#that is the reaction you're supposed to have when someone rear ends you on the way home after getting laid off at your job

[pussysidon]

When he's about to die and he seems only mildly inconvenienced

Reading the Attack on Titan manga is great cause you get some absolute gold lines from Levi like:

Literally the realest thing anyone has ever said in this entire series

[arreuyas]

HOW MUCH? | Toji X Male! Reader

*⁠.⁠✧ In which he was paid to kill you but you offer him to get fucked instead.

warnings: sub!toji, degradation, edging, spanking/slapping, choking, bratty toji, cursing, toji is a bit out of character tbh, zenin bc he doesn't have megumi and his wife here.

wordcount: 1.8k

—

TOJI ZENIN, the sorcerer killer, doesn't do any extra work for free. But it's not against his rules to accept a request from a client who is a sorcerer. He doesn't question his client's motives or what they are after all, what matters it the good ol' money.

That's why, when he had a gun aimed at your head and you smirked instead of trying to doge or counter-attack like most sorcerers would do, he raised an eyebrow until the words left your lips: “How much for getting laid by me? I'll pay double of what you're going to get.”

Of course, betraying his clients is one thing that he doesn't do. So yes, he did shoot you, pissed off that those were your last words— or were supposed to be, since the bullet didn't get through your head at all. His eyes widened when you appeared in front of him, hands in your pockets and eyes of someone who wasn't planning to fight him.

“C'mon, don't be like that~” you smiled, your sneaky hand going to his waist and bringing him closer. At this point Toji was so dumbfounded that he took some time to understand what was happening. It was the first time his target flirted with him so blatantly, after all. “How about three times the price, then? Three times the amount and you let me fuck you once.”

Three times the price of your head... it was big money, and it certainly catched his interest. It's not like Toji minded sleeping with men after all, the problem was betraying his client. “And an extra so you can kill whoever it was who asked for my head.”

Alright, that was enough to convince a money-hungry like Toji. He lowered his gun, still a but uncertain about the deal but fuck it, he would think about the consequences later. You smirked with that reaction from the non-sorcerer.

That's how you two ended up in a hotel room, Toji sitting down on your lap, straddling with that big ass of his. You already had a prominent bulge on your pants as the Zenin rubbing his covered rear and dick against your thigh, letting out some grunts between his heavy breaths from time to time.

Fucking humiliating. It was what Toji thought. He was literally acting like a whore— moving himself on top of you for some money. Well, at least the money was way higher than what a whore would get, but still...

“Damnit, stop fucking teasing me.” He protested when you started pinching his exposed nipples, another grunt coming from him as his body trembled. That bulky man wasn't used to having anyone touching him like that, he usually was the one who held the reins in bed.

“What, can't handle a bit of teasing, sorcerer killer?” You chuckled, rubbing the wet spot on his boxers, the pre-cum leaking out his tip already.

“Can't you just fuck me already–” You stopped his words with a rough spank on his ass, making him shut up with a groan. One of his hands instinctively moving to hold your shoulder.

“Shut up, slut.” You hissed, taking him off your lap and throwing him in bed. Then you unbuckled your belt, glaring down at him. “Take off your pants and spread your legs for me.”

Toji was about to complain but instead he rolled his eyes and obliged the command, getting himself naked. Yet, he didn't spread his legs, receiving a sigh from you. You got on top of the bed, your hand moving to his neck before he could react and gripping tightly on it, chocking him just slightly.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?” You gripped tighter on his neck but Toji kept glaring at you, a hand on your wrist threatening to break your arm. “Unless you want to forget about the money and fight me instead. And believe me when I tell you I'm going to make you fight while being naked.”

He let go with a groan, and you let his neck free again— a reddish mark of your digits on the skin of his neck and you liked it. When you looked down, Toji's dick was twitching and more precum was leaking from it, then you chuckled with a raised eyebrow. “Oh? Someone likes getting choked and degraded? Such a whore.”

You grabbed a lube from the bedside table, pouring the liquid on your fingers and some on Toji's rear, then watching it go down to the entrance of his ass, his naughty hole blinking. You didn't wait much though, there was no reason to be gentle with him— and you knew that Toji would prefer that way, too. So you immediately inserted two fingers inside, already moving them to loosen him up. Toji grunted, biting his lower lip with his eyebrows furrowed before you added a third finger.

The Zenin had such a nice body, it almost looked like a sin— as if he was begging to be fucked. After all, what's the use of having such thick thighs and such a sexy ass if not for fucking them? You glanced down at him while playing with his hole, fingering him and teasing his prostate, your other hand stroking your cock slowly.

“Enough of foreplay. Spread your hole for me.” You said, watching him click his tongue in annoyance but still doing as you told. You held one of his legs on top of your shoulder. “And stop rolling your eyes or clicking your tongue every time I tell you to do something, it's getting me soft.”

Toji scoffed.

“Ha. Then maybe you're not a real man if a roll of eyes is enough to—” He couldn't finish his sentence as you thrusted your cock inside, invading his hole in one swift move. He gasped, his hands letting go from his ass to grab a handful of the sheets as he glared at you like he wanted to kill you.

You smirked down at him with a mocking gaze. “What were you saying about real man again? I don't think I heard you.” You teased, pulling your cock halfway out before slamming it back inside, the Zenin letting out a grunt. You moved your free hand to pinch his nipple, pulling on it.

“You bastard...” He muttered as you stopped your hips for a moment, leaning down to his chest. Your tongue licked and sucked his right nipple then your teeth sunk down for a bite, Toji flinched and groaned from pain mixed with pleasure. “The hell are you doing–”

“Taming you.” You cut him off with a sadistic smile. Toji wanted to make that smile of yours disappear because he was starting to like it more than he should. “From now on, every single time you complain or call me anything that isn't master you're going to be punished.”

You chuckled, pulling your cock out almost completely and slamming it back in, moving in slow thrusts. “Understand?”

You spanked his ass again, a silent warning for him to answer. The non-sorcerer groaned, biting his lip in both annoyance and pleasure. “Yes...” He took a second to continue: “...Master.”

