so he started to walk away. His anger had simmered down and he didn’t want to take things too far and get arrested for assault or anything like that. David wouldn’t be too thrilled with him if they had to use their wedding budget for his bail money.

“If I didn’t care, why would I keep all the pictures of him?”

Patrick froze in place, the thought never occurred to him. David had mentioned that there was a nude photoshoot. Patrick felt like he was going to be sick. Sebastien had once planned to post pictures of Moira in Schitt’s Creek, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t post those...right?

“If you even think about leaking those, I swear to god, I will-,”

“Hey, whoa there, I would never do that.”

This lying motherfucker. Patrick wanted to punch him again, but he felt he should stay calm for now. He was going to need to, to negotiate for the photos.

“What do you want for them? I will give you anything for you to hand over all the photos of David.”

“Well,” said Sebastien, starting to circle him, looking him up and down. “I think I know just the thing.”

Patrick was starting to feel uncomfortable. If Sebastien asked him to cheat on David, it was not happening. He would just have to figure out another way to get those photos back.

“How about his nudes for yours?” asked Sebastien and Patrick nodded, not even having to think twice. He would do that for David. He would do anything to prevent David from ever being hurt by this man ever again.

Sebastien told him to come with him to his room where they would take the photos. He headed towards the elevator and Patrick was starting to feel sick. It wasn’t too late, he could back out now. He should never have come out here. David was going to be so angry with him. He would never forgive him and then it would have all been for nothing.

The photoshoot lasted for what felt like forever. After Sebastien announced he had taken his last photo, Patrick got up, put his clothes back on, and stormed over to him.

“Now I want to watch you delete every single photo you have of David and if I ever find out there was more and you leaked them, I will be back.”

Patrick watched as he deleted all the photos and then turned to go.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” smirked Sebastien as Patrick left the room.

***

As soon as he got back to his room, Patrick puked his guts out and then called David.

“David, David, I’m so sorry, I never should have done it, I never should have come here.” Patrick sobbed into the phone as soon as David picked up. He realized David would probably be freaking out by his poor choice of words and then he quickly tried to explain.

“I saw Sebastien and I confronted him and yelled at him and punched him but then he told me he still had nudes of you and so I made a bad decision and I traded your nudes for mine.”

“I’m sorry, you did WHAT?”

“I knew you were going to be angry, I’m so sorry. I just, I couldn’t risk him leaking your nudes. It would have been my fault if he had done that because I punched him and antagonized him and so I told him I’d do anything to get your nudes back and he wanted mine. I w-watched him delete all the photos of you, though. They’re gone.”

“Patrick,” David said, softly, his voice cracking, “are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just afraid you’re mad at me.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not thrilled at the concept of Sebastien having nude photos of my fiance, but I, I can’t believe you would do something like that for me. Nobody’s ever gone to that extreme for me.”

“I just, I love you so much, David. I would do anything for you. He hurt you and now he never can hurt you ever again.”

“I love you too, Patrick, but I really think you need to get some sleep. You sound exhausted and drunk and we can talk more about this when you get home.”

“But we’re okay?”

“Yes, we’re okay and we always will be.”

[winchester-sisters-imagines]

Tell Me I’m A Bad Man – Part 5 - Final

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 1,621

Forever Tag List: @capandbuck @bummblebeeblue @sarbear429 @bea789 @xtina2191 @lovethefandomsuniverse @evyiione @trustnobodyshootfirst @motleymoose @thegoodhunterrr5 @bookaddictedhedgehog @ohmystars30 @aquabrie @fanboyswhereare-you @percussiongirl2017 @dionnemaria @sherlockslove112 @sesshomaru-lover @freaksforthewin @hi-pixzza @cookee50 @imasunflower13 @clairedelalune @lovelife-tothefullest @dylcole @exploratiionist @aworldwideapart @i-want-to-be-watered-by-roger @captainaudreystark@swimmer-sarcasm @almightyunnie, @winchesterswantmypie @dolliegirl16 @gurlwitafro 

Warnings: guns, blood, puking, hospitals

Original Request:

Author’s Note: Here it is, the last part to Demon!Dean! I loved writing this and I hope you all like it as well. The title is from House of Wolves by My Chemical Romance. – Haley xx

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

I woke up with a groan. It was so bright that I could not open my eyes; it was hot also, I felt like my skin was on fire. With my eyes still closed, I reached my hands out, with my palms down, to feel what was around me. Whatever I was on was soft to the touch and I could feel it all around me. If I could roll over, I could shield my eyes from the bright light that was around me.

I tried to roll over, but my entire body resisted, and pain shot all over me.

I cried out from it. With this pain and the room being so hot, I could have well been in dead and in Hell now. That is what Demon Dean wanted. No, I told myself, He does not get what he wants. Roll your ass over, Y/N.

I slowly moved my leg over before moving the rest of my body inch by inch. The pain was excruciating but I had to know where I was at. Before I realized it, the soft ground was not there anymore, and I was falling. My body hit a different ground – this was hard and cold- making me cry out every more. But the brightness was gone from all around me and I slowly and carefully opened up my eyes.

I was back in the motel that I had woke up in at the beginning of this Hell nightmare. I had rolled over onto the hardwood floor from the bed. The bright light and heat were coming from the window that was opened. Was it open before?

I grabbed the nightstand and tried to pull myself up, but the pain was still sharp and flooded all my senses. I could only go as high as the bed and plopped my body on it. I could see the out window and saw the shiny blacktop road contrasting with the rest of the desert. The heat and light coming from the window made me want to throw up but I held it in because I heard a noise that made my heart drop. The Impala.

I heard it before I saw it, like how you also hear the sirens before the police car shows up, it was just as clean and glimmering in the sun like it always did. The car pulled into the motel parking lot before being shut off.

I prayed that it was not Demon Dean again. I was tired of fighting him and the nightmares that I had been having. Car doors opened and were slammed shut and I could see Dean and Sam hovering around the Impala's trunk. The trunk was opened, and Dean was rummaging around inside of it. I froze thinking what he would be looking for, but I was not going to let this happen again.

I shot off the bed, which was a stupid thing because pain shot all around my body again, but I needed to protect myself. Looking around, my bags and everything was laying around just like they were before. I got to my duffel and searched for my gun, found it, reloaded it, and waited. I heard them talking as they got closer to the motel door. I held the gun in my shaking hands and waited for them.

There was a pounding at the door, followed with, “Y/N! Y/N, are you in there?” It was Dean.

I kept my mouth shut and waited.

Sam’s form came into view as he squinted through the window and he pointed at me. “I see her, she’s inside.”

“The door’s locked, Y/N, let us in.”

“Fuck off!” I managed to say, my throat and voice all scratchy.

“Baby, please,” Dean pleaded through the door, “We’ve been looking all over for you. You’ve been gone for weeks.”

My hands were shaking so hard I could not keep the gun straight. Sam disappeared from the window and the door was shaking. A few hard knocks on it and the door swung opened. Dean stood there with a bag thrown over his shoulder and his favorite pistol in hand. “Back up,” I ordered.

“Y/N-“ Sam started.

“No, back the fuck up,” I said to them. “I’ve been through hell and back and I don’t even know if you two are real, the bad ones, or the good ones. So back the fuck up. Back against the wall and guns on the floor, now.”

They did as I said. I swooped in and grabbed their guns, emptying the bullets onto the floor. “What do you mean ‘bad ones’?” Sam asked.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Like you two don’t fucking know. Demon Dean over there has plagued my dreams ever since I showed up in the weird ass world. And I thought you, Cas, and Bobby were on my side, but I don’t know anymore.”

“You think I’m a demon?” Dean asked me.

I pointed the gun at his chest. “I saw the black eyes you had. You wanted to me bring hell to earth so don’t think you can mess with me again. I tried to kill you but apparently, you can’t die.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. “Y/N, you didn’t do anything to me. You’ve been gone for weeks. After that hunt in California, you disappeared on the way home. We’ve been looking for you ever since.”

Nothing was making sense. He was acting like my Dean, but so did the demon version of him. I felt sick to my stomach and my head was pounding. “Lift up your shirt,” I told him.

“What-“

“Just fucking do it,” I snapped.

Dean dropped his hands and did what I said. There was no blood, no wound, not even a scar from me shoving a demon blade into his skin. The pain seared again causing me to screw up my face. I dropped my gun and wrapped my arms around myself.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked me.

“Baby, you’re bleeding,” Dean pointed out.

I looked at my shirt and saw blood soaking through. I peeled my shirt up and saw the massive wound in my stomach. Somebody has stabbed me when I went toe to toe with Demon Dean, but I could not see who. This explains all the pain I have been having since I woke up.

I dropped to all fours and my vision because blurry. When puked is when Dean rushed over to me. I could feel hands, trying to help me up, but my I was seeing spots and soon I did not see at all.

A warm hand was holding tight onto mine as I woke up. Lights all around me were just as bright as they were back in the motel. I groaned and looked over at my side, it was Dean holding my hand. His face buried in the mattress. “Dean…?”

He sat up, looked around, before locking eyes with me. “Y/N, you’re awake,” he said quietly.

“Where am I?”

“You’re at the hospital,” Dean explained. “You passed out when Sam and I were trying to help you off the ground. Baby, you have a massive stab wound, what happened?”

I looked him over. His clothes and hair were disheveled but his eyes were bright as they were the last time I saw him. This was my Dean. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” I told him. “I was in a different universe. Everyone was there, but you were a demon.”

Dean brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Y/N…”

“Don’t tell me it didn’t happen, Dean,” I said, getting upset. “It did happen. I had to fight a Demon version of you that wanted to kill me, but I got to that motherfucker first. I stabbed him with the demon knife and then someone stabbed me.”

“Who?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know. It was a literal backstabbing.”

Dean grimaced. He opened up his mouth to say something, but decided not to, and shut it back.

“You don’t believe me,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. How could he not believe me? Did Dean think that this giant stab wound was self-inflicted?

“This wound…” Dean said, trying to find the right words, “… the doctor said it was more of an impaling. You’ve got a matching wound on your back.”

“Because I was stabbed, Dean,” I told him.

“Y/N-“ He started.

“Listen, believe me, or don’t, I don’t care anymore, but I’ve been through hell trying to get back. At least believe that part. Believe that maybe someone hurt me. Believe that I did everything I could to get back here to you, Dean.”

“Baby, I do,” Dean said. He moved from the chair he was sitting on to sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I was so worried about you when you didn’t come home after the hunt. We shouldn’t have drove separate and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

Dean tried to blink away tears, but it did not work. I squeezed his hand and he leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again,” he promised.

I nodded my head. Dean let go of my hand and stood up. “Where are you going?” I asked him.

“To get Sammy. He wanted to know when you woke up.”

“Can you wait? I just want a little bit more time with you.”

