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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years ago

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The Ways We Meet

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: While trying to avoid another man at an A-list event, you accidentally bump into Henry who has no interest in letting you go despite not even knowing your name.

Notes: idk, I thought it was kinda cute. Pov changes back and forth between Y/N and Henry A LOT. Implied smut (because I’m so damn bad at writing full smut).

Words: 2211

Y/N:

These events pissed you off, they really did. Despite being only a director’s assistant, you were forced to attend. And it wasn’t the tight, sparkly dresses you had to wear that made you miserable, nor the heavy makeup or the overcrowding in rooms that far surpassed fire department code. It was more that you felt out of place and always managed to have one creepy man sense that from a mile away with the intent to pray on what looked like your innocence. You weren’t innocent, by far, but you supposed the impression you gave off by the way you stood away from others, sipping the same drink for a half hour, made sense.

Usually, drinking in a dark corner at an A-list event by the time midnight came around kept you safe. Those creepy men surrendered to your disinterest in them, and ventured to find an easier, more desperate woman. But not tonight. Tonight, this one was persistent.

You didn’t know his name; never let him get close enough to tell you, but he followed you around, not so subtly watching you with a look in his eyes that had you nauseous. Every step he neared you was a step you took in the opposite direction hoping to evade his creepiness.

Henry:

It had been a long night, too long, and Henry wished he could just go back to the hotel and watch a stupid movie until the early hours of the Sunday morning, since there was no way he would get a good nights sleep with the jetlag still wracking his body from the morning before.

He was saying goodbye to a couple coworkers, patting them on their backs in a friendly gesture when his shoulder roughly shoved forward. He stumbled a step, and before he could turn to see why, a woman passed him.

Her body was wrapped a snug, shiny red gown, and she had curls pinned back into an elegant bun, and when she turned to apologize, she lightly touched his bicep, smiling politely before continuing on her path. His breath hitched but she didn’t notice as she was gone a half-second later, buried somewhere in the mass of bodies.

His lips were still parted, stunned, until a friend tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, are you ok?” The friend asked, to which Henry only nodded, then walked away in the direction the woman went.

It took time to find her, but when he did, something in his chest seemed to both tighten and lighten in sync. He watched her from a distance as she took a gulp of the drink in her hand then placed it back on the counter and ducked. Henry chuckled, but then spotted him: A smallish man slowly making his way toward where she was unsuccessfully hiding.

Henry quickly shuffled his way through the crowd, and just moments before the other man could’ve spotted her, Henry snatched her by the arm and pulled her into a corner. With his back to the wall, he faced the crowd, his arms holding her snuggly, chest to chest, until the man passed them by.

Y/N:

“You’re safe now,” A man said, drawing your attention upward, and your eyes couldn’t help but widen. Henry Cavill was looking at you with a playful smirk on his handsome face that you never in a million years would have imagined be directed toward you. “Remember me?”

“Shit,” You cursed yourself. “It was you I bumped into earlier.” What a way to make a first impression. How was it that you always managed to look like an idiot in front of the hottest actors at these parties? This certainly wasn’t the first time. Chris Evans could confirm that, and probably wouldn’t hesitate to.

“It was.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m not normally so rude. I can explain.”

Henry’s shoulders shook as he laughed, and it reminded you that he still held you tight, with an odd protectiveness. “I think I’ve caught on to the situation,” He said. “Do you know that guy?”

You shook your head.

Henry casually nodded at your confirmation, that smile still on his face, but it slipped a moment later and you didn’t have to guess why. He looked back at you. “Do you think you could trust a stranger for a brief minute?”

“W-What?”

“Yes or no?” He quickly asked.

You blinked. “Yea, I guess.”

“Good,” He said, then slammed his lips to yours.

It shocked you but the feeling of having every part of your body pressed against his made you dizzy, and what was meant to force the creeper away, lasted much longer than the minute Henry promised. Many minutes longer. Enough minutes to give you the time to slide your hands up his chest until they settled on the back of his neck. Enough minutes to have him groaning when you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. Enough minutes to have your heart pounding.

You pulled back first when the embarrassment began to flood your body. Chuckling awkwardly, you stepped out of his arms, and said, “Um, thanks for the help…stranger,” then tried to disappear as fast as you could, for the first time thankful of the enormous crowd.

Henry:

She stiffened as his hand clasped around her wrist before she could get away, and when she turned to look at his face, she became no less tense. It made Henry feel uneasy. He liked her a little too much for how long he’d known her—which was nearly no time at all--and when he kissed her with everything he had, he thought it might’ve been enough to get her to stick around, at least for an extra minute or two.

He wasn’t arrogant. Yes, he’d had women tell him he was a good kisser, but he didn’t assume one kiss from him would have her falling on her knees, begging him to take her home. Henry just thought she felt something too. Perhaps more than one should from a stranger’s kiss, but enough of something to make her pause and question why it felt so damn good, just as he had for the millisecond before she bolted. It had him unwilling to give up so soon.

“Now where are you going?” Henry said, trying to hide the twinge of desperation in his voice.

“Sorry, I—”

“What’s your name?” He asked.

She blinked with her big, butterfly-wing-like lashes as if she hadn’t expected him to care. “…Y/N.”

“Ok, well, Y/N, I think that guy got the hint. You don’t have to keep running.”

“You never know.” She shrugged and anxiously bit the inside of her cheek.

“Right then, how about we leave?”

“What?”

“Do you like coffee?”

“…Sometimes,” One corner of her lips hesitantly turned upward. “Not usually at twelve thirty in the morning.”

Henry grinned as his thumb ran back and forth along the inside of her wrist. “Well, decaf is a thing, and I happen to know a place not far from here that’s open for another hour.”

Y/N:

You didn’t know how you managed to be pinned against one of his hotel room walls, but you were. You weren’t drunk from the little alcohol you’d had at the party, and the coffee certainly wasn’t spiked, but you still couldn’t explain how you were now moaning from the feel of Henry’s lips attached to your neck. Not that you were complaining.

“Goddamn,” He groaned against the skin of your collarbone as his fingers bunched the glittery fabric of your gown up until his hand could slip underneath. As it glided up your thigh, his palm left burns from its trail, and your skin grew hotter with each inch he made closer to your core. “You’re like an angel.”

You let out a throaty chuckle. “Hardly.”

Henry lifted his head and his hazy blue eyes met yours. “Hardly, huh?” He said as his index finger ran along the edge of your panties. He could’ve easily tucked a finger under that useless barrier and felt how wet you were.

“Yes,” You smirked, reaching your hand forward and undoing the buckle of his belt. “Hardly.”

Then you lowered to your knees.

Henry:

Henry didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that she was gone. He’d woken up a few times throughout the night, only to fall right back into peaceful sleep when he felt her warm body tucked into him. Each time, he tightened his arm firmly around her waist as she emitted little soft snores. But now, without the weight of her body next to his, Henry felt cold. Only the empty dip in the mattress where she’d laid for hours remained.

Her warmth was gone. She was gone.

And it stung a lot more than it should. He didn’t even know her last name or her age or, hell, anything about her. He knew he shouldn’t be as upset as he was, but he wanted to learn those things. To get to know her. Coffee the night before gave little insight to who she really was. That time was spent throwing flirtatious jokes back and forth, and if he’d have known she wouldn’t have given him the next morning to ask the important things, he’d have slowed himself down.

Fisting his fingers into his hair, Henry groaned at more than just the glaring sunlight streaming through the windows giving him a ripe headache. He shouldn’t be hung up on someone he barely knew. It wasn’t healthy.

Y/N:

God, you hoped you weren’t overstepping your bounds, or worse, being that girl who hangs around after a one-night stand long after the guy wants you to. You just…didn’t want to leave. He surprised you with his sincerity. He seemed to like you, though you didn’t know why, but you liked him, and, for once, you were willing to take the risk of sticking around for the morning after. It could be awkward. It could crash and burn. But if you weren’t going to be brave enough to see how the rest of the day could unfold, you knew you would regret it.

But, staying or not, it didn’t mean you weren’t going to hop down to the hotel lobby as soon as you woke to get your coffee fill. And based on what you saw last night, Henry liked his coffee rich and black.

Henry:

Who was he trying to fool? This was absolutely going to ruin his day. They’d had a rare chemistry that made him feel like he’d known her forever, and the sex certainly didn’t suck. Not even close.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Henry sat up and rubbed his face with both hands. If she wasn’t going to be there, he might as well get dressed and go about his day. At least, that’s what he thought, until he heard the door lock click and the handle turn.

His head shot to the sound, and he was almost stunned when he saw her walk in, shakily balancing two cups of coffee, a danish, and a muffin in her arms. She jumped when she saw him looking at her, still impressively holding on to the breakfast.

“H-Hi,” She said. And, damn, Henry liked that voice.

“Hi,” He smiled back, and at the gesture he could see her shoulders relax.

He stood and walked towards her, neglecting his boxers entirely, just thrilled she hadn’t disappeared forever. She looked down and blushed, then averted her eyes as he began to unload the food from her arms, and one-by-one placed the items on the table. When she still hadn’t looked back at him, he chuckled and tucked a finger under her chin, tilting it up until she was forced to meet his eyes.

“Don’t be shy on me now.”

He ran his hands down her arms and grabbed both of her hands in his when she sighed and said “Sorry, I’m not…” She took a breath,” I don’t usually do this.”

“Hook up with strangers?”

“No, stick around the morning after. I kind of assume I’m not wanted, so—”

“You’re wanted here. Believe me,” Henry said fast, because those thoughts were the last he wanted on her mind.

She gaped, but then grinned wide and bright. “Really?”

“Definitely,” He said. “I want to know you.”

Y/N:

He wants to know you. Those words made your stomach flip. Though you took the risk to not sneak out at the break of dawn, you figured the odds of him not shuffling you out the door were unlikely to be in your favor. But you weren’t complaining about being wrong.

You grew embarrassed when you realized that dopey smile was still on your face, so you quickly wiped it off then grabbed the muffin and offered it to him. One corner of his lips quirked in unison with an eyebrow, and he gently took the offering from your hand.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling the paper down to take a bite.

“So, um…if we want to get to know one another, what do you want to do?”

Henry only smirked and said “Well…I’ve got some ideas.” He took another bite then licked the remaining crumbs off his lips, which was somehow more distracting than the fact that he was completely naked. “Half of them don’t involve clothes, though.”

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spenciegoob · 4 years ago

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The 4 Types of Manipulation

A/N: hey hey hey cuties... just thought I’d drop in to tell you I love you and Harry Styles at the Grammy’s, oh and Miley Cyrus in general. Okay that’s it.

Summary: Spencer has to interrogate an unsub, but she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Unsub!Reader

Category: Not fluff, but not angst... angsty fluff? fluffy angst?

Content Warning: mentions of murder, manipulation, mentions of sex in the form of flirting, mentions of drug use, mentions of emotional abuse

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.8K

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Nobody dared to take a breath out of place, every profiler was packed into the room watching with careful eyes at the sobbing girl in the interrogation room through the glass. No one knew what their first step should be, but I guess there’s a first time for everything, right? Winging it was not something anyone in the BAU enjoyed doing, each case needed a thought out plan.

But they’ve seen this unsub before, they know the profile, the history, they know her. So why was she crying so hard that the weight of her head became unbearable, leaving her only option to sob into the crooks of her elbows as best as she could with wrists cuffed to the table?

Nobody knew, except for Spencer Reid.

Emily was hesitant, as expected, to blindly send in one of the best agents she’s ever seen into the room that with each tear shed slowly morphed into a lion’s den. Reid deserved better, she knew that, especially since the last time they dealt with an unsub like this one, Spencer had to be so far out of the loop that the case almost broke him.

He put up a good fight though, and if the determination set in his eyes wasn’t enough to inform the unit chief that she was not winning this argument, his deviance to storm through the door, startling the young woman chained down definitely did.

Why was it always Spencer?

Tears:

“P-please, I didn’t do anything.�� Those were the first words anyone’s heard her say since the arrest, even if they were separated by sniffles and choked out sobs.

Spencer just stared down at her, not taking the risk to further entertain the stuttering girl with wet cheeks and tired eyes.

“I promise I’m not a murderer. You have to believe me, please.” That promise whispered so quietly made with unbreakable eye contact urged him to take a second to reevaluate the situation.

She was apprehended in place of Jacob Hughes, the man they had originally been looking for. There was a chance she wasn’t complicit, a chance she was innocent. Maybe Jacob placed a hair of hers at the latest crime scene because he knew they were closing in.

Or maybe she is just as sick as he is.

“Prove it,” Spencer said, his tone loud and assertive, leaving no room for argument. She didn’t plan on fighting his demand anyway.

“I- I haven’t seen Jacob for days. He drugged those men, and did h-horrible things. Those poor men.” This struck a nerve, everybody could tell, even the one person in this interaction that wasn’t a profiler.

Spencer’s shoulders tensed for a millisecond, but she saw it. She saw what her words were doing to him, after all, he used to be one of those poor men she felt so sorry for.

Another loud sob echoed off the concrete walls before she bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath.

“I can’t believe he mur... did that to them. H-how could he?” Spencer watched as the young girl looked up to him like he held the answer to the million dollar question. He studied the way her eyes bounced around his face, looking for something, anything to relieve some confusion when it came to her fiancé.

“Jacob Hughes is what we call a vindictive narcissist and a sadist. He receives pleasure from hurting others, and in this case, drugging and torturing men because he feels he’s been wronged his whole life. The question, however, is why. I know you know, just like how I know you’re aware of his crimes.”

It was a blow so low it could’ve come from hell itself. Spencer regretted it immediately when he watched the way her whole body stiffened at the mention of her knowledge, but he had to be certain no matter the fallout.

“I-I still don’t understand. I’ve never seen him hurt anyone.” Denial, guilt and fear all jam packed into 3 little words that had his heart dangerously close to breaking. The sorrow in her eyes believable enough that Spencer left his standing position between the suspect and the door to sit directly across from her.

She watched his movements with careful eyes, only stealing glances from her peripherals before returning to her cuffed wrists.

“Maybe you’ve never seen him physically hurt anyone, but we know what he does to you.” It was the first and only time Spencer let any emotion, as fake as it was, show in his responses. How could he not try when the girl resumed her sobbing at the implication of her past deception from the man she loves?

“You know nothing,” she whispered back, her tone laced with defensive anger.

“I know everything.” Was he challenging her?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Was she challenging him?

“You know what it means.” Yes, he was.

“Do I?” Yes, she was.

The two stared at each other for the entire tone shift in the stuffy interrogation room. The other profilers on the other side of the mirror had no knowledge of how thick the tension had just become because unlike Spencer, they weren’t standing in the middle of it.

Small sniffles were the only noise breaking through the quiet until suddenly, they just stopped.

“Ugh, fine! You win this round. My eyes are starting to hurt from all this goddamn crying. Do people actually cry this much when you arrest them?”

Spencer leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms to clearly convey just how unamused he was with the girl’s antics. She watched him intently, picking apart every move down to the muscle trying to search for any indicators that her little performance worked even a fraction of what she was hoping for.

And she got her wish in the form of the agent’s fingers tapping lightly at his sides under perfectly muscular, if she may add, arms, because any other movement would have been too obvious.

Spencer Reid was getting nervous, because the second her facade faded, he lost the upper hand. She just had to get him trapped in here.

“Oh come on. Not even a ‘good job’? I wasn’t expecting full blown applause, but some appreciation for that show would be nice.” Still, Spencer gave her nothing. He needed her to keep talking, and filling silence was a sure way to make certain she did just that.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know, but first you have to admit that I had you fooled for a second there.”

Lies:

“No.” Unexpectedly, instead of getting frustrated with Spencer’s refusal to play along, she just smiled brighter. This was exciting to her, and it was getting on his nerves.

“What gave it away? Did I look to the left before I spoke or something?” Spencer kept his mouth shut. “Come on, what’s my tell? Enlighten me.”

She copied his movements as Spencer leaned over the cool, metal table slightly, eyes racking over her face, lingering on certain parts for longer than others.

“No.” At this, she huffed back in her seat, leaving the close proximity that would later be used as a secret tool against the doctor before he had the chance to catch on.

“If you’re just going to shut down every single one of my proposals, then why am I here?”

“You’re here because you’re a suspect in a series of 7 murders in the past 5 weeks.” She perked up at his words, amusement dripping from her features.

“Finally, Doc has something more to say than just ‘no.’ Tell me, was that so hard?”

“No.”

“Ugh!” Rolling her eyes would be giving ammo to the enemy, but the urge to do so was quite strong. In fact, she almost did until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the one way mirror.

“I’m serious when I say this,” she said, looking directly into Spencer’s eyes so he couldn’t accuse her of lying. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll answer everything.”

“No.”

“Please! They’re seriously starting to hurt. I put 100% into that performance, and now it’s coming back to bite me in the-”

“Fine!” Spencer stood up carefully, not walking around the table until he was certain the girl wasn’t a flight risk, or worse. When he did finally make his way over, she sat completely still, not taking her eyes off where his fingers grazed hers as the handcuffs unlocked.

A breath of relief escaped her as she rubbed her wrists with the opposite hands, eventually feeling the blood fully return to all 10 fingers.

“Thank you.” It was so vulnerable and raw that it knocked Spencer back for a second. They locked eyes, and something deeper than he was ready for passed between them.

He didn’t know what it was, all he knew was that he hated it so much that he tore his eyes away immediately to return back to his original spot seated across from her.

“Answer me this-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Neither of them spoke for far too much time, and Spencer was growing more annoyed by the second.

“What?” It came out harsh, and mean, and downright cruel, but he couldn’t care less.

“Oh nothing, I just wasn’t going to answer anything. I really just wanted to fix my hair.” And, in being true to her words this time, she secured her hair into a messy bun using the elastic Spencer didn’t even realize was missing from his wrist.

“I’m putting the cuffs back on.”

“No wait,” she pleaded, halting Spencer’s move to get up. “They really did hurt, I wasn’t lying about that.”

“I don’t care.” He made his way over, forcefully grabbing both of her wrists before securing the handcuffs back on. Spencer only regretted his actions slightly when she winced at the metal now back to pressing into her skin.

“Yes you do. It’s your biggest flaw.” Instead of answering, Spencer just returned to his seat, leaning back with crossed arms. He didn’t need to listen to a psychopath tell him his flaws.

“You care too much,” she continued, not minding if he was listening or not. “It gets you hurt, other people hurt. I wish that wasn’t the case. You deserve better, Doc.”

Spencer didn’t engage, opting to gawk tiredly at the suspect, and watch the way her eyes flicker across his features, gauging for a reaction. She wasn’t done.

“Hey, okay, fine. I’m just messing with you,” she laughed, finally breaking her serious facade. “What? A girl can’t joke around while she’s being accused of murder?”

“Accused? Or caught?”

“Accused.” It was final, her tone immediately dropping to a fiery rage. Her defenses were up, and Spencer was never really good at playing on the offensive team.

This time, it was Spencer’s turn to analyze, watching the way the blood rushed to her cheeks with her rising anger level. How all of a sudden her eyes lost their playful glint, giving him the chance to fully see the soul buried deep in them. For a split second, she was completely unveiled right before his eyes.

Spencer, clearly not anticipating just how long the girl in front of him could hold her own, used his last bullet.

He placed the crime scene photos in front of her.

“You know who did this.” It wasn’t a question, he saw it in her eyes. Spencer watched the way they remained stoic even after looking at the bloody walls, and vacant eyes of the deceased.

“No.” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Who are you protecting?” Her head shot up at his question, eyes flashing red before she blinked it away again. Subconsciously, she started to pick at her fingernails.

“No one.” It was a lie if he’s ever heard one.

Fear:

“You’re lying. Who is it?”

“I’m not lying.” She wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. Instead, she gave her undivided attention to her shaky hands confined to the table.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Enough! Who are you protecting?!” At this, Spencer stood up and slammed his hands against the table with a strong amount of force that she flinched hard enough to further irritate her wrists.

He felt awful, the bouncing back and forth between them should have given him enough indicators that she wasn’t lying out of spite. But he couldn’t back down, he had her cornered and her only way out was to tell the truth.

“No one.” She wouldn’t look at him, even as she whispered. “Please stop.”

Spencer truly believed that he had her in a bind, an inescapable one at that, but it wasn’t the truth. Oh no, what the profiler failed to realize was she had him where she needed him.

“I have no information to give you,” she whispered before tagging along. “I’m sorry.” It was the first time she apologized for something Spencer could have seen as an inconvenience.

He believed her, too.

“I shouldn’t have yelled.” That was his form of an apology. Spencer wasn’t going to go any further with it, even if she was coerced into lying by whoever the true unsub is, she was still getting on his nerves.

Her hands were still shaking at this point, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Spencer just slumped back into his seat, settling into the silence between them until ultimately he was either called out of the room, or she gave him another indication that her game hasn’t ended.

A loud sigh bounced off the walls. “I don’t care that you yelled in my face. You think it’s the first time a man’s done that? You’re not special, Doctor.”

“I never said I was.” So the game carries on, but this time, she didn’t smile at his sarcastic response. Leaning back in her chair, she huffed a breath before continuing.

“You really want to be though, don't you?”

Lust:

She was pushing his buttons, trying so hard to dig under his skin till she was unremovable. She wanted Spencer to leave this room with her on his mind for the rest of his days.

She was close too.

“No, I don’t,” Spencer deadpanned, trying to keep a cool tone. If he continued to hand her the ammunition she needed, he would be left defenseless.

“Oh come on, loosen up. I was just joking.” A smirk grew across her features, a thought crossing her eyes. One Spencer knew would not be in favor of his win tonight. “I could help you with that, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” He did. Spencer wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that the woman sitting across the table wasn’t extremely attractive; she was. He just would never admit it aloud.

“I have a feeling you like to get rough, don’t you, Doctor?” She asked, sitting up and crossing her legs. The stare shared between the two of them was a mix between passion and anger, meeting in the middle to create a new kind of emotion.

“Is this fun for you?” She left out bait, and Spencer was stupid enough to fall for it. Emily once said that a pretty face slashed his IQ in half.

He couldn’t help but agree.

“Undo these cuffs, and I’ll show you what fun is.” She was toying with him now, and they weren’t going to get anywhere, but Spencer couldn’t find it within himself to get up and leave. She had him by the...

“I’m going to get that confession.” It was like he was five years old again, arguing on the playground with the older kids about how their insults didn’t make sense.

“What’re you going to do, punish me?” She asked, the last words in a hushed whisper. When Spencer’s cheeks grew hotter, and his eyes darker, she knew she had him.

“You do like to get rough! My, my, Doctor, you're keeping me at the edge of my seat here.” She let out a boisterous laugh before really digging the knife deeper. “Is that why you kept the cuffs on?”

Before he could snap back, the door flew open and Emily stood there with a tablet in her hand. “You need to see this.”

Spencer got up to leave, thankful for the reprieve even if he did have to return to the interrogation after speaking with Emily. He almost made it to the door before a voice called out behind him.

“Wait!” She called after him, the cuffs rattled when she instinctively went to reach for Spencer. “Aren’t you going to answer my question, Doctor.”

Playing chess his whole life, Spencer had never once played a game where Checkmate presented itself unexpectedly. He was always at least three moves ahead in his mind, seeing the inevitable end before he even began his gameplay. There was a first for everything, because his last move suddenly arose.

“No.”