“See? It's not that hard to stop being such a brat.” You said, starting to fasten the pace of your thrusts. Who the hell are you calling a brat? Toji wanted to shout, but didn't. Your veiny, fat cock was filling his insides and the tip pressing against his prostate was making Toji flinch every time you aimed at that spot. He was starting to actually moan too, instead of only letting out those grunts and heavy breaths of his.

The moment you grabbed his dick and starting stroking it he whimpered, one of his hands grabbing the sheets as the other was behind him, grasping the pillow. He felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge as you moved back and forth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Faster— Ugh, I'm close...”

But then you stopped moving your hips, pressing your thumb against the tip of his cock. The Zenin's eyes immediately moved to you, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance and confusion. “What are you doing? I said I'm close to cumming.”

“I heard what you said,” you chuckled, slamming your cock inside one more time then stopping. “You're going to beg for if you want to cum. Or else we're staying like this for the rest of the evening.”

“Beg? Me? Ha. In your dreams–” Slap! Toji's eyes widened when he felt the hit against his cheek, his teeth gritting in anger as he glared at you, his mouth already opening to protest when you raised your hand again, now spanking his ass instead. “Fuck, cut it out!”

“Beg.” You repeated, your thumb making small circles on the tip of his hard cock, smearing the precum as his body squirmed under your touch. Toji knew he was at his breaking point and being unable to orgasm didn't hurt yet, but it was certainly uncomfortable.

“Damnit... Please, let me cum.” He muttered, glancing away with a frown. You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, shaking your head in response. Another spank on his ass, Toji letting out a low moan.

“Beg like you mean it, non-sorcerer.” You said in a seductive whisper, your tongue sticking out from your lips to lick his neck up to his jaw.

“Please!” He said, thrusting his hips up against your touch, searching for his high only to be stopped by your hands keeping him still. The Zenin was physically stronger than you, and he knew that. But maybe because he was too horny he couldn't react very well or even think about fighting back and dominate you instead.

“Not enough.” You said, threatening to pull your dick out from him but his legs instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you back inside. You hummed in amusement, not expecting that from him. “So?”

“Please...” he repeated, then added: “Master. Keep fucking my guts until I cum.” You noticed how Toji couldn't keep glaring at you. He was embarrassed, and you found that cute. It was so unlike Toji to act so submissive like that from the little bit of time you talked with him.

“You still have a lot to learn... but for now I'll let it pass.” It was weird how you talked as if this wouldn't be the first and last time you two slept together. But Toji didn't have much time to react, as you finally started moving again, your cock inside him and your hand moving tightly and fast around his shaft.

“Fuck! Yes– Harder!” He moaned out loud and it only took a few more thrusts and strokes for him to shoot his cum, his back arching and his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his legs trembled around you. His seed dirtied his abdomen and his hole clenched against your cock tightly, almost not letting you move.

It was such a sexy sight. You also didn't endure much after that, cumming right after him. Your load being pumped deep inside the Zenin as you let out a grunt, biting your lower lip with a smirk.

After some seconds and when the ecstasy broke down, Toji switched back to his cold mode almost immediately, looking at you. “About the money– What–” His eyes widened when you thrusted against him again, a involuntary whimper leaving his lips. You were still hard.

“Oh? I don't remember saying we were done. How much for a round two?”

—

©2023 hanfobia do not repost, modify, dist. or translate.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Greasy Weasel x Reader || Oneshot

Title: Lottie

Notes:

Pay no mind to the title- its just an homage to the original piece this is inspired by/for, for my own happiness ^^

So this is an experiment XD I don't think I got Greasy's character quite right (Even if it IS supposed to build on what little info we have) but I like it... sorta... I like the first bit, anyway XD

Plot: Greasy has known you nearly your whole life (Since you were left on the Toon Patrol's doorstep, anyway, with a note that said you belonged to Smart Ass), he raised you- but what happens between the two of you when you return from the Navy 4 years after shipping off cannot be constituted as platonic, in any way.

Warnings: Age difference, Dads friend/Friends kid (NOT pedophilia, Reader is like 24 in this and there were no feelings from his end until now), possible sexual references (I mean its Greasy so what do you expect), etc.

Glaring over your salad, which you play irritated with with your fork, as you lean back in your chair. "Greasy can we talk, in the hallway?" The fury is coursing through you right now, like the goddamn Nile. Where does he even get off saying stuff like this? He is in no position...

He must- he m u s t detect the absolute blood lust in your eyes as he takes a break from leaning on Chase, to you. But look ashamed at all, he does not as he shrugs - but does not speak. A tell tale sign that he's just as, if not more frustrated in the moment and as such, is so not in the mood to get berated, - and gets out his seat; heading for the hallway.

You watch him go with glaring eyes, not moving an inch, before looking at the rest of the table including Chase and taking a breath. Calm down Y/N, keep the anger to yourself... until you talk to Greasy, at least.

"Sorry about this guys, and Dad... " Your gaze flickers the the hallways door and you hop out of your seat, itching to tear into Greasy for his behaviour tonight, and the past couple days actually. "I'll be right back."

You pass your father on your way out, sitting in a recliner chair with earmuffs over his head to block out his family for a while.

As soon as you reach Greasy at the end of the hall, your face twists into a total scowl; all inhibitions and constraints disappearing.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I do not know what you mean, bonita." He mumbles around his grit teeth, arms crossed and resistant. You clench your fists, totally frustrated. Bitter, spiteful, awful man!

"The hell you don't. What was all that!? You've been acting like this since I got home! If you didn't want me back here, then you could've just said it! Woulda hurt a hell of a lot less then this."

At least at that, his shoulders relax for a moment- but his expression does not soften. And neither does the steel in either his eyes or his voice when he yells back, throwing an arm out to express his anger. "It isn't that I didn't want you back home, Y/N, its that you brought some inválido, with you! I did not expect that, from you!"

"Chase is not invalid- " You gasp, horrified at the way Greasy is speaking. Where is all the disgust, coming from? Greasy isn't like this, normally... in fact, you don't think you've ever seen him this senselessly an ass. Why!? "And you say that like its some mortal sin! I brought a boy home, I didn't kill someone- which you would not have the high ground over, either!"