Dean smiled softly and nodded his head. I scooted over slightly so Dean could lay next to me. He did and wrapped one arm around my shoulders. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

[horse-and-writer97-sideblog]

Silver Spark: Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Word Count: 3542

Warnings: Language

Description: While Harlow is sick, Peter finally gets to meet the legendary sister: Graylynn.

...

Being sick really fucking sucked. Harlow had been stuck in bed for days and it was getting to her. Somehow she had gotten sick, probably by one guy she sat in front of in one of her classes that just would not stop coughing and didn’t have the decency to cover his mouth and instead coughed into her hair. That’s most likely how she got to vomiting for 15 hours straight two days ago and why she now had almost completely lost her voice and any energy she could muster up. Even her lightning was disappointingly small and weak.

But it did have a few perks, Harlow got to do the one thing she loved oh so much, sleeping all day. The blankets on her large bed were comfortably wrapped around her like a cocoon and all her pillows bunched closely around her to make her feel like she was being hugged from all sides. Beside her on the nightstand were several gatorade bottles, one almost completely full due to her still being unable to drink all of it quickly from her nausea. The other side of a large body pillow there was a small bucket in case she needed to puke again as well as tissues and a small bowl of crackers.

She didn’t hear the soft knocking on the door to her and her sister’s apartment so she startled slightly when there was a knock on her own door. “Come in,” Harlow rasped as she set down the book she was reading.

“You’ve got a visitor croaky,” the familiar voice of Graylynn popped up just before her curly brown hair poked just inside, “you decent?”

Instead of a response Harlow quickly flicked the button to change her eyes and merely held up a very specific finger followed by her sister’s short laugh, “Don’t let her take advantage of you.” She watched as Gray pushed in who she last spoke to, Peter Parker.

“Ah bonjour motherfucker,” Harlow’s attempted laugh caused a small coughing fit causing the boy to hurry to her side, worry across his whole face. Simply pointing she got Peter to hand her the drink to end the annoying tickle in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Peter jolted, “I uh brought you your homework and... stuff.” She noticed the light shade of pink flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he scrambled through his bag pulling out a textbook and multiple packets of paper. “And in Spanish we have a presentation to do with partners that we need to work on. I hope you uh- I hope you don’t mind that I had us partnered up.”

A small smile spread across her face as she watched the boy scramble over himself. Soon after she met him the way he scrambled to catch up when startled by a question or when he felt embarrassed had become endearing and almost comforting to her. As he pulled more and more things from his backpack Harlow saw he was running out of room to put it all, “Here, Mary Poppins.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and Peter waited for her to fix her blankets before plopping the stacks on the foot of her bed.

“Hey,” Gray popped her head into view once more, “I gotta go pick up the delinquents medicine.” The older girl laughed at Harlow’s annoyed expression, “You keep an eye on her. She’s gotta drink at least half of that bottle before I get back, and don’t let her talk. I’ll know if she does.”

Harlow’s mouth opened slightly before Gray pointed at her, quieting her at once. When her sister’s head turned to leave she grabbed Peter’s sleeve, pointing in the girls’ direction. “Graylynn?” He questioned, getting a nod before speaking more confidently, “Hey Graylynn?”

“Yeah?” Gray turned back into the room. Her quizzical look turned on her younger sister, giving Harlow the chance to flip her off once more and mouth ‘fuck you’ all followed by a cheesy grin. “You’re lucky you’re sick.”

“Bring us smoothies,” she tried to call after her but only half of her words came out completely, the other half just the small sound of her trying to force it. In response all she heard this time was the front door closing.

Fixing her attention on Peter she once again opened her mouth to speak but got shut down, “Hey, no talking.” Harlow let herself show a fake insulted look before he could speak again. “So the project is the first thing we should work on, all your teachers said the rest could wait for a little while.”

…

Peter had explained the project before they started working on it and a half an hour in she sat with her legs crossed under the blankets, her laptop on her lap while he sat on the end of her bed. Over the screen she could just barely see the top of his head while listening to him speak, switching back and forth between English and Spanish while she translated as she typed.

“Shit,” Harlow mumbled to herself. Between her missing voice and the fact she barely said anything she was surprised when Peter’s head lifted to look at her. “Can you turn around? I don’t have any pants on.” He didn’t need to say anything when his face was clearly speaking for him. There it was again, his cheeks and even the tips of his ears turned the familiar, ridiculous shade of pink before he promptly turned around.

Sliding out of bed wasn’t nearly as graceful as usual and picking up the shorts she left on the ground from when she grew too hot the night before nearly caused her to fall over. After not eating and barely getting out of bed affected Harlow more than she thought it would but she refused to say anything.

“Do you need help?” Peter was still turned around when he spoke.

“I’ve got it,” she smirked at the awkwardness in his voice. “You can turn back around. I’m fine.” Once again the look on his face spoke for him. He, of course, didn’t believe her. Harlow could hardly blame him, her whole body was nearly translucent it was so pale and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying slightly.

“Where are you going?” Peter’s brows tucked together in concern causing a small dent in his skin.

Harlow choked out the words from her suddenly tight throat, “Gotta pee.” More concern, “I’m a big girl. I can walk by myself.”

A small laugh forced its way out of his throat before he could stop it, turning his face back to serious. “You wanna walk by yourself? Ok, let’s see you do that.” His small smirk made Harlow give him the dirtiest look she could muster.

Taking a deep breath Harlow took a small step forward, her hand hovering just over the bed like there was an invisible rail just underneath her hand. She was making slow progress, ignoring Peter almost completely as she tried to strategize how to make it across the seemingly vast empty space between her and her door. Just thinking about the daunting task made her head spin and her leg just about give out from under her.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself. “I need some help.”

“What was that?” Harlow didn’t need to look up, she could hear the smile and laughter in his voice.

“I need you, idiot.” Her voice was more like a groan mixed with a croak. She already knew she’d never hear the end of this.

Peter started towards her, “Here, put your arm around my shoul- or just collapse on me. That’s cool too.” She could feel his chest vibrate with his laugh. Blinking rapidly Harlow tried to clear her blurry vision so she could see where the hell she was going but the artificial color in front of her eyes just made the spinning worse.

“Pete,” she struggled against his tight hold. They were nearly there, the walk felt more like miles instead of feet. Even though Harlow knew she was practically walking sideways she hated feeling helpless. “I- I can walk by myself. I’m f- f- fine.” The word wouldn’t fit out over her mouth.

“Harlow, there’s two things I’m gonna say about that. One: stop wasting the little that’s left of your voice complaining about this.” They had gotten to the door and Peter propped Harlow so she was at least mostly vertical. “And two: I’m gonna quote a very wise person for this one, ‘Bull. Shit.’.” There was a small proud smirk on his face, his eyes trying to catch hers as he spoke.

“Oh, I know her. You know, she also said another inspiring thing that everyone should live by. It’s ‘Fuck. You.’.” One side of her lips turned up to match his own expression.

“Harlow,” there was the concern again. She felt Peter’s hand touch hers, getting her to look at him. “Harlow you’re paler than a ghost.”

Her eyes couldn’t focus on him for long, she could feel as if her eyes were buzzing inside her skull. She realized the familiar tingle of energy pulsing softly under her skin and sweat appearing on her forehead. “I’m always this pale,” she stuttered.

“Harl-” she didn’t hear the end of the sentence. She turned quickly, ducking into the bathroom and…

The sound of an electrical surge, the lights throughout the apartment went out. It was almost a flicker of light just slower. As Harlow’s body crumpled over the toilet the lights surged with her retching. This wasn’t abnormal for her, whenever her or Graylynn got sick it was bad. The two had assumed it was because of both girls’ weak immune systems before the crash that gave them their powers and since then their powers and sickness were both affected. With Harlow this came out as power surges, the size of them paired with however ill she was. At times it caused the electricity in her body to pulsate out from her, never strong enough to kill or even severely hurt someone thankfully.

Graylynn’s was much less obvious, technology just fritzing out: screens turning to static or turning on and off with her sneezes, phones minorly shocking whoever was holding it, even wifi ebbing and flowing seemingly on their own. With her powers not necessarily as strong as her younger sibling the effect it had on her wasn’t as strong.

All of this Peter did not know while Harlow sat praying he wouldn’t find out. Not that there was much reason for him to suspect, she kept it to herself. She was currently most worried about the fact that he was there basically watching her puke her guts out. While she sat dry heaving on the floor she hadn’t heard Peter walk up behind her until his gentle hands tucked her hair up and away from her face. His hands seemed to be almost shaking but Harlow had only chalked that up to the energy buzzing inside her like an angry beehive.

“Hey,” his gentle voice was barely above a whisper, “you alright for a second?” Harlow lifted her trembling hands up to wipe her face, getting all the small baby hairs away from her sweaty face and nodding slightly. As he stood she could barely register the hand lingering on her back for an extra second.

It wasn’t long until Peter was back in the dark bathroom with a small glass of water and a wet cloth. Silently offering the two to her he waited on the floor with her, not saying anything. Harlow was almost surprised once more at how comforting and familiar his presence but she couldn’t pay much attention to it.

After ten minutes Harlow was finally able to get led back to her bed, chills and weakness finally passing. And 20 minutes after that Graylynn came in to find the teenagers quietly working, this time Peter up on her bed, legs folded underneath him and a textbook in his lap.

“Hey croaky,” Gray quietly knocked on the open door. “Guess what I got?” Harlow looked up to see her before grabbing a nearby notebook, writing on the first blank page. “‘A sense of purpose?’ Very funny Harl, guess you don’t get this smoothie I got you.”

Still staying silent both Peter and Graylynn laughed as Harlow’s eyes widened and reached out her hands like a toddler that could only be described as a ‘gimmie’ motion.

“Here, you child.” Harlow took the drink greedily from her sister, tucking her legs to her chest and holding the drink close as if someone was going to steal it from her. “Here Peter,” Graylynn turned to the boy, “I hope that flavor’s alright. I think Harlow said something about you liking it.”

“Thank you,” Peter took a small sip then turning to Harlow. “How’d you know that’s my favorite?” Still, thankfully, silent she merely made the motion of zipping her mouth shut and throwing away an invisible key.

“So,” Graylynn pulled up Harlow’s desk chair to the side of the bed, crossing her legs beneath her and sipping her own drink. “Tell me about yourself Peter Parker. I want to know everything.” The smug little grin was definitely pointed at Harlow, Gray’s mismatched eyes meeting hers for a second to blatantly ignore the glare.

Harlow indignantly sat back against the mountain of pillows behind her as Peter started talking. He was nervous at first but she could tell Gray’s relaxed and teasing behavior calmed him. She saw his face get more expressive and his shoulders relaxing with his gestures growing slowly in both size and quantity. As her sister and friend spoke Harlow was finally feeling better, the cool smooth drink calmed her burning throat temporarily and she was able to breath better.