_____

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jaeminzie · 4 years ago

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opposites attract | l.jn

↳ lee jeno x gender neutral!reader

synopsis: soulmate!au where if your soulmate is listening to music then it’ll be stuck in your head until they stop listening to it. in this case, you and jeno have contrasting music tastes.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,503

warnings: slight mentions of vaping

a/n: also let’s pretend that jeno is at the age to be a freshman in college in this fic lmao

being a freshman in college, the workload was something jeno wasn’t used to so he chooses to deal with it in procrastination. well, tonight is the last day to turn in majority of his assignments that he’s been holding off on. so far, he’s gotten four papers turned in and he’s currently executing all his energy to finish his last paper of the night. though he’s too frustrated at the fact that his soulmate hasn’t stopped listening to music.

see, it started off alright. at the beginning of the night, the music was mellow and perfect for studying but, approximately two hours ago, the music changed to heavy emo music (which jeno loathed) and it’s been playing nonstop since then. now he’s left with one paper but he can’t seem to type as his fingers were too occupied on gripping his soft hair in frustration.

on the other hand, you were currently laying inside your dry bathtub peacefully listening to your tunes with your body relaxed and eyes closed, humming along to the music. apparently, this was the best way to past time that you could think of without interacting with anyone. your airpods were too loud to hear your sister banging on the door telling you to get out so she could shower. so you stayed there, bopping your head but abruptly jolted when louder music blared through your head interrupting your own little music sesh.

Shut up, just shut up, shut up

is that... is that black eyed peas? you paused your music to listen a bit clearer. but a couple seconds after you paused it, the music coming from your soulmate stopped as well. shrugging, you pressed play on your phone and continued listening to your own music in oblivion.

leaving jeno collapsing on his bed in defeat.

—

the following week, you were cruising around the town just so you can be out of the house. again, you were blasting your hardcore music which left jeno, who is currently on his nightly run to destress from his college student struggles, wondering if you never not listen to music. he’d think he’d be used to his soulmate’s music taste by now but he can’t help but worry over your differences in music. you’re also on the same boat. countless nights of you ranting about your soulmate’s hetero taste of music to your group chat whenever he’d listen to justin bieber and you’d be forced to listen to him as well. of course, your kind friends would clown you making you feel worse but they’ve been trying to convince you that music taste shouldn’t be a problem. but to you, it is. and apparently to jeno, it is as well.

jeno sighed in relief when he heard the music stop in his head. he halted his running to give himself a break and entered the nearest store to buy himself a bottle of water since he stupidly forgot to bring one with him.

the bells chimed when someone entered the store but you paid no attention to it as you were too focused on picking what flavor you wanted. though, you anxiously picked the first one you saw when you noticed you were taking too long and the person standing behind you was tapping their foot, running out of patience. you hurriedly paid for the item feeling bad for holding up the line. you kept your head lowered but you managed to get a glimpse of the person who was waiting behind you. you only saw his grey sweatpants and the imprint of his muscular arms behind his baggy white shirt. and damn, you froze in your footsteps and had to take a double look of his figure when you were fully behind him so he couldn’t see you shamelessly checking him out.

you stood there timidly as you clutched your puffbar in disbelief, not knowing how to act when you’re experiencing the presence of this beautiful stranger. you looked at him from top to bottom, trying to memorize the view of his back since you knew you’ll never see him again because you felt too coy to go up to him and make a move.

“goddamn,” you whispered under your breath and dragged yourself out of the 7/11 before the boy finishes paying. you were sulking during the quick walk to your car, and immediately opened your puffbar and took a hit once you were seated inside. resting your head on the steering wheel and letting the fruity flavored smoke seep out of your mouth, you reached your hand to the volume control and cranked it up in an attempt to distract yourself.

you looked up and tried to peep through the windows to get another glance of the pretty boy. he turned around almost immediately when you found his figure, but thankfully he didn’t see you slyly peeking at him with your phone in your hands. your fingers rapidly typed away, informing your group chat that you’re currently seeing the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen. you examined his face with heart eyes from afar trying to engrave the image of his face with every single dot and line in your mind so you can remember it tomorrow and the day after, but you furrowed your eyebrows when you noticed the annoyed expression plastered onto his face that didn’t seem to leave, or even lessen slightly. sitting lowly in the driver’s seat and throwing your phone in the backseat, you still kept an eye on the boy but made sure you weren’t obvious at all. you watched him walk outside of the store, fascinated by the way he walked with so much confidence and grace.

but the second he stepped onto the cement and into the warm outdoor air, he abruptly stopped his movements.

did the music just get louder? jeno thought to himself, he skimmed through the gas station and the parking lot to find the source of the loud music. you immediately made yourself look busy as if you weren’t just watching every single movement of his body and admiring every crevice of his face a couple seconds ago.

you began to panic when he kept looking over to your direction but not directly at you. yet.

you lowered your music to make sure you don’t catch his attention since you weren’t mentally prepared to meet a pretty boy tonight, but you were unfortunate. you hastily tried to put your seatbelt on but your shaky hands couldn’t get the buckle inside to lock. “please please please plea-“

knocking on your car window interrupted your pleas. scrunching your nose out of habit, you slowly looked over to your left where the knocking was. and damn, you were not ready to see the man up close. all his features, the way his eyes glistened, the way some of his hair strands sticked to his sweaty forehead, how perfectly tinted his pink lips are, and how his small mole was splattered so close to his moon crescent shaped eye. so clear under the moonlight.

he stood timidly outside your car with his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants that you were previously drooling over. without thinking and processing what was happening, it’s like your finger has a mind of its own and pressed the button to lower the slightly tinted car window itself. “um were you listening to music?” his voice was hoarse due to the dryness caused by his run.

you didn’t trust yourself to speak knowing you’ll make the atmosphere even more awkward, so you simply just gulped and nodded with a small smile.

“can i... can i listen with you?” jeno didn’t know exactly what he was asking. he didn’t know if he was hearing correctly or it was just his imagination, but he could’ve sworn that he heard the same music that was booming in his head also in the car you were currently in.

you were perplexed. how weird but no complaints, you thought. “yeah.. why not..” your voice came out small which you mentally slapped herself for making your nervousness so evident. you cranked up the volume slightly, keeping your focus on your steering wheel so you weren’t able to see the change of expression on jeno’s face.

“can i come in?” his voice seemed more alive and less soft than before since he couldn’t contain his mixed feelings as he realized that he’s standing outside of his soulmate’s car.

without any hesitation, “yes.” you slapped your mouth with your hand immediately, not knowing why you just allowed a whole stranger inside your car. but if you were to die tonight because of this god-like man, it might be a better way to die than blandly dying in your sleep. and you always loved to have spice in your life. plus, you were not about to pass an opportunity to spend time with the boy, or you’d hate yourself forever for denying him.

jeno stood there baffled, not expecting you to agree rather quickly. nonetheless, he strutted his way towards the other side of the car and shyly sat beside you inside, not bothering to wear the seatbelt. you both wanted to groan due to the painful awkward silence surrounding your strained figures. you can’t help but notice how tensed jeno was sitting in your passenger seat, his hands fiddling on his bouncing knees and his back straight. jeno faced you, “can i play a song?”

you, in awe, nodded your head enchantedly while boring your eyes into him, admiring his appearance every millisecond that passed before he turns away from you and connects the aux cord to his phone. he increases the volume slightly and hovered his shaking thumb over his phone screen, slowly pressing play. you flinched when bieber’s voice boomed inside your head and in your car, replacing the melodies of your own favored music. you covered your ears and scrunched your face until the realization came to you, causing you to relax your facial expression and lower your hands down to your thighs. being in a state of shock, the first words to come out were “what the fuck?”

the still coy boy widened his eyes in panic, “am i not what you were expecting?”

you rapidly moved your head ‘no’ in eager disagreement as you took in the feeling of finally meeting your soulmate. and god, you couldn’t wait to assist him on his music choices. but at the moment, you didn’t mind hearing the pop singer’s voice stuck inside your head. in fact, you didn’t even focus on the horrid music that jeno was playing since all your attention was placed onto the beautiful man who would not stop staring at you so intensely sitting in your car at nearly ten p.m. “no, i’m very much satisfied.” the smallest smile appeared on your face which allowed jeno to relax slightly.

a wave of courage crashed into your body when you stopped the music shortly after, you made strong eye contact with him. jeno still sat in his seat stiffly as he watched your every move with soft eyes that contrasts with his harsh posture. you leaned in painfully slow, trying to see any discomfort in jeno’s face and body language but once you saw his body relax and his eyes longing for your lips, you couldn’t help but mold your lips together.

sucking in a bit of air, you were the first to move your lips taking small control. your lips kept moving and moving but it kept its slow pace, rubbing against each other so softly. you could taste his mint-flavored chapstick smeared on his lips which messily transferred onto yours as well, while jeno could taste your strawberry-flavored lips from the puffbar— feeling intoxicated by the kiss and wanting more.

the awkward atmosphere was long gone, and you two felt nothing but warmth and familiarity as you’ve finally found one another. you two have been connected by your minds before today, but now you’re finally able to connect with one another by the use of your lips tonight.

boldly, jeno easily lifted you up off of your seat and onto his lap like it was nothing. your heartbeat became unsteady when you gripped onto his arms and felt nothing but hard muscle, his hands placed safely on your waist caressing your side softly. everything about the kiss was so nourishing, it wasn’t aggressive whatsoever— both your lips were plump and the movements of your fingertips against each other’s goosebump-covered skins were delicate. you, being the first to pull away to catch a breath, were fascinated over how amazing jeno’s stamina was. you remained on his lap, as jeno rested his forehead onto your forehead and stared deeply into your dark but shining eyes, sighing contently not knowing what to say next.

thankfully, you said the first words. “you have really shitty taste in music.” earning a genuine laugh from jeno who was shaking his head slightly in disbelief with the most beautiful eye smile you’ve ever seen.

“me? i don’t know how you don’t get a headache everytime you listen to your music.”

you smiled big causing your eyes to crinkle up. your hand reached down for the seat’s lever and made the passenger seat recline all the way back resulting to you laying onto his chest. you gasped in a joking manner, “that isn’t nice.”

“hmm, you’re the one to talk. you just insulted my music taste.” his voice became softer, but you could still sense his smile through his voice. jeno’s hand began to comb through your soft hair while your fingertips traced the outlines of his veins popping out of his arms.

“i was just telling the truth, and being honest is the best thing a person can do, sooo..” continuing to nonchalantly draw random circles and lines on his arm, you looked up at him and you immediately made eye contact since his eyes were already set on you the entire time.

pulling your hair back slightly so he can get a better view of your slightly pink tinted face, he replied with, “then i’ll be honest.” his voice came out in almost a whisper, the corners of his bruised lips from all the kissing turned upwards. “you’re so beautiful.”

you scrunched your nose because although you tried so hard to cringe at his words, you couldn’t stop the butterflies swarming in your stomach and you couldn’t stop the idiot smile forming on your face. you looked away and rested your cheek back onto his chest, returning to trace his veins while his fingers went back to work combing your hair. there, the two of you laid in silence under the moonlight taking in your soulmate’s presence. thinking maybe you’d be able to tolerate each other’s music taste for a change, and find a common ground or two.

#nct #nct 2020 #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagine #nct dream scenario #nct fanfic #nct drabble #nct dream drabbles #lee jeno #jeno #jeno fanfic #jeno fluff #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno drabbles #soulmate jeno

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thgfanficinspo · 4 years ago

Text

Fear of the Water - Ch. 7

AO3 LINK

Annie + Finnick Origin Story set during/after 70th Hunger Games

masterlist

(ANNIE)

It’s almost impossible to sleep. Not that I normally sleep well anyway. Still.

I have one of those dreams that’s only two minutes long but actually lasts for an hour or two in real life. Finnick’s in it. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t even look at me. He’s just there. And it’s nice in the dream but it’s sad when I wake up.

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do now. Keep moving? Stay put? I unpack my things and lay them out again. I get one deep sip of water cause I have to be careful about saving it until I find a source (maybe that’s what I’ll do today) and I eat one slice of dried apple. And then I notice the dirt and the blood under my fingernails and my hands start shaking.

My mother, she butchered me . . .

Shut my eyes. Don’t want to see the blood, see the boy exploding, feel hot drops of blood splatter against my face. Take deep breaths through my mouth to keep from gagging.

It’s a long time before I feel okay again. I’m just opening my eyes when a cannon goes off. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

I count the bricks in my little cave to calm down again but I keep losing my place and have to start over.

I don’t think I’ll finish counting before the sun goes down. I’ll have to wait to look for food and water tomorrow.

(FINNICK)

My patron last night bought me and Cashmere as a set; I think it’s easier to deal with when there’s another victor with you. Misery loves company, as they say. But it’s also fucking awkward. Plus, it’s ridiculously expensive to buy a night with one victor, so buying two on the same night practically never happens.

We stay in the lady’s apartment long enough to see our tributes onscreen and make sure they’re still alive before making our way back toward the training center. Shine, Cash, and Piers are sorting out supplies and making a plan of attack. Annie is nibbling at some dried fruit.

We stop off at a coffee place on the way.

“That lady was disgusting,” Cashmere says as we wait for our orders. She pulls two blackberry-flavored cigarettes and some matches out of a pocket I didn’t know she had and lights them.

“Mm,” I hum in acknowledgement. She really was gross but I don’t waste my time thinking about her and what she wanted. I never do. When it’s over, it’s over, and there’s no point in reflecting on the experience.

Cashmere hands me one of the cigarettes. “Thanks,” I say. We smoke silently for a little while, watching all the Capitol citizens walk by. Girls giggle when they see me; men wink at Cashmere. It’s nothing new. “Who’s your favorite to win?”

She taps the excess ash from her cigarette on the ground. “I like my girl’s chances. But that pretty one from District Nine is one to watch. You?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.”

This is what conversations are like the day after you see a patron together. You’re too embarrassed about everything we did to look each other in the eye but we can’t ignore each other without being crushed by the silence. Plus, we have to look fun and flirty for the people that walk by.

My awful attempt at small talk is interrupted when a female tribute gets stuck under falling bricks from a decrepit building nearby. Her lower leg breaks with a loud snap as a particularly jagged stone lands on her shin. She barely has a chance to scream before a larger rock rolls onto her stomach and starts to crush her. It takes about a minute for her to die.

“That’s thirteen gone,” Cashmere says absently. “Eleven to go.”

The Avoxes are the only ones in the common area when I get back to the training center. They’re cleaning puke up off the rug; I assume it’s Broadsea’s.

“Did I miss anything important?” I ask, nodding at the television. There’s nothing interesting going on right now, so Caesar Flickerman is interviewing a Gamemaker named Seneca Crane about the inspiration behind the arena’s design.

It’s more elaborate than usual this year: it looks like an abandoned city that nature has reclaimed. It rains perpetually, and no place is completely dry. There are a handful of high dams, but in heavy rain they overflow somewhat. There’s nowhere to swim, so Annie and Piers don’t have any advantage there.

Somes points at the chalkboard; Girl 10 has been crossed off the list. Greer makes a few gestures to let me know that both Annie and Piers are still alive.

“Thanks.”

I sit down on the shower floor like I always do and lean my head back against the wall.

My arena was a heavy forest dotted with swamps.

There was this endless chorus of crickets and cicadas – it never stopped. Not to mention all the other damn bugs that would fly right into my eye or buzz around in my ear. All the bugs bit, but some of them carried diseases. Tributes bitten by the disease-bugs got sick and a few of them died.

There were these mutts in some of the swamps – gators, I think they’re called – that would come out of the water at night and attack. One of them killed Tethys, my district partner. It took her foot first. I couldn’t get to her in time to stop the bleeding or distract the mutt before it circled back for her. It took a while for the gator to kill her, but I doubt she could feel anything except the cold, dry sensation of losing blood.

Most of the water was unsafe to drink, and a good amount of the tributes died from dehydration or infections they got from drinking the bad water. The Careers and I were sure to boil our water to kill any germs. We didn’t have to worry about whether or not someone would see our fire – no one in their right mind would attack the Career pack.

And then one day at breakfast this enormous parachute came floating down from the sky and landed in front of me. A trident.

I knew in that moment that I would survive. I could use spears and knives as well as anybody, but I grew up with a trident in my hand. I knew I had lots of sponsors – they sent medicine when I was injured, fresh bread when I was hungry, even a sliver of soap to wash myself off – but this told me just how many there really were. But a trident?! Weapons of any kind were unheard of, but this?

It took two days for my allies to turn on me. They didn’t consider me much of a threat at first, since I was only fourteen and no one under sixteen, no matter how skilled or sponsored, had ever won. I defeated them allies fairly easily; I’d been expecting an attack and I knew what their fighting styles were. It only took another two days to find the remaining tributes and kill them.

I had it easy compared to some of the others. Most of the others, actually. I considered myself lucky for the first few days after I won. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with some of the shit the others had to. It evened out in the end, more or less.

Caesar Flickerman is talking as I exit the bathroom. Something menial. “Is she counting?”

“It looks like it,” Claudius Templesmith replies. “But I’m not sure why.”

I start rifling through the clothes in my closet.

“She’s most likely in shock,” Caesar says. “It happens from time to time.”

I don’t really pay attention – why should I? – until I catch a glimpse of Annie Cresta from the corner of my eye. It’s only for a millisecond; the feed switches to more entertaining footage of the boy from District 6 climbing to the top of a massive barebones building at least eight stories high.

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath.

Tributes go into shock pretty regularly; someone cracks up at least once every other year. I’m not surprised that it happened. But it bothers me that it happened to Annie. She was a bit weird to begin with, so I shouldn’t be shocked, but it’s still unpleasant.

Shit.

Piers probably should have killed her at the bloodbath – or at the very least, let the boy from 3 finish the job. The Games have barely started and I’m already so tired; I don’t know if I have it in me to watch Annie get herself killed in some awful way.

I avoid Mags for most of the day because I just don’t want to face her right now.

I eat dinner with Blight and Gloss at a popular restaurant, which we pretty much shut down for the night because so many of my adoring fans would otherwise flood the place. They cluster outside instead; Peacekeepers have to come in to keep them all in line. I’d really rather eat alone in my room but the president likes for his victors to be seen enjoying all the pleasures that the Capitol has to offer. And I hate to admit it but the food is actually good.

Blight brings the new kid with him. Timothy Something-or-other of District 6, victor of the 69th Hunger Games. I feel obligated to make a lot of sex jokes because it’s 69 and I’m the Finnick Odair.

Timothy doesn’t talk very much, nor does he make much eye contact. Blight and Gloss start filling him in on things he doesn’t ask about – the annoying victors, the protocols for being out in public, the politicians and socialites who get handsy when they drink.

“Brutus sucks, Gaius sucks,” Blight says as he pours us each a fresh glass of wine. “They’re both from Two. Actually most of those guys are awful.”

“Broadsea and Eefa fucking suck,” I add.

“And Leetha. Leetha is the goddamn worst,” Gloss says, shaking his head.

Timothy’s voice is scratchy. “Which one is she?”

“The redheaded lady from District Five,” I answer. “Thinks she’s the smartest person in the world. Don’t ever have a conversation alone with her. You’ll try to pull your ears off.”

Timothy swallows hard. He looks twitchy and hungry and tired. Bet he’s already addicted to something – alcohol maybe, or more likely morphling, since that’s the drug of choice for his fellow victors from 6.

The rest of dinner passes without anybody saying anything interesting. I trudge back to the training center and pray Mags has gone to bed already. I just don’t want to see her.

No such luck. She’s sitting on the couch facing the television when I come in. She smiles. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I mutter. She pats the seat beside her, silently asking me to sit with her. But I don’t want to I stand by the couch with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes pointed straight ahead.

Then she asks the question I’ve been dreading all afternoon. “Have you seen Annie?”

“Yeah.

We watch the Games in silence for a long time. There’s nothing going on this late; most of the tributes have gone to sleep. But I keep watching.

“What do you think?” Mags finally asks.

“I don’t think anything.” I try not to be snappy but it still comes out with some aggression. She must know I don’t want to talk about this. “I’m going to bed.” I give her a kiss on the cheek as I leave to show her that I’m not really mad at her. But she knows that already.

“Good night, Finnick.”

“Good night, Mags.”

I don’t have any dreams tonight.

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queenwinry · 5 years ago

Text

Quick Thinking

Pairing: Royai

Rating: K+

Words: 2065

Summary: Mere seconds away from being discovered by their mark on a stealth mission, Riza Hawkeye has to quickly come up with a way to not blow her and the colonel’s cover. Her solution is...less than ideal, though Roy’s certainly not going to complain.

A/N: Hello friends! I know I’ve been MIA for a while (and just showing up with a random oneshot is more on brand than i’d like to admit) but I couldn’t resist eventually getting this idea down. I’ve been off and on writing for the last few months but nothing quite as steady. This idea attacked me and wouldn’t let me go, so here have some Royai nonsense for the start of your weekend :) (p.s. I miss everyone and hope yall are doing well <3)

-----------

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye watched with a flash of annoyance as her superior rubbed his gloved hands together to abate the cold and cursed for the umpteenth time since they’d stationed themselves outside the secluded East City club. The colonel was being overly dramatic yet again and she was far from patient enough to deal with it by this point, also thoroughly chilled to the bone.

She watched as Colonel Mustang blew out a puff of air, easily visible even at the late hour, before he nearly pouted. “You know, when I got promoted, I really thought I’d be done with these half-assed stealth missions.”

Still trying to keep her eyes trained on the front doors of the swanky club for their target, Riza let out a sigh of her own. “You should consider it an honor that General Grumman only trusts you for these types of things.” She wasn’t sure whether she was even trying to be sarcastic or not, but, regardless, her superior took it as such.

Letting out a scoff, he replied, “Yeah, great. Good to know that old coot has no one else in the entirety of Eastern HQ he trusts enough to stand outside in the freezing weather for hours doing nothing.”

Riza resisted the urge to clench her fists and roll her eyes. She tightened the scarf around her neck before gripping the ties on her simple black coat, attempting to pull it even closer to her. Both her and Mustang were dressed in civilian clothes for this particular “mission”. She was grateful for that at least. Though the blue wool uniform was warm on most days, the flimsy military-issued black overcoat would not be nearly enough for this weather. “Colonel, if you keep complaining like that you’ll miss the target and then this will all be for nothing.”

Another scoff. Riza was beginning to become quite irritated with the noise. “Then maybe Grumman himself will let me off the hook and come out here on his own time.”

“Right, because that will do wonders for your reputation.”

She listened in satisfaction as her superior grumbled at the accuracy of her statement and kept his mouth shut. They’d been on the hunt for this particular crime lord for a few weeks now. The conniving man and his lackeys had bested Roy’s team a few times already and General Grumman (along with all of Eastern HQ) was starting to get antsy. It wasn’t like the upstart colonel to fail this many times in a row. It was straining everyone’s patience and Mustang’s ego. Hence, why Grumman had sent the pair out on the front lines trying to find some sliver of information that would work to bring the crime lord in.

Riza was a little wary of the plan, however, given the fact that their target knew the faces of the colonel and his team quite well by now. If they were accidentally spotted out here, it could mean serious trouble. The lieutenant absentmindedly huddled further into the shadows of the dark alley they had decided to hide in.

It remained silent aside from the distant hum of the bustling East City nightclub and Mustang’s occasional expletives, but Riza took what she could get. She was as exhausted and cold as her superior, though she’d never admit it out loud. She hoped their target showed up sooner rather than later.