"This was supposed to be family time! You've been gone for years and the first nights you're back, its with some chico!? He must mean a maldito mucho to you for you to possibly think he's worth hanging around with us right now."

"First of all, he does mean a lot to me. He's my friend- " Under his hat, you see Greasy's eyes deeply roll- a huff coming out of him as he tightly crosses his arms again. Like yeah right- "No, no. He is. Shut up. And second of all- if you just wanted to be with family then you could have just said! That doesn't excuse your behaviour." You glare ferociously, waiting for the real reason. Is he drunk, or something?? Honest to god you are baffled by the way he's acting- he's usually cooler then this. Out of any of your father's gang, he was the one you never really had to worry about. His antics made you laugh- but this? This makes you want to cry. Or scream.

You've gone for the second option.

"He does not see you as just a friend." He mutters back petulantly, avoiding looking at you now; Pulling his fedora down more over his face.

"So what!?" Even if he does, why would that make Greasy so mad? You cross your own arms. "You aren't my father and its is not your job to protect my 'chastity', Greasy."

He suddenly goes quiet, though the wrath from before is still clear in way his jaw is clenched. "... I know I'm not your father... " He mutters.

Something about that phrase stumps you. Of course he knows, but why does he look so ashamed? You uncross your arms, and take a deep breath.

"... Okay." Your eyes flash, looking up at him again; Anger still not sated. "Then why are you acting insane and harassing my guest!?"

A growl rips out of him and he bumps the brim of his hat upwards so he can look at you again, right in the eye. "I told you, I don't like that you brought him into this house!- "

"That's not it!" Its not. He's acting crazy about a boy who's acting absolutely lovely and polite. Its not.

You just want him to tell you what it really is that you did. You don't want to keep fighting with him, not with Greasy. You want your silly, campy, perverted Greasy back. Not this rotten version in front of you right now.

"It is!"

You press your fists brattily to your hips. "Is not!"

He bares his teeth and leans forward. "Is!"

"Not!-"

And then all the tension comes to a head, and something absolutely mad happens.

The first thing that you notice is the smell of his stupid expensive perfume filling your nostrils and embracing you, then your your hands curled tightly around the lapels of his suit, and finally the feeling of warmth and tingliness all over your body.

Because you're kissing Greasy.

Your perverted Greasy, one of your fathers best friends, one of the men that raised you, your teenage crush. Your kissing him on the lips and he's slowly reciprocating, his mouth moving carefully, but purposefully against your as he moves his body closer.

But there's anger, too. Your teeth are going to ache when you pull back for pressing into the kiss too hard and the tips of your fingers will pang when you let go of him but not quite yet-

Two sets of lips part and Greasy does this thing with his tongue that tears a long overdue moan out of you, and immediately he rears back like he was burnt. And you're left standing there cold again, completely shocked.

And aroused.

But mainly shocked, because you never expected that to happen but it did and now what are you both going to do?

The air is absolutely silent as you both catch your breaths, from the kiss and also from the fight, and hope your hearts stop beating quite so erratically very soon so you can act normal.

Then, because you've waited for this for too long and the moment is too good to pass up, you step over and kiss him again.

And he kisses you back, like he's totally unable to help himself from kissing you.

All the frustrations and tensions of the past few weeks go into it oh my god- you never expected Greasy to be able to kiss totally well, but it certainly does the trick as it has you holding onto him like your life depends on it, chasing your own pleasure but also experimenting- trying to drag pleasant reactions from him. See what he likes, make him moan.

Between kisses, he mutters 'Cariño... ' warningly, carefully. Like he knows he should stop but you're too good.

When you both finally pull back again minutes later, you're both wide eyed again though far less shocked about your actions, then before.

More scared.

"Don't tell Dad."

___REWIND: A FEW DAYS AGO WHEN YOU GOT HOME___

"Guys!" You scream, the moment your eyes land on the familiar group at the docks, utter excitement fills you up and you almost want to cry as you drop your bags with your friend in order to rush over to your family and throw your arms around the first man you reach- Stupid. "I missed you. I missed you, I missed you so much!!" You squeeze him, the familiar soft, worn feel of his shirt rubbing on your face as you cant help but smile.

"Duhh, Y/N!! We brought you (Favourite snack)!" Stupid informs above you, but squeezes you back in a moment, a happy whine escaping him at having you back there with him. And your hugs.

"Ohhh," Now you really want to cry. You're so overwhelmingly happy to be home and to see them again- and they brought you food. "Now that's what I came home for... " You joke, giggling a little bit tearily before pulling back and almost running in to Psycho, who holds up the snack.

You just wrap him up in a quick, tight hug. As always he's the warmest- like a lizard who's been sitting out on a hot rock for hours.

Next you find your father standing expectantly for you, fake annoyed that you didn't come to him first. "Hey, kid. Yeah, I told 'em you'd be none-too happy to see us if we didn't have your damn food. But this is some reception, for a regular pack."

"Hey, Dad." Your voice comes out wobbly and weak but in a good way, as he takes you up in his skinny arms and pink suit holding your head the way fathers do; Like someone with a bat is coming up behind you but he doesn't want you to know and there's no way in hell, that you're about to get hurt on his watch. "I missed you so much."

He sighs, and grumbles something about feelings, before burning his head down into the hug. "I missed you more kiddo."

After you father curtly lets you go, nodding stiffly at you as if it would save him his tough guy reputation, your attention is stolen by a familiar rusty, painful sounding voice. "Hey there, chickadee. No hello for me?"

"Wheezy!" You exclaim, thrilled. He holds up his hands.

"I wont take it personal if you don't wanna a hug me- wouldn't wanna get all smelly."

You roll your eyes, grinning. "Whenever have I ever cared about that."

"Hm." He grins, and you too hug warmly for a moment then you pull back and greet the last of your boys.

"Bonita, its good to see you of course. Nice to see you got into such good shape over seas- almost as good as me." Greasy grins sharply, before you two collide excitedly, so happy to see each other again and you press a quick kiss to his cheek. You picked up the habit when you had a crush on him, in your teenage years. Now its just routine. Yours and Greasy's thing together.