Moments later when her drink was gone she didn’t see the pair slowly turn their eyes to her, finally seeing her sleep. Without a word they moved slowly, Peter sliding off the bed carefully to not disturb her and grabbing the laptop and textbooks to set them on her desk. Graylynn walked to her sister who seemed to have melted into the dozens and dozens of pillows. Pulling up her blanket and removing the glasses Harlow had put on after the dreaded bathroom experience, not trusting her powers to knock out the tech in her ear making her eyes appear normal. Harlow’s mildly conscious mind heard her door closing and Gray’s soft goodbyes to Peter before she drifted into a deep sleep.

…

About a week later Harlow was finally feeling better. She wasn’t 100% or anything but at least she had her voice back, all it was was a cough and the lingering nausea. The lightning in her was also mostly back, occasionally it would fizzle out or the buzzing in her arms or the back of her eyes to mess with the tech causing her to have to wear her glasses.

Sitting on the couch Harlow could hear Graylynn going off about something or other that she wasn’t paying attention to, nodding along when it seemed appropriate. The knocking on the door sprung her into action and away from whatever the older girl was saying. Interrupting in the middle of a sentence Harlow called as loud as she possibly could, “I’ll get it!” Purely to be annoying.

Stumbling over her own legs crossed under her Harlow leapt to open the door, nearly headbutting Peter in the nose. “Woah,” Peter’s hands were on her shoulders faster than she saw, steadying her as she nearly fell face first into the hallway.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks up to her ears Harlow looked down, letting her hair cover her flushed face as she turned to let him in. “Come on, let’s finish this project already,” she murmured.

“Harlow,” Gray chirped from over the half wall separating the living room from their tiny dining room.

Swinging her head up dramatically Harlow looked at her sister, glaring for her to stay silent about the color of her face. “What?”

“Okay,” Graylynn drug out the word, “be civil to your sister.”

Once again Harlow looked to Peter and back again with as much drama she could put into a head turn, “I am being perfectly. Fucking. Civil.” A wide, crazy grin split across her face as she stepped up to stand on the couch, step over the back and squish her sister in her arms as tight as possible. She knew she had successfully put her long hair all across the shorter girls’ face when faint spluttering blew a few thin strands away momentarily. Releasing the older girl Harlow turned to Peter once again, laughter in her voice, “C’mon Peter.” She beconned him after her as they went to her room.

“So,” Peter started, “I see you’re feeling better.” Quickly darting her eyes to him Harlow saw the small, timid smile on his face. Feeling her cheeks heat up again she quickly turned away, fighting her own matching smile while rummaging through the piles of papers on her desk for her laptop. Peter had been coming over almost daily while she had been sick, he brought her all the work she was missing as well as working on the project for spanish class.

“Yeah,” almost on cue a cough slipped out, “clearly not 100% though. Hey, how’s Carter been doing?” Changing the subject calmed her face enough to look at him again. The same thing didn’t work for him though as she watched the confusion form.

“Uh, I-I don’t know.” The lilt in his voice was obvious, “Hasn’t he come to visit you?”

“Um,” her mind scrambled for the right way to put it, “he’s really not good around sick people. And I didn’t want to get him sick anyway.”

The boy must’ve seen and heard the reluctance she had about that subject when he gave her a small smile and said, “I see how it is then.”

It worked! Harlow laughed lightly at the easy joke, “Ok asshole. Can we please just finish this, I’m so sick of Spanish.”

…

Once finished Harlow and Peter stood, stretching their limbs from the hours of sitting in the same spots. An inhuman noise came from her as she stretched her arms over her head, her fingers buzzing and nearly sparking the light on her ceiling. Looking over she saw Peter near one of her bookshelves, his raised arms bring the hem of his shirt up so she could see some of his lower back.

“Hey,” he got her attention, “is this you?” Coming closer Harlow saw the photo he was pointing at. It was her out in the middle of nowhere standing on top of a horses back, boots in the saddle where she should be sitting. Her arms were spread out the the sides causing her hair to billow out under the hat she was wearing and the glasses on her face thankfully disguising the fact her natural white was showing.

“Yep, that’s me and Zeus.” Harlow smiled at the memory from the day the photo was taken. Soon laughing as she told him how that day had went. Her and Graylynn had gone out for a ride on a trail nearby their grandparents home and farm.The two had practically galloped the whole way up the side of the hill until they reached a plateau where they finally stopped. It was the first time Harlow had ever stood on Zeus’ back, Graylynn trying to stop her from doing it in the first place since her mustang was still young and only lightly trained. But the second she stood he stood as still and strong as a rock. “I swear to god Gray was going to murder me.”

She couldn’t see his smile as Peter listened to her, Harlow’s eyes trained on the photo. “So he’s your horse?” She simply nodded in response, “Where’s he at?”

“Still back with my grandparents in Utah, Gray’s got a mare there too, Epona. They’ve got a farm and a ton of land that we’d ride around on. Well, we still kinda do, we’ll go out during the summer or long weekends sometimes.” She turned to look at him finally, “Maybe you can come out sometime.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Harlow then walked him out, both her and Graylynn saying bye at the door before he left. Spinning around on her heel Harlow fell back against the door then pushing herself off to flop onto the couch.

“So,” Graylynn startled her as she plopped down next to her younger sister, “Peter’s been here a lot lately.” Lifting the arm she had over her eyes Harlow glared at the girl. “C’mon,” her legs were shaken roughly, Gray clearly not satisfied with that answer. “Spill. I know you have more to say than that.”

Groaning Harlow reluctantly sat up, trying to maintain the annoyed look on her face. Damn it, she failed, a smile growing more and more. “Gray he’s such a nerd. Such a nerd. But it’s so… ah!” She fell back once more, unable to articulate the remarkable being named Peter Parker. If only she knew he could still hear her.

...

[horse-and-writer97]

Silver Spark: Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Guys. It’s FINALLY here! Chapter 5, enjoy.

Word count: 3547

Description: Peter finally meets the legendary sister, Graylynn.

Chapter 5: Meet the Sister

Being sick really fucking sucked. Harlow had been stuck in bed for days and it was getting to her. Somehow she had gotten sick, probably by one guy she sat in front of in one of her classes that just would not stop coughing and didn’t have the decency to cover his mouth and instead coughed into her hair. That’s most likely how she got to vomiting for 15 hours straight two days ago and why she now had almost completely lost her voice and any energy she could muster up. Even her lightning was disappointingly small and weak.

But it did have a few perks, Harlow got to do the one thing she loved oh so much, sleeping all day. The blankets on her large bed were comfortably wrapped around her like a cocoon and all her pillows bunched closely around her to make her feel like she was being hugged from all sides. Beside her on the nightstand were several gatorade bottles, one almost completely full due to her still being unable to drink all of it quickly from her nausea. The other side of a large body pillow there was a small bucket in case she needed to puke again as well as tissues and a small bowl of crackers.

She didn’t hear the soft knocking on the door to her and her sister’s apartment so she startled slightly when there was a knock on her own door. “Come in,” Harlow rasped as she set down the book she was reading.

“You’ve got a visitor croaky,” the familiar voice of Graylynn popped up just before her curly brown hair poked just inside, “you decent?”

Instead of a response Harlow quickly flicked the button to change her eyes and merely held up a very specific finger followed by her sister’s short laugh, “Don’t let her take advantage of you.” She watched as Gray pushed in who she last spoke to, Peter Parker.

“Ah bonjour motherfucker,” Harlow’s attempted laugh caused a small coughing fit causing the boy to hurry to her side, worry across his whole face. Simply pointing she got Peter to hand her the drink to end the annoying tickle in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Peter jolted, “I uh brought you your homework and... stuff.” She noticed the light shade of pink flushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he scrambled through his bag pulling out a textbook and multiple packets of paper. “And in Spanish we have a presentation to do with partners that we need to work on. I hope you uh- I hope you don’t mind that I had us partnered up.”

A small smile spread across her face as she watched the boy scramble over himself. Soon after she met him the way he scrambled to catch up when startled by a question or when he felt embarrassed had become endearing and almost comforting to her. As he pulled more and more things from his backpack Harlow saw he was running out of room to put it all, “Here, Mary Poppins.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and Peter waited for her to fix her blankets before plopping the stacks on the foot of her bed.

“Hey,” Gray popped her head into view once more, “I gotta go pick up the delinquents medicine.” The older girl laughed at Harlow’s annoyed expression, “You keep an eye on her. She’s gotta drink at least half of that bottle before I get back, and don’t let her talk. I’ll know if she does.”

Harlow’s mouth opened slightly before Gray pointed at her, quieting her at once. When her sister’s head turned to leave she grabbed Peter’s sleeve, pointing in the girls’ direction. “Graylynn?” He questioned, getting a nod before speaking more confidently, “Hey Graylynn?”

“Yeah?” Gray turned back into the room. Her quizzical look turned on her younger sister, giving Harlow the chance to flip her off once more and mouth ‘fuck you’ all followed by a cheesy grin. “You’re lucky you’re sick.”

“Bring us smoothies,” she tried to call after her but only half of her words came out completely, the other half just the small sound of her trying to force it. In response all she heard this time was the front door closing.

Fixing her attention on Peter she once again opened her mouth to speak but got shut down, “Hey, no talking.” Harlow let herself show a fake insulted look before he could speak again. “So the project is the first thing we should work on, all your teachers said the rest could wait for a little while.”

…

Peter had explained the project before they started working on it and a half an hour in she sat with her legs crossed under the blankets, her laptop on her lap while he sat on the end of her bed. Over the screen she could just barely see the top of his head while listening to him speak, switching back and forth between English and Spanish while she translated as she typed.

“Shit,” Harlow mumbled to herself. Between her missing voice and the fact she barely said anything she was surprised when Peter’s head lifted to look at her. “Can you turn around? I don’t have any pants on.” He didn’t need to say anything when his face was clearly speaking for him. There it was again, his cheeks and even the tips of his ears turned the familiar, ridiculous shade of pink before he promptly turned around.

Sliding out of bed wasn’t nearly as graceful as usual and picking up the shorts she left on the ground from when she grew too hot the night before nearly caused her to fall over. After not eating and barely getting out of bed affected Harlow more than she thought it would but she refused to say anything.

“Do you need help?” Peter was still turned around when he spoke.

“I’ve got it,” she smirked at the awkwardness in his voice. “You can turn back around. I’m fine.” Once again the look on his face spoke for him. He, of course, didn’t believe her. Harlow could hardly blame him, her whole body was nearly translucent it was so pale and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying slightly.

“Where are you going?” Peter’s brows tucked together in concern causing a small dent in his skin.

Harlow choked out the words from her suddenly tight throat, “Gotta pee.” More concern, “I’m a big girl. I can walk by myself.”

A small laugh forced its way out of his throat before he could stop it, turning his face back to serious. “You wanna walk by yourself? Ok, let’s see you do that.” His small smirk made Harlow give him the dirtiest look she could muster.