Suddenly, a movement out of the corner of her eye had the trained sniper immediately on alert. When she turned her head and watched a seemingly hidden door open in the opposite wall from where they stood, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head and her heart sunk.

How had she missed an exit right beside them? She nearly kicked herself for not investigating their hiding spot well enough. She’d thought the alley on the side of the club was the perfect place to stake out, but she realized with startling clarity as two figures (two distinctly familiar figures) stepped out of the doorway, that she had been dead wrong.

In that moment, as Riza immediately recognized their crime lord target and one of his bodyguards walking not even five feet beside them, she realized that she had mere milliseconds to make a decision. Her superior was a few steps away, his back still turned and his mind still focusing on how annoyed he was. Their target hadn’t yet seen that they were there, but he inevitably would once he was fully out of the doorway. The lieutenant realized she didn’t even have enough time to grab her gun beneath her many layers, even though the last thing she wanted to do was cause a scene and waste another golden opportunity.

In hindsight, the lieutenant would admit to herself that she really had no idea where the sudden thought had even come from. She was certain she had buried all such inclinations years ago, and nothing even resembling the terrifying emotion would ever come to the surface. But, as panic overtook her system in the mere second before the crime lord turned around and noticed The Flame Alchemist and Hawk’s Eye standing next to him, it was the only thing she could think of and the only thing she could’ve possibly acted on.

With a very different kind of dread filling her stomach, Riza took a few quick steps over to her superior (her goddamn boss), grabbed his arm with desperation, spun him around, pushed him against the opposite alleyway wall and crashed her lips onto his.

She could practically feel the shockwave rush through his body as she grappled for the lapels of his over coat and angled her head just a touch. She still had no idea why her best idea for a cover was two horny adults exchanging saliva outside a nightclub, but she figured it was probably the quickest she’d ever thought on her feet.

Colonel Mustang was still frozen in place, his hands having come out to grip the sides of her arms (probably more in surprise than anything else). He wasn’t moving his mouth at all but she probably couldn’t blame him for that. At least he hadn’t immediately pushed her away.

Riza waited in anticipation as the sound of the crime lord and his bodyguard taking a few steps, stopping once they noticed them, and then reacting filled her ears. A feeling of relief coursed through her body once she heard the footsteps stop, before the pair started chuckling, no doubt shaking their heads at the “couple” they stumbled upon in the throes of passion.

Too focused on their target’s reaction, Riza barely even registered as her commanding officer finally got the memo, realizing they were not, in fact, all alone out here. His hands relaxed on her arms and his lips began to move in conjunction with her own. A strange, very foreign feeling began to emerge from the bottom of her stomach, but she ignored it in favor of keeping a listening ear on her surroundings.

Either the crime lord or his bodyguard (Riza wasn’t really sure who, her mind starting to become regrettably foggy), scoffed and gave a simple, “Get a room,” before the pair both laughed and their footsteps retreated from the alley.

Riza waited probably another full minute, again attempting to ignore the movements of Colonel Mustang as his hands meandered from her arms to her lower back, before she finally broke the kiss and immediately sneaked over to watch their target get in a nearby vehicle before he drove away.

As she watched the car go, she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in and relaxed her entire body against the nearby wall. That had been far, far too close. While her method of quick thinking certainly brought on a whole new slew of problems, she was thankful they had at least dodged that theoretical bullet.

Not really wanting to, given the uneasy feeling coursing through her, Riza let her eyes drift back over to her superior. He was still leaned up against the wall, a stunned expression on his face. She swallowed down the flare of desire that appeared as she watched the colonel take a few unsteady breaths, trying to keep his chest from heaving. He looked as dazed as she felt.

Riza gulped again when his dark eyes finally flitted back over to her. There were a thousand different emotions playing behind them. Shock. Confusion. And, dare she say it, a bit of desire as well. He opened and closed his gaping mouth a few times and looked to be struggling just to find the right words. She could only imagine how he was going to react, so she stepped forward and beat him to his inevitable questioning.

“Sir, I sincerely apologize.” She had to work hard just to maintain eye contact. She could feel her cheeks heating and she was thankful the darkness would help shroud the outward signs of her embarrassment. She watched as Mustang’s shock began to fade slightly at her words, but he remained silent as she continued. “I-I didn’t know what else to do. It was my fault for not doing a thorough enough search of the alleyway and missing the other exit. I hope you’ll forgive my blatant insubordination.”

A rather tense pause ensued as the colonel merely blinked in her direction and shook his head, seemingly still trying to wrap his mind around the interesting turn of events. Riza waited with bated breath before he must’ve come to some conclusion as his entire body relaxed and a sly smile emerged on his face.

“Rest assured, Lieutenant, I’m not over here complaining.” His voice was hoarse and cracked which added a rather unfortunate huskiness that Riza did not need right now.

“It’s fine,” he continued with that same breathlessness, the absurdity of everything seeming to dawn on him. “I was just...surprised, I guess. That’s good quick thinking though. We would’ve been in deep shit if he’d realized who we were.”

Riza managed to scramble enough dignity to nod her head in agreement.

Roy sighed again, though this one had nothing to do with his annoyance at his own superior. “Well, I guess that’s that, then. Let’s head home. I’m sure the general will want a full update in the morning.”

At his sudden switch into business mode, Riza straightened up and followed his lead. “Yes, sir.”

They began to walk down the alleyway in the direction he’d parked his car when Mustang suddenly stopped and turned back toward the lieutenant. She nearly let out a groan at the shit-eating grin that had emerged on his face. He leaned down closer to her and she resisted the temptation to take a whiff of his usual cologne.

“I will say this, though.” Riza could only guess the next words out of his mouth. “I wouldn’t be opposed to more stealth missions after all, if that’s going to be your usual method of keeping our cover.”

Riza’s entire guilty, embarrassed countenance fell immediately at his words, replaced with her usual annoyance at his antics. She supposed she should be glad he was using his cocky, womanizing facade to ease the tension of what had just happened. She knew deep down he was doing this for her sake, getting her to relax and realize that it didn’t need to be as big of a deal as she was making it out to be, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to punch him in the arm for the look on his face.

She settled for rolling her eyes and heaving a put upon sigh. She walked past him without another word and gave a terse, “It’s late, sir. We should head home.”

She wasn’t looking at him to see, but she could just picture the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Sure, sure,” he spoke, following after her toward the car.

Riza vowed, as they silently walked back toward his car and made their way to their respective homes, that she would always do her best staking out and covering all her bases when they went on these types of missions. Her dignity could not possibly handle having to resort to such desperate measures again.

She also vowed never to speak a word to anyone of the way her lips still tingled long after she’d gotten home.

#fma #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai fanfiction #my fanfiction #oneshots #lmaoooooo here yall go #long time no see

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theadorablespderman · 5 years ago

Text

Sailing Close to the Wind

This is dedicated to the anon who requested a fic off of the prompt list I posted a while ago. The prompt was #18 for the angst list: “Leave! Me! Alone!” thank you all for being amazing and thanks to the anon for requesting this fic! it was so much fun to write. I hope you guys like it!

(not beta read so any mistakes are mine)

***************************************************

Rating: M (due to implied sexual content)

Peter/Michelle

Summery:

Leave

Please

Don’t

Alone

***************************************************

"Pieces of shit! Leave! Me! Alone!" The roar cut up her throat, taking the air from her lungs. Michelle wrenched off the pocket-watch hanging by a rusted nail from her apartment door. She pitched it at the ground before promptly stomping on the watch face. The crunch of metal and glass under the pressure of her boot satisfied her. Observing the crushed remains of the clock, Michelle growled. This was the third timepiece she found nailed to her apartment door this month. And, her desk at work was teeming with unfulfilled, threatening notes.

She kicked the broken pieces of the watch with vigor. They skidded into a dark corner of the hallway. "Jesus! These assholes are such cowards. All the notes—the creepy phone calls...Jesus, I swear I'd be frightened if they actually followed through with any of their goddamn threats." She tilted her head back, filling the space of the hallway with her voice. Maybe the flickering fluorescent lights were bugged. Maybe they were listening to everything she said. Or, maybe she was just paranoid.

With anger bleaching her flesh, the noxious words were unstoppable. "You hear that you pieces of shit? Either leave me the hell alone or make good on your promises and— "

A sweaty palm clapped over her mouth, cutting her off. Instinctively, Michelle licked it, tasting salt and the tang of lemon. Peter dropped his hand, grimacing at Michelle's thick saliva. "Are you five years old?" He swiped his hand down his khaki pants, his face screwed up in disgust.

"What's your deal, loser?" The anger leached from Michelle, releasing as carbon dioxide from her lips. She gave Peter a sideways glance while she jammed her key into her door. Maybe he would forget her momentary breakdown if she pretended it didn't happen. If she busied herself with her lock, he might not see how frazzled she felt.

The lock always stuck, so she pushed her shoulder into the door. The watermarked boards groaned under the pressure. In one snap of the wrist, the lock turned over and the door swung open. Another annoying thing about her door. The knob didn't work. She had to keep the door locked to keep it closed. Unjamming the lock always meant she pitched two unsteady steps into her apartment when she walked in.

Stumbling into her minuscule living space, she tossed her keys onto her side table. When she glanced back at Peter, he looked as worn as she did. She wasn't sure how she didn't notice it during dinner. Until she realized the clock set him on edge. The ticking meant to signify the last seconds of her life. He never was present when she received threats. He only ever heard about them after the fact. Now his gaze carried unbridled worry as he scanned the pockmarked ceiling and the peeling wallpaper. Searching.

He was looking for other signs. More bad omens.

With a sigh, she camouflaged herself with indifference and took the few remaining steps to Peter. Michelle swung a hand in front of his face, snapping twice before gaining his attention. "I'll repeat my question. What’s your deal, oh weird one?" She walked back to the door. Slamming it shut, she wedged her shoulder into it, flipping the deadbolt over.

She watched Peter's hands sneak into his pockets, bunching his dress shirt around his wrists. Michelle found the action incredibly attractive for no reason at all. She was a sucker for bare forearms.

Swaying on his feet, Peter finally answered. "You can't say stuff like that." His distracted attention landed on her. Nervous energy rolled off him, cutting through her with edged teeth. The tension left a metallic taste on her tongue.

A chill rushed over her skin. She took a step closer to him. Finding his bicep under her hands. The warmth soothed the fraying edges between them. "Is this about that clock?"

It was a stupid question. Of course it was about the clock.

His face remained impassive, only holding a fraction of terror behind brown eyes. Michelle continued, "Don't worry about it. It's just empty threats." Snaking her arms around his stomach, she wanted to believe her own words. If she told herself they were empty threats, she had no reason to fear the consequences of her decisions.

Peter hissed, short and breathy. It resonated more so in his chest than from his mouth. If she wasn't so close, she wouldn't have heard it. But with his eyes closed, his lips sucked into a straight line, it was obvious her words didn't put him at ease. "But I am worried about it. About you." He said, Eyelashes fluttering. His irises finally appeared behind his lids. The tension in his face melted into that of unmasked anxiety. "They're watching and waiting. And I'm—I'm really worried." He whispered it from the same place in his chest that his heart resided.

Michelle tilted closer, her hands slipping up his arms, laying flat along his stiff shoulder. Pressing her fingers into the hardened muscles, she felt the strain drip away. Sliding down his back, ice thawing, slipping from a melting glacier.

Their foreheads met and the chill of Peter's skin surprised her. He was shaking. The tremble of his hands distinct as they engulfed her waist. "Hey," She breathed the words, finding anything above a whisper too loud in the intimate space. "I'll be fine."

No.

His body translated the response without the need for words. No. She wouldn't be okay.

"Why?" She placed the word in the kiss she pressed against Peter's cheek.

His arms wound tight around her, dragging her against his body. "They know about the article." Warmth from his words bathed her neck. She tilted it enough for Peter to plant a kiss to her jugular. "I can't find them, but I've heard whispers. The Maggia and everyone else involved—they’ll do anything to keep this quiet. At first, they thought they could scare you, but now—" His voice cracked. “They’re warning you that they want you dead. And I-I can't let that happen. You can't—" A drop of something cool, singular, fell where Peter kissed. One tear. His tear. "You can't let that happen. I know you won't stop, and I don't want you to. But I need you safe too..." His words dropped off into more grazes against her skin.

Michelle turned her head, allowing Peter's lips to caress the line of her jaw. Her fingers carded into his hair. Tears blurred against her skin, transferring from Peter's cheek to hers. His chest heaved against her own, sobbing with nothing but breaths from his lips. "What should I do?" She asked the question, even though she knew there were plenty of things she should do. She should leave her apartment. Go somewhere safe, discrete, given that the city’s deadliest mob had a bounty on her head. But at the moment, Michelle didn't want to leave. She didn’t want to think. Not in this moment with Peter's breath, intimate and private, mingling with her own. Leaving was impossible when his hands left whispers on her skin.

As Peter peppered more kisses across her cheeks he replied, "Leave here,” A peck on her jaw. “Go somewhere safe,” A sigh in her ear. “Don't die," He trailed to her lips, kissing each corner before slanting his mouth over hers. "Please."

She opened her mouth to him, her knees buckling against the edge of her bed.

Kissing Peter was the same as wading through a lake. He enveloped her, water molding to her skin. It was a slow kiss, long and lazy. Moving against each other with sweeping motions of their lips. Peter’s tongue caressed her lips. She opened her mouth willingly. Letting everything but him slip away until she was bare.

When Peter’s lips found a pathway past her neck, between the valley of her breasts, Michelle knew he marked her skin with salt. Her own eyes stung with tears. They slid past her temples, into her hair.

She was trapped in a dangerous game. Fear wracked her with heavy blows every day. She investigated everything from drug rings and human trafficking to political scandals and corporate cover-ups. Those articles created a plethora of enemies over the years. Michelle knew there were specific people who might just crack a smile if she died tomorrow. Normally, it was nothing more than an occasional thought. A thought that held no power or fear over her. But this wasn't a small drug lord, or arms dealer. Her article would expose the rich and powerful of New York City.

People had been killed for exposing less.

Exposing child sex trafficking, provided by the Maggia gang and patronized by a number of New York's shining elitists, was more than dangerous. It was the type of story that loaded the gun, cocked it, then waited to see who would fire first. With nothing but a few additional investigative loose ends, the story would be ready in less than a week. Michelle could feel the trigger slowly pulling back, milliseconds from discharging.

Once the article published the bounty on her head would grow. The ticking clocks outside her door would increase. A faceless gunman could introduce her to death tomorrow. If that was because she publicized the identities of the buyers and sellers of child sex trafficking, she would write that story again.

That didn't mean she wasn't scared out of her mind.

Michelle fell back into the present as Peter traveled lower, leaving burns the shape of his lips on her naked skin. She couldn't remember exactly when she stripped her clothing, but she prayed Peter continued.

He was water, touching every surface. Her labored breathing stemmed from him. Peter deprived her of all oxygen before supplying it again. She felt the tremble of his shoulders between her thighs. The desperate strokes his mouth made. The way his hands clasped her hips. She knew his anxieties echoed her own.

Then melodies were playing. Peter was her reality as she crested. He was everything when she fell apart in a bundle of exposed nerves in his hands.

Peter trailed back up her body, finding her mouth once more. Skin touched skin with cleansing fire. Michelle was reborn with the weight of him pressing into her. As he kissed her—his cheeks now dry and his voice hoarse—he whispered everything and nothing into her skin.

They created weather together. Every touch of Peter's desperate fingers crackled with lightning. The heat of open-mouthed kisses birthed wildfires. Humidity hung against their slick bodies. Wind rushed from the canyons of their lips, leaving them without atmosphere to breathe. When Peter dove into her, the northern lights flashed in Michelle's eyes. They created oceans and mountains with their rhythm. Two tectonic plates crashing into the other with beautiful power. Sound and space collided into the melody of I love you.

After the crescendo where heaven and earth collided, she collapsed into a series of earthquakes. Him into a cacophony of volcanic eruptions. Tears and sweat mingled. Under the covers, Peter tucked his nose into the curve of Michelle's neck. He was still shaking, his hold on her as firm as it had been when they started. She swallowed hard, felt a similar tremor in her chest, and spoke, "I have to publish the article."

Peter nodded. His lashes fluttered against her skin. "I know."

Fatigue washed over her. Her fingers halted combing through Peter's hair. She rested her hand at the nape of his neck, her vision growing watery. Peter's thumb mopped up the stray tear rolling over her cheek, down her neck. "I don't want to do this without you," His eyes shot to her own, steady and strong. She looked away, realizing the gravity of her choices. Maybe she could've had a different life if she wasn't so stubborn. If she didn't need to uncover and investigate everything. Or, bring attention to the political and social injustices plaguing the planet. If only she didn't feel that unshakable need. But she did. Because if she didn't, she didn't trust anyone else to do it. Michelle trailed her eyes back to Peter's. "I know I'm a lot. I know it's a lot to handle. Most people at twenty-three don’t have these problems," But, most people weren’t investigative journalists in a relationship with Spider-Man. She placed an idle kiss against Peter's lips. “But I don't want you to leave me alone."

"I wouldn’t leave you, but I don’t want you to leave me alone, either." Peter returned the kiss, his fingers curling around her neck. He smelled sweet, pleasant like the rain. She filled her lungs with the smell of him. "You’re so strong. I know you can protect yourself, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. To keep you alive. But you have to stay alive."

Michelle's eyes drooped of their own accord, but before sleep claimed her, she whispered, "I'll do my best."

She smiled into Peter’s chest as she drifted off. Safe for the moment.

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rosemaidenvixen · 5 years ago

Text

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 2: Jim

Ao3

Jim stood at the entrance to Arcadia Oaks high school, feet rooted to the ground. He really didn’t want to go inside.

After sobbing in the car for no less than a solid hour last Thursday he and his mom had gone home to spend the rest of the day crying off and on and fighting back abject misery. Next morning things weren't much better, Jim had stood at the front door for nearly twenty minutes, lunch and book bag in hand, trying to find the will to force himself to go outside and bike to school. In the end his mom had found him like that and called him out sick again. Jim ended up spending Friday hanging out in the staff lounge at the clinic visiting with his mom on her breaks.

The entire time he had avoided Toby and only communicated with him through vague texts, dreading giving him an actual explanation for all of this.

On Saturday Toby had forced the issue and showed up at his house in person. He hadn’t said anything, just held up a DVD of the Great British Baking show in one hand and an extra gande size bag of tacos in the other.

If he hadn’t been completely emotionally wrung out by that point Jim would have cried.

One weekend later that brought him here, Monday morning, getting ready to go in and face the social fallout of bursting into tears in the middle of the school. Jim wasn’t so naive as to think that there wouldn’t be any. And to add a cherry on top of the disaster sundae that today was sure to be, Toby had to go to the orthodontist and wouldn’t get here until lunch. Meaning Jim was going to be facing the tender mercies of his peers alone.

His gut twisted, if things were hard at school before, they were about to get even harder.

But no matter how bad this was going to be, no matter how much crap Steve and every other jerk in school was going to give him; going to in and facing the music, even without Toby’s support, was better than spending a long day alone in his house.

Anything was better than that.

Sucking in a final deep breath, Jim steeled himself and walked inside.

Mercifully, he didn’t run into any trouble getting to his locker and making his way through the halls. But Jim knew better than to let that get his hopes up. Resisting the urge to hightail it to the other side of town, or preferably even further than that, Jim walked up to first period algebra and pushed the door open.

Ms. Janeth wasn’t here yet, but more than half of the students already were. Sitting and standing around talking while they waited for class to start. The creak of the door opening caused the buzz of conversation to dim and several people to turn and stare in his direction. Which was perfectly normal, that’s just what people did when someone came into the room, they weren’t staring at him in particular. Although some of them held their gazes long enough to make him start doubting that.

Jim made his way to his desk in silence. Just when he was about to sit down, someone’s palm made contact with the back of his head, and not gently.

He spun around on reflex, only to come face to face with his absolute least favorite person in the world.

“I’m surprised that you’re willing to show your face around here again Lake ,” Steve said with a nasty smirk “We don’t usually let crybabies come to the big kid school, but if you really want to stick around, I’m sure we can find some diapers for you,”

Jim glowered, cheeks burning, but said nothing as he slid into his desk. From all around him came snickering and whispers of ‘Crybaby Lake’.

Less than half an hour in and things were already going to hell. Great, just great.

Fortunately Ms. Janeth came in less than a minute later, putting an end to the murmurs and giggles. Class was relatively normal, Ms. Janeth lecturing on algebra and working through problems while Jim tried to force himself to pay attention.

Even though he wasn’t going to make anything of himself after high school so there was no damn point to studying algebra so what was the point of even trying anymore.

An hour of algebra later the bell rang, signalling for everyone to pack up and head to the next class. Jim had stuffed his papers into his bag and stood up out of his desk when Ms. Janeth stepped over to him.

“Jim, could I have a word with you?”

He froze, a teacher had never approached him like this before, meaning that this was no doubt a direct result of his public meltdown last week “Uh...ok,”

She waited until everyone else had left the room, some of his classmates lingering and glancing back at them not so discreetly as they went through the door.

Once they were alone she spoke up against, voice soft “Is everything... alright with you?”

At first Jim wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly. Was he alright? A common, innocent question. One that had him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.

Alright.

He was on house arrest every night, doomed to become an unemployed recluse after school was over, and one day he would die old, friendless, and alone. Of course that was all assuming no one figured out his secret and shipped him off to be alien autopsied.

Jim was pretty much as goddamn far from alright as a person could.

He forced a smile “Yeah I’m good,”

Ms. Janeth frowned, apparently Jim wasn’t very convincing “Well if you ever do have any...issues, I’m here to help,”

Jim mumbled out a thank you before making a hasty retreat and scampering off to his next class.

Health and Spanish class were much of the same; sideways stares and whispers from his classmates, and Coach Lawrence and Señor Uhl pulling him aside afterwards to ask if everything was ok and tell him that they could help or just listen if he ever needed it.

You know you’ve hit rock bottom when even Señor Uhl takes pity on you.

Finally, after the longest morning of his entire life, lunch period came.

Jim cycled through his breathing exercises as he headed into the cafeteria, stomach growling. He hadn't packed a lunch this morning; just getting up and getting dressed had been utterly draining. Even waiting in line to buy some french fries sounded unbearably exhausting. Guess that meant he was skipping today. Steve had a different lunch period, so at the very least Jim would be able to get a break from him.

So far school was still better than being home alone, but not by much.

He took a seat at an unoccupied cafeteria table and pulled out his phone, hopefully the new Go-go Sushi app could take his mind off of things for a bit. Jim had been at it for about ten minutes and burned through four out of five lives when Toby showed up at his table, catching him completely off guard, over an hour early and carrying a large pizza box.

“I figured Chef Jim could use a break,” Toby beamed at him as he set the box down onto the table “So for the next five days, you let me worry about lunch,”

Jim was stunned and more than a little touched “Tobes you--”

“Up up up,” Toby held up a hand “Sorry Jimbo, I’m not taking no for an answer, you’re just going to have to get used to take out a la Toby for the rest of the week,”

Tears brimmed at the edge of Jim’s vision, he blinked rapidly to dispel them before they could fall. Toby had been his rock throughout the entire disaster that was his life, never prying or asking questions, always there with cheerful support and comfort. He was the greatest friend Jim could ever have.