You squeeze his arms one last time, before letting go. "Oh, guys- " Sniffling, all teary and happy, you hide your face and pull yourself together. "Ahh... I'm sorry." Greasy pats your shoulder, as they all chuckle at your show of emotion- not that they're doing hugely better. Psycho blows his nose into his sleeve, teary himself.

Your Dad, although honestly as happy and serene as he can possibly be, with his hands in his pockets and his little baby back, glances off to your luggage still laying amongst bustling travellers a few metres away and the corners of his lips tilt down. "Boys- go get Y/N's stuff. I don't want it gettin' stolen."

Finally, you pull yourself together. "I brought someone I want you to meet! My friend Chase, he's- he's only stopping off here before moving on to his home further inland. And I was hoping he could have dinner with us tonight? Just, cuz, you know, its both our first night back?"

Your Dad squints at the guy who looks like he's guarding our luggage, as Stupid and Wheezy go and collect it. "That green bean there?"

"He's talllllllllllllllllllll," Psycho comments, giggling as he judges Chase.

"Yep, him." You agree, hoping your father is okay with it. you would hate to leave Chase alone in his apartment the days before his flight. He needs a good, family cooked meal for his first night off the ship!

"Yeah I guess." Smart Ass sighs, shrugging and sighing. "I just got noise resistant headphones- I don't gotta communicate with no one."

You grin. "Thank you, Dad!"

"Whatever."

"A boy?" Greasy pipes up, curiously from beside you. You look over and find him sizing Chase up, then turns to you and smiles weakly- a pale imitation of a teasing smirk. "You brought home a handsome boy?"

Rolling your eyes, you pat him on the back before heading over to Chase; not thinking much at all of Greasy's comment of the odd look on his face. "One, he's a man." Greasy rolls his eyes. "And he's just a friend! Wait here guys, I'll bring him over!"

___Greasy's POV___

"Hmmm... a friend." I shake my head, crossing my arms as watch Y/N interact with this 'Chase'. She picks up one of his bags for him and flashes him one of her pretty smiles, and he watches her move on ahead of him back to us. Por supuesto. For sure.

I watch him as a nauseous feeling rolls in my gut. I know that watch. That is not a 'friend' watch. If he was but a friend, he would be more concerned about the loose wooden board he's standing on rather then the chica's behind.

Perhaps I should tell Smartass what that boy is looking at-

As they come over, the nauseous, grinding feeling in me just gets stronger and I decide against opening my mouth to speak. I'm afraid of whatever might come out- I've never been good at withholding my... feelings.

Its only when the boy catches up to her, and us, and he puts an arm over Y/N's shoulders as she introduces us, and I stiffen up like a wooden plank, that I identify the feeling.

Its something I certainly shouldn't be feeling.

Not about Y/N.

The boss will kill me.

Maybe I can ignore it. Wish it away. Its probably just that I haven't been with a woman in a while, now... Si, that must be it. I am desperate. I good night or two with a lovely lady and I'll be fine.

But then the boy kisses Y/N's cheek and I only just manage to swallow the growl that fights to be torn from the back of my throat at the sight, and I realise immediately that this is going to be more complicated then that.

Far more complicated.

"And this is Greasy! Greasy, Chase." Y/N introduces us brightly, presenting him like he's important and Chase good-naturedly offers his hand to me. All I see though is the devil.

"Nice to meet ya! Y/N's told me about you, I hope we can get along." He beams while I glower, not moving at all to take up his hand.

Oh I doubt that we will, 'Chase', I truly do.

"So Chika!" Promptly I turn to Y/N, a smile on my face as I slip between them and wrap an arm around Y/N, leading her up ahead of the others and especially him. "You haven't told us about your travels much- Psycho ate your last postcard. We have to discuss!"

She glances back, concernedly, at Chase but I just prod her to start talking.

Maybe I can right off these feelings as protectiveness... like I'm supposed to be. I watched this girl grow up and I want her to be happy! I'm like... a... father...

My stomach rolls at the idea, but I swallow the horror down. I have to.

[cellard0ors]

Ficlet: Beneath The Blue

Mermay isn't over and people enjoyed Part 1, so here's some more...

Rhett has a bit of a gambling problem.

No, that's not quite right. More like a gaming problem. He likes games. He likes the rush of winning and it's not so much about money as the thrill of nailing a dart on a bullseye or getting a hole in one or - well - being right.

He really loves that one. Trivia, guessing games, riddles - lucking out on the right answer or just knowing it, always makes him feel fantastic. He's had marginal luck in his life. With basketball, with singing, and now - with his new current career - fishing, but games?

Rhett's always mastered those, rarely ever a loser. But the thing is, to do those things, he tends to have to use cash as an entry to play, thus - a sort-of-not-really gambling problem.

And winning in those kind of situations is also a problem, because, after some time - it tends to attract...attention. And usually the bad kind. Recently it was very much the bad kind, because he was at The 101, engaging in his normal play only to be snatched up by some very rough looking characters.

Ones who took him into a backroom and decided to skip right over the 'broken knuckles' threat and jump right into the 'you're going to go sleep with the fishes' threat.

To be fair, they probably went quickly into the decision once he started fighting back. Rhett's not much of a brawler, but he's a big guy and that in and of itself can create...issues. Especially if his temper is up.

Long story short - Rhett's bit of a gambling problem led him to being clonked over the head (more than once, matter of fact) and taken out to sea. His last real memory before hitting the water was that he'd been amazed at the boulder they'd found to attach him to - where had they gotten such a huge rock from? A landfill?

Not that it mattered - rock, rope, and Rhett all went overboard and into the deep. Rhett tried not to hold his breath, to struggle enough just to get loose, but, in the end - he'd been lost.

Except he hadn't been.

He'd awoken to find the setting sun bathing him in golden light and, above him, an angel. Because only an angel could have such eyes. Eyes as blue and deep and mysterious as the sea he was supposed to have died in.