Taking a deep breath Harlow took a small step forward, her hand hovering just over the bed like there was an invisible rail just underneath her hand. She was making slow progress, ignoring Peter almost completely as she tried to strategize how to make it across the seemingly vast empty space between her and her door. Just thinking about the daunting task made her head spin and her leg just about give out from under her.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself. “I need some help.”

“What was that?” Harlow didn’t need to look up, she could hear the smile and laughter in his voice.

“I need you, idiot.” Her voice was more like a groan mixed with a croak. She already knew she’d never hear the end of this.

Peter started towards her, “Here, put your arm around my shoul- or just collapse on me. That’s cool too.” She could feel his chest vibrate with his laugh. Blinking rapidly Harlow tried to clear her blurry vision so she could see where the hell she was going but the artificial color in front of her eyes just made the spinning worse.

“Pete,” she struggled against his tight hold. They were nearly there, the walk felt more like miles instead of feet. Even though Harlow knew she was practically walking sideways she hated feeling helpless. “I- I can walk by myself. I’m f- f- fine.” The word wouldn’t fit out over her mouth.

“Harlow, there’s two things I’m gonna say about that. One: stop wasting the little that’s left of your voice complaining about this.” They had gotten to the door and Peter propped Harlow so she was at least mostly vertical. “And two: I’m gonna quote a very wise person for this one, ‘Bull. Shit.’.” There was a small proud smirk on his face, his eyes trying to catch hers as he spoke.

“Oh, I know her. You know, she also said another inspiring thing that everyone should live by. It’s ‘Fuck. You.’.” One side of her lips turned up to match his own expression.

“Harlow,” there was the concern again. She felt Peter’s hand touch hers, getting her to look at him. “Harlow you’re paler than a ghost.”

Her eyes couldn’t focus on him for long, she could feel as if her eyes were buzzing inside her skull. She realized the familiar tingle of energy pulsing softly under her skin and sweat appearing on her forehead. “I’m always this pale,” she stuttered.

“Harl-” she didn’t hear the end of the sentence. She turned quickly, ducking into the bathroom and…

The sound of an electrical surge, the lights throughout the apartment went out. It was almost a flicker of light just slower. As Harlow’s body crumpled over the toilet the lights surged with her retching. This wasn’t abnormal for her, whenever her or Graylynn got sick it was bad. The two had assumed it was because of both girls’ weak immune systems before the crash that gave them their powers and since then their powers and sickness were both affected. With Harlow this came out as power surges, the size of them paired with however ill she was. At times it caused the electricity in her body to pulsate out from her, never strong enough to kill or even severely hurt someone thankfully.

Graylynn’s was much less obvious, technology just fritzing out: screens turning to static or turning on and off with her sneezes, phones minorly shocking whoever was holding it, even wifi ebbing and flowing seemingly on their own. With her powers not necessarily as strong as her younger sibling the effect it had on her wasn’t as strong.

All of this Peter did not know while Harlow sat praying he wouldn’t find out. Not that there was much reason for him to suspect, she kept it to herself. She was currently most worried about the fact that he was there basically watching her puke her guts out. While she sat dry heaving on the floor she hadn’t heard Peter walk up behind her until his gentle hands tucked her hair up and away from her face. His hands seemed to be almost shaking but Harlow had only chalked that up to the energy buzzing inside her like an angry beehive.

“Hey,” his gentle voice was barely above a whisper, “you alright for a second?” Harlow lifted her trembling hands up to wipe her face, getting all the small baby hairs away from her sweaty face and nodding slightly. As he stood she could barely register the hand lingering on her back for an extra second.

It wasn’t long until Peter was back in the dark bathroom with a small glass of water and a wet cloth. Silently offering the two to her he waited on the floor with her, not saying anything. Harlow was almost surprised once more at how comforting and familiar his presence but she couldn’t pay much attention to it.

After ten minutes Harlow was finally able to get led back to her bed, chills and weakness finally passing. And 20 minutes after that Graylynn came in to find the teenagers quietly working, this time Peter up on her bed, legs folded underneath him and a textbook in his lap.

“Hey croaky,” Gray quietly knocked on the open door. “Guess what I got?” Harlow looked up to see her before grabbing a nearby notebook, writing on the first blank page. “‘A sense of purpose?’ Very funny Harl, guess you don’t get this smoothie I got you.”

Still staying silent both Peter and Graylynn laughed as Harlow’s eyes widened and reached out her hands like a toddler that could only be described as a ‘gimmie’ motion.

“Here, you child.” Harlow took the drink greedily from her sister, tucking her legs to her chest and holding the drink close as if someone was going to steal it from her. “Here Peter,” Graylynn turned to the boy, “I hope that flavor’s alright. I think Harlow said something about you liking it.”

“Thank you,” Peter took a small sip then turning to Harlow. “How’d you know that’s my favorite?” Still, thankfully, silent she merely made the motion of zipping her mouth shut and throwing away an invisible key.

“So,” Graylynn pulled up Harlow’s desk chair to the side of the bed, crossing her legs beneath her and sipping her own drink. “Tell me about yourself Peter Parker. I want to know everything.” The smug little grin was definitely pointed at Harlow, Gray’s mismatched eyes meeting hers for a second to blatantly ignore the glare.

Harlow indignantly sat back against the mountain of pillows behind her as Peter started talking. He was nervous at first but she could tell Gray’s relaxed and teasing behavior calmed him. She saw his face get more expressive and his shoulders relaxing with his gestures growing slowly in both size and quantity. As her sister and friend spoke Harlow was finally feeling better, the cool smooth drink calmed her burning throat temporarily and she was able to breath better.

Moments later when her drink was gone she didn’t see the pair slowly turn their eyes to her, finally seeing her sleep. Without a word they moved slowly, Peter sliding off the bed carefully to not disturb her and grabbing the laptop and textbooks to set them on her desk. Graylynn walked to her sister who seemed to have melted into the dozens and dozens of pillows. Pulling up her blanket and removing the glasses Harlow had put on after the dreaded bathroom experience, not trusting her powers to knock out the tech in her ear making her eyes appear normal. Harlow’s mildly conscious mind heard her door closing and Gray’s soft goodbyes to Peter before she drifted into a deep sleep.

…

About a week later Harlow was finally feeling better. She wasn’t 100% or anything but at least she had her voice back, all it was was a cough and the lingering nausea. The lightning in her was also mostly back, occasionally it would fizzle out or the buzzing in her arms or the back of her eyes to mess with the tech causing her to have to wear her glasses.

Sitting on the couch Harlow could hear Graylynn going off about something or other that she wasn’t paying attention to, nodding along when it seemed appropriate. The knocking on the door sprung her into action and away from whatever the older girl was saying. Interrupting in the middle of a sentence Harlow called as loud as she possibly could, “I’ll get it!” Purely to be annoying.

Stumbling over her own legs crossed under her Harlow leapt to open the door, nearly headbutting Peter in the nose. “Woah,” Peter’s hands were on her shoulders faster than she saw, steadying her as she nearly fell face first into the hallway.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks up to her ears Harlow looked down, letting her hair cover her flushed face as she turned to let him in. “Come on, let’s finish this project already,” she murmured.

“Harlow,” Gray chirped from over the half wall separating the living room from their tiny dining room.

Swinging her head up dramatically Harlow looked at her sister, glaring for her to stay silent about the color of her face. “What?”

“Okay,” Graylynn drug out the word, “be civil to your sister.”

Once again Harlow looked to Peter and back again with as much drama she could put into a head turn, “I am being perfectly. Fucking. Civil.” A wide, crazy grin split across her face as she stepped up to stand on the couch, step over the back and squish her sister in her arms as tight as possible. She knew she had successfully put her long hair all across the shorter girls’ face when faint spluttering blew a few thin strands away momentarily. Releasing the older girl Harlow turned to Peter once again, laughter in her voice, “C’mon Peter.” She beconned him after her as they went to her room.

“So,” Peter started, “I see you’re feeling better.” Quickly darting her eyes to him Harlow saw the small, timid smile on his face. Feeling her cheeks heat up again she quickly turned away, fighting her own matching smile while rummaging through the piles of papers on her desk for her laptop. Peter had been coming over almost daily while she had been sick, he brought her all the work she was missing as well as working on the project for spanish class.

“Yeah,” almost on cue a cough slipped out, “clearly not 100% though. Hey, how’s Carter been doing?” Changing the subject calmed her face enough to look at him again. The same thing didn’t work for him though as she watched the confusion form.

“Uh, I-I don’t know.” The lilt in his voice was obvious, “Hasn’t he come to visit you?”

“Um,” her mind scrambled for the right way to put it, “he’s really not good around sick people. And I didn’t want to get him sick anyway.”

The boy must’ve seen and heard the reluctance she had about that subject when he gave her a small smile and said, “I see how it is then.”

It worked! Harlow laughed lightly at the easy joke, “Ok asshole. Can we please just finish this, I’m so sick of Spanish.”

…

Once finished Harlow and Peter stood, stretching their limbs from the hours of sitting in the same spots. An inhuman noise came from her as she stretched her arms over her head, her fingers buzzing and nearly sparking the light on her ceiling. Looking over she saw Peter near one of her bookshelves, his raised arms bring the hem of his shirt up so she could see some of his lower back.

“Hey,” he got her attention, “is this you?” Coming closer Harlow saw the photo he was pointing at. It was her out in the middle of nowhere standing on top of a horses back, boots in the saddle where she should be sitting. Her arms were spread out the the sides causing her hair to billow out under the hat she was wearing and the glasses on her face thankfully disguising the fact her natural white was showing.

“Yep, that’s me and Zeus.” Harlow smiled at the memory from the day the photo was taken. Soon laughing as she told him how that day had went. Her and Graylynn had gone out for a ride on a trail nearby their grandparents home and farm.The two had practically galloped the whole way up the side of the hill until they reached a plateau where they finally stopped. It was the first time Harlow had ever stood on Zeus’ back, Graylynn trying to stop her from doing it in the first place since her mustang was still young and only lightly trained. But the second she stood he stood as still and strong as a rock. “I swear to god Gray was going to murder me.”

She couldn’t see his smile as Peter listened to her, Harlow’s eyes trained on the photo. “So he’s your horse?” She simply nodded in response, “Where’s he at?”

“Still back with my grandparents in Utah, Gray’s got a mare there too, Epona. They’ve got a farm and a ton of land that we’d ride around on. Well, we still kinda do, we’ll go out during the summer or long weekends sometimes.” She turned to look at him finally, “Maybe you can come out sometime.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Harlow then walked him out, both her and Graylynn saying bye at the door before he left. Spinning around on her heel Harlow fell back against the door then pushing herself off to flop onto the couch.