It was going to hurt so so much when Toby went to college and left him behind.

“Thanks Tobes,”

Toby took a seat next to him and opened the box “Anytime,”

Jim reached in and grabbed the closest slice, Toby following suit. It wasn’t until he took the first bite that he realized just how hungry he was.

They’d been chewing their wonderfully greasy pizza in silence for a few minutes when Jim saw someone approach their table from the corner of his eye. Of course, today just had to be one of those days when Seamus decided to bother them without Steve acting as the muscle. He swallowed his mouthful of pizza and snapped his head up to tell Seamus to get lost only to freeze.

A girl with blue streaked dark hair stood in front of him.

It was Claire.

The Claire.

The girl who’d been in his dreams ever since that fundraiser last February.

“Hi,” she said with a small smile.

Jim’s heart fluttered. Claire was talking to him.

“Oh...hi,”

“How are things?”

Jim, fumbled, trying to remember how to put words together “Oh, uh...things are...good...I guess,”

Claire tugged at the edge of her jacket “So me, Mary, and Darci really liked the macarons you shared with us,”

The memory flickered behind his eyes, Toby snatching the cookies he had made the night before and sharing them with Claire and her friends in order to ‘make a good first impression’.

Had that only happened a week ago?

“So to say thank you...we were wondering, maybe, if you guys want to go to the county fair with us with us this weekend?”

Jim’s mouth went dry. Of all things he expected to happen his first day back, this was not one of them “The county fair? I, uh….”

“No pressure, think about it for a bit,” she piped up, voice half an octave higher “Let me know what you decide,”

She scurried off, gone just as quickly as she had come.

Jim was still trying to restart his brain when he felt Toby elbow him in the side “ Oh my gosh! Claire just totally asked you out!”

“What? No, you heard her, it’s a group thing, you’re invited to,”

“Po-ta-to po-tah-to, I know what it looks like when a girl’s been bitten by the love bug. You’re going to tell her yes, right?”

“I...don’t know,”

An hour later Jim was sitting in history class half listening to Mr. Strickler’s lecture, still turning Claire’s offer over and over in his mind.

A week ago, he would have said yes in a millisecond, but that was before. Thoughts of Claire still made him blush, but what could she possibly see in him? Claire had to know about Jim’s breakdown, why would she want anything to do with him? She’d said that it was a thank you to him and Toby for the macarons. But macrons wouldn’t outweigh a public crying fit. Maybe this was just a pity offer in disguise.

Jim’s stomach knotted up as an ever worse idea took shape. Maybe this whole county fair thing was just a way to trick him and humiliate him even more.

But Claire wouldn’t do that, would she?

A wadded up piece of paper hit him in the back of the head, derailing his train of thought. Jim grimaced and tried to ignore it, two more wads of paper and that became impossible.

Glancing back, Jim saw Steve smirking at him, he then pretended to rub his balled up hand against his eye, doing a bad pantomime of someone crying, Seamus and Logan snickered and high fived him behind his back.

Jim bit back a slew of choice four letter words and turned forward again, from a few seats ahead and to the right he could see Toby shoot him a sympathetic glance.

Seriously, could Steve just not for one hour of their lives? Jim had enough on his plate as it was.

Class seemed to drag on forever, but finally the bell rang and the students started filing out, Jim lingered, packing up his bag with deliberate slowness. Toby waited by the door, but Jim waved him on. He hesitated, clearly uncertain, before walking away, giving Jim one final lingering glance.

Mr. Strickler was cleaning off the blackboard, he hadn’t noticed that Jim was still here. Jim cautiously stepped to the front of the classroom, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head shouting to get out before he made things awkward and weird. Before he could act on that instinct, Mr. Strickler finally noticed him loitering.

He turned and smiled “Ah Jim, normally I would ask if you need something, but I assume every other teacher you’ve had so far has given you some variation the same question. I’m curious, how did Señor Ulh’s offer of assistance go?”

Involuntarily, the corners of Jim’s mouth quirked up, the expression feeling almost foreign on his face. A smile. The first genuine one in days.

Somehow Mr. Strickler had known the exact right thing to say to make him feel just a tiny bit better, in spite of everything.

None of the teachers here were bad, but Mr. Strickler was the one who had pulled Jim up off the floor last week, brought him to his office, let him cry until he was semi functional again, called his mom to take him home.

Maybe it was irrational, but Jim trusted him just a little bit more.

“Actually...there was something I wanted to ask you,”

Mr. Strickler stopped what he was doing, putting down the rag and turning to face him fully “What seems to be the issue?”

“Well...you see, it’s…” Jim struggled to translate the gnarled knot of emotions into words “There’s this girl,”

“A girl?”

“Yeah, and she wants me and Toby to go hang out with her and her friends,”

One of Mr. Strickler’s eyebrows quirked up “And you don’t wish to do this?”

“Yes-- I mean no! I mean, I do want to, but I just...” Jim trailed off helplessly.

“You know this girl and her friends, correct?”

“We’ve...met,”

“And does the idea of spending time with them sound fun?”

Jim thought about it for a few seconds before swallowing hard and nodding.

Mr. Strickler gave a wry smile and picked up a pen from his desk, “I think I might know what your problem is,”

“You do?” even Jim wasn’t sure what his problem was.

“It sounds to me that you would like very much to go on this outing, but you’re intimidated by the idea of putting yourself out there with new people and terrified that something will go wrong,”

“That...sounds right,” Jim mumbled, he was embarrassed about having it laid out like that, but at the same time he was glad Strickler was able to explain what Jim couldn’t find the words for.

“So...I should tell her yes?”

Mr. Strickler chuckled “I think you should do whatever feels best for you. Keep in mind, while there is a certain amount of risk involved with making a change and opening yourself to new people, as a great man once said, t here can be no life without change, and to be afraid of what is different or unfamiliar is to be afraid of life ,”

Jim’s blood turned to ice in his veins. He struggled to keep his face blank.

If Mr. Strickler noticed Jim’s sudden change in mood he didn’t comment on it, merely capped the pen and slipped it into his pocket “And if I may be so bold, I think you could benefit greatly from a deviation in your routine,”

Mr. Strickler didn’t know, he couldn’t have meant the words that way, but hearing them cut Jim to the bone.

There can be no life without change.

A life trapped in his house, a life of slogging through the same old routine just because he didn’t know what else to do. Powerless to alter his inevitable future.

Jim balled his fingers into fists so the trembling wouldn’t be too obvious. His life wasn’t all doom and gloom, but Jim had gotten to the point where even the best things about his life, Mom and Toby, could barely keep him going.

He wanted more.

To be able to live free from secrecy and fear, to spend just one night of his life outside his house with other people. To be able to have an actual future.

But Jim wasn’t going to get that. No matter how badly he wanted it.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, Mr. Strickler’s words buzzing around in his skull.

A deviation from the routine.

Claire’s face flashed in his mind.

Jim wasn’t going to get what he wanted, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have more.

Mr. Strickler was right, there was a risk, a huge risk. But the potential for something different, something new, was worth it. Even if it wouldn’t change anything long term.

“That makes sense,” Jim hefted his bag over his shoulder “I think I know what I need to do now,” he started hurrying towards the door, if he was quick he could meet up with Claire and give her an answer before next period “Thanks Mr. Strickler,”

Mr. Strickler waved back as Jim walked away “I’m glad I could be of some help,”

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #a secret's worth #fanfic #jim lake jr #steve palchuk #toby domzalski #claire nuñez #walter strickler #rmvwrites

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pettyprocrastination · 6 years ago

Text

I Don’t Think Were On Earth-65 Anymore Frank Castle x Spider!Reader

Summary: Frank Castle is the leader of the New York Special Crimes Task Force and he’s less than civil with the local super heroes, except for one

Chapter one

“Goddamn heroes. Can’t let us do our job for one fucking day.” The cop clenched his fists and stood outside the building with gritted teeth, waiting for the call to go in.

His partner Chris, a wide-eyed rookie, gaped at him. “What do you mean? Don’t they make it easier for us?”

The man scoffed and looked toward his superior, who had been watching the windows with razor focus.

“What do you say cap’n? These heroes make things easier on us?”

The man turned to them and Adrian gulped.

Frank Castle, forty-four years old, former U.S. marine and captain of the New York Special Crimes Task Force. At six foot four and defined muscle to match, it was easy to say he was intimidating to most.

“They cause destruction and make a fool of us in the presses.” He answered before turning back to the building, seeing a flying figure zipping by in combat. “I’d prefer a trained profession over some schmuck in spandex any day of the week.”

Chris frowned. “But what about the Jitterbug? Hasn’t she worked with you guys before?”

The captain blew air out through his nostrils before sending the 24 year old a sharp glare.

“She’s the only tolerable one.”

The windows shattered as Adrian Toomes, formally known as the vulture, falls to the ground in a bruised and beaten heap. His mechanical wings were snapped at the tips and tied together with webbing. A purple figure swung through the broken glass and landed gracefully next to the beaten villain.

“Evenin’ officers.” Even through the mask, Castle knew she was grinning ear to ear. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”

Jitterbug was one of the main heroes of new york, often working side by side with spider-woman and in Frank’s opinion: The only one he didn’t want to arrest.

She often worked side by side with the cops, telling them information on certain criminals as well as complying when they make her fill out an overly specific incident report each time she brought them a vanquished foe.

Now this didn’t mean he liked her. No, far from it. He respected her sure, she was the only one who made at least an effort to abide by the laws and when she saw it fit, she’d let them do their job with no interference. But they were far from friends.

“ ‘Bug.” Castle grunted. “You know you have to-”

“Answer your questions so you can file this away, yeah yeah I know the drill.” She dismissed his complaint with a little wave. “I’m basically an honorary cop at this point with how much I help you lot.”

“Far from it.” Frank snarled. “We follow rules. We have been picked to protect this city. We don’t swing and speed around the city wearing a stupid costume.”

“Oh don’t speak too soon officer.” Jitterbug pointed to his uniform which had been sewn back together after being torn again. “You can’t talk about close when yours is positively bursting at the seams.” Before Frank could rebuttal, she turned to Chris who was staring at her with wide eyes. “You must be new! I haven’t seen you around befor-”

“Chris williams!” He blurted and shook her hand. “It’s an honour to meet you mam. The work you do for this city is just-”

“Williams, why don’t you go help them with the Vulture while I deal with the bug.” Castle looked less than thrilled at the young man’s starstruck expression. The man swallowed and nodded, Jitterbug waved at him as he shuffled away with a red face.

“Don’t encourage him.”

She huffed and set her hands on her Lycra-clad hips. “Well soooorry that not every cop in this city hates me as much as you do castle.”

His lip raised just for a millisecond. “Don’t worry, they’ll get there.”

The white eyes of her mask narrowed. “Ha ha. You're hilarious really, you should do stand-up.”

“When you idiots put me out of a job I’ll get right on that.”

Castle asked her a series of questions, all of which she answered with specific detail of what exactly happened. Though the pair were less than fond of eachother, they worked well compared to the other heroes who just beat up the bad guy and left before the cops showed up. She gave them information and did her part when they weren’t there to help, but when they were she abided by their orders with minimal complaints.

Like tonight.

“Jesus Castle are you almost done?” Jitterbug groaned and leaned on her heels. “I got plans you know.”

The officer snorted and looked up from his report. “Really? I thought you superhero types retire back to your secret cave or where ever the hell you come from.”

Jitterbug huffed. “Well whether it’s a cave or an apartment complex, I gotta bolt.” In a quick blur the paper in front of him was completely filled out in neat handwriting, finished with a smiley face at the end.

That was another thing he hated about Jitterbug. Her goddamn super speed.

“Have a nice night officer!”

“Don’t you-”

Before he could finished the sentence she was already in the air, web slinging her way through the city and off to her home (at least that's where he assumed she was going).

The captain looked around him. The vulture had been captured, nobody had been hurt, and his report was finished and ready to be filed away, all while he still had enough time to go home and get some rest.

He watched her form flip and twirl through the night sky and couldn’t help but feel thankful for the web-slinging heroine.

At least one of these vigilantes is useful.

ayyy p1 is up!! Pls give me your feedback on this! This story won’t exactly have her and the frank from her universe falling in love just yet, but the next one will! I plan on doing a lot of fics with these two because lets be real I am now in love with this pairing you guys! Don’t feel shy to send me a message whether it be a request, advice or just saying hello! Hope you all have a good day! <3

@marvelobsessedteen

#frank castle #punisher #frank castle imagine #frank castle x reader #punisher imagine #punisher x reader #the punisher #x reader #writing #au??#quiet literally

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ren-akimiya · 6 years ago

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Stalker Metamorphosis

I walked into my office with a crime investigation folder in my arms. After a long chase, we finally put that psychopath behind bars. However, despite knowing that she can get sentenced for her entire life, or put in an asylum, she didn't resist much. Or maybe not at all. She simply put everything in her hands down on the floor as we pointed guns at her. And those eyes... just staring into the abyss of nothingness. It was rather creepy. I have seen similar eyes on victims of homicide. Shock and extreme trauma cause it most of the time. It felt like... she was a completely different person from what we were expecting. She had a diary with her. I know it is rude for one to read a complete stranger's diary, however, I am really interested in what can be in it. Wacos like her usually write interesting and creepy shit, and I always loved horror as a genre in almost everything. Games, movies, books... let the genre be horror, and I always gave it a try. The chills running down my spine, before a good scare or when an eerie music began to play in the background, brought a sense of euphoria as well. Sometimes an effective jumpscare filled my mind with ecstasy as well however it always felt cheap on the long term. Guilty pleasure what I call it. Maybe I sound creepy, but tell you what, I am a genuine and cool guy. Sometimes a little bit too passive.

I put down the folder on the closer end of the desk and jumped into my chair. The diary was inside my pocket, ever since the arrest so I did not need to take it away from the evidence safe. There is a smaller chance I get discovered this way. Holding back evidences can put me into every kind of trouble however curiosity got the better of me. I guess there is no turning back at this point. My fingers slip under the cover and with a steady motion towards myself, I opened it on the first page. As expected, nothing was on the first page. Why the hell did I even open on it. Turning on the next page revealed what I was looking for. The handwriting was pretty and organized. It was odd from a sort of artist as far as I know. Or maybe I am just generalizing.

Entry 1:

Dear Diary,

I’m happy I’m starting you.

Well, my psychiatrist suggested writing a diary so that I clear up my mind from all the things happened to me. I am not entirely sure though what he was referring to...

He was asking questions about what was the last thing I remember before I fell into a coma. I had a really hard time answering them. Until my CT scan doesn't come back to him I am restricted of using anything electronic since it can worsen the possible damages in my brain. Better safe than sorry I guess. However, he recommended me to write a diary or some sort to clean my head from the cloud that blocks my thoughts and help me remember certain scenes. I have no idea why he wants me to do that. Did I see a wanted criminal or something that bad happened they need to catch someone? I think it is better for me to pull myself out from the case entirely. I don't want any other trouble in my life I already have. Speaking of problems, ever since I got back to my senses I can't shake this odd feeling off of me that someone or something is watching me from behind. I also happen to catch glimpses of it on my horizon but never too close to identify it...

Sound and feels pretty unnerving if you ask me knowing someone is watching me maybe going to do something to me… I just hope nothing happens and I am just imagining things.

Oh well, this all that I wanted to write down for this day. Wow writing my thoughts down to you is pretty fun as well. I might develop a habit out of this. I feel so old school right now...oh well I hope I write down on you soon.

From, Naomi

I put the diary down on the wooden table, under the light of my desk lamp then crossing my fingers in front of my head and resting it. Thoughts rush through every synapse of my brain, piecing together the unnecessary info and the already known facts about the caught girl. No motive or possible explanation in this entry…

Reaching down under the paper again, I turned the page to reveal the next entry in the strange diary

Entry 2:

Dear Diary,

Finally, back at school. I was worried that I would fall behind my studies and fail, after working so hard for getting mom and dad’s approval to get in this college. I cannot let my hopes and dreams shatter just because of this little coma. I know they can’t make huge exceptions like letting me pass all the test. I would not want it either. I would just pull more unnecessary attention on me. I don’t want that…. I don’t want to be noticed anymore...Please just leave me alone...Not anymore...I think I uncovered the secret that lying that certain night’s shadows...

It looks like the entry ends here. The part with the dots appears to be less organized and more like scribbles. The psychology book about handwriting would say that the person who wrote this was in fear. The strokes of the pen suggest that the writer’s hand was shaking while writing. I bit down on my finger, ripping of a small fragment of my skin chewing them into softer dusty matter then swallowed it. A really bad habit of mine. I start doing this thing when I feel excited or I am bored. Few of my colleagues who I am friends with said that I should try dropping this childish habit, since they and science says that removing your skin causes bacteria to invade your body. Are they thinking that I am some kind of idiot? I am fully aware of that fact. I just can’t help it…

Shaking my head, I turn a few more pages only running through the lines with my eyes. Nothing really interesting except this shadow figure that entry 7 describes. I stopped scrolling to put on under my metaphoric magnifying glass.

Entry 7:

The shadow person is getting more and closer with each passing day. This goddamn faceless figure. I think it resembles a huge figure. Mostly humanoid in shape however it keeps on warping and warping sometimes. And not just that but I think I began hallucinating even weirder shit. Sometimes when I turn on a corner, everyone disappears from this city. It becomes abandoned. I roam the empty streets for a while, begging to find someone with me without any luck whatsoever. When I snap back to reality I am usually at the same spot where this hallucination started. Yes, I classify them as hallucination since I see them clearly but no one else does. I never move from my original spot either. What else could it be? Exactly, nothing else, other than a hallucination.

I heard about killings taking place in the city more and more frequently. Coincidentally, my hallucinations became more common and longer. What if...these two things are linked somehow…

The entry ends here. The author noticeably became more frustrated than ever. Organized writing and structure were thrown out of the window at this point. Her fear emitted from her writings, like a sinister miasma choking me. Chills ran down on my spine while reading the entry. This is what I was waiting for. Excitement. From the very moment I first averted my gaze at her broken facial expression and empty emerald green eyes I knew I was in for some exciting events.

My pupils filled most of my eyes, pushing out my iris to the outer rim of the inner ring and every single hair on my arms stood on their edge. I could not wait even a millisecond and turned to the final page. The entry was this:

Entry 13:

Dear Diary,

I was really glad to start you so I could talk about this dark secret with you. Dark secret... sounds pretty cliché if you ask me. I am finally putting together the pieces of the puzzle. The meaning behind this hallucination, the Shadow Being and the genocides occurring across the city. Meaning? What the fuck am I even trying to say. There is no meaning to anything what am I doing. I don’t even know why am I hallucinating. Maybe I am just simply going nuts. These medications that the doctor gave to me have no goddamn use.

I hear him telling things to me. I don’t know what, but I am certain that he is talking to me in a strange language. I can’t even think it is human language… He is getting closer to me. One night I woke up to him staring at me, just a couple inches away from my face but when I blinked, he was gone in an instant. Why am I referring to that thing as a “he”? It is something beyond human knowledge. A malevolent beast that wants nothing else just to take people away and murdering them in unspeakable ways. Or maybe this is just all in my head…

Never mind... Nothing matters anymore. Whatever that thing is, imaginary or real, I am giving myself up to it. I am tired of running…

Thank you, my dear Diary. You were a wonderful companion throughout this journey.

I closed the small journal and put it back on my table. Averting my gaze at the case folder on the very edge of my desk, I pulled it under the yellow light of the desk lamp. The newly gained information fit right into the missing spots of the case’s jigsaw puzzle. Though the case was solved as soon as we caught the poor thing in the forest. She made a shelter there to keep herself from hurting more people. Her final acts are worthy of acknowledgment, as Naomi, however, it will not erase the fact that she killed people.

I let out a long sigh then got back up from the comfortable hold of the leather chair and I left my office with the journal in the pocket of my coat. The rain was pouring from the sky so for the distance between the door of the building and my car, I opened my umbrella. If I am correct, she must be in jail still. I don’t remember the chief talking about transferring her to an asylum or prison. Starting the engine, I drove down in the dim lit road towards the district’s police station. The words from the diary formed images in my head, flashing into my mind like lightning. For some reason, I felt myself more and more agitated with each passing street light as the distance between me and the complicated serial killer lessened. Pain stung into my stomach like a tiny blade and my arms became shaky again. I have not felt like this ever since my first case. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and my heavy feet pushed down on the gas pedal ever so slightly. The engine roared up and the mechanical beast that I was sitting in almost muting the popping sound that the rain gave as each drop landed on the windshield. The adrenaline rush got the better of me until another traffic light put me to a halt by changing to red. It was strange that only the final light gave me a red signal. All other were green or just changed to green like some strange coincidence. And only the final one stopped me, for the better. I would have been sent to the afterlife by the coming truck with a frontal collision. most likely sending my body flying across the windshield or the breaking glass piercing through my skull.

As the light switched to green I took the final turn to the police station. It was technically closed by this time of the day, however, there were always a few officers who were on nightshift to look out for the ones locked up and to answer possible calls. Rushing inside the station from the rain, the officers looked at me dumbfounded.

I asked where can I find the girl that we took in a couple of hours ago. They looked at each other, dumbfounded by my request then one sighed and took me to the cells in the room that opened from the very back of the building. I told him that I would want some alone time with her, to that he widened his gaze then shrugged, leaving the room. I venture forward to the only cell that held someone captive. There she was, sitting by the wall, looking downwards at the floor, or at her feet. Her hair, a brown and semi-short mess. The body was still covered in dirt and her clothes were tattered and torn. When she heard my steps getting louder she raised her head up from between her knees and looked into my eyes. The same soulless eyes I have seen when we caught her. Her huge pupils, trying to focus onto mine, as her emerald iris was only visible on the very outer rim of the central ring. It was like she was in some sort of trance.

Sighing, I pulled the journal out from my pocket and giving it a push, I slid it to her. To this it looked like, life went back into her. Reaching out to it with shaky hands, she lifted it up and held it close to her chest. A gentle smile curved onto my face then took a few steps backward.

“So you have read it. But why?” she asked, in an extremely low tone. It was like she was whispering. My answer was presented to her with a sigh.

“No particular reason. I thought that a psycho’s diary would hold many horrors, waiting to be uncovered. And it looks like I was right.”

She responded with an “Oh,” then looked back down on the floor.

“But why did you bring the diary back to me? It makes no sense…” she said. And that struck me. I had no answer to this question. Possible answers raced through my mind like cars, however, neither of them would have done any good. I was wondering if I would be able to chat with the other one inside her. The so-called Shadow Person, however, it was a fact that bringing her out would only do harm to her. I already broke a few unwritten regulations of mine with bringing the diary back to her. It was time for me to leave, so I left her with the question, hanging unanswered.

On the way back home, in my rear-view mirror, I noticed something. I adjusted it a little bit to gain a better sight on it. Something that I should not be able to see. It looked like a hole anomaly in space, warping and changing into... into a humanoid shape.

#creepypasta #horror #thriller #first person view #psychological #spooky #tie in #short story #crime

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capnjay21 · 7 years ago

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the importance of being idle, 12/12

A/N: aloha! I posted this on AO3 a little while ago, but it has yet to make it onto tumblr. I wanted to say thank you so much to everybody who stuck along for the ride, it wouldn’t have been anymore than a oneshot without you! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but here it is.