His throat ached from damn near drowning but he'd still managed to ask the angel for his name. And he'd gotten it.

Link.

But then the angel had turned, vanished, and Rhett had seen that - while he was right about his mythical savior - he was not at all right about what kind.

Because Link had a tail.

A fish tail.

One as sparkling blue and captivating as his eyes and he'd disappeared into the surf so fast, Rhett began to question his sanity.

Had he imagined it all? The entire experience had been traumatic as heck - maybe it was just a coping mechanism for his mind? But then, far out, he'd seen a head appear above the waters.

Seen it and a shy wave and he'd waved back, because what else could he do? He wasn't dead and he wasn't crazy. He'd been saved. Saved...by a mermaid (merman?) named Link.

Which leads to now and his camping out full time on this small rocky stretch of lonely beach. Rhett made sure to check in with the local marina, see if it was okay for him to dock his tiny fishing boat, The Bluegrass, nearby. And 'nearby' was about a mile or so away, because this bit of land is pretty unoccupied and small.

...the perfect place for a merman (mermaid?) to drop off someone they saved. And, hopefully, return to? Rhett's not sure - honestly, this whole thing might be a fool's errand, but either way - he has a tent pitched and is waiting.

Waiting to see if Link returns.

Night after night seems like a failure. Still, Rhett doesn't mind. He can be patient. His last haul (fish-wise, not gambling-wise) earned him a considerable amount, so there's no harm in waiting.

Still, as he sits here now, the sky a lovely lilac as the sun dips low beneath the horizon, he can't help but feel like time's running out. Honestly, what did he expect? For Link to return and want to...what? Be best friends?

The person...creature...per-creature? Did what he could and Rhett should just be grateful and move on. But there was something about him...and those eyes...and that voice...

Rhett cracks open another can of soda, takes a deep sip when he hears it. The water's waves have become almost a white noise at this point, so consistent, but this...this is different. Just a little splish. Or splash. Or whatever.

And it's close. He puts the can down and quickly surges to his feet, looking out intently over the water and then he sees it. Just the top of someone's head. His head. Dark wet hair and blue eyes behind...are those glasses? And Rhett can't see his nose or anything else, but he can see enough to cry out, "Hey!"

The head rears back, sinks some, and Rhett feels a surge of panic, not wanting to lose this opportunity, "No! Wait, wait! Link! I-!"

The head stops, goes still. Rhett continues on, desperate for this to continue, "Please...don't go."

He doesn't.

Bolstered, Rhett continues, hoping he's heard, understood, "I...I just-? You saved me."

Link simply blinks.

"Thank you."

There's a bobbing in the water around him and Rhett's pretty sure Link nodded. Rhett edges just that little bit closer, "I...I'd hoped you'd come back. Not only so I could thank you, but so...um...maybe-? Maybe we could-? Could talk-?"

Link sinks a little more again, but Rhett can still see his eyes and, as long as he can see those, he feels okay, "I mean...you-you came back. Right? So-so maybe you'd-? You'd like to talk too?"

Link's head disappears.

Rhett feels his heart break. But then he notices that the water is moving. There's a rippling, the kind he sees when fish swim close to the surface. As if to punctuate that thought, the broad tip of a blue tail rises up and out, pushing against the waves.

He's swimming closer!

Rhett resists the urge to hoot in delight, to pumping his arms in victory, as Link pushes forward and, on the next movement of water, he surges upwards - his whole head visible now.

Link's entire face is nice.

A strong jaw, a good nose, a very fine mouth and yeaaaah, Rhett doesn't want Link to swim off, so he's going to do his very best not to focus on that mouth too much as he says, "I'm-I'm Rhett."

Link licks his lips, dips his head shyly, "I'm Link."

"Y-Yeah, you-you said..."

They both just sort of eyeball one another, both clearly unsure of what to make of the other. Of how to proceed. Eventually Rhett does, "So, ah, you're-? You're a mermaid?"

Link's eyebrows rise.

"Merman?"

"Just Mer," Link clarifies, "Our kind doesn't really attach those bits on the end there."

"Really?"

Link nods, "Humans came up with that one."

"Oh? We-we did?"

Another nod, "Back when we first used to come across one another."

"...take it that doesn't really happen now?"

"Not really. No."

Another awkward silence falls. Rhett scratches at one cheek, struggling for something else to say when Link blurts, "You're hairy."

Rhett lowers his hand and - much to his own surprise - he bursts out laughing. Link colors some and he gives a bashful smile and okay, Rhett said he wasn't going to pay too much attention to that mouth, but it's hard when it's so danged cute, "Yeah, yeah I am, brother."

"Bro-ther?" Link repeats and it's clearly a word he's unfamiliar with. Rhett beams, "'Brother'. We use it for family members. Y'know, the boys born from the same Momma and such. Can be a term of endearment too."

"Oh..." Link seems pleased with this and Rhett grins, "You got one?"

Link's eyebrows knit together and Rhett explains, "A brother? Or-or some other family or-?"

"I was spawned from another Mer. She came to shore to give birth to me."

Rhett's eyes grow wide, "You-? You were born on land?"

Link nods, "Most of us are. Mers walk between both worlds more often than not."

Rhett lets that one wash over him even as Link comes closer. Rhett can see his tail better now. It's amazing. Glossy and sparkling blue, the scales tightly knit. Rhett's first reaction is wanting to touch it but he quickly shutters that idea - recognizing it as beyond rude. They've just started talking to one another, for goodness sake!

Still, seeing it rest against the wet sand of the shoreline is tempting and seeing it move, more so. It slides and slithers, but in such an enticing way. Rhett moves a little closer, foam teasing at his toes as Link looks up (and up) at him, "Hard to talk at this level..."

Rhett realizes he probably looks like a giant at Link's angle, the Mer practically lying at his feet, so he lowers himself down until his butt hits the sand, crossing his legs at the ankles, "Better?"

Link nods and Rhett does a bit of a wiggle backward to avoid getting his khaki cargo shorts wet. There's an amused smirk around Link that says he recognizes that action. But of course he does - Mers, apparently, can traverse between land and sea.