“So,” Graylynn startled her as she plopped down next to her younger sister, “Peter’s been here a lot lately.” Lifting the arm she had over her eyes Harlow glared at the girl. “C’mon,” her legs were shaken roughly, Gray clearly not satisfied with that answer. “Spill. I know you have more to say than that.”

Groaning Harlow reluctantly sat up, trying to maintain the annoyed look on her face. Damn it, she failed, a smile growing more and more. “Gray he’s such a nerd. Such a nerd. But it’s so… ah!” She fell back once more, unable to articulate the remarkable being named Peter Parker. If only she knew he could still hear her.

...

[bates--boy]

          The bouncer obviously didn’t recognize the partier who came sniffing for more action for the second time that week. At least from afar; going from off-shoulder blouses and high shorts to a dress shirt and trousers made quite a difference. It was only when the bouncer saw the blue and bruised eyes, through the holes in the black leather bunny mask, that a glimmer of recognition shone in his own.

          “...Bad week?” The bouncer chuckled.

         “Decade,” Peter grumbled through busted lips as he pulled out a wad of cash to shove in the bouncer’s hands. 

          The bouncer counted out the notes and pressed the stamp onto Peter’s hand, going about it a little slower and more cautious, remembering the last time Peter freaked out when he did it so suddenly (so slow, in fact -- and with a smile to boot -- that Peter wondered if he was just being an unfunny ass). With the holographic ink to guide him, Peter flounced to The Mad Hatta’s quarters to retrieve his treat. He carried it back out with perhaps a little too much reverence, a faithless worshipper carrying his Communion cracker.

          He returned to the dance floor, gazing at the altar with the suspended chains flickering in the flashing lights of purple and green and blue. The hymn filling the club wove into Peter’s veins, his blood stirring with the heavy bass of trap music.

          Down the rabbit hole I go, Peter thought. He laid Wonderland on his tongue.

          The span between the first familiar hit of mint cotton candy and when he broke from the crashing wave of the dancing crowd could not have been more than thirty seconds, but as he tugged on his rabbit ears to yank the mask off, he found his forehead drenched with enough sweat to cascade down his face and into the front of his shirt. He flipped his bangs, seeing drops fly away from his locks as he stumbled to the bar. In his haze, Peter slumped against the structure, slouching on the counter and crossing his arms on the black glass. The drinkers in the snowy filter of his vision jumped from the force of his body. 

        “Hey! Be careful, motherfucker!” A voice from behind the bar cried. Peter blinked, the dream-like grin on his face stretching wider as the bartender wandered into his view. He wondered if this is a place that muscular women frequented, because this is the second one that he’d crossed, dressed in a sharp white suit with a red tie, sleeves rolled up to expose toned forearms, a beautiful physique just on this side of total bodybuilder.

         She tossed her towel on one of her broad shoulders, and Peter could taste a bitter, honeyed mix of muscle envy and craving.

         She raised an immaculate, filled-in brow at the soaked and flushed individual. “Are you blitzed out? You gonna just sit there and drool, or do you want something?”

          “Right...” Peter gulped and filled his chest with the heavy air heated with sweat, booze, a hint of coitus happening in some far-off closets and stairwells, and no small amount of sudden inner pride. “Yeah, that’s what you usually do at a bar, right? Order drinks, eat peanuts, maybe bribe the barmaid with your tongue and fingers for a night of unlimited cocktails...”

         And Peter’s own brows slowly rose high on his forehead as he felt the buzz of the words left over on his lips. The silence between them as they locked a steady, tense gaze was thick enough to even drown out the musical switch from in-your-face trap to glitzy dance pop. The tiny remainder of common sense that wasn’t eroded by the chilly dreamscape of Wonderland dictated that Peter apologize immediately, chock his brazenness up to coy stupidity and being literally high (what was it she called it? “Blitzed”?) 

          Peter laid his chin on his crossed arms, widened his eyes and gazed up at her from under his long, coated lashes. His tongue slowly pass across his upper lip.

         Nothing about the smooth slate of the woman’s face changed as she stared at this slumped, baby-faced man, or when she turned to grab a bottle of water to set in front of him. She then bent to reach under the counter, pulling out a plastic bucket and setting it to Peter’s side. “Yeah, you’re blitzed.”

          Over the stench that suffocated Peter, he could smell a faint waft of vomit from the bucket. He recoiled, almost tripping backward on his unsteady feet, and clapped a hand over his nose and mouth. “Eugh!” He groaned, but the odd thing was that it came out as a giggle. “Is that bucket full of puke?!”

          “Nope, clean as a whistle.” The bartender tipped the mouth to show Peter its deceptively squeaky clean appearance. “See? Now, d’ya need help inducing vomit? If so, I’ll have to call someone over.”

        “Nm-mh!” Peter shook his head. ‘I only had one.”

        “Ah, so you always sound like a virgin’s idea of a lady’s man and a hooker?”

          Peter blinked, slightly lifting his head from his arms as if the sting of the bartender’s words jolted him. He felt his face start to twist, but because the high of the Wonderland softened the edges of everything, even the indignation, the grimace morphed into a lazy, self-deprecating grin. “It would seem so.”

          The bartender returned the bucket to its hidden space. “Whatever you were trying to do wouldn’t have worked, anyway. I’m a lesbian.”

          “Oh...” Peter sat up fully and picked up the bottle, twisting the cap off and lifting it halfway to his mouth. “Well, I was only trying to get some free drinks. So, whatever...”

           The bartender still kept a blank face as she watched her patron down half the bottle of water. Then she snorted, covering her mouth with her fist as she gently shook with laughter. She turned to the shelf and freezer behind her and, with some clinking, gathered a glass and a few bottles of brightly colored liquor, syrup, and jars of cherries and pineapple dices. “Hey, don’t pout at me just because you took your shot and ended up going full Shaq.”

          She laughed louder, almost spilling the thick peach starter as Peter started coughing on his water. She stopped when other clubbers made their way towards the bar, composing herself to the closest sense of professionalism she could manage while Peter glowered through his coughing fit. She hurried through her mixing, swirling a reddish brown syrup along the inside of the glass and filling the rest with a yellow, cold foamy layer that she dotted with the cherries and pineapples. She stuck a straw in it and placed the glass in front of Peter.

          “House special,” she said. She went to take the orders of the other patrons, filling up a mug of beer for one and mixing a gin and lime seltzer for the other. Coming back to Peter, she jolted at how Peter had the glass up, straw tossed aside, throat working as he sucked down the beverage and somehow managing to keep the fruit bits in. 

          “...Okay,” she said as Peter sat the glass down with a gasp for air. “You good?”

          “Heugh!” Peter patted his chest and blinked at the chill ballooning within the cavity. “Yeah, yep! I’m -- koff--  good. Hey, can I get another of that?”

           “Nah, not a good idea.” The bartender shook her head. To Peter’s returned and confused glower, she added, “You’re still in Wonderland. By now, your body temperature’s almost swinging low, so you definitely don’t need another ice popper. And you’re already so high that you don’t need another strong drink.”

          Peter pinched his brows together and picked up his straw. He stabbed the straw into a pineapple piece to fish out of the glass and put into his mouth. “What are you, my doctor? Why give me a drink at all, then?”

          The bartender shrugged. “You looked like you could use one. But like I said, one’s enough for you.”

          “Huh.” Peter fished a cherry out and popped that into his mouth as well, wincing for just a second at the tangy and bitter juice. “I can’t be that obvious.”

          “Oh, trust me, you are.” The bartender nodded. “Even if I hadn’t seen types like you stumbling in for as long as I ran this place, I would still tell.” She tapped at her bottom lip, in the same place that Peter could feel his wound stinging from the alcohol.

          He touched his fingers to the split in his lip. “Ha, I guess that -- Wait.” He tilted his head slightly. “You run this club?”

            Relief softened her face when the music changed into a playlist with a lower bass, one that offered them a break from practically yelling over the noise. “Yep. Seven years next month.”

          Peter’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “But you’re behind the bar...”

          “I’m just filling in for my usual girl.” She looked off to the side. “My little worker bee. She’s going into labor -- twins, I still can’t believe it! -- and after she recovers, she’s going to take her exam for her LLM.”

          “Oh, shit!” Peter stabbed into the glass multiple times and raised the kebab of cherries and pineapple pieces in the air. “Fuck! Good for her!”

          “Yeah. I’m so proud of her.” The bartender went to pick up the drained beer bottles left behind by the departing couple and dumped them into a recycling bin. She turned to find Peter with a quirked brow and a dry half-grin, and mirrored that look on her heart-shaped face with sharp cheekbones. “You don’t believe me?”

          “I mean...” Peter shrugged and ripped the fruit off the straw with his teeth. “Not really...” 

          The bartender crossed her arms. “Why would I make up the fact that I own this place?”

          “I’m trying to figure that out right now.” Peter ran his tongue over his lips once more, savoring the leftover taste of the ice popper. “Even if I was just a bartender, it would still be a cool gig in a club like this. Then again...”

          He dropped the straw into his empty glass and folded his arms on the bar once more. “Maybe you want more, want to be more, like the rest of us. So what would it hurt you to spin this wild tale of filling in for a woman who suspiciously sounds like that American who took her own bar exam while in labor? Especially to a total stranger who you probably won’t see ever again?”

          The bartender started to slowly shake her head. “American woman? Who...” She raised her palms. “Anyway... I like that you came here only a couple times and you think you already have everything figured out.”

          “Oh, like how you have me figured out just from a busted lip? One that I could have easily gotten from a falling book or a skateboard accident?”

          The bartender's face twitched. She opened her mouth, her lips working to protest, to retort, to joke, to explain, but remaining silent through her indecision. Finally, after a long deliberation and her tongue pressed into her cheek, she uncrossed her arms. She unlatched the bracelet from her wrist and gestured for Peter to hold his arm out. Confused, Peter did so, and the woman clipped the accessory, with it's jute cord and red and white glass beads, on his wrist.

          "Head back to the Mad Hatta in an hour. Show him this and tell him you want to be let into the Looking Glass."

          Peter held his wrist up and studied the dangling beads, surprised by their heavy weight. "You guys sure do like your Alice in Wonderland, huh?"

          "I loved that masterpiece since I was little. Always will be one of my faves." She shrugged, nudging the plastic bottle with what was left of the water closer to Peter. "One hour. In the meantime..."

          She turned back to the refrigerator behind her and scooped and scraped. She came back to Peter with a couple baggies full of ice. "Try to avoid falling books and skateboards."

          “Roger that!” With a wink, Peter spun and skipped his merry little way back to the dance floor, melding back into the throng with ease and instantly floating in its cloud of sweaty arousal and electropop buzz. At first, Peter wanted to chuck the ice bags into the nearest bin; besides how much harder their chill added to Peter’s sinking body temperature and made him shiver, he knew he looked silly holding them to his face while he swayed and swirled and dropped and popped. 