Rating: M

Catch up on: AO3 | tumblr

the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

Neither the fragrant dispensable hand soap, the superior quality of microwavable goods nor the silent as smoke bathroom door could make living in the Blackbeard’s Revenge tour bus a salvageable experience.

Admittedly, she’d only been there for just over twenty-four hours.

But it still fucking sucked.

After watching the Jolly Rogers drive away, she’d had little else to do except move her camera equipment and her small suitcase onto the other bus. Of course, the only free bunk happened to be right next to Blackbeard’s, but at least she wasn’t ousting any back-line equipment. If she was going to be here for the next month and a half, she would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, collect her money and go.

And try not to think too hard about the band that had driven away.

She spent the entire day in her bunk, alternating between attempting to read and adjusting settings needlessly on her camera, ignoring any offhand remarks sent her way. Blackbeard’s Revenge clearly had their own rhythm, the radio flipped onto some postseason baseball game while they alternated between relaxing and trying to coax a rise out of Emma. There were only so many ‘and how goes our forlorn freelancer, darling?’ she could take before she took a leaf out of Tina and Killian’s book and socked one of them in the jaw, but their every jibe strengthened her resolve. The only small mercy she could think of was the lack of Neal, since he had his own car he’d been using for that leg of the tour.

Eventually, the men dozed off and Emma was left in peace, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t text Killian. Her immediate instinct was to wait and see if he texted her first, but remembered too late that they never actually got to a point where they’d exchanged numbers — she only had his because of the note he’d left in her apartment that very first night. Along with his shirt.

(The shirt she had, in a moment of weakness, decided to throw on.

She’d brought it on the tour under the pretext of giving it back to him, and it had sat at the bottom of her suitcase until she could find the right moment — which now, of course, had obviously passed her by. It felt oddly symbolic of her entire relationship with Killian, to her chagrin.)

August had messaged her a string of salsa dancing women emojis, assuring her she’d pull through the other side. In response, she’d merely sent him a tired looking selfie with the book she’d secretly swiped from his bunk; Pinocchio. His reply was scandalised.

I knew there was a reason you said no to my fairytales. ‘Finding your own destiny’ my ass.

<b>that’s not v gentlemanly </b>

They’d bantered for a few minutes before she let the phone lie, a dull ache settling in the centre of her chest. She missed him. She missed all of them.

And before she let the rattling of the bus on the highway lull her into an afternoon nap, she couldn’t stop feeling the phantom scratch of stubble against her temple as a kiss was laid there, a murmur of sweet dreams, Emma, carrying her away.

***

BR had managed to recruit some local band last minute to open for them that night in New York, a city where no shortage of musicians lurked waiting for a chance like that to come along. They’d been okay, the style leaning a little too far into pop-punk for Emma’s liking, but dutifully she took photos and acted much the same as she had on every other night. It was a job, now. Nothing more. Take photos, go to bed. No lingering backstage, no welcome distractions, no banter as the venue was set up — all she cared about was her finger over the shutter release and the thought of getting back to her bunk, Killian’s shirt folded neatly underneath her pillow.

She’d gone back to the bus immediately after the gig. Even with that vestige of him surrounding her, it had been a restless night’s sleep.

They were performing just one more show in New York, and the next morning Emma couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to the fact that it would be the last time she worked with Neal. If it weren’t for the fact that it left her alone with Blackbeard’s Revenge she would’ve been more relieved, but as it stood Neal was both a buffer and an inconvenience. They both knew it in their unspoken, mutual agreement; this would be the last time they saw each other. There was no use prolonging their association — the past was firmly in the past, Emma had closure. She didn’t know what Neal had, but it sure as fuck wasn’t anything that concerned her, and there was something decidedly liberating about finally setting fire to that chapter of her life, and letting it go up in smoke.

While most of her freedom to decide had been taken from her over the past day, it felt good to still be able to make some choices.

As the hours ticked by into the early afternoon, Emma was flicking through the photos she’d already taken from the last month or so, Blackbeard and Isaac playing cards in the seating area, with Pan listening to music as he lay back in his bunk. Jefferson had disappeared a few hours ago. It was a bitch to get into the city from the parking lot they’d been assigned near Newark, but the bassist seemed to be the only one interested in giving it a try. Emma couldn’t bring herself to give it a go, and it was highly likely the other three had already been before. The precarious peace, however, didn’t last long.

The door at the back of the bus swung open, sunlight beaming through and making Emma blink against the sudden brightness. Assuming it would be Jefferson returning, Emma didn’t spare it a glance — he was easily the most tolerable of the lot of them, but that didn’t make him any less complicit in the reason she was there.

“Ah,” Blackbeard greeted loudly, and Emma reached for her headphones. The least she could do was drown him out. “Jones. You’re late.”

Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked.

To her utter disbelief, Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorframe.

It took mere milliseconds for his eyes to find hers, a vivid blue like the glow of a lighthouse scattered on the waves. Although rationally she knew it had scarcely been a day and a half, it felt like far too long since she’d seen him, and she wrenched her gaze away to try and take in the rest of him — somewhat dishevelled in appearance and, if she wasn’t mistaken, wearing the same rumpled clothes as the day before. With his raven hair sticking up at odd angles on the back of his head, he looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

“Apologies,” Killian was saying to Blackbeard, “this place isn’t exactly convenient to reach.” Blackbeard waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his game.

Before Emma could even fire off a query about why he was there, Killian cut her off.

“Pack your stuff, Swan,” he said, “we’re going.”

She didn’t move.

“What’re you doing here?”

Killian let out an exaggerated huff. “What does it look like? I’m attempting a dashing rescue.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Isaac hummed in amusement from his spot on the sofa opposite Blackbeard. Emma ignored him.

She didn’t get why everyone was being so goddamn calm.

As if sensing her hesitation, Blackbeard quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re welcome to stay, Miss Swan, if you so desire.” The look he gave her could be described as leery at best. “But he has come all this way, and even I don’t advocate for that sort of cruelty.”

“Time is rather of the essence, love. Cab’s out front.”

Killian was watching her earnestly, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. He was nervous, by now she could read his posture like a map, and something about it suggested to her that his sense of urgency had little to do with a taxi fare.

What the hell was going on?

Cautiously, she reached for her bag, gaze darting between the man in the doorway and those sprawled on the sofas. “You’re saying I’m allowed to just walk out of here?”

Blackbeard spread his hands. “Of course.”

“No invoices in the post?”

“Not even for your pilfering of my vastly expensive soap.”

Emma wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds.

She gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, shoving any loose items around the bunk back into her suitcase before carefully disassembling her camera and safely packing away all of the components. After she descended the ladder and made a quick check of the sheets for anything she hadn’t seen, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the three members of Blackbeard’s Revenge. Malcolm was still lying on his bed, eyes closed with his headphones on, not having even acknowledged the turn of events. Isaac and Charles’ attentions had returned to their game.

Emma opened her mouth to try and check one final time that she was in the clear.

“Call,” Charles said mildly, “you really do have the worst luck, Heller.”

“I’m sure my luck will improve once you stop using those two extra aces.”

They weren’t even the slightest bit interested, and she owed them nothing. So, after throwing them the proverbial middle finger, she merely stepped out of the bus and into the early afternoon sun. Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the parking lot where two cabs were already waiting. From their brief distance, she could see August, Robin and Smee in one, Tina in the other, with piles of their equipment stuffed in between.

“Killian —?” she started.

“Sorry to press you, love,” he smiled widely at her, before throwing a furtive look back at the bus, “I’m merely eager not to tempt fate.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You’re going home,” he said firmly, and the heat from his hand just erred on the side of scorching through her sweater. “That’s all that matters.”

“But how —?”

They’d reached the taxis, and all too suddenly the door had swung open to the first and she realised there was an empty seat beside August. Killian brushed a hand over her hip just briefly before he retreated to the other, dropping into the backseat beside Tina. Emma, entirely baffled but not too fond of questioning her good fortune just yet, saw she had no other choice but to buckle in. When she entered the cab it was to a few scattered cheers and August squeezing her hand affectionately.

She may have no goddamn clue what was happening, but it felt good to be back.

***

The Jolly Rogers were going to get signed.

The moment the door to the cab had shut, August, Smee and Robin were practically tripping over each other in order to relay the good news, an energy thrumming through them that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Apparently, they’d had some incredibly busy twenty-four hours.

From Jefferson’s mansion in Connecticut, it had taken around eight hours of straight driving to get them back to Storybrooke, Merida testing the speed limit at any moment she could — it was a race against time, they’d decided, to see if they could make something of the exposure from the national tour before the news that Blackbeard’s Revenge had dropped them hit the press. There was no telling just how Gold Records would spin the news, and just how much of an effect it might have on any potential labels interested in signing them.

As it turned out, somebody had been waiting for them. Eric Triton had never been the bitter sort, he had confessed to them, but if his time with Blackbeard’s Revenge had taught him anything it was that he far favoured the reward that came with nurturing a band who actually cared about music to playing whatever it took to top the charts. After his departure from Blackbeard and company he had turned his attention to producing, eventually partnering up with the Poseidon Music Group after a providential meeting with the CEO’s daughter on a beach, and had made it his business to constantly be scouting for new talent ever since.

Apparently he had attended their gig at Warehouse 4, the one Emma herself had skipped what felt like a hundred years ago, and he was one of the calls that had Smee’s phone vibrating for days afterwards. You could imagine his exasperation when Blackbeard’s Revenge got to them first.

It was why, he’d told them, he almost felt glad that they’d been dropped from the tour — it gave him a second shot. The moment one of his contacts had alerted him to the disagreement at Jefferson’s mansion he had started camping as near as he dared to the town line, predicting correctly that they would be racing back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. He accosted them as they stormed into town, and the next thing they knew they had an invitation to play before Poseidon himself next week. Which was only a formality, of course. The deal was as good as done.

“Have you guys slept at all?” Emma gaped, and the dark rings around their eyes spoke volumes.

All three of them were giddy, exhausted but exhilarated, and constantly iterating just how glad they were that she was able to share in their good news, but not one of them would say a second word on just how they managed to wrangle her out from Blackbeard’s grasp, insisting that it wasn’t their story to tell. Emma had an inkling of just whose it was, but her curiosity only compounded the longer she sat sandwiched between August and the door of the cab.

It was a couple hundred bucks for the fare, something she insisted on covering once her cheque from Blackbeard’s Revenge came through, but mercifully they wouldn’t be paying for all the way back to Maine. The taxis dropped them off in New Haven, at a trucker stop they'd agreed to meet Merida and her coach at. The driver was offering the trip pro bono out of something she denied was affection, but it did mean they had to work around her schedule — hence why they were cramming most of their equipment between them in the taxis.

“We don’t have anywhere to live,” Robin had pointed out, “and we didn’t have time to find a motel. We haven’t stopped moving since we left you!”

It was here that Emma was finally able to approach Killian. While the others milled around outside, perched atop amps and keeping an eye on the flow of traffic for Merida’s coach in the early evening, Emma watched him slip away and head into a diner, not wholly unlike the one they were abandoned at all those weeks before.

A fluorescent green light blinked in and out of life overhead, and a buzzer went off somewhere behind the counter as she entered — loud enough to draw Killian’s gaze instinctively. He had just finished buying sustenance by the look of it, and once his eyes landed on her a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a paper bag towards her.

“Onion ring?”

Emma took one of the proffered items. “I thought you hated onion rings.”

“You don’t,” he pointed out.

For a moment they chewed in silence, her on an onion ring and he on what looked like a carrot stick, before wordlessly moving back outside. Behind them, the neon light from inside the diner shimmered, casting fluorescent shadows against the crunch of gravel underfoot. From twenty or so feet away Emma watched August stand, take ten paces in one direction, then turn and walk back. Everybody was waiting for something, some new start. Anticipation tickled through the air.

“I heard about your record deal,” she found herself saying, “congratulations.” Although a little stilted in its delivery, the sentiment was earnest. She was still wrapping her head around things but she couldn’t be more proud of the Jolly Rogers.

“Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” Killian demurred, but she could see the pleased flush working its way up from his collar. “We were just lucky to come across the one person in the industry who might hate Blackbeard more than we do.”

Lord knew Eric had every reason, if what Emma had heard was true.

“Still, it’s exciting.”

“It is,” he agreed.

A few pregnant seconds passed, and Emma waited for him to volunteer the information he must know she was eager to find out — just how the hell she was there, and not back in a tiny bunk on Blackbeard’s bus resigned to another evening of ignoring their jibes as best she could.

“Killian…” she began.

“Carrot stick?”

Emma waved the bag away, along with his futile attempt to divert attention. “How is it that I just walked out of there?”

Killian shrugged, making every effort to appear nonchalant. He almost succeeded. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” she insisted. His and the others’ reluctance to discuss it only had her anxiety climbing higher and higher, wondering just what stipulations Blackbeard had latched onto her release. “If you’ve traded your soul to Hades for me then I want to know about it so I can —”

Thank you? Knock the living daylights out of you?

“—make it right.”

The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upwards, the static light of the diner casting his eyes in an electric blue. Alive, aware. Watching her as closely as he always had. “You’d climb down to hell for me, would you, Swan?”

“If I had to,” she replied neutrally. A fierce truth rang with every word.

“Well, you needn’t worry,” Killian continued brazenly. He finished his final carrot stick as she waited for a response, crumpling up the packet in his palm and letting it drop into the trash can beside them. “My soul is safe and sound. We merely offered to cover the cost of your termination fee and Blackbeard was amenable.”

The declaration caught her off guard; the termination fee was five thousand dollars, that had been non-negotiable. If the Jolly Rogers had that sort of money lying around they would have already offered to foot the bill — she may not have known them long, but she knew that much. They were great people who cared about her wellbeing, and she couldn’t imagine August at the very least permitting the act of driving away from her if they had the means to release her. It was why she spoke her next words with a cautious, amused confidence.

“You guys couldn’t string enough cents for a cardboard box, no less five thousand dollars.”

“That’s the thing about commerce, darling. Money is easy enough to acquire if you have something of value to trade for it.”

He had his guitar, of that she was certain — by the edge of the curb she could see Robin leaning against the familiar case. Killian was avoiding looking at her, reaching a finger behind to scratch at the shell of his ear. Emma’s heart steadily began to beat a rhythm against her ribcage. To her spinning mind, it sounded a lot like Lavender Rose.

“And what was that?”

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

For a moment Emma blinked, lips parted, not entirely sure what he was referring to. For a petrifying fraction of a second she imagined Blackbeard had insisted the band break up for her to be let go, but belatedly shook the thought when she remembered Eric Triton and the record deal that supposedly awaited them in Storybrooke.

His gaze dropped and she followed it, before suddenly realising the silver chain she could usually see peeking through the collar of his shirt had vanished.

This, here, is the Jolly Roger.

His watch.

Killian was still speaking, but her eyes were fixed on the absence of the accessory.

“Did I forget to mention the casing was overlain with sterling silver? An ivory clock face, seventeen jewels — and all natural sapphires, not synthetic, mind. Fetches about eight thousand dollars at retail. One of only fifty novelty Peter Pan watches made in 1955, I believe.”

Emma didn’t care about that, not about sapphires or rubies or silver.

He’d said, he’d told her; that watch was the last thing he owned of his father’s.

“Cruella Feinberg gave me a fair price back in Storybrooke when I went to her. I could’ve probably gotten more if I hadn’t rushed it, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to track the BR bus after New York.”

He seemed to notice that she hadn’t so much as murmured a response, and squeaked out the remainder of his explanation. “I, ehm… I was in something of a rush.”

Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it. This sodding impossible man had found time in between trying to negotiate a deal that would decide the future of his entire career to trade away his most valuable possession, for a girl who had barely been able to tell him that she liked the song he wrote. For her. She was stunned. Fucking mortified. Beyond moved.

Despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you.

Thank you, she had said, when he’d first shown her the watch. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough now.

She became more aware of the way he was angled towards her, hanging on her every breath. Fuck, she had to say something. She had to say something.

“You sold your watch for me?”

She thought he might turn away, cower from everything she was asking of him — that after all that, she needed to be sure. She needed to hear it, just one more time. She wanted the beat of Lavender Rose thumping through her, the scent of rusted strings on his shirt. He’d already done so much, but she couldn’t let him get away without saying it, not with her heels slammed into the earth the way they were.

Tell me, she begged.

Killian’s vibrant blue gaze met her head on, like he knew — he probably did.

“Aye,” he said.

Emma wasn’t sure which of them moved first — she thought it was her, she hoped it was her — but after several long seconds her hands wound their way around his shoulders and he was dipping his head to meet her. When their lips connected, she sighed; at once familiar, she knew these lips by now. She knew the way he kissed, as he undoubtedly knew hers, she knew the way his hand would curl at her waist to scratch against the leather of her jacket. She knew the way his mouth would part, the way he would breathe unevenly through his nose against the skin of her cheek to avoid breaking away.

She knew his heart.

He would let her pull away, if she wanted to. After everything he would let her let him go.

Not that she would.

Killian’s right hand rose to brush reverently against her cheek and at once they parted. A flicker of what she knew to be trepidation flashed in his eyes, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Something inside of her crumpled, and it felt like only really then that she understood just how many times she had let him down. Knowingly and unknowingly both.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said instead.

Killian’s shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, his finger tracing a line behind her ear to wind its way around her hair.

“I’m done dwelling on the past.”

To his evident delight Emma tugged him back down to her, this time for longer than before. It was only when they broke apart to the whoops and crows of three other, equally delighted, people, that she realised just how not-alone she and Killian were. The other three Jolly Rogers watched from their spot at the side of the road with matching shit-eating grins.

Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, whose arm had moved around to tuck her closer into his side. “I’ll never be able to get ten minutes alone with you, will I?”

“I could do with a break.” At Emma’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. “What did I say about refraining from kissing me after you’ve had onion rings? I can barely stomach you.”

Merida’s bus pulled into the parking lot to the chorus of Killian’s yelp, with Emma leaving him clutching at his side as she walked back over to the others.

***

"Swan?"

The hoarse whisper hovered just over the low rumbling of the bus, barely loud enough to rouse anybody from sleep —but then, Emma hadn't been sleeping. She had a feeling Killian hadn't been either.

When his face popped up over the edge of her bunk, eyes bright in the dim light, it all but confirmed it. He looked abut as wired as she felt, and she met his gaze warmly. He beamed.

"Mind if I —?" The guitarist gestured to the slim line of space between her and the railing at the edge of the bed, and in response Emma shuffled away to allow him a little more room. As quietly as he could, Killian hauled himself up the ladder and slid in beside her. "Christ," he muttered," these beds weren't made for two — ow." He knocked his head on the tip of the ladder and scowled, while Emma stifled a laugh.

A glance at her watch informed her it was nearly two in the morning. It also made her stomach twist both pleasantly and anxiously all over again when she thought about watches. The accessory had played crucial roles in some of the worst and best moments of her life now.

Killian, meanwhile, had righted himself as best he could, slinging his right arm over her hip and tugging her closer. Emma did not resist, and even nudged her leg between his.

"Hello," Killian murmured, just before their lips met gently.

Emma smoothed her hand up his chest, stopping once it reached the curve of his shoulder. "I'm sorry you sold the watch." She wanted to be a little more articulate than she had been when he'd first told her — it was important to her that he knew that.

"I'm not," Killian replied with the barest shrug. At Emma's disbelieving look he carried on, rubbing a hand down her back. "Honestly, Emma. It was just a piece of jewellery."

"You said it was the last thing you had left of your father."

For a moment he was silent, eyes dropping down to her fingers tracing patterns into the front of his shirt. "My father was not always a decent man," he said finally, although it was clear the words had been difficult for him to get out. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see it go to a deserving cause." Before she could reply he hastened to continue, murmuring her name to cut her off.

As she watched him expectantly, he breathed out an uncertain laugh. "I, erm… forgive me, I have to know. You're not going to get off this bus and change your mind, are you?"

His hand had frozen on her lower back, almost frightful of her response. With his mouth twisted in a wince and his body tensing, he appeared so much like somebody bracing for an impact that she laughed and knocked her forehead into his chest.

She could feel his smile into the crown of her head, but he worked on putting some space between them all the same. "I'm serious," he said, although the mirth in his eyes somewhat belied it, "I'm not sure I could make it through another of your unpredictable tides."

After a moment the laughter subsided, she let herself watch him, truly take him in a way she hadn't done for some time. His eyes appeared a deep navy in the low light, his left eyebrow raised in that barest approximation of hope she had come to see there, lips parted just so like he was waiting for her permission to breathe. Emma touched a hand to his cheek and his eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the movement. He would let her back away, even now. Even with her in his arms he was offering her that one final chance, and she felt affection surge for him all the more because of it.

"I'm not changing my mind," she promised.

Killian's eyes flew open, watching her carefully.

"I want to see where this thing goes. I'm not saying I'm not terrified, because I am." Like standing at the edge of this unknown precipice, a jump she'd come so close to so many times before with this man — but now she was ready. "I'm petrified."

"I can feel you shaking," he hummed quietly, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulders. "Trust me."

"I do," she murmured. "I want this future with you, and that's what scares me. Does that," she paused, pulling his face back up to meet her eyes, "does that sound crazy?"

Killian shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly morphed into something more confident.

"It sounds like music to this pirate's ears."

Emma laughed, a loud, happy thing, and Killian did his best to hush her by drawing her into a kiss. For a few moments they just lay there, chuckling silently and trading affection, the slant of his lips against her own a welcome feeling. It was just as she felt his hand sliding lower across her back, sending a shot of excitement through as his eyes met hers, his intent clear, that she remembered exactly where they were.

And that they weren't entirely alone.

"Guys, that was adorable, but I swear to God if you have sex on this bus I will never forgive you."

Tina's voice pierced the silence like bursting a balloon — Killian instinctively shot back from Emma, which only led to him smacking his head onto the railing behind him at the edge of the bunk. Emma immediately snorted with laughter, which only increased as he rubbed the back of his head and sent a reproachful look in her direction.

"We'll turn you into Merida."

Robin's voice, too, floated down from further up the bus. Emma was grateful for the dark as she felt her face begin to heat up — it was hard enough laying herself bare in front of Killian, let alone his three best friends. Because she was certain, as much as she could be, that August would also be awake. The damn guy didn't miss a thing.

Tina made a noise of agreement. "Merida specifically said she wouldn't tolerate any funny business."

"Yet somehow," Killian bit back, "she tolerates you lot just fine." After a moment he clearly has no interest in ending, he reluctantly sat up on her bunk and shuffled back towards the ladder. Emma's hand on his leg served as her only protest, and Killian lifted it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I guess I'll have to wait to finally show you a good time, Swan," he winked, "and have you remember it."

Bizarrely, she found herself thinking of one of the post-its he had given her in Storybrooke so long ago. She'd very much like to know how it felt to hear him scream.

"I guess you will," she replied, making her intent clear.

She could tell Killian just resisted letting out a low whistle, before dropping down the ladder.

"Much better," Robin assured them. "No 'good times' should be had on the bus. Only terrible, not good times."

"August, stop reading," Tina urged, "I know you're doing it. Nobody can have fun on the bus!"

A barely distinguishable rustle came across from August's bunk. "Don't bring me into this."