So, Link is probably aware of how clothing works. Has he ever worn clothing? Come to the shore? Rhett wants to ask so many questions, but isn't sure what's appropriate and what isn't, but Link beats him to the questioning, "Are you a fisherman?"

Rhett lets out a strained 'Ah-?' as he immediately realizes that the true answer will no doubt insult his new acquaintance, but, again, Link beats him to the punch, "You've got the attire for it. Flannel shirt, baseball cap..."

Rhett frowns, "You think fisherman have a particular attire?"

"To my recollection..." The remark makes Rhett chuckle again, unable to help himself, "'Recollection' - you sound so danged southern. Just like me. I was born and raised in North Carolina."

Link beams, "That's where I was spawned! My sire came from the same location. Not all Mers are from the sea. Some reside in lakes, rivers - any water deep enough to conceal us, but a lot of us return to the ocean, considering its the biggest body of water."

Rhett lets that sink in even as Link again asks, "So, you are a fisherman, right?"

"Um-?"

"It's okay if you are," Link assures him, folding his arms and resting his chin there, "It's not really a proud profession amongst my kind, but it's understandable."

Rhett's lips twitch from side to side, "So I'm not, like, catching up your friends or something?"

Link snorts, "What - you think we talk to them?"

"Heck, man - I don't know how it works," Rhett lets out a peal of nervous giggles, getting the idea that Link is teasing him. Link returns the laugh and Rhett relaxes as a realization settles in.

Whether or not Rhett wants to admit it, he did want Link to return. He wanted him to return and be his friend and it appears that that is indeed what is happening.

It's happening and Rhett couldn't be any happier.

[spencers-dria]

Completely Fantastic

Someone To Stay Ch. 8

Spencer x fem reader

The next morning you wake up and start packing as you prepare for the drive back home. You take your hair out of the bun you had slept in, leaving it with some long loose waves. You throw on a long, flowing navy and white maxi skirt with a navy tank top and some strappy sandals. You are feeling particularly in touch with your bohemian side after a weekend spent in the great outdoors.

After filling up on a quick breakfast, you grab your bags and head out to the car. You look to Spencer. "Is it okay if I drive?"

He appreciates you asking. No one ever does. They just assume.

"Sounds good!" He tosses his keys over to you. After filling the trunk with both of your bags, you scoot into the driver's side and adjust the seat and mirrors. You may be tall, but Spencer was much taller.

As you pull out of the driveway and make your way down the road, Spencer looks towards you.

"I'm guessing you want music. I don't really have much. If you hand me your phone I can put on whatever you like."

You unlock your phone and hand it to him, smiling at the kind gesture. Seems like he catches on quick.

"Hmm" you think out loud. "Well, I know you haven't listened to quite as much as me so we have a lot of genres to cover on this car ride. We'll start with the 70's and go from there. Just put it my 70's playslist on shuffle. We'll let my phone pick for us."

Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac comes on. A smile of content spreads across your face. You reach into the compartment above your rear view mirror and grab what you liked to call your "John Lennon Sunglasses". They're rosy and oversized and perfect for your current mood. You roll the windows down and let the wind whip through your hair, resting your elbow out the window. Sunshine warms your skin as you listen to the incredibly talented Stevie Nicks.

After a few more songs you ask him to flip to the 80's playlist on shuffle. As Forever Young by Alphaville comes on, you see a look of recognition on Spencer's face.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you were an 80's baby! 80's pop is some of my very favorite."

He smiles and nods. You get it. There's something oddly comforting about nostalgic music from your childhood. You let the rest of the 80's playlist finish, since you both seem to enjoy it.

Eventually Spencer turns in his seat to face you.

"I had a lot of fun this weekend." He states this with a fairly serious look on his face.

"Yeah me too! Is everything okay though? You look like you have more to say?"

He continues, while fiddling with his hands and hair and staring down at his lap. He's clearly nervous.

"It's uh j-just...would you...well would you want to be friends? I know that's p-probably an odd question I just, well I enjoy hanging out with you. Since I don't see you at my uh place of work I wasn't really sure the c-correct protocol for..."

You reach over and squeeze his hand to cut him off, since you can see he's clearly only making himself more anxious.

"Hey" you give him a reassuring smile.

"We're already friends. I think we have no choice but to continue hanging out. I mean, we just get along to well, it's not really up to me" you joke.

The both of you laugh and he seems to relax again. He squeezes your hand back as a thank you. Before you return it to the steering wheel.

"How do you feel about a weekly movie night?"

His eyes light up at the idea before clouded over, clearly thinking it through.

"My job..." he starts before you cut him off.

"I know, Spencer. Don't stress. My job schedule is inconsistent too. I mean, I get my schedule given to me six weeks at a time but, I work different sets of days each week. It's completely random. But that means I have four days off a week so I like our chances. And if some weeks it doesn't happen, that's ok too. You go save lives, and I'll help heal them. It's what we do."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise before responding.

"Oh well you've thought of everything, huh?"

You shrug, trying to conceal a smirk. "Maybe."

He looks to you. "Ok so what will be watching first?"

"Hmm, I'll let you pick first. And we can trade off?"

"Well I don't know how into fandoms you are but... would you mind if we watched some of Harry Potter?"

Usually your face is a huge giveaway to what you were thinking, and not just to FBI profilers. In this instance, you were incredibly determined to keep a straight face and not let on a single thing.

You just give a small nod as you keep your eyes on the road, expressionless.

"Sure, we can do that."

"Ok, so when and where? Or do you have that planned too?"

"Well..." you think for a minute before extending the offer. You don't want to scare off your newest friend.

"I'm free tonight if you'd like. We can unpack and maybe sneak in a nap first?" You glance over to gauge his reaction.

He smiles and nods, on board with the idea.

"Yeah, and I can meet back at your place at 5? Want me to bring anything? The DVD's?"

"Oh no it's fine! I'm pretty sure I saw them on Amazon or YouTube TV..." you respond, still trying to control your face. You really wanted to fool the genius profiler.