          Then went the gaiety of Wonderland, fading away and abandoning him on the real dance floor. Without the softer, snowier edge of the cotton candy tab, Peter felt the full force of his still swollen eye and busted lip and pressed the ice packs harder onto his face. He tried to remember how many songs he’d danced to, trying to keep track of time that had passed, and decided to go on through a couple more songs. He might be a little early if his sense of time was off, but he hoped for late. In a place like this, and for a party that the bartender invited him to, one must be fashionably late -- a metaphorical cock tease to a literal lesbian.

         The final song neared its end, a cue for Peter to swim through the crowd and search for the back door. Once there and taking the hall behind it, Peter sucked the warmed water from the baggies and dropped the baggies on the floor. He reached the Mad Hatta’s lair, stopped to wipe his face on his arm and pull the mask back into place, and stepped through.

          And froze, eyes bulging out at the bodies on the twisted layers of silk. He felt snaps going off in his skull, pops and pulls, an urge to run, a burning shame, a renewed desire at the sight born from envy and anger. With the end of Wonderland came the withdrawal, a sense of everything being worse, and how easily any little thing can paralyze him.

          The Mad Hatta lifted his face from the moaning woman’s thighs, wiping his lips and propping his elbows on either side of his twitching lover’s legs to hold himself up. “Hey! The fuck d’ya want?” he called out, his stretching grin betraying the impatience in his voice. 

           Peter felt his mouth opening and closing, felt his brain hurt trying to find words through the storm in his head. He tried to draw on the bravado he was full of barely a few minutes ago on the dance floor; getting desperate, he tried to cling to that last, nonexistent bit of Wonderland still in his system, to mollify his inner, crippling disaster. Desperate still, he tried to put himself back into the body of Peter that was there the first night, the one who had his fingers through a stranger’s waistband and wanted to be fouled up in a far-off and dark corner. He tried to go back to the Peter at that hotel, to when he shoved his underwear into John’s mouth and made off with his money. He needed the brazenness of the first, the audacity of the second, to even look the girl in the eye.

          Yet he had neither, and when their eyes did meet, he was embarrassed to find the gently panting woman watching him, her glassy hazel eyes asking When the fuck are you leaving? The slow curve of her lips wondering Are you going to join or not?

         “Aaaah,” the Mad Hatta said with a slow nod. “You’re waking up, aren’tcha?”

          Peter hesitantly reached behind his head to scratch. “I-I... I guess...” Is that what they call this impending sense of a world-ending doom?

          The Mad Hatta shook his head and clicked his tongue. The woman beneath him gave a whimper as he ran his thumb along her slick cunt; she melted into the silk as that thumb slowly circled the swollen clit. “Ooooh, oh oh, that is no fun, no fun, indeed!”

          Run, some voice commanded through the violent storm of shock in Peter’s head. But he stared, swallowing against the dry lump in his throat. Take notes, another broke through the crashing noise. What a fucking perv, yet another groaned, and Peter couldn’t tell if it meant the Mad Hatta or himself.

          The Mad Hatta paused his hand job to sit fully upright, his hand reaching into a pocket of his robe. His open robe. “Did you buy another stamp upfront? Let me see it.”

            “I thought--” Peter’s voice died as a quick glance downward completely wrecked the last dying shred of his coherency. He tore his eyes away, but it was too late. Like the woman, Peter’s mind was penetrated by that bit of flesh, stiff and unashamed.

          The Mad Hatta snickered, and Peter could see movement from the corner of his eye, a side-to-side sway of the hips, and a slow swing of red, throbbing flesh. “What? You have the same equipment as I do, don’tcha? Never been to a boys’ locker room before?”

         “I...” Peter put his hand up to block his vision. Then, swallowing, he tried for indignation. “How would you even know? Maybe I’m trans!”

           Peter could hear the shrug in The Mad Hatta’s voice, over the choking moans of his pet. “Born with it or not, looks like it’s starting to tick up--”

          “I’m here to see the bartender!” Peter screeched.

          There was a pause, in which Peter silently willed his body into submission, tried to curb the arousal that made his pants squeeze too tight. Even the woman stopped whimpering and shifting in the pile of silks, probably staring quizzically and comically at the poor bastard with the blushing and bruised face. Peter didn’t want to check. He didn’t want to look at all. In fact, spinning on his heels and fleeing this crime scene grew ever more appealing. 

          “Oooh!” The Mad Hatta’s voice cooed out of Peter’s field of vision. “I knew that trinket looks familiar!” There was a lot of fabric shuffling, and The Mad Hatta grunting. “Why didn’t you say so? Could’ve saved us all a whole lotta embarrassment! Put your hand down, I’m decent!”

          Peter yelped as The Mad Hatta grabbed his wrist and tugged at it, pulling him past the bed of silks and to a set of golden curtains on a far wall. The Mad Hatta pulled one of them aside and opened a flight of stairs. “Well, hop to it, little Alice! The Queen awaits!”

          Peter took a breath to still the shakes and swept into the stairwell, the upward tunnel going dark as The Mad Hatta let the curtain drop back into place. Halfway up, the voices of the fuck bunnies carried up to him. 

          “Awww, why didn’t you let him join us?” The woman pouted. “I would’ve loved to have some fun with him.”

          “Don’t tease the poor lad, he looks like he already had a bad enough week!” The Mad Hatta chuckled.

          The tip of Peter’s ears burned, no matter how much he huffed and grumbled.

          He stomped his way up to the landing. Immediately, he was hit. Though his eyes usually adjusted quickly from near total darkness to light, his sight took a hard slam with chopping, flashing series of colors. Red, blue, green, pink, yellow, going from neon to LED and back. It was the same lights display as the ones on the dance floor, but this felt different. This filled the room like lasers in a pool of water, or having a flare right in front of his eyes. Peter hissed and blocked his face once more.

           “Well, well, well, it’s about time you showed up!”

          Blinking, Peter partly uncovered his eyes to squint into the space in front of him. A figure, warped by the intense illumination all around them, sauntered up to him, arms held open and head cocked sideways. 

          “I thought you were going to take off with my bracelet.” 

          "And miss out on the invitation from The Queen, herself?" Peter said over the music bouncing against the walls, trying to put some ease and charm back into his voice. As he stepped forward to meet the bartender halfway, Peter rolled his shoulders, beginning the long and arduous work of shedding whatever the hell that was downstairs. He looked around. "What is this, anyway? A secret lair? Your throne room?"

          “Something like that!” The Queen took Peter’s wrist and undid the latch of the bracelet. Removing it from his arm, she shoved her white tuxedo sleeve up and fastened the accessory back on its rightful place. “More like a watch tower. Or theater. Basically, where I get to watch my subjects and domain.”

          “Your ‘subjects’, huh?” Peter snorted, though less in derision and more in genuine amusement. “You’re having a lot of fun with this theme, aren’t you?”

          “Most fun of my entire life.” The Queen sauntered to the wall where a table of miniature bottles and chrome tumblers sat on a tray. 

          Peter jumped as a figure bent from the wall in front of her, then, narrowing his eyes, he scrutinized the figure’s movement and shapes. Oh. His eyes trailed to the spot in the wall next to him, to the person across the way that raised his hand and waved in perfect synchronization with Peter. Mirror walls. Peter then realized that he may need to slow down on the vices for tonight before his brain completely fries.

          But then The Queen came back with a pair of bubbly, soft green drinks in twinkling crystal glasses, lime rinds curling out of the tip and half cucumbers floating in the concoction. She held one of the glasses out to Peter, who took it with caution screwed. The first sip was strong yet mellow, a French 75 with a refreshing twist and a hint of mint.

          “Like I want to jump off a bridge,” Peter replied, opting for the more appropriate answer. He fished the cucumber out of the glass and popped it into his mouth, to fill his stomach and stave off the worse of the alcohol.

          The Queen took a sip as she went over to stand in front of the theater window, in the space between the glass and the crescent leather couch set on a dais. With a hand shoved in her trouser pocket and her shoulders straight back and proud, she looked every bit as regal as her play title commanded, with her bush of curly red hair parted at the side and combed back. Looking like she took notes from The Great Gatsby, too.

          Despite the episode he had in The Mad Hatta’s quarters and the sting of rejection from earlier, Peter was still very not opposed to dropping to his knees and shoving his face into her thighs until she ripped his hair out in a climatic hysteria.

          “It looks like you’re waking up. How are you feeling?”

          “Yeah, I figured. It’ll wear off soon, sweetheart, don’t worry.” 

          The Queen jerked her head, nodding Peter over. He obeyed and placed himself next to her, taking an awkward stance of crossing one leg over the other, knee slightly bent and thigh slightly raised, wishing he’d had opted for his special concealment underwear tonight. At least The Queen’s focus was on her subjects, the mass of drunkards and addicts.

          “They’re so beautiful,” The Queen said. There was a change in the music and the light show. Most of the dancers turned to the stage, where lights beamed down on the line of straps hanging from the grids. In the glass’s reflection, Peter could see the half-smile on The Queen’s full lips. “It’s almost the Grand Hour.”

          Peter stepped closer to the window, pressing his hand to it to keep balance as he watched the club workers stepping onto the stage and next to their chains. He couldn’t see their faces from this high up and with the lights nearly blinding him, but their arms were crossed, their stance wide and strong, so he could imagine their expressions, all cool and blank except for maybe a cocked brow as they eyed this crowd reaching up to be selected for the first round of dancing. Then, they stepped forward, helping ones brave enough to just climb onto the damn thing. And hoisting up ones that were being lifted bodily. His breath hitched watching them, watching the people’s hands grab a dancer and offer them up to The Queen’s chosen like lambs.

        He started to feel warm all over, especially in the small of his back and his thighs and calves, the places where hands grabbed him and lifted him to the stage all those days ago. And the cool of the chain links around his wrists, nipping his skin as he swung his body and jerked the chains. His breaths came shallow and dry, his head going dizzy. 

          “What’s up?” The Queen’s voice said, closer to his ear. “You want to head back down and join the Grand Hour again?”

          Again. He imagined The Queen in this very spot once more, standing in the exact same way in front of the window. He imagined what he may have looked like from up here, a sweaty and drunk thing in barely-anything shorts and a half-blouse chained up and dancing for her amusement. The way his skin prickled was not from shame.

          His tongue passed over his sugary, minty lips a couple times before Peter realized that she was serious and shook his head. “Nah, I want to enjoy the show from up here.”

          The Queen freed her hand from her pocket to slip her arm around Peter’s shoulder. Turning him around, she suggested, “Let’s get comfortable. We might get a hell of a show!"

          They stepped up to the platform and settled onto the crescent sofa, side by side, like crowns of different kingdoms coming together for a night of camaraderie and a jolly good show. The cool French 75 cocktail laid in Peter’s stomach better than the ice popper, though he did miss the fruitier taste. Taking slow sips and swirling the glass, Peter watched as the last of the chosen was fitted into the chain links, a cute little chick with a skin-tight skirt so mini that half her ass bared as she jutted it out and rubbed it against the woman putting her wrists in place. 