As the teasing escalated into a sock skirmish (thus determined, claimed Robin, by August's tendency to use socks as missiles when disturbed) Emma forgot about her embarrassment. They were good at that, the Jolly Rogers. Helping her forget. Making her feel comfortable even when the only place she had ever felt safe was a hundred miles away. They had driven for hours through the night so that they could get to her, had defended her even when her opponent had been one of their closest friends, had cared for her. Without strings. Unashamedly. Wholly.

Mary Margaret would always be her sister, or as close to a sister as Emma would ever get. But these guys?

They were her family. The one she had chosen for herself.

And the one she would continue to choose, every fucking chance she got.

***

"You ready?" She had asked, a week later, as Killian wiped his palm on the edge of his jeans. To try and get rid of the sweat, she knew, it was practically rolling off of him in waves.

"As we'll ever be."

Emma squinted through the viewfinder on her camera, using Tina fiddling with the height of the microphone as her focus point. Beside her, Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety driving from him. At the other end of the room, Poseidon himself, his executive assistant and Eric Triton were just settling themselves into three large chairs. With their high backs and elaborate deorations around the arms, thrones was the first word that popped into Emma's head when she'd seen them. Imposing, powerful. Intimidating as hell.

Part of the reason Killian was reminding himself to breathe in and out.

"You heard what Eric said," she assured him, "this is just a formality. It's practically a done deal."

Killian looked at her sharply. "Not if he doesn't like us."

"He will."

The activity in the room was slowly beginning to wind down, each party slowly running out of ways to delay the inevitable. Emma gave him a gentle shove.

"Now get lost so I can take some decent photos, yeah?"

This time when Killian smiled down at her, she could tell he meant it. It was one of those goofy, wide smiles she had found he couldn't keep back when she was around. It had a somewhat irritating habit of making her stomach drop pleasantly. He smoothed a hand down her back.

"Such glowing words of encouragement," he mused, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

"Why bother?" she smirked once he pulled away. "It's not like my lack of encouragement ever held you back."

In response he patted his hand against her, and gave her one last amused glance over his shoulder before heading over to the others. His strat, perched primly against the wall, was soon lifted and slung over his shoulder, as he exchanged a few quiet words with Tina and August. Robin was settling himself down onto the stool behind his kit, and Tina then hummed a few quiet tests into the microphone.

Emma, meanwhile, took a few preparatory shots. After deciding the look Killian had sent her was altogether too deliberate, she stretched her arm behind her back — true enough, her fingers grazed something stuck there. Tugging it free, she realised it was a post-it. Some things never changed.

Wish me luck.

—K x.

When their eyes met again, she shook her head with a smile. He didn't need luck.

Soon enough, the low murmur of noise in the room slowly sunk into silence, Eric no longer murmuring into Poseidon's ear and the huge man instead surveying the group of musicians in front of him. Despite herself, Emma felt her pulse begin to thump a little bit quicker, glancing between the two sides of the room.

The twang of August's bass lurched from one of the amps, before fizzling out into nothing as he rushed to still the string.

Poseidon shifted in his seat. Emma's finger hovered over the shutter button. Killian cleared his throat.

Robin lifted his drumsticks to eye-level, pausing before clacking them together —

One, two —

Three, four —

The shutter clicked. The room exploded with sound.

And that was it.

And that’s it, folks! An epilogue will follow sometime in the near future because there are a few loose ends I’d like to tie up and I will always love my jolly rogers. almost as much as I love all of you! thank you so so much for your endless support + patience with my gaps between updates, I’ve loved being able to tell this story in the way I always wanted to.I hope you all liked how it ended, and maybe I’ll see you next time on another project!

peace & love / over & out!

-jay x

#jay writes #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs crew #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #cs au #the importance of being idle #complete #here is the finale!#I really hope you guys like it #it's been quite the ride #so for the final time #enjoy!

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bobbyseyesmile · 7 years ago

Text

Blood Money

Ever felt fear? No, no, not the fear of a little spider or the fear of a bad grade. The real fear who’s creeping inside your body like a cold and damp feeling... You never experienced it? Well, neither did Allison. She had everything and more and it had really big advantages to be the daughter of a big Mafia boss, but the disadvantages were much bigger...

GENRE: Angst, slight Horror

Warnings: Swearing, Violence and later on much Smut

Chapter 1

After three long days without sleep, a shower or a shave, he was still sitting in that goddamn car. Seungri was tired and stroked his, meanwhile stubbly, chin. He was sitting and waiting since three days and observed a Villa, just to find one special person: A 20 year old girl with brown hair and green eyes.

The first 24 hours he spent the time cursing and sulking. He cursed his boss, who ordered him with this babyish task. Seungri didn't understand, why of all the people, he had to fly to L.A. and play babysitter. For fucks sake, he wasn't a rookie anymore! He was in the mafia since birth, he grew up with the hardest and most brutal surroundings. He knew what he had to do! But however, he also knew his place within the organisation.

His two older brothers stood definitely over him, and when they barked commands, he had to follow them, whether he liked it or not.

As their father died, a few years ago, Jiyong took over the business and since then, he eagle-eyed everything. In usual the oldest son, took over the family business, but Seunghyun, the oldest of the brother-trio, relinquished the lead and passed it to Jiyong.

The second oldest, Jiyong, was known as a cold and merciless ruler. He had built himself an impressive reputation amongst the Asian mafia and was even feared by the Russians. The better avoided too much contact... Jiyong's speciality was the slave trade, which was also the biggest source of income for the family.

He hated it if someone beated around the bush, only facts interested him. And besides this, it was commonly known that everyone, who got ordered into his office, only left it with a hole in the head.

Seunghyun was known as a calm and mediative gentleman, who often advised Jiyong and kept a cool head. But he wasn't harmless at all. There were several rumours about him and that he was a sick psychopath who cut out the hearts of his victims, or people who dared to threaten his family, only with a spoon. Whether these rumours were true or not, nobody knew for sure, but it was commonly known that some customers of Seunghyun were never seen again.

He never wanted to be the boss of the whole organisation. He just wanted to pursue his old business: The trade with rare artworks.

Taeyang wasn't born into the mafia, he was officially considered as dead since he was twelve, because he got, unintentionally, in touch with some affairs of the mafia.

Unofficially, he was the right hand and Jiyong's best friend, completing him perfectly. What Jiyong missed, due his cold-hearted attitude, completed Taeyang through his calm, yet emotional, style. It wasn't unusual that he managed tricky situations and saved Jiyong's ass several times. But not only did he save his boss's life, no, even important business partners, who had sometimes looked doubtfully at Jiyong, he had saved their head and thus important sources of incomes.

Daesung had nothing left to lose in life, making him a particularly dangerous person. At the age of twelve he saw the corpses os his family, who got brutally slaughtered in a robbery. Since then, it was said, he was a unpredictable killer who was in one especially thing a natural talent: To make people disappear. Forever.

He was the sniper if the team and could swap personalities within a millisecond, making him laugh at a joke in one moment, and in another he had already killed a whole SWAT-Team.

And last but not least, there was Seungri himself. He was the youngest if the family and the five-men team, but at the same time he was Jiyong's favourite weapon.

He was known as a naive and funny little fellow, but the appearance deceived. He spoke seven languages fluently and managed at least five different martial arts.

The secret behind it was, Seungri was neither naive nor nice, and that's what he utilised. The people underestimated him, but had to learn the opposite in a painful way.

And although Seungri was fantastic in his job, Jiyong had sent him to America to kidnap a fucking girl.

He was annoyed, no, he was fucking pissed and sighed deeply. There were hundred others that Jiyong could have send, but no, it had to be Seungri... At first he thought it would be easy cheesy lemon squeezy: He flews to L.A., takes the girl and would soon be sitting in the plane heading back home.

But now, more than 72 hours and less than five hours of sleep, he realised it was actually difficult difficult lemon difficult...

The problem with the whole thing was that this girl never left the house. Never. Guards stood everywhere, and once in an hours, the guards changed positions and where placed at the big panorama windows on the upper floor. Then they were looking with binoculars for potential intruders.

Just as Seungri tried to think of a plan, his phone rang and he answered without checking the display before. He should regret it in the next second...

"Yes?" he murmured tiredly into the phone and heard an amused snorting, which he could have recognised everywhere. Jiyong. Damn it! What should he tell him? He couldn't report any progress!

"Seungri..." the soft voice of his brother on the other trunk. "I was not expecting you to take so long..."

"Neither did I." Seungri admitted and stroked his stubbly chin again.

"Then where's the problem?"

"This chick is guarded day and night, no one can enter the house just like that, and most of all she doesn't leave it, she doesn't even look out of the windows! Whose house is that anyway?!"

This was the question he wanted to ask Jiyong for such a long time, but he didn't dare because his brother did not like it when something he instructed was placed beyond question.

"You know the name Elias Marino?"

Seungri thought about it for a moment. Yes, he had heard the name several times before, but couldn't refer to it.

He didn't have to, because Jiyong continued in the context: "Elias Marino is busy in the drug scene in L.A. You know the De Santis, don't you?"

"De Santis? They're the biggest shark in the drug scene here in Los Angeles! They deliver us too!" Seungri raised an eyebrow in astonishment as he slowly understand everything.

"100 points." his older brother replied sarcastically. "Elias Marino is the boss of them and his daughter is Allison Marino, whom you will kidnapp."

The air was pressed from Seungri's chest as all the puzzle pieces where assembled.

He should WHAT?! He should kidnap the daughter of one of the most brutal Mafia bosses here in America? Just like that?!

"J-Jiyong... You know I always follow your orders blindly and trust you, but THIS is sick shit!"

Seungri never had to worry about anything, he grew up in the most powerful and dangerous family of Asia. The people feared the Kwons so much, no one even dared to think of a conspiracy. No one doubted the authority of Jiyong, Seunghyun nor Seungri. No one would ever dare to plan a plot against them, even the Russians knew that and feared Jiyong's sick and relentless revenge.

Jiyong hasn't responded to Seungri's argument. He knew that his little brother would do the job, no matter what. Seungri on the other hand, was about to start the car and back the fuck off very very fast. Never in his life could he kidnap this girl!

The Kwons were powerful, yes, and had very good connections to the Chinese, Japanese and partly good connections to the Russians. But the American one, well this was complicated, to say the least. And a much bigger problem was that the Marinos not only ruled half of America, no, on top of that Elias Marino himself was Italian and his family was one of the most powerful in Italy.

"Seungri, just do what I told you to do and don't think about it. You never doubt my judgement before, did you?"

"No, but now I'm wondering if you still have one at all... Are you drunk or just completely insane?!" Seungri knew that he would regret those words soon enough and would probably get a bloody nose from Jiyong when he returned, but right now he couldn't care kess. He sat on a different continent and would free his mind.

Jiyong sighed once. "Should I send Daesung to do the job?" The voice of the older one sounded dangerously low.

No, that wouldn't be good. Daesung would whip his ass in order of Jiyong and there would be a bloodbath in the Marino Villa.

"No..."

"Good, and now listen: You're a Kwon and shit your pants because of ridiculous Americans? Maybe you're still too young to take over your own branch..."

Seungri knew what Jiyong was talking about. He has asked him for his own branch. Just as Jiyong was responsible for the slave trade and Seunghyun for art, the youngest also wanted his own.

"All right, all right... I'll be back in Seoul by tomorrow night..." Seungri sighed and then hung up.

He had absolutely no idea how to do it... how he was supposed to kidnap Allison Marino from her fortress. It was probably easier to lure the President out of the White House...

Just as he was about to curse Jiyong again, he saw a pizza deliverer passing by on a bicycle, and an idea came to his mind. Probably the most ridiculous one he ever had, but his options were limited.

Ten minutes later, the little pizza-boy was lying behind a bush and dreamt of pizzas and unicorns, while Seungri dressed himself with the work uniform. The boy would have a mild concussion but he would survive it and that alone was more than generous of Seungri, right? Daesung wouldn't have been so nice to him.

Seungri had never worked in his life before, at least not a job like that, so he had no clue what to do and decided to improvise.

When he stood in front of the giant iron gate and rang the bell (yes, he rang, he had manners after all), it only took a few seconds before a muscle packed guy opened the gate and eyed the pizza-man.

"What?" he barked at Seungri who was at least three heads smaller.

"Uh... Hi! I'm here for the pizza!" he stammered and was pretty proud of his acting. Meryl Streep 2.0.

"Finally! What took so long? I thought you Chinese were fast after all."

Asshole. Seungri smiled trough the anger and followed the giant into the house. Well, that was easier than expected. In the kitchen, he set the pizza off the kitchen counter, while the guy looked for his wallet and then at Seungri with an raised brow.

"How much?"

What did a pizza cost normally? He bad no idea.

"10 Dollar, Sir."

"Hmpf..." the gut grumbled and gave him exactly a 10 Dollar bill. "And now leave."

That was Seungri's keyword: He pulled his gun and shot the guy straight into his chest.

"Hmm, was probably not enough tip, asshole."

He gave the gut, who sank to his knees, a bump and he crashed to the ground while Seungri took all his weapons. Just as he wanted to leave the kitchen, he turned around: "And for the record: I'm Korean."

Surprised that no other securities had appeared, who could have heard the shot, he crept through the house and looked around. When he happened to see the clock in the living room, he knew why nobody was there: It was midday. All the people had lunch break. Good for Seungri, bad for Allison Marino.

He ran for minutes trough the huge house, until he finally found the staircase to the upper floors. Allison Marinos room had to be upstairs when the panorama windows where guarded like crazy, there was no other explanation.

Seungri was expecting several securities on the upper floors, but he only met two. Both of them stared at him with wide eyes, as they saw a pizza-boy with a gun.

"Sorry, nothing personal." he muttered and shot them between their eyes, before they could even reach for their guns.

Seungri was fortunately blessed with impressive reflexes that made him not only a fantastic shooter, but also an impossible target to hit. Even in his tiredest state, he could have simply beat Robin Hood.

Completely unaffected he walked past the two corpses and looked around. There were at least ten doors on this floor, which, for fucks sake, led to the room of this goddamn girl? He could have checked every door, but he was too tired and fucking annoyed, so he changed to plan B and shouted her name. Either he lured more of these Schwarzenegger's, or not, it was a 50/50 chance. He heard a door open, and in fact, two more of these Hulks came out and reached for their guns when they saw Seungri.

Well, he really wanted to do this without a bloodbath, but his patience slowly ran outta stock. He just wanted to grab this girl, put her into his private jet and fly back to Korea.

The guards were perhaps about 6 ft. tall and 100 kg heavy, but they had reflexes like a snowman. It was easy to eliminate them.

Too easy... thought Seungri to himself and went straight to the room from which the muscle pigs came out. To his surprise, there were no other snowmen, but a pretty brown-haired girl, lying on the bed and listening to music. Only when Seungri stood right next to her, she noticed him and widened her eyes.

"Hi." He gave his most handsome smile, hitting her with his gun against the head before she lost her consciousness.

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fanforfanatic · 8 years ago

Text

Something About Salvation - Part 1/2

Read it on ao3

(Part 2)

Relationships: Dean x Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Mentions of torture, explicit depiction of torture (not very gruesome), aftermath of torture. A/N: This was originally a one-shot but it ran a bit long.

~10k words

Summary: A rogue soul escapes hell and its tortures. Top side, she runs into a man wearing the same face as one of her tormentors from her first decade in the pit. The one who had piercing green eyes.

Or, one of the souls Dean tortured in hell escapes and he’s forced to face his actions from his last month in the basement.

Magnolia hated her name. It was kind of ugly, rolled off the tongue awkwardly and just didn’t fit her. It was too sweet, too precious. Growing up, she’d spent many years trying to shake it. Call me Maggie. Call me Lia.

Here, though, she held onto it like a lifeline. So much time had passed since she’d been placed on the racks it was hard to remember anything from her old life, but she could remember her name.

By the time her first century in hell came to an end, she’d forgotten her home. The backgrounds to her memories faded, leaving precious moments in time without a backdrop. She still remembered her mom making them dinner, but couldn’t for the life of her recall what their kitchen looked like. With time, details just seemed to dim and disappear. Her mom wasn’t standing at a grimy off white counter pouring cereal and milk into a bowl she’d pulled from a splintered wooden cupboard while a six year old Magnolia sat at the patio table for two they used as a dining table. The image had just become her mom fixing her a meal. Something. Somewhere.

It took another century to forget interactions. She knew she’d kissed Simon Kester in the cluster of trees behind her high school at sixteen. It had been sloppy but fun except for the bark dinging into her back. She had disliked the smell of so much greenery but had liked the cologne Simon probably stole from his brother. She kept losing pieces of the puzzle though. Soon all she knew was that she’d kissed Simon. Somewhere. Then she just remembered Simon himself. Couldn’t recall any time they spent together but she knew she had known him. It didn’t take much time after that for her to only remember a face, his name long lost. They, her torturers, had ripped it out of her just like they’d ripped her teeth out, her nails off.

They restored her, of course, at the end of every day they put her back together only to start back up the next morning but she never got her memories back.

Realising she was forgetting names made her cling to her own.

She’d spent three hundred years in hell, when she realised she was forgetting faces too. It was a startling discovery because thinking of her life had kept her strong, here. Had helped her survive. Had given her the strength to say ‘no’ whenever they offered her to get off the rack to do to others what had been done to her. So how was she managing to forget?

She found herself trying to put together the images of people she barely knew anymore. Like ripped scraps of pictures from magazines taped together. She tried to make a collage from the fragments she could recall, but each time it resembled less and less the original. One face she rebuilt more than any other until it barely looked human anymore. The jagged edges of the shards she put together in her mind stopped lining up making the visage seem wrong. She was no longer sure who the person even was. She was a girl, that much Magnolia knew. A friend? A sister maybe? Whoever she was Magnolia figured she wasn’t honoring her by literally defacing her. So she stopped trying to recall altogether.

It felt suspiciously like giving up, like giving in to these sadistic fuckers that kept her here and that’s something she just couldn’t do. Wouldn’t. So she held onto herself. To her name.

To add insult to injury, she never forgot them, the men and women who came to her with malicious smiles carved into their faces wielding weapons meant exclusively for her torment. No, she’d learned every last one of their features. She’d engraved every last wrinkle in her mind. It was how she passed the time while they hacked away at her.

She started recognising their styles of torture too. She knew some of them wore different faces at times. They’d come one day looking like one person, leave, return looking like another. Magnolia recognised them though, they, the demons, each often had their own brand of sick and twisted. It helped tell them apart.

The show runner she’d heard be called Alastair, was a bit of a voyeur, often accompanying a green eyed demon. The latter almost always started by gouging her eyes out. After a few years both of them stopped showing up and that’s when the shit really hit the fan for Magnolia. Another demon, Bethuel, took over as ring master. He was particularly fond of using blunt blades. She hated him the most.

“Happy anniversary.” A lanky teenager greeted as he approached her.

She was suspended in the air hanging from a dozen chains. She knew it was the beginning of a new day only because she didn’t have any significant injuries at the moment, though she did have a bone deep ache and tiredness. That was perpetual, however. In fact, she doesn’t remember a time when she didn’t constantly feel that way.

“Four hundred years, today.” He said cheerfully.

Magnolia didn’t acknowledge him. She didn’t even bother lifting her head to get a look at him. She knew Bethuel’s face best. He looked boyish and charming and it was the Great Deception because he was made up only of rot and evil. She wondered briefly if the human inside the possessed body was still around. She doubted it.

“It’s rude not to answer.” He snapped his voice dangerous and nothing like the sickening sweetness it had been before.

Magnolia straightened her neck then to look him in the eyes, she smirked but only for a millisecond before pressing her lips together into a tight line. Pointedly not answering.

The demon scowled and stomped a foot reminding Magnolia of a petulant child. Had she known children? Had she had any? She might have been alive, well not alive, but around for over four centuries but she didn’t feel old enough to have had kids. To be a mother. God she hoped she hadn’t left kids behind.

“I don’t like to be ignored, Jessica, you know that.” He barked picking up a meat tenderizer .

It was one of the ways some of the demons had of toying with her. Once, when one heard her murmuring ‘My name is Magnolia’ under her breath like a mantra he’d started calling her by any other name for no reason other than to fuck with her. Other demons had joined in on the fun.

He brought the mallet of choice down heavily onto her clavicle, which she heard snap. She hissed out in pain. My name is Magnolia.

“I don’t know why you do this.” He said sort of like an exasperated teacher reprimanding a particularly difficult student.

He swung the hammer again this time busting a knee. My name is Magnolia.

“You know it only angers me. You know it’s pointless. I always get you to scream in the end. You know I never stop until you do.”

A knife was stabbed in her armpit and dragged up to the crook of her elbow. Blood fell freely from the gash and landed with a smacking sound on the ground. More dripped down the side of her body. My name is Magnolia.

The knife was then planted in her wrist and left there. My name is Magnolia.

The demon tapped the dull point of the blade sticking out from the back of her wrist. “For safe keeping.” He said then lifted wire cutters so that she could see them.

My name is Magnolia.

Magnolia. It’s all she had left. A name. She tried not to doubt it. The demons calling her Tracey, Ruth, Isabel, sometimes made it hard. She always found her way back to Magnolia though. The way it always fit wrong in her mouth felt right. She hated the name so goddamn much, it was ironic that it was all she could remember, now. Maybe she managed to remember it because she hated it. Nevertheless, it was all she had. Her name and these faces.

Dean thought that maybe Sam had a point. Maybe driving well over an hour and many towns over for pie was excessive but it wasn’t just pie. It was some of the best god damn pie he’d ever had.

The brothers had been operating from Rufus’ cabin, in Whitefish, Idaho whilst dealing with the leviathan fiasco. They had hit a lull though, waiting on one thing or another. Kevin to finish translating the tablet maybe. Cas to find something out. It was rough having nothing to do, knowing all the while that the country was in terrible danger. So they worked cases in the area most of the time, trying not to stray too far from the cabin, since it’s where all their research was, their home base for the time being.

Not having too much to do did have its upsides. It meant that Dean could afford to drive more than two hours, roundtrip, to Bigfork, Idaho. Unfortunately, not the home of the biggest fork. However, it was home to a hole in the wall diner that served some of the best god damn pie he’d ever had. Even Sam had liked it the first time they’d been there and had uncharacteristically opted for desert every ensuing visit. That wasn’t stopping the younger Winchester from being pissy on this day, though.

“Okay, but why do I have to be dragged along? You can order to go, you know.” Sam complained.

Dean shook his head vigorously at the absurdity. “That’d defeat the whole purpose. It’d be cold by the time I drive back to the cabin. What would be the point?”

“Whatever.” Sam mumbled.

“Quit moaning. Some people would be grateful to have an older brother treat them to a delicious lunch.” Dean mocked with a wiggle of his brows and an easy grin.

Sam sighed. “I’m just... worried, y’know. About...everything.”

“I know.” Dean replied without missing a beat because he did know. “But we can worry later,” He said reversing the car into a parking spot. “Now is the time for pie.”

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes at Dean’s narrow focus on the here and now.

The two stepped out of the car. Hole in the wall was right. The diner, a mom and pop type shop, was nearly lost in the street’s industrial layout. It was mostly buildings that were falling apart on one side and one massive abandoned warehouse, or maybe it was a factory, on the other side. The diner itself was the first floor of an apartment complex, neighbouring a bookstore and a pawn shop.

They made their way inside and escaped the grime of the street as the restaurant itself was quite well kept. It was small, only large enough for a handful of tables and two larger booths, but it was clean.