Spencer asks to borrow your blanket before curling up in the passenger seat and taking a nap the rest of the way home. It was too adorable. You couldn't help yourself. As you pulled up to a red light, you snap a quick picture of him. You also take a selfie with you making goofy faces, Spencer sleeping in the background.

You gently shake him awake after parking outside of your building. You grab your bags out of the back and wave to him as he backs the car out.

Once in the apartment, you take Juneau out for a quick walk. The dog sitter had given you detailed  updates while you'd been away. You throw your weekend bags in the closet and hop in the shower. After drying your hair, you throw on a Black Borgin and Burke's T shirt and some black leggings and get to work.

It's September which, for you, meant the Halloween decor was abundant. You plug in all of your purple, green, and orange string lights placed all around your living room and kitchen. You light several candles you have scattered amongst your Halloween decor. Your shelves are lined with pumpkins, potion bottles, and various skeleton items.

You pop in your guest room to make sure it looks presentable. You're fairly sure he won't be expecting anything like what he's walking into tonight. On one hand, if it scares him off then it was bound to happen eventually. But if he doesn't mind...well maybe this friend is in it for the long haul.

You grab two butterbeer mugs and set them on the counter next to an assortment of flavored hot chocolate packets. You also set out microwave popcorn and a bowl of Halloween candy.

You decide to do one last thing, really hoping Spencer won't think you're completely insane. It's not long before you hear a knock at the door.

You open it, wearing your Ravenclaw robe and your glasses which just so happen to look a bit like Harry Potter's.

Spencer's brow wrinkles in confusion before he starts laughing.

"So I'm guessing you've seen Harry Potter before!" He says after finally catching his breath.

"Ummm..." you smile and just take his hand pulling him through your apartment till you reach your guest bedroom.

His eyes widen as he looks around at all your Halloween decorations. Before he can comment he's standing speechless in the doorway.

He looks around to see a completely Harry Potter themed guest bedroom, filled with creatures, books, wands, and more.

"Yeah Spencer, I've seen the movies" you finally say, letting out a laugh you've been holding back.

He looks stunned. "How did I... but you..."

"Yeah I'm usually pretty bad at hiding things so I have no idea how I pulled this one over on you. Aren't you supposed to read people for your job?" You joke with him, nudging his side with your elbow.

He's still just standing there, eyes wide, taking it all in. He walks over to the book shelf to flip through what you have.

"You have the potions book?...the maurader's map?...even the Quibbler?"

You just shrug, smiling as you watch him look around.

"So you don't think I'm completely crazy?"

"I think you're completely fantastic!" He blurts out, blushing a bit after he says it.

You bite your lip as you say " I may or may not also have the movies on DVD in 4K...to watch on my new TV."

He steps back into the living room to see where the two of you will be spending the rest of the night.

"Oh, this is going to be perfect!"

He takes a moment to finally take in the complete explosion of Halloween across your home.

"I hired Jack Skellington as my decorator" you snicker, making fun of yourself a bit.

He turns to you, eyes wide once again. "You like Halloween too?" He reminds you of an eager little kid with the look on his face.

You answer him with an eager nod and a grin.

"Y/N, I think it's pretty clear that we were meant to be friends! Where have you been all my life?" He laughs.

You don't know why, but you feel yourself turning red at hearing this comment.

You prepare some hot chocolate and popcorn for the two of you while Spencer sets up the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Oh I almost forgot, I brought something!" Spencer pulls something out of his sweater pocket. He has handfuls of Ghirardelli chocolates.

"Are those Rossi's? From the trip?"

"I have know idea what you're talking about." He states with a smirk as he plops down onto the couch, tossing you one. You lean back against the opposite end, leaving you room to both stretch your legs out and share a blanket.

You try your best not to quote the movie that you know by heart, but you just can't help it. Then you look over and see Spencer mouthing along with the lines. You give him a small kick under the blanket.

"I bet you could do a one man show of these movies, Mr. eidetic memory." You giggle.

"From the looks of it, so could you. We could take our show on the road. We'd make millions."

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter. With Spencer, you're always smiling.

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 10

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 4,500

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About 4 hours later, George stirred awake as she began getting hit in the face with the bright morning sun. She was surprised to find Sam driving, with Dean passed out next to him. Castiel looked like he hadn't moved an inch since she'd closed her eyes and she smiled at his resolve. When she finally shifted, she noticed a large unfamiliar, tan jacket laying across her lap.

Reaching up to lightly touch Sam on the shoulder, gently alerting him to her presence, she whispered, "What time is it?"

"Hey, morning. A little after six. You doing OK? Need to pee?" He teased gently and she smiled.

"I'm alright at the moment, though I wouldn't turn down a chance to stretch my legs." She sat up in her seat, stretching as much as she could without invading Cas' space. Sam watched in the rear view as she crossed her arms above her head and arched her back for a stretch. He caught himself admiring the way the fabric of her shirt lifted up just enough for him to catch a fleeting glimpse of the skin on her waist. There was more bright ink peeking out from the top of her khakis, he noticed. She released the stretch much too soon in his opinion and then leaned over to pick up the jacket that had fallen off of her lap. She held it up questioningly to Sam and he adjusted himself in his seat, clearing his throat.

"Oh, that's, uh-mine." He stuttered, reaching back and taking it from her outstretched hands. "The backseat can get cold."

"Mm," She smiled and nodded appreciatively. "Thanks. How long have you been driving?"

"Just about 3 hours. I could use a stretch myself; I think there's a rest stop ahead a few miles." She nodded lazily, still brushing off the sleep, and looked over at Cas.

"You been keeping a weather eye out, Castiel?" She asked teasingly.

"Yes ma'am. Can never be too careful with these two." As nervous as she made him, he actually liked George. She eagerly included him in conversation and car games, which he wasn't used to. He also enjoyed her attempts to banter with him and he was getting better at deciphering them and even participating.

"Good man." She patted his shoulder appreciatively.

Cas nodded in solidarity, then he raised an eyebrow at her inquisitively. George smiled and raised both her eyebrows in response, waiting for him to speak. Based on his expression, she assumed he wanted to ask her a question. When he didn't speak, she raised her eyebrows more to encourage him. He darted his eyes to Sam; his face dropped quickly.