          The cheer of the crowd thrummed through the window, weaving through Peter’s skin and fueling the electricity already crackling within him. The pop music is filthier and more sultry, an anthem to strippers who aren’t afraid to wring sad and lonely old men dry of their money. Everyone on the stage is shaking their asses like they have something to prove, with legs spread wide and clothes disheveled like they snuck out of the back bathrooms after a good fucking. Peter wondered which of them are in Wonderland. Which of them is feeling the exaggerated heat of the crowd’s hands touching at their feet and legs? Which of them is dancing in a gentle flurry of snow, in a world softened around the edge in a hazy ring of white and pink?

          The contemplation drew Peter back to that stage, to being chained up like a dog for a Dominatrix’s amusement. Someone had slipped him a second snowflake on his tongue before he was tossed up there on the stage, and the world was disappearing into pure white. Or, at least it tried to, for he still remembered the taste of salty latex fingers shoved down his throat to induce vomiting and save his life. But damn, the way the music took him away that night, the way his skin braised under someone’s touch, the wild abandon as he flew and twisted himself on the chains, bringing his profession into this playground. 

          The way he shimmied and bounced on the couch now -- was that Peter dancing to the music, or was it needy squirming from built up arousal? He downed the rest of his cocktail and blinked against his twirling vision and hte flashing lights. Fanning himself, Peter crossed his leg over the other and bounced and rolled his shoulders to the beat. He looked over to The Queen, raising a brow as she peeled off a snowflake from a car and stuck it to her tongue. 

          Her eyes met his, and her head shook. You had enough.

          He tilted his head and smiled his pearly whites grin. Aw, come on!

          She frowned, eyeing the empty crystal in his hand and the brightness on his cheeks. I don't know...

          Peter laid his head on her lap, jutting his bottom lip out as he looked up at her. Pretty Pleeeease!

          She gently pressed her fingers to her breast pocket, where a corner of pink cardstock poked out. She worried a corner of her lip with her teeth. Perfect, straight white teeth, and plump, umber lip that Peter allowed himself the fantasy of brushing his tongue along in a fevered kiss.

          Let it go, dude, it ain’t gonna happen, yet one more voice in his head helpfully pointed out.

          Then The Queen sighed and shrugged. “I guess it’s safe for you to get a second hit.”

          Peter sat up from The Queen’s lap, bouncing in his seat and clapping his hands -- careful to not break the glass -- as The Queen pulled the snowflake out of her pocket. She held it out to him, but when Peter reached for it, The Queen snatched it back. 

           “But first, you’ll need to do some things for me.”

          The color of Peter’s face changed under his bunny mask as his imagination swung into crime-movie extremes, from a chilling pale as he wondered if she’d request him to kill someone, to a fiery red as he wondered if maybe, just maybe, she wanted to switched teams for tonight, just tonight, for a fun night of kinks (Not. Gonna. Happen, again the voice helpfully reminded him). “And that would be...?” he prompted in a soft, awed voice.

          The Queen smirked. “First off: I want you to dance for me.”

          “...Really?”

          “Yup.” The Queen nodded her head forward, to the space in front of the sofa. She and Peter locked eyes, hers glinting with mischief and mirth and yet total, complete seriousness. 

         Peter smiled.

         Rising from the sofa and setting the glass on the floor, Peter stepped off the dais and tugged on his mask to secure it to his face. The Queen leaned back in the sofa cushion, stretched out an arm along the curved back of the sofa, tapping the snowflake on the leather to remind him what he’s working for.

         The club was still in the middle of the current song. He wanted to explode into movement right then, to lose himself in the music and the gin and champagne, but it’s common knowledge that the best performances start slow. Everything, from dance to secrets to orgasm to the end of the world, needs a build-up.

          So he hooked an arm behind his head, running his opposite hand up and down his thigh as he swirled up and down. A little stir of his hips, a little pout of his lips, a swing of his arm -- he did this so many times in front of his computer camera it came naturally, like muscle memory. Then the song hit its second chorus and he amped it up. The room moved around him as he bounced and spun and thrust, throwing his head back and his ass out. He kept the momentum going, slowing down in the transition to the next song for the second explosion, finding The Queen doing her own little dance in her seat and spilling drops of her cocktail on the leather cushion. 

          The third song came on, a smoother pop mix. Blue-balled as he was at that point, Peter still did a hop spin back onto the dais. He tossed his hair, bent in front of The Queen, and jiggled his ass, sticking his tongue out over his shoulder. 

          “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout!” The Queen sang, waving the Wonderland snowflake in the air with a laugh. 

           By the fourth song, every part of Peter’s body was on fire. Sweat dripped from underneath his mask, making the leather accessory slippery on his face; dark circles formed in his shirt’s armpits; his collar was drenched and strands of his hair clung to his cheeks and lips. Turning to The Queen during interludes, Peter could see the heat affecting her, too, with tiny beads of moisture cropping up on her laughing and flushed face. And maybe she was enjoying being on fire, when she pulled at Peter until he was straddling her thighs. And maybe he was addicted to the heat, too, when he started grinding and bobbing against her.

          The Queen cupped his chin and gently coaxed his mouth open. She pressed her fingers on his tongue. The burst of cotton candy mint had Peter’s eyes rolling back. He closed his lips and sucked, giving a soft moan around her fingers. She eased her fingers out of his mouth and giggled at the low pop. Peter felt his own saliva smear on his face when she patted his cheek. 

          “You’re such a hot mess,” she cooed.

          She shifted Peter around on his lap until he faced the window and kept her arms wrapped around his waist. He leaned back into her, feeling her rest her chin on his shoulder, and feeling her cool breath on his neck. The stage workers were busy switching out dancers. On the outer rings of the crowd, Peter could see couples or groups branching off from the main tides, scurrying into dark places to have their own parties. He wondered if this is what The Queen felt every night, to be a deity of good times, the source of the best comfort and escape from a harsh world.

         He patted The Queen’s hand laying on his stomach. “Thanks.”

          “My pleasure, love,” The Queen murmured with Wonderland dreaminess. 

          A moment of silence passed as they watched the next round of dancers move with their restraints. Peter rubbed The Queen’s hand. “You know, you didn’t have to bring me up here. You didn’t have to prove anything to me”

          “Yeah, that’s true,” The Queen replied. Then, to answer the question that was coming up, she added, “But I like bragging, I guess. Or maybe I like taking in broken and kicked puppies and nursing them back to health.”

         “Oooooh! Oh, so now I’m a kicked puppy?!” Peter leaned to the side to see The Queen’s face, a beautifully masculine face glowing in a ring of soft white, and give her a sour, playful scowl. 

          “Don’t get your panties twisted,” The Queen snorted. “That could be a compliment. Puppies are cute and everyone loves them.”

          “You find me cute?” Peter settled back into place, looking off into the distance. “Huh. Okay, I will take that as a compliment, especially coming from a lesbian.”

          The Queen huffed. “What does my clit eating have to do with it? You know gays can appreciate a different gender’s looks aesthetically, right? But yes, I find you cute. You’re probably attractive to the right people. You know...” She touched a finger to the fading bruise on Peter’s eye. “Once you start talking less.”

          Again, Peter leaned back, gaping at this woman who knew him for a grand total of less than two hours. She gazed back at him, her eyes glinting with did I stutter?

          “Wow, thank you for your valuable input.” Peter rolled his eyes and moved about on The Queen’s lap to curl up on her, keeping his feet off the couch and resting his head on her shoulder. He slid his arm behind her neck and started combing her hair with his fingers. “Oh! What about that other thing you wanted me to do?”

          “Right.” The Queen reached into her pocket and dug out another piece of cardstock. But instead of the snowflake adhered to its face, there was a red heart stamped in its center, surrounded by formal, regal script.

          Would You Like To Come To Wonderland With Me?

          In the center of the heart was even tinier, swooping script

           Van J, Queen of Hearts

          “Van...” Peter murmured. He scratched the stamp ink with the edge of his thumbnail and peeked at The Queen from beneath his lashes.

          “The one and only!” Van replied with a crooked grin and a pat on her chest.

           Peter chuckled softly. “My name’s Pete.” He looked back down to the card in his hand. “What’s this for?”

          “That, my wandering friend, is a ticket down the rabbit hole.”

          Oh, enough with the Alice in Wonderland, a long-suffering voice said in his head, one that Peter was relieved to find was his own.

          Van continued, “I think you’ve proven yourself worthy enough to join my kingdom. You certainly have the energy and charm for it. But I’ll have to start you off small, maybe my little White Rabbit.” She tugged at the leather ears on Peter’s head. 

          “White Rabbit...?”

           “A guide for newcomers to come to this new, magical place. More people are getting curious about Wonderland, so I need help spreading the keys.”

          Peter frowned. “So... less rabbit, more mule?” 

          Van started to shake her head, but paused, then shrugged. She rubbed Peter’s knee. “Eventually, if I ever need you to make runs outside the city. But you’ll mostly stick to people coming into this club, and maybe a few of my contacts in this neighborhood and the next one if you’re good enough.”

          “Wow. This is... Wow...” Peter stared at the card in his hand and bit into his bottom lip. Anxiety started to consume him from within, sinking its teeth into the mellow high of Wonderland. All those years of being bombarded with scared-straight messages to dissuade kids from drugs, thus far having been dormant and absolutely useless, reared its head and came roaring. Yet something sparked in that same place the anxiety occupied, snapping at the childhood fears of drugs that pearl clutchers tried to plant in him. It tingled, almost in the same way that sitting in Van’s lap and nestled against her chest did. He exhaled and shivered all over.

          Exhilaration.

          “Don’t give me an answer just yet,” Van said, possibly misreading Peter. “Think it over for a while, so you’d absolutely know what you’d be getting into.”

          “Right, right...” Peter pursed his lips to hide the excitement and turned the card over in his hand. He furrowed his brow. “So, how do I contact you if I make up my mind?”

          “With the card. Show Quinn, the bouncer up front, this, and he and The Mad Hatta will take you out back and get you set up.”

          Nodding, Peter still frowned at the card. “Why is everything done through backdoors around here?”

          Van giggled, sliding a hand down Peter’s back. “Don’t you know, Pete? The backdoor is much more fun?”

           Peter narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Wha --Omygod!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, the other flying out to steady himself from falling over. His eyes popped open as his mind processed that that was indeed Van’s finger jabbing him through his pants. 

          They stared at each other. 

          Peter felt a twitch in his chest, something bubbling from within his ribcage. “...Pfffft!”

           And their laughing selves fell into each other.