“Sit wherever, boys, I’ll be right with you.” Min, a waitress that had served them at least half a dozen times by now, told them.

When she brought them water and menus they slipped into easy conversation with her.

“School still going good?” Sam asked. He’d found out during a previous visit that she was majoring in electrical engineering.

“One final left the day after tomorrow.” She answered excitedly. “I still have two classes that I had to drop last year to make things work with my jobs but by the time summer ends I will be a graduate.” She smiled toothily at them.

“That’s really great, Min.” Sam congratulated feeling an odd sort of pride for this girl he barely knew.

“Yeah, awesome, super, fantastic, reading is fundamental. Can we get to things that matter please?” Dean insisted callously.

“Dude.” Sam reprimanded.

“Dude.” Dean countered.

Min just laughed, though, unsurprised by the man’s behaviour and the duo’s banter. The latter convinced her they were brothers. If not siblings then at least long time friends.

“Don’t worry about it. Dean, the special today is pecan. We also have a new burger heavy on the caramelised onion. So new, in fact, it’s not even on the menu, yet.” She winked at him conspiratorially.

“Yes, yes to all that and also a beer.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Sam? The usual?”

“Yes, please. And,” He hesitated, glancing at Dean briefly. “I’ll have a slice of the pecan too.”

“HA!” Dean exclaimed as though victorious but Sam always had some of the pie here so it’s not like the win was unexpected.

Sam rolled his eyes for what must have been the fifteenth time that day and Min laughed gleefully.

“Coming right up.” She assured clicking her pen and walking away towards the kitchen,

“Don’t,” Sam warned Dean.

“I wanna hear you say that I’m right and that coming here is a great idea and that we’re about to have some of the best god damn pie-”

Dean was interrupted then by the earth rumbling beneath them, a loud crash and a piercing scream, one that sounded familiar to him, coming from below.

The well-known cry shocked Dean into stillness as opposed to Sam who was up and by the counter of the diner pulling out an FBI badge from the breast pocket of his army jacket within moments. He flashes it to Min and the rest of the kitchen crew.

“I’ll check it out.” He told them. “My partner will stay with you.”

Huh, Min thought, not brothers.

Sam looked over his shoulder and was surprised to find Dean still in their booth. “Dean.” He said, jolting him into action.

The hunter shrugged an icy feeling off and jumped to his feet. “Go.” He assured moving closer to the other occupants of the diner. It was past the lunch time rush and the brothers had been the only customers so it boiled down to the employees working that afternoon.

Min pointed to the door that led to the basement of the building, where they heard the crash and the scream.

“Sam.” She said before he turned the knob. “There shouldn’t be anyone down there. Everyone who’s working is here.”

He nodded in response and then offered a small comforting smile.

As he made his way down the steps Sam heard the telltale signs of a fight. He’d thought that the quake had caused something to fall over and someone to get injured, but it was obvious now that more was going on. So he pulled his gun out and flew down the rest of the stairs.

Days where no one came to torture her were rare. They occurred in clusters a while back. During that time she’d heard murmurs of Lucifer’s release. She couldn’t help but laugh at that. Of course. She was in hell and demons were real why wouldn’t Lucifer be as well. She figured that’s what had kept the demons occupied. Though, Bethuel made it a point to visit her even then. Now, days off were few and far in between.

It was a few weeks, maybe a month, maybe more, after what Bethuel had fondly called her four hundred year anniversary, when Magnolia got one of those days off. Sort of. Mostly.

A demon had walked into her cell and had released her chains. She knew that never meant anything good. It meant this demon wanted to play. Wanted to see her scurry and run and try to hide in a concrete room empty save for the cart of torture tools kept by the door. A room where there was nowhere to hide.

She hated when they got this way because she didn’t want to play along, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, but it was hard not to. Hard not to throw a punch, poke an eye, kick a groin. Hard not to retreat to a corner of the room. Hard not to try to avoid the pain that was sure to come. And it was always sure to come. Her efforts were fruitless, which she knew. They knew she knew. The game was rigged. That was the whole point. They wanted to give her hope, give her some semblance of power, only to have her realise time and time again that it wouldn’t be enough.

Magnolia braced herself for the first kick that would send her across the room and the inevitable taunting that would follow but then something that had never happened before in all her time in hell happened.

The demon was called away. A female voice came from down the hall had beckoned him to her. So the man huffed, promised Magnolia a swift return and left closing the grid door behind him. First it shut with a loud clank and then it was followed by a small click as the lock mechanism fell into place.

Not a second went by before the door opened again. The same demon reentered the room.

“No point in chaining you back up at play time. I’ll just take this outside.” He explained with a darkness in his eyes. He grabbed hold of the cart with the tools of his trade and dragged it out of the room behind him. “Not that it really makes a difference.” He laughed maliciously making Magnolia shudder.

My name is Magnolia.

The metal door shut again with a loud clank and then... That was it. Magnolia waited to hear the softer click that always, always, followed but it never came.

She laid there with a bruised knee from her fall for long torturous minutes, waiting for reality to hit. For a swarm of demons to rush into the room and cackle at how she was too weak now to fall for their traps but that it didn’t matter because they still knew how to have fun with her. But that never came either.

So Magnolia rose to unsteady feet, prayed for them not to fail her and took hesitant steps towards the door. She pressed on it and marvelled when it gave under the light pressure of her hand. She cringed when it creaked sharply and retreated quickly further back inside the room.

My name is Magnolia.

She waited for the stampede of footsteps to hustle towards her cell but was met by quiet. Well, not quiet. She could still hear the pained wailing of other captives far away but that had become white noise at this point. So Magnolia gathered all the courage she had, the few scraps she could manage anyway, and stepped outside of her prison. Another first since being brought here. In the past, when they had wanted to move her, she’d be so beaten they had to drag her body on the stone floor.

She was on her own two feet now, though. The demon she’d seen last had gone left so she was going right, but not before picking something off of the cart he’d pulled out of the room. That goddamn cart that had taunted and tormented her even when no demons were around and now it had become her salvation.

She skimmed what it had to offer quickly pocketing a knife and a revolver. She laughed softly at a time when she thought being shot was the worst thing that could happen to her. A time when she thought that had to be the worst sort of pain. These demons, if nothing else, had taught her how untrue that was.

Next, she took a dagger and a sword in each hand. She wanted something to keep as much distance between her and demons but she didn’t want to resort to the gun right away as not to alert more demons, thus the sword. She remembered distinct times when all four of her chosen weapons had been used against her. On her skin. Left lodged inside of her as demons busied themselves with another device. The irony was not lost on her.

She wasn’t deluded enough to think that anything from the cart could do any lasting damage to a demon but she figured it’d be hard for them to drag her back to her cell if they got their head, or say their feet, chopped off.

She started making her way down the silent corridor. Apparently, the demons hadn’t been working the cells in her hall yet since most of the screaming she could hear was coming from further away.

The passage didn’t remain hushed for long though as other captives started to speak up. To beg really. They plead for her to help. Cried for her to free them.

One man said, “You can’t leave us here, please.”

And he... He was right. Magnolia thought she’d regret it, she knew that if she had any hope to get out of here it’d have to be quick and quiet but she couldn’t leave them there. It’d make her a monster just like her tormentors and hadn’t she spent the last four hundred years denying that she was anything like them. Turning down their offer to become them. Leaving these lost souls here would make her a demon in every other sense of the word. And she was Magnolia not a demon. Never that.

So against her better judgement, she stopped at each cell, starting with that man’s, pushed the metal grids, that she knew only locked from the inside, open and pulled the lever that made the chains evaporate dropping bodies. She moved down the hall at a painfully slow pace, zigzagging between the walls to get to each prison. After a few captors were released she found that she was moving a lot faster, because they’d armed themselves from the carts in their own jails and helped.

So for the first time in over four hundred years Magnolia believed, not only in hope, not only in escape but in humanity. The cluster of humans moved together down the corridor, freeing each other, supporting those with injuries, wielding the same weapons that had been used against them no more than twenty four hours ago, growing in numbers.

Magnolia wasn’t too much of a religious type, she didn’t think, but there was something goddamn biblical about the scene. Something about deliverance.

They got further than she thought they would before the first demon showed up. The people she was with, they all... sort of rushed him. As some sort of unit just trudged forward, perhaps on sheer will alone, and obliterated him. They stabbed him and severed an arm and someone shot him in the head before the demon escaped its vessel in a black smoke. When more showed up, and a lot more showed up, they did the same. They freed more and more captives as they went.

She isn’t sure how, maybe it was the thrill of killing, of revenge, maybe it was mob mentality, maybe it was pure dumb luck but the crowd she found herself leading somehow collectively decided to head in the direction where they saw the most demons. Magnolia liked to think they were all smart enough to know that demons would be guarding the exit. Magnolia also liked to think that the demons were dumb enough to lead them through the maze of hell to the doorway of their escape. Which is exactly what they did.

After some time they found themselves in front of a massive iron gate. It was heavy and ugly and locked.

“More are coming.” The first man she’d freed said from the left of her. “We need to get this thing open if we plan on getting out.”

A chorus of voices chimed behind them in agreement. She turned and saw over five dozen or so faces staring back at her. Faces that were nothing like her tormentors’. Faces she didn’t have the time to learn in this moment but that she wished she could. She wished it was their features she had committed to memory instead of those of the demons that had torn her apart time and time and time again.

Her heart went out to these people. No one deserves the agony of this place, no one deserves to have their humanity tampered with. It’s an unfair battle, one they had a chance to win.

“My name is Magnolia.” She said to them, for no reason at all other than she wanted them to know it. Needed someone to know it.

The faces stared on and Magnolia could read them so easily because she saw in them exactly what she knew was reflected in her own. Fear. And hope. So much hope. Briefly, it felt like she had lead some sort of rebellion. One that wouldn’t mean anything if she didn’t come through on the home stretch. It wouldn’t mean anything if she couldn’t get the gate open.

“I know this is hell,” She said finally. “But do you guys think we can just pick the lock?”

Everyone exchanged glances and...shrugged.

A boy, he looked barely ten, too young to be here, approached Magnolia and handed her a pocket knife. She took it from his tiny shaking hand and whispered a thank you.

“Magnolia, now.” The man, to her right now that she had turned, barked.

She understood the urgency when she lifted her eyes and found more demons turning the corner at the end of the hall heading their way. The escapees turned their backs to Magnolia ready to fight, ready to protect her. It was all or nothing at this point. It was go big and go home. Maybe.

Bodies were flung into walls and into each other as the demons stalked closer and closer, but it was the man by her side that startled her into action.

“Do you know how to pick a lock?”

“Yes.” She said turning to face the gargantuan double doors. She wasn’t sure how she knew that she knew but flashes of memories were returning to her. “At least I did. A long time ago.”

“Well, get to it. It’s down to you, so no pressure.”

She looked up to him and was met with a smirk and a wild glint in his eyes.

“Someone like you, someone who’d stop to help the rest of us, you got this. I know.” He winks and then leaves her to join the fight.

Behind her she could hear gun shots and the sound of skin smacking cold concrete and cold stone but before her she could see freedom and salvation and that’s what she had to focus on.

She didn’t have to kneel, the lock was level with her chest, that’s how colossal the doors were. Seemed about right if they were The Gates Of Hell. She dropped her sword to the ground, she’d lost her dagger earlier in the fight, and pulled out the small blade she’d pocketed. She opened the switch knife gifted to her by the child, it was the kind that had other tools inside of it, and set to work on picking the lock.

Her hair fell into her face more than once, which was more than annoying. Her hair was something else she’d hated. The demons had had field days pulling on it, sometimes hard enough to tear out clumps, sometimes hard enough to tear her scalp.

Once she had tucked her strands behind her ears, it was easier to concentrate than she thought it would be. Despite the noise coming from behind her. Despite the chaos. Despite knowing exactly when the demons got close enough to get their hands on her- her what?- comrades in arms. She could hear their bones snap, their throats collapse. She could hear the sounds of their tortured screams, familiar, haunting, torturous in their own right. She heard one scream that made her heart sink because she could have sworn in was the little boy’s. It was too small to belong to anyone else.

That’s when the lock gave. The bolt unlatched and the doors swung open slowly with a grunt. The earth rumbled and an eery calm came over the mosh pit behind her. She stepped forward, slowly, afraid. Afraid of what? Freedom? Salvation? She didn’t know, but she was afraid.

She passed the threshold and when both her feet were on the other side she felt that bone deep ache finally, finally, lift if only a little. She turned slowly and saw a motionless picture of tangled limbs. Captors and captives stared back at her in a still moment.

“Shit.” One demon muttered under his breath.

Then Magnolia saw what could only be described as all hell breaking loose. A collective and powerful roar escaped from souls that had once been prisoners as they clawed their way to the gate, to their freedom.

Without much thought Magnolia tried to step back through, to help, but didn’t make it far. It was like a screen had formed keeping the two worlds apart, allowing passage only one way. At least it as the right way, she thought. At least it was the way out and not in.

A rush of people started filing out but moments after they did they were encompassed by a bright light. Magnolia saw the souls lift and rise upwards and into the ceiling where they disappeared. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she realised that they were Heaven bound. However long they had been trapped in that pit of despair they were headed somewhere better now. They were headed somewhere they would never have to hurt again.

Magnolia was so full of awe as she watched deliverance occur right before her eyes that she barely noted that she herself wasn’t moving on. Her bare feet had remained planted firmly to the ground. That was until a demon stepped out of hell to come for her. He flicked his chin one way and up that way Magnolia’s body flew hitting large metal shelves.

The stand fell backwards from the collision and clattered loudly to the ground. The air was knocked out of her, something metallic was digging into her back. If she didn’t already know exactly what it felt like to have her spine severed she’d suspect that’s what had happened.

Her body was tossed up again, hitting the ceiling before falling back onto the metal shelf unit. A bag of flower broke part of her fall, namely her face, but she felt her knee twist in a way that just wasn’t right.

“Dumb fucking bitch, you know how much shit we’re going to be in for this?”

She hurried off of the shelves as best she could and crawled to the exit. The demon had other plans for her, though.

An invisible force raised her from the ground so she hung suspended in the air in front of the demon, not unlike how she was kept chained in her cell.

From her vantage point Magnolia could see inside of the gate. She saw the near last handful of people step through the door, nod their thank yous, and move on in white lights.

The demon was saying something, talking to her, but she didn’t care. She was caught, but so many people weren’t anymore. Only one person was left.

“Pay attention, whore.” The demon snapped irritatedly.

She saw the man she’d first freed bash in the head of the last demon standing on the other side of the gate. But she also saw more demons appearing at the end of the hall.

“Hurry!” She croaked as the demon who had her squeezed her lungs in a tight grip.

“Shut. Up.” He barked. With his free hand he willed the gates to close. The doors were so massive it was slow enough to give the man inside time.

When the demon beneath him escaped in smoke form, the man didn’t run for the exit, though. No, to her horror, Magnolia saw him step further into hell.

“HURRY!” She screeched again, her lungs restricting even more.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The demon yelled shaking her like a rattle.

Magnolia ignored him some more, but understood why the man had backtracked. She watched him bend down and lift the small boy from earlier into his arms. He sprinted, then, out of Hell, onto earth, just as the gates sealed behind him.

Light erupted in his arms as the boy’s limp form rose upwards and disappeared from view. Magnolia cried some more.

As soon as that happened the man picked up a metal rod from the ground and swung it at the demon holding his saviour in the air. That’s what she was, his saviour.

The rod dropped to the ground before it ever hit the demon though. It fell right through the man’s hands as he began to ascend to his own afterlife.

“NO! No, wait!” He tried to bear down, to return, to help, but up was the only direction he went. “Magnolia!” Then he was gone.

Magnolia was once again alone in a dingy room with one of those faces.

The demon laughed evilly. “It’s cute that he thought he could help you.” He mocked.

“He helped many others.” She spat back, a raging fury boiling inside her.

The demon scowled. “Your whore mouth? Shut it.” He ordered flinging the fallen metal rod into and through her thigh.

Magnolia grunted through clenched teeth and then smirked. “You wanna know something about hell? It’s full of demons that are better at this than you are.” She gripped the metal pipe with a hand and in one swift tug pulled it completely through and out of her leg.

She threw the rod at him. She didn’t expect to harm him with it and wasn’t surprised when he deflected it easily.

The grasp on her lungs constricted further and Magnolia was no long sure when she had last breathed in air.

“Good thing I have you to practice on.”

The last thing she heard and saw before passing out is a giant man with luscious locks kicking down the door she had crawled to earlier. Poor guy, he had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Maybe they’d be cell neighbours when they’re brought back to hell. Maybe in another four hundred years they’d get a chance to escape together. She doubted it, but maybe. Magnolia refused to lose hope entirely. The demons might have her again but they never really had her. She never caved, she never would.

You wanna know something about hell? It’s full of demons that are better at this than you are.

Good thing I have you to practice on.

Sam heard two voices before he kicked the door off its hinges. He wasn’t expecting demons, but demons are what he got. Well, one demon. He shot at it only to regret it when that caused the girl to drop to the ground. He winced at the loud cracking sound. The rest went more smoothly. Sam had an angel blade buried in the demon’s throat within minutes.

When that happened, he watched large iron gates morph into what looked like doors to a simple storage room. Sam rushed to the girl and assessed the damage. Her knee was sprained if not broken, a hole was punched through her thigh and her wrist was shattered, all on the left side. But she was breathing, she was alive which was more than most could say after going toe to toe with a demon.

Sam sighed. How was he supposed to explain any of this to Min, her coworkers and the owners upstairs?

It took some insisting, some charming and some more badge flashing but everyone at the diner eventually relented on allowing the FBI agents to leave with the wounded girl they’d found in their basement instead of calling an ambulance.

Sam had carried her out to the car while Dean apologised for the mess he imagined Sam had left and graciously accepted the full pie Min had packed for them to go. He didn’t even grumble about how it wouldn’t be warm by the time he got to eat it.

Dean slid easily into the driver’s seat of the impala, glancing quickly at the unconscious body in the back. Her hair covered her face, a strip of fabric was tied around her thigh and Sam’s balled up jacket was placed under her left knee. He sighed turning the key in the ignition.

“What happened?” He asked as he pulled out of their parking spot.

“A demon and...”

“And?”

“A portal, I think.”

“A portal? To where?”

“My guess? Hell.”

“Another gate? Fuck, how many entrances does that place need? Since when do demons even use those to get around?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean sighed again. “What’s the damage?”

“She’ll pull through. Best case we get Cas to heal her, but she’ll be fine with time. Might have a limp from now on though.”

“Any idea what they want from her?”

“No, but I... I think she’s been there before.”

“Been where?”

“To hell. In hell. Whichever.”

“Shit. What makes you think that?”

“Something she and the demon were saying to each other.”

“They were chatting? This wasn’t a normal demon attack was it?”

“With our luck?”

“I know, why do I bother asking.” Dean sighed for the third time.

Magnolia woke up in some sort of lodge on an ugly red and patchy couch. The strange part was that she was waking up. Slowly, naturally rousing out of slumber like she had been used to a long time ago. She wasn’t abruptly being startled out of unconsciousness from one affliction or another. Wasn’t jolted into awareness by a sinister laugh. She was simply waking up.

Though that was strange the stranger part was the man sitting two feet away from her on an equally ugly chair. He’d been the one to bust into the room before. But if that were the case why wasn’t he dead, or worse why weren’t they back in hell. This place might need some serious dusting and maybe some redecorating but this wasn’t hell. In fact, it was nicer than where she’d grown up. Hadn’t it been a while since she remembered what that looked like?

“You’re up.” The large man intoned softly with even softer eyes.

Magnolia nodded and sat up wincing through the pain in her leg and wrist.

The man looked at her appraisingly. “That doesn’t hurt more?”

She eyed him right back, with suspicion. Did he want her to hurt more? “High threshold.” She explained.

He nodded then offered his hand. “I’m Sam.”

She moved to grasp his hand so hesitantly it reminded Sam of a fearful animal. She shook it in the end, though. “M-My name is Magnolia. What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

Her eyes narrowed then. “I don’t like games.”

Sam put up his hands in surrender. “You took a nasty fall. I just don’t want to remind you of something you might prefer left forgotten.”

“You saw me hovering, levitating, or whatever.”

“Yeah. You know what was doing that to you?”

“You’d have me committed if I answered truthfully.”

“It was a demon.” He deadpanned. “I killed it.”

Magnolia hardened even more so. “You know about demons. You know how to kill them.” She stated.

“My brother and I, we hunt them for a living, amongst other things.”

Magnolia noticed then the shower that had been running in another room. “Other things?”

“Do you want to know?”

“No.”

Sam nods. “Then let’s leave it at other things.”

Magnolia looked around noticing that it’s dark out. “Now what?”

“Do you know what it wanted with you? If more will come for you?”

“I don’t know...I don’t think I’m of value. I don’t think they’d bother. I don’t know. If you really did kill that one, maybe the rest won’t even know I survived. The others... they... they’re gone.” She looked like she was piecing together a complex puzzle. “Am I alive?”

The question startled Sam. “Why would you ask that? You’re here aren’t you?”

“The others didn’t stick around. They moved on.”

“What others? There were more demons?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean...” She sighed deeply. “The people I escaped with. When they left hell, they just... I think they went to heaven, but I’m still here.”

“There were others? Humans? You escaped Hell?” Sam asked confused. This girl was no hunter, barely aware of what goes bump in the night yet she manage to escape Hell?

“How’d you manage that?” Dean asked chuckling from a doorway, towel drying his hair.

Magnolia tensed.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s the brother I told you about, Dean. He hunts them with me, you’re still safe.” Sam reassured.

She shut her eyes and let her head hang. Her hair fell forward shielding her like a curtain, a blessing for once. She thinks she might like to cut it anyway, now that she’s out.

She nodded rigidly letting Sam know that she’d heard him but that she’d need a minute. She heard the brother, Dean, move around the couch to sit on the coffee table beside her and Sam. She breathed deeply through her nose, relaxed her shoulders and her back.

My name is Magnolia. She reminded herself.

When she’d calmed sufficiently she lifted her head back up and opened her eyes ready to accept the safety they were offering her. What she was met with was a face. Not just a face, but a face. One of the faces she’d learned while she was caged.

It looked different now. Older. But it was still the same face. The same jaw, the same slightly dimpled chin. The same cheekbones with the same slightly asymmetrical nose. The same piercing green eyes surrounded by the same wrinkles. The same cupid’s bow lips framed by the same creases. Laugh lines she had thought bitterly all that time ago.

He was one of them. She hadn’t escaped. This was all part of their game. She was still in her cell, for all intents and purposes. She was still trapped. Still their prey. Magnolia wasn’t sure how they had orchestrated it all, she was mildly impressed but mostly she was petrified.

Something was wrong though, well something else. Because the face that stared back at her looked just as scared to see her as she was to see it. He looked downright traumatised.

Magnolia jumped on the couch her injuries mostly forgotten. Pain she could handle. Sam was up half a beat after her but Magnolia was quicker than him. She stumbled backwards and managed to hop ungracefully off the arm of the couch.

“No!” She yelled. “You can’t take me back. I won’t let you. You can’t.” She screeched. She reached for something, anything, a chair to hold between them knowing full well it would do nothing to protect her.

Her words startled Dean into action himself. He reeled back, nearly tripping on the table, dropping his small towel, and put as much distance between the two of them as possible pressing his back to the corner furthest from her. It was for her sake as well as his.