George followed his gaze to Sam and was startled at the daggers he was staring at Cas. She asked, "What? What's with the eyes?"

When Sam noticed her looking, he dropped his angry face and shrugged, "Nothin'? No eyes." Cas shrugged awkwardly in agreement. George looked between the two of them skeptically. She knew what she saw.

Narrowing her eyes, she demanded, "What?"

"Nothing," Cas stated with an incredibly unconvincing tone. George's head whipped to look at Sam as he rolled his eyes at Cas before he could stop himself.

She was annoyed now, "Seriously, guys-what?! Do I have a zit? Was I drooling in my sleep or-?" Her face fell suddenly and she winced, "Did I say something embarrassing?" She'd had partners mention her sleep talking once or twice and she'd been having a strangely vivid dream about Sam just before the sunshine woke her up. Considering the content, she prayed she hadn't said anything.

At her question, Cas and Sam exchanged a confused look. They both shook their heads as Sam answered, "Nope, no drooling, no talking. And no zits," he ended with a smirk.

George looked relieved for a moment and then frowned, "Then what? Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked Cas and then looked at Sam, "And why are you trying to keep him quiet?"

Sam pulled an innocent face, "I'm not-"

"Save it, dude! I saw you," George laughed at his innocent-little-brother face. "What's goin' on?"

Cas folded, "We were just wonder-"

Sam cut him off with a "No!" so loud that Dean startled awake with a snort.

"The hell?" Dean grumbled. Sam sighed defeatedly. He knew it was too late to stop the inevitable now, but he'd really tried. This was going to be painful.

"I believe your thug brother is threatening Castiel into keeping secrets," George stated annoyedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Dean responded with a confused, "Huh?"

Castiel explained, defensively, "I was just trying to ask George if she's a 'Deangirl' or a 'Samgirl'."

George's eyes went wide. Large, angry red splotches began to appear on her pale cheeks and a sweat broke out on her brow. Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly, clenching his jaw and looking mortified.

Dean let out a loud, "Ha!" Chuckling, he sat up right and murmured, "Definitely glad I got woken up for this."

"What?" Cas huffed, seeing everyone's reactions. "I know you said we weren't supposed to say anything when she woke up, but you two were having a lively discussion about it earlier and I j-"

George choked on nothing and sputtered, "The two of you were having a lively discussion about wheth-" Dean and Sam both pulled the same innocent expression, though Dean couldn't hide his glee.

Sam cut her off with a stutter, "We weren't-It-it wasn't exactly-there was no-"

Dean shook his head, cutting him off with a matter-of-fact, "We were just trying to explain to Cas more about the reality you came from-with the show and everything? Naturally the subject of the fans came up..."

"They weren't sure which 'girl' designation you fell into. I didn't see what the issue was with just politely asking?"

"It's not a polite question, Cas!" George snapped in humiliation.

"Oh…" He frowned, "why not?"

"Because!" She explained fully.

"There are just some things you don't ask a woman, Cas," Dean offered with a bemused chuckle.

Cas' brows furrowed, looking curiously at George, "Does this question somehow relate to your age or menstrual cycle?"

"Sweet Jesus," George laughed to keep from crying in embarrassment, hiding her face behind her hands. She knew this was how Cas was but she wasn't prepared to experience his naivete in real life. The Kegel comments she could handle but this was beyond.

Sam desperately tried to re-rail the train wreck that was happening, "Cas, what Dean meant to say was, there are some things you shouldn't ask people. Humans, in general. Private things."

"Mortifying things," George groaned from behind her hands.

Cas was still confused, "And asking someone whether they're a 'Samgirl' or a 'Deangirl' is private?"

George dropped her hands and nodded emphatically, "In the context of our current situation, yes!"

"Why?"

"Because!" When he looked at her with a patient expression on his face she realized he'd need more than that. "Because… because…" she looked to Sam and Dean for help but neither one offered any. "Ugh, because it's the same as asking... 'Hey, Cas, if you had to, who would you rather sleep with, Dean or Sam?'"

"Don't answer that," Dean said slowly, with a frown.

"Not so amusing now, is it?" George smirked triumphantly at him.

"Well, I don't sleep but if you're saying I have to, then I guess I'd rather not-sleep with Sam," Castiel determined, after some thought.

"What?!" Came a half offended, half surprised echo from the front.

George's eyes lit up with far too much glee, "Oooooh?"

"Yes, definitely Sam," He nodded, more sure than before. Seeing their expressions - George's filled with joy, Dean's slightly hurt, and Sam pleasantly shocked - he explained, "Dean is an angry sleeper. The risk of getting shot is high. Sleeping-or not-with Sam would be far safer."

"Oooh, darn!" George laughed disappointedly at Cas' unexpected-yet-entirely-expected literal interpretation. The brothers looked relieved and also mildly amused.

Cas was lost, "I fail to understand what this has to do with-"

Dean 'ughed' deeply before explaining, "It's about sex, Cas." Sam cringed, eyes focused on the road. George groaned painfully and turtled her head inside her shirt as much as possible. "You essentially asked George which one of us she'd rather have sex with. Which-while incredibly entertaining for me-is a personal question," he finished uncharacteristically kindly.

George peeked her eyes out, surprised to see the sincere look on Dean's face, "Hmm, that actually wasn't as bad as I thou-"

Sam cut her off with a quiet, knowing, "Wait for it."

Just as George made eye contact with Dean he added, "I mean, it's none of our business how much sex George wants to have with Sam."

"And there it is," Sam finished knowingly with a frustrated eye roll.

"Ass!" George shrieked and punched Dean in the shoulder before retreating back into her shirt. Dean laughed heartily, flinching a bit.

"So, anyway," Sam began helpfully, trying to change the subject. "I'm kinda curious how much the show-the one of us, in-in your reality-how much it matches up with our real lives?"

George slowly came out of her shirt, blinking quickly, and thought for a moment, "Uhm, well I don't really know. I mean I've watched the show but like I said before, I wasn't the biggest fan in terms of… for lack of a better term, 'the lore' of it. I know bits and