[jokerfanfiction]

The Trade: Part 2

Joker x Reader

(Final chapter: unless requested)

Warning:Smut, Fighting (nothing to graphic) and swearing

Characters:Joker and Y/N ———————————————————— -Four months after the incident in Australia-

-Y/N walks into J’s penthouse and into his office without knocking-

J:“get the fuck out of my office.” He growls without looking up from his papers

Y/N:“That’s no way to talk to your girl, now is it? Y/N sasses

-J looks up at Y/N and grins-

J:"Hiya Baby girl.” J says huskily looking at Y/N

Y/N:“Wow, you’re really bipolar..” (nickname) says walking towards J and straddling his lap, putting her fingers in his hair.

-J crackles and nips at (nickname)’s chin-

J:“Whadda want baby girl?”

Y/N:“What I can’t hang out with my boyfriend?” Y/N says while pulling J’s hair hard

-J growls and slaps Y/N’s ass-

J:“Watch the attitude and hair, baby.”

Y/N:“Okay okay.. can we go to your club?”

J:“No.”

Y/N pouts:“J…..” Y/N whines “You didn’t even let me explain!”

J:“Y/N-”

Y/N:“J! Pleassseee! You never let me go there with you, so if you don’t let me go with you tonight..no sex for two months.” Y/N smirks

-J growls and squeezes her hips-

J:“Go get ready.” J snarls

-Y/N gets off J’s lap but slaps him upside the head-

Y/N:“Snarl at me again and you aren’t getting any tonight!” (Nickname) sasses

-Y/N goes to walk away when J grabs her arm and slams her against the desk; getting really close to her ear.“

J:"Daddy’s letting you go-”

Y/N:“Here we go..” Y/N mumbles

-J slaps her ass really hard-

Y/N:“J! That hurt you asshat!” Y/N yells

-J rolls his eyes and rubs the part he slapped and continued talking-

J:“-to his club, do you know how many people will be lookin’ at what’s mine?” Y/N rolls her eyes “So, If you’re going baby, you WILL be by me all night. Got it?” J purrs nipping Y/N’s ear and grinding his crotch into her ass

Y/N:“Whatever you say J.” Y/N pushes J with her butt and leaves to go get ready. ———————————————————— (Y/N dress at the top)

-Y/N walks down the stairs to hear J complaining to Frost on how long she’s taking. Once Y/N walks into the living room and J sees her he growls and tries to hide he’s hard on by standing in front of the couch-

J:“Go. Change.Now.” J snarls

Y/N:“Go.Fuck.Off.J. And what did I say about the snarling? It’s not cute.”

-Joker is about to start a tantrum when Y/N interrupts him-

Y/N:“Lets go J or I’m leaving without you.” (Nickname) says walking out the door

-J practically runs after her and curses under his breath- ———————————————————— (J’s club is called the MadHouse)

-Time skip (they are sitting in the V.I.P section)-

-J was talking to a client and Y/N wanted a drink so she whispers in J’s ear-

Y/N:“I’m going to get a drink from the bar, want anything?” Y/N whispers while rubbing J’s leg

J:“Whiskey on the rocks. Don’t take to long.” J growls

Y/N:“Yeah yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist.” (Nickname) smirks

-Y/N gets up from the booth and J slaps her ass really hard-

Y/N:“Joker!” (Nickname) seethes

J:“Careful.” J says pointing a finger at Y/N

-Y/N rolls her eyes and walks to the bar, making sure to sway her hips and looks over her shoulder at J to see him growl/purr at her, making her smirk-

Y/N:“Hey Frankie, can I get a Whiskey on the rocks and a Sex on the beach, please.” (Nickname) says to the bartender

Frankie:“Sure thing, Y/N.”

-A buff guy with a lot of tattoos and piercings goes up to Y/N-

Creepy/kinda hot dude:“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this sweetheart? The names Ryder and I’d like you to ride me all night.” Ryder winks

*I think I just puked in my mouth.. what kind of pick up line was that? Please tell me girls have common sense and fucking don’t fall for this dudes shit.*

Y/N:“Getting my boyfriend and I a drink.”

Ryder:“Ditch him babe, come have fun with me.” Ryder says grabbing onto Y/N arm

Y/N:“Uhhh no, fuck off.” (Nickname) snatches her arm away

Ryder:“I wasn’t askin’.” Ryder growls

*When J growls he sounds really fucking hot.. so why does this dude sound like a dying whale?*

-Y/N looks over at J’s table to already see him walking towards her with a pissed off expression-

J:“Get.The.Fuck.Away.From.My.Girl.” J growls pointing his gun at Ryder

Ryder:“Ahhhh, Mr.Joker. What a lovely surprise. What? Harley wasn’t slutty enough so you got this whore instead? I bet you even fucked her a few times, care to share?”

*This dumb ass motherfucking douchebag better have not just called me a whore AND compared me to Harley… fuck I might just kill the fucker.. bitch someone hold my earrings and heels*

-J laughs his infamous laugh and points his gun to Ryder’s head-

J:“Wha? I couldn’t quiet hear ya, care to speak about MY fucking queen again?” J snarls

*Fuck.. baby boy is looking quiet fine.. he gettin’ the pussy tonight*

-Ryder takes out two knives and aimed to cut Joker in the throat but hit his chest instead; making a deep cut-

-Y/N grabs the drinks behind her and smashes them over Ryder’s head, shocking him for a few seconds; giving J enough time to grab him by the throat and throwing.. yes throwing him away from Y/N-

Y/N:“You just pissed off the wrong gangster..” (nickname) mumbles

-J snarls making his way over to Ryder’s body and sitting on his chest, putting all of his weight onto Ryder making it hard to breath-

-Ryder still has his on knife and cuts J’s arm-

-Joker growls and laughs at the same time pointing his gun at Ryder’s head.-

J:“Close your eyes, baby girl.” J snarls

-Y/N turns around and hears a gun fire go off and people screaming pushing into her; running away.-

J:“Frost, clean this up would ya.” J growls and makes his way towards Y/N, turning her around to make sure she’s okay and to hide her from Ryder’s body

-Y/N notices how bad J’s cuts are-

Y/N:“Shit J, give me the keys, we’re going home so I can fix you up.”

J:“I’m driving.” J pouts

Y/N:“Do you see how much blood you’re losing? Give me the fucking keys before I kill you myself.”

J:“Ohhhh you’re getting punished tonight baby girl.” J purrs

Y/N:“Yeah yeah.” (Nickname) rolls her eyes and goes into J’s pocket, taking his keys and grabbing his hand. “Lets go big boy.”

J:“Are ya saying that because I’m big in a lot of places?” J grins

Y/N:“What the f-.. okay, J half of these girls already know how small your cock is. Don’t act like it’s all big and thick” Y/N teases

J growls:“Baby girl, you’re forgetting who you’re talkin’ ta. You fucking know Daddy’s 10in and thick and daddy is 11 1/2in when hard. Who stretch your– my pussy? When ya first saw Daddy’s cock you didn’t think he was small then.”

*i think I hurt his ego.. sorry ‘little’ J* ———————————————————— -Time skip to Jokers penthouse-

-Y/N leads J to his bedroom and points to the bathroom-

Y/N:“Go sit on the toilet, I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

J:“I’m fine baby girl.”

Y/N:“Go sit on the fucking toilet like a good boy or no pussy for you!”

-J pouts and goes into the bathroom.-

*Thats what I fucking thought*

-Y/N goes to get the first aid kit and comes back into the bathroom to see J already took his shirt off.-

-(Nickname) grabs J’s shirt, takes her dress off and puts his shirt on-

-J purrs-

-Y/N straddles J and gets a few cottons balls and alcohol to clean his cuts-

-J grabs Y/N ass-

Y/N:“This is going to sting J, so if you need to put your hands on my hips and squeeze.”

-J just grunts for a response-

-Y/N dabs the cotton ball on J’s cuts-

J:“FUCK!” J roars and grabs Y/N hips

Y/N:“Sorry baby boy… your cuts need to be stitched up.”

-J grunts again-

-Y/N quickly but steadily stitches J up and cleans up the dried blood-

-Y/N kisses J’s cheeks and puts her hands in J’s hair rubbing his head.-

Y/N:“All done baby.” (nickname) says gently

-J purrs and lifts Y/N up with his good arm-

Y/N:“Joker! Are you crazy… wait don’t answer that.” Y/N giggles “I just stitched you up baby boy, you need to rest.”

J:“Daddy needs to reward his baby girl, your punishment will come tomorrow.”

*Awe fuck, I was hoping he’d forget about that..*

Y/N:“J.. baby, as much as I’d love that you need to rest..”

-J kisses Y/N neck, hitting her weak spot.-

J:“I didn’t ask baby girl, you deserve your reward tonight.” J purrs

-J drops Y/N onto the mattress and takes off 'her’ shirt, leaving her naked in front of him-

J:“Beautiful.” J growls/purrs

*Fuckkk that was hot*

-Y/N grabs his cock through his dress pants-

Y/N:“It looks like 'little J’ wants to come out and play daddy.” Y/N says while undoing J’s pants; pulling them down along with his boxers

-Y/N watches his cock fly up and goes to grab it when J stops her-

Y/N:“J..” (nickname) pouts

J:“Daddy’s pleasuring you tonight baby girl, it’s all about you. Get on all fours for me baby.” J purrs

-Y/N gets on all fours-

-J slaps Y/N ass and pushes himself inside her pussy-

“Fuck” they both groan/moan

Y/N:“Daddy.. faster please.” Y/N whimpers/moans

-J fastens and goes deeper/harder into her pussy; he’s balls deep. Hearing the slapping sound off the walls makes J growl and pounds Y/N faster-

Y/N:“Fuck J!” Y/N yells

-J grabs a hand full of Y/N hair, dragging her body and and putting his hand around her throat-

J:“Ya like that baby girl? You like Daddy’s cock fucking your pussy? Do you like being daddy’s little whore?” J growls

Y/N:“Fuck! Yes daddy!”

J:“Wha?” J teases, tightening his hand around her throat

Y/N:“I like being daddy’s little whore.” Y/N pants “daddy.. can I cum please?”

-Joker growls when he feels Y/N tighten around his cock and starts pounding harder; his thrusts becoming sloppy-

J:“Not yet baby.” J snarls

Y/N:“Pretty please daddy, please!” Y/N begs

J:“Come for me baby girl.” J growls

-Y/N screams J’s name while J slows his thrust riding out both their orgasms-

-J rolls over and pulls Y/N to his chest; kissing her forehead-

-both are panting-

-Y/N looks at J’s chest to see his stitches opened-

Y/N:“Shit.. see baby, this is why I wanted you to rest.” Y/N pouts “lets go get that stitched up again, baby boy.”

-J growls and lifts her up and carries her to the bathroom with his good arm; Y/N giggling the whole time.-

-J slaps her ass while putting her down and sits on the toilet; watching his queen stitch him up- ———————————————————— Yay or nay?

Tag: @zombie-zayde