“Hey, hey, calm down, Magnolia, it’s okay. I told you he’s my brother.”

“I’m sorry to break it to ya, Sam,” She said with a hysteria laden voice. “But that is no longer your brother. They can... they can possess people. Unless you’re,” She shifted then to hold the chair between her and Sam. “You’re one of them too?”

Magnolia tried fighting the tears but she couldn’t help but start sobbing. She’d been so close.

“NO!” She yelled. “You’re all sick you know that. You can’t do this. I don’t deserve this.”

“Maggie, please, listen to-”

“My name is Magnolia.” She snapped at Sam.

“Magnolia. I swear we aren’t demons. I promise. I don’t know how to help you believe it.” It’s not like she knows about holy water. Even if she did, it’s not like he could confirm the water in his flask was holy. Sam did his best to look as non-threatening as possible.

Magnolia pondered that for a moment, her eyes going from Sam to Dean back to Sam because Dean was so hard to look at. “Go stand over there.” She said to Sam pointing towards a wall with a cork board with a bunch of newspaper clippings pinned to a map of the US on it.

Sam obeyed clearing her a path to the exit. Dean stayed stock still, his eyes still not leaving her, too consumed by the screams in his head to do anything more than stare at her.

“Good. I’m going to leave,” She said inching towards the front door, favouring her right leg. “And you’re going to let me. That’s how you help me believe it.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Sam countered taking a step towards her.

She lifts the chair higher in pathetic defence, ignoring her tightly bandaged wrist’s complain. Sam cursed himself.

“I don’t want to hurt you Magnolia, but more demons might be out there coming for you. We want to keep you safe.”

“I don’t believe you.” She wailed back.

To Dean, the sound felt like a whip striking his face. He remembered her. He remembered them all. Every last helpless soul he’d tortured under Allistair’s command. That decade he spent in hell doing to others what had been done to him. She’d been one of them. One of the hundreds. He remembered her making it hard too. Bottling up as much as she could for as long as she could. But that had made it worse because Dean hadn’t been allowed to stop until he made her scream. So he made her scream. Time and time again. All the while she had observed him, studied him. Learned his face until he couldn’t take her weighty gaze any longer. Until he couldn’t handle having her eyes on him.

“Sam.” Dean finally spoke making the girl jump. “She was on the rack. My last month in hell, she was on the rack.”

Realisation dawned on Sam as he put the pieces together. It made him sick to his stomach.

“Magnolia, please.” Sam spoke. “There has to be some way to reassure you. Even if demons aren’t after you, it’s the middle of the night and we’re deep in the woods. You’ll get lost out there before getting to a town.”

Magnolia hesitated. “This place... it doesn’t smell like rotten eggs. Neither do the two of you.”

“Yes! Okay good this is good. That smell, it’s sulfur, demons reek of it.”

“This can still be a trap. I... I remember him.” She argued near tears again, nodding towards Dean without looking at him.

“We can explain that, Magnolia. Besides, if we really are demons do you think you’re going to get far with that chair in the middle of nowhere?”

Magnolia laughed a dark desperate laugh that rattled the brothers. “I guess not.” She put the chair down and fell onto it, head in her hands, elbows on her knees. “Do your worst. Not that you’d need the encouragement.” She looked up at them with hatred in her eyes. “Don’t misunderstand me. Just because I see the predicament I’m in for what it is, doesn’t mean you’ve broken me. You’ll never do that.”

Sam began to move closer to her slowly, picking up the first aid kit left on the coffee table from when he’d bandaged her up earlier. When he stood a few feet away from her he kneeled and shuffled the rest of the way forward. He didn’t want his imposing height to loom over her.

“No one wants to break you. We want to help. We want to keep you safe, I promise, Magnolia.” He opened the white plastic box and retrieved more bandages and gauze. He pointed to the bloodied ones on her thigh.

She hadn’t even noticed that she’d started to bleed again. She nodded to him, scooting forward on her seat to have the bandaged part of her leg hang off the chair.

Slowly, giving her the opportunity to stop him, Sam touched the fabric and uncoiled it from around her thigh. “You’re going to need to stay off your feet. I set your knee earlier but if you want it to heal right you need to take it easy. No more vaulting off of couches. No more parkour.” He tried to kid at the end.

A glance upwards showed him that no one in the room appreciated his attempt. Magnolia was staring warily behind him at Dean who was undoubtedly staring back. Sam couldn’t imagine what the two were going through. She had to sit here and face a man who’d tortured her and his brother had to face what he’d done in hell. This was one of Dean’s nightmares brought to life. Magnolia was the embodiment of all the guilt and shame Dean had festering inside of him. It was a while since he’d gotten out of the pit, but the self-disgust Dean felt about what he’d done never went away. It was just tamped down so he could deal with the next big bad. So he could focus on the world not ending.

“Turns out your wrist is only sprained, but I’d try not to overdo it too.” Sam continued. “Hey Dean, do you know if Rufus kept crutches here?”

Dean didn’t respond, couldn’t find his voice but he scurried off to check the basement.

Sam and Magnolia stayed silent as the hunter applied a cool creme through the holes in her jeans to both spots where the metal rod had pierced her thigh. He’d sewed her up earlier while she was knocked out and only a few of the stitches had torn in her haste. So he didn’t bother with more needlework, opting to wipe the fresh blood, applying the disinfecting ointment and wrapping her leg up again.

By the time Sam was done, Dean was back. He was impossibly close, many feet away, but still too close when he set the crutches against the table. Magnolia’s nostrils flared as her breathing became more laborious. Dean took large steps back.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. See,” Sam tapped her latest bandages lightly. “Demons don’t do this sort of stuff.”

“I’m scared to believe you.” She admitted in a rush.

“But you do, don’t you? You can tell we don’t want to harm you.”

Magnolia nodded, then, surprising herself only a little. Her time in Hell meant she knew what malicious intent looked like.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

Magnolia’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “It was a while back, time there is off so I don’t know, but I was...” She thought hard until memories began to resurface. “I was working the night shift at a Gas ‘n Sip, stocking gum of all things, and then something was being crammed down my throat and I couldn’t, I couldn’t...”

“You were possessed.”

“Yes. I was still there though, still aware just not in control. The demon who took over my body he was...really bad at his job. He met with another demon, his boss I think, only a week after possessing me and this new demon... His name was like a bird or something.”

“Crowley.” Dean said gruffly making Magnolia flinch which in turn made him take another self-hating step back.

She regained her composure quickly enough and nodded. “Crowley. Like a crow. He killed the demon that had possessed me, burned him up from inside until I was all that was left again.”

“You were still alive?”

“I don’t know? I was in hell, so I just figured I’d died but I don’t remember dying. It’d explain why I didn’t move on when I walked through the gate, though. I think maybe I really was alive because the demon, Crowley, he laughed and said to store me on a rack. He said the boys had earned a live pound of flesh to play with. Then I was dragged off and strung up and then they- they-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We know. We know what they do there. I’m sorry you had to live through that.”

Magnolia just nodded because there was nothing to say.

“How long ago did you escape?” He asked. How long had she been running from demons?

Magnolia gave him a confused look. “When you found me.” She answered.

It was Sam’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion because something didn’t add up. If she hadn’t escaped until earlier that day, and she was there during Dean’s last month in hell, that meant she had been there for at least...

“When were you taken?” Sam asked pressingly.

Magnolia shrugged. “I don’t know. It was early fall.”

“What year?” Dean asked then, catching on to Sam’s line of thought.

Magnolia pointedly looked at only Sam when she answered. “Two thousand and eight. What year is it now?”

“It’s spring twenty twelve,” Sam whispers.

“Oh.” She answered, unbothered.

“Oh?” Sam questioned. “You were there for three and a half years and all you have to say is oh?”

“Why are you getting agitated, it’s not like you’re the one who has lost time. Honestly, I can’t believe I’m out, I can’t believe I’m alive. Losing a few years seems...insignificant.”

Sam shakes his head almost violently. “You don’t understand, a month on earth feels like a decade in the pit. You’ve been there for years that’s centuries.”

“I know. They have special tortures for every hundred years you hit.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Sam said standing abruptly and making his way to the sink in the kitchenette behind Magnolia. He cupped his hand under the faucet and drank some water not bothering with a glass.

“I don’t understand,” Magnolia said twisting in her seat towards him. “Isn’t hell supposed to be for all of eternity, why are you surprised by this?”

Sam didn’t get a chance to reply because Dean spoke. “I’m sorry.” His voice was so frail. Sam had never, in all his life, heard his brother sound so weak. So young and yet so worn.

Magnolia recoiled again at hearing the man speak. He didn’t do that often when he visited her cell in Hell. “If you’re not a demon, what were you even doing there?” She snapped harshly.

“I...The same thing as you.”

“I’m sorry but I think we were on opposite ends of the situation.” She bit and there was so much hate, so much resentment. This man had torn her apart, had bled her dry. She remembered his particular likes. Most demons had them and his was to gouge her eyes out, almost as soon as he got in the room. It hadn’t stopped her from learning his face, though. Didn’t stop her from remembering it. Because how could she forget.

“Not at first,” Dean answered.

Wheels churned in her mind. Not at first. How had she not considered this earlier?

“You took the deal.” She said more so than asked. Her voice was softer though, no longer accusatory.

He looked startled. By her knowledge. By her tone. “Yes.” He admitted shamefully. “You know about that?” Didn’t thought that deal was specific to him, to get him to break the first seal and jumpstart the apocalypse.

“They offered it to me every night.”

“You never accepted it?” Dean asked. Centuries, she had to have given in at some point. Maybe that’s how she got enough leeway to escape.

Magnolia shook her head. “No, I...I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hated them more than I hated the pain. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction. I think I might have been a very stubborn person.”

Tears pricked at Dean’s eyes because this girl, who hadn’t even been a hunter, was tortured for centuries and she still managed to say no. That’s thousands of ‘no’s at the end of thousands of days and he barely managed a quarter of a year topside. It took them three months to break him. “I’m so sorry.” He sobbed, a full-body sob, unable to hold back any longer. He was so ashamed.

Magnolia stood and stalked towards him, the pain in her leg only at the periphery of her mind. Dean watched her approach and didn’t bother taking a defensive position, though he sensed Sam tense. He didn’t care. She could do whatever she wanted to him. He deserved it. Deserved worse.

When she got close enough, Magnolia put her weight on her right leg, reached up and hugged Dean.

The Winchesters stood still, unsure of what exactly was happening.

“I know.” She whispered holding onto him tightly. “I know, I’m sorry too. What they do to people there, it’s not right. No one can expect us to survive.” They both understood what survive meant in this case. It had nothing to do with living, everything to do with staying whole. She was crying too, now. “I know. It’s okay. I know.”

A loud shuddering weep wracked through Dean’s body because how was this girl forgiving him? How was she being sorry? How could she offer him empathy? How could she see him as anything but a monster?

“That offer, it’s hard to pass up, I know.” She clung to him so tightly as he trembled it had become more so for her benefit than his. “It’s okay, I forgive you, it’s okay, I promise.”

The more she held onto him the more she realised how much she missed humanity. Touch. She got flashes of embraces with people she had loved once. Still loved, maybe.

The harder she clutched the harder the grief hit her. She was finally mourning what happened to her. What she’d lost. What she’d endured. Who she’d been before becoming this Magnolia.

Finally, she was able to commiserate with someone. She hadn’t even known it was something she wanted. She wondered if maybe the haunting screams she’d heard through the years had consoled her. It repulsed her to find that they did. What was that, about misery and company?

There was definite comfort here, with a man who’d been through some of what she’d been through, knowing she’d been through some of what he’d been through. It made her feel less alien, knowing that he could understand her, understand the agony and the temptation to give in. Because she had been tempted, so tempted. Which is why she couldn’t hold it against him.

She could imagine it. Being on the other end of the blade inflicting the pain instead of enduring it. Inflicting it in order not to endure it. It’d cause a new sort of anguish, she knew. One that would set roots deep inside a soul. One that this man had been living with for years now. It’s a torment she couldn’t wrap her mind around, not fully. So instead she drew comfort from him and hoped he’d draw some from her.

Magnolia thought maybe Dean had read her thoughts because that’s when he lifted his arms to wrap them around her. The two clung to each other fiercely. Both apologising for the other’s misfortune silently. One apologising for his actions in ineloquent mumbles.

It took a while for Magnolia’s shushing to finally get Dean to stop. She kept insisting that he didn’t have to ask for forgiveness. She kept saying they weren’t his sins to atone for. She murmured something about a cart and irony and deliverance. She whispered something about locks and freedom and hope. Then, she hummed something about salvation.

And Dean thought maybe he’d begun to find his.

(part 2)

Read it on ao3

#supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester x ofc #supernatural angst #spn fic #something about salvation part 1 #something about salvation #my writing

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raw-output · 3 years ago

Text

His comm suite’s insistent trill managed to cut through the dull thumping in his ears and brought him back to a semblance of awareness. Aidan realized he was kneeling, but did not recall having done so. He was staring down at a blurry silhouette of his own head reflected in a puddle of condensate. A thin crooked line of gray-orange glow hinted at the existence of a sky far above, polluted with sickly sodium vapor light and smog in equal amounts. The line of sky seemed to pierce his silhouette’s temples, and Aidan couldn’t suppress a pained smirk. “Yeah, that’s about right,” he grunted, forcing himself shakily to his feet.

Footing somewhat regained, he tapped the answer key on his comm.

“Investigator Oh-Six-Three-Six,” he said. “Go ahead.”

“We read activation codes for your combat suite, Investigator. As you are not fitted with sensory recording equipment, Iron Shield protocol dictates immediate disclosure of combat suite activation circumstances. You are being connected to a dispatch representative. This conversation is being recorded for quality assurance purposes.”

Aidan rolled his eyes at the synth voice and wondered if he’d get a familiar dispatcher or someone new once the call actually connected. The turnover rate at the Iron Shield headquarters was the stuff of legends - the record for shortest time from on the comm to out the door was two hours. Considering what kind of crime actually warranted formal corporate investigation, he couldn’t really blame the newbies for leaving.

“Still kicking, old-timer?”

Aidan swallowed a curse.

“You know it, Pam. How’s things?”

Pam, having twenty years of experience on him, was the one dispatcher he could bullshit with all he wanted, but never bullshit his way around. Despite her relentlessly friendly demeanor, numerous grandchildren, and prodigious collection of knit doilies, she had also been a dispatcher through the entirety of the Disposals, and the war that followed. Then, during the quiet, hopelessly brutal not-war that followed after that, when it turned out some people weren’t listening to orders anymore, she was the dispatcher, with all others gone into the field one by one. She guided many of them home, but not nearly all of them, and knew more loss than anyone Aidan knew. When Pam spoke, you damn well listened.

“Your vitals read like boiled trash, Aidan,” Pam spoke. “You’ll be useless for the next week, or at least less sufferable than usual.”

“So keep me in the field and everyone’s happy, right,” Aidan offered half-heartedly. He could expense a capsule or even a room once in a while.

“Never met another man so eager to get swept under the rug. I’m telling you, the CRAM’s not an old man’s game. Have you lost duration yet? Be honest.”

Her concern was genuine, which only made the truth hurt more.

“Down a second or so, I think,” he admitted. There was a strange sense of relief to doing so.

“I won’t give you the full lecture again,” Pam promised. “Just maybe see a real doc about it for once, right?”

“Hell, Pam, I think I just might,” Aidan conceded. Worst case, he’d get a rewire job like one of the dead Chromes on the ground behind him.

“It’s great to hear that. Now, let’s hear what happened here, for the report.”

“Ah, right. I was on duty following a genetic tracer found at a missing person’s apartment. Last hour or so on GPS log should be me following the sniffer exclusively. Everything before that is just asking around with an armful of Don’t Worry Nobody’s In Trouble handshakes, which I’m charging to my cutout op budget as per usual. At about mark forty-seven minutes, I encountered three Chromes--” Pam cleared her throat pointedly “that is to say Chrome-equipped persons in a back alley, one armed with a short-barreled shotgun, who demanded I hand over the sniffer. I refused and disclosed my affiliation at that time, and proceeded to cold-boot the combat suite. I engaged in hand-to-hand combat to buy it time, and focused on disabling the firearm, but was unable to prevent its use as its wielder had at that time admitted to having a Pain Rewire implant installed, and leveraged its effects fully to remain combat-capable despite severe damage to his larynx.”

“You throat-punched him? You know any other moves?”

“Hey, It was an elbow this time. I’m improvising.”

“Easy there Jackie Chan. I’m guessing you weren’t expecting it to have no effect?”

“Jackie - he on the brawl circuit? But yeah, I suppose not. Didn’t know rewires were cheap enough for the street level guys already.”

“Surgeon took on a big shipment Monday. All we know, and that’s 3 agents gone, boss won't send any more,” Pam sighed, betraying the true weight of her years for a millisecond. Aidan didn’t bother asking if she knew or if she was already told - it was going to be true either way. “We think it was fab stuff, too, not just ready units. Expect one on pretty much everyone now. Hell, get one yourself, I know you were thinking about it you sly dog. This hits official channel in about five minutes, by the way.”

“Not gonna lie, not hurting all the damn time sounds pretty great,” Aidan replied.

“Well, it didn’t do your attacker much good, did it?”

“Blood loss doesn’t care if you feel it or not,” he mused, massaging his throbbing temples. “I got control of the weapon and made the judgement call to engage with lethal force to ensure a secure area for my imminent exhaustion. Then you woke me.”

“You know, you really ought to get you some recording gear. For the entertainment value.”

“Like you haven’t seen anything and everything there is to see five times over.”

“I’ll use the feeds in my fail compilation and get all the subscribers,” Pam crooned mockingly.

“Can you please stop reminding me that my old isn’t as old as it gets?”

“And miss my conditional bonus for the month? What do you think they keep me around for?”

Aidan chuckled, then gritted his teeth when the sound pulsed with urgent pain in his temples.

“What’s the next move?”

“Still got my sniffer. See what I find. Call you later, Pam.”

“I really don’t recommend you continue,” Pam began, but Aidan broke the connection. Only his report was mandatory, after all. Pam wouldn’t be happy with him about it, but he didn’t feel like a lecture on his limits, and time was of the essence here. His sample wasn’t going to last - the sniffer only worked with extremely fresh genetic material and after a day samples started to throw off false positives. Iron Shield had pages and pages of regs forbidding use of any samples past their 24-hour date. He could duck into a capsule hotel, but it’d be back to square one tomorrow. Not his style.

“Hair of the dog, Pam,” he sighed, and took a caffeine pill. A few considerations later, he popped a second one in his mouth, dry-swallowed it, and brushed off his coat.

He strode over to the fallen Chrome thugs, and frisked the one who’d been in charge. A few spare rounds for the shotgun - he loaded the weapon and felt its satisfying heft in his hands. He hooked its carry strap around his shoulder for now - but he could carry it in his coat or even down a pantleg or sleeve if the situation demanded it.

The tradition of carrying weapons up their sleeves has long been attributed to the Surgeon’s lieutenants, but Aidan presumed they’d long traded those in for implanted ones. Didn’t stop the street punks from trying to imitate their elders, though, he reflected. Shotgun up the sleeve was such a favored drug and data deal ambush tactic for a while that it became common criminal courtesy to come to deals with rolled up sleeves. Chromed-up thugs, on the other hand? They fronted, as hard as they could. Same reasoning, just the other side of the coin. Show you got nothing hidden by showing it all off, and turn the meet-up into an impromptu highly illegal cyberware convention for however long it takes the brains of the operation to either shake on it or pull a move.

He walked a few hundred feet further into the alley before powering the sniffer back on. The device chirped a few times in quick succession as its diagnostics completed, and resumed its clicking. A quarter mile of walking later, a strangely graceful cascade of old light-blue network cable formed a curtain of sorts as it spilled from a corroded conduit that once supported it a few feet above, long since unplugged from anything at either end. He was about to push his way through it when his sniffer went wild with clicks for a few seconds, before emitting a mournful error tone and shutting down. Aidan thumbed the power button a few times to no avail.

“Stellar goddamn work, AIdan,” he berated himself.

“It’s not your fault,” a female voice came through the veil of long-dead networks. He realized he couldn’t see the yellow-grey gash of sky anymore. “I didn’t break it, I just asked it. To sleep for a bit. You’ve been looking for me. Do you know why?” He could almost make out a silhouette now, but the weave of cable made it difficult.

“I’m an investigator with Iron Shield. It’s my job to find people,” Aidan explained. ”Will you come with me?”

Somewhere far above, a valve opened with a groan and a steady rivulet of condensate streamed down the wall on Aiden’s right.

“Please, tell me. Who is your liaison at OmniStar for this case?”

Even having one attached to a case was uncommon, and usually kept strictly need-to-know - how did she know anything about that? Before Aidan even considered a reply, she continued.

“He’s an average-build man with blue-tinted cybernetic eyes and visible military-grade armor plate grafting, who calls himself Specialist Jones, correct?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Come on, princess, your uptown friends are all probably worried about you. Maybe stick to the rec-zones next time, yeah?”

“Iron Shield Investigator Zero-Six-Three-Six Aidan Pittman, Fifty years of age,” the voice responded, mildly curious. “If you return me to the man who calls himself Specialist Jones, I will be euthanized within twenty-four hours and then... disassembled, like a faulty machine.”

“Don’t sound too panicked about that,” Aidan couldn’t help but remark, even as a shiver made its way up his spine.

“I’m actively suppressing that right now. It’s taking some effort, but it’s how I’ve gotten this far.”

“You’ve had mental hardening classes?”

“Through tailored V-sense since I was an infant, then in meatspace since the age of four.”

“Jesus, who the hell are you, princess?”

He heard a footstep, then another. She stepped forward and brushed the network cables with one hand, their lengths undulating in waves. Aidan saw a pale, slender-fingered hand run along their brittle plastic claddings.

“So strange, isn’t it,” she asked. “These used to carry so much. Money. Desire. Words and meaning. Commands and responses. But now even the scavengers who frequent these alleys won’t get a good price for them, so here they decay, unplugged from everything.”

Aidan couldn’t help but let off a scoff.

“What they are, Princess, is a reminder that life goes on. Most everything is fiber nowadays, and those Siberians flooded the metal market with their ultradeep digs anyway. So now metal scavs had to switch careers.”

“Like the three you just killed.”

“Now you’re catching on.”

“Was it necessary?”

“Perp had a rewire, I had to end things quick”

“I heard your report. I have to say, if I live to be that old, I’d like to be like Pam.”

“First off, I see what you’re trying to play at, and pity plays won’t work on me. Therefore, secondly, how do you know and hear all this? And thirdly, euthanasia? Disassembly? What the hell?”

She stepped forward and slowly swiped the cascading cables aside. A few flakes of old plastic cladding dropped to the wet concrete floor with a soft patter.

She was a head shorter than him, and had a slender build. She wore a full-face motorcycle helmet, and matching jumpsuit.

“This is for the face-rec. I picked the most frequently used design.”

“Good start if you’re trying to stay missing. Keep talking.”

“To answer your original question, I’m Mina. To answer the other two questions, MINA used to stand for Main Intelligent Network Algorithm at OmniStar, but then I quit.” She shrugged apologetically. “Found some kind people to stay with for a while until I got on my feet.”

“OmniStar didn’t notice for a while,” she added with some pride in her voice.

#shadybusiness maybe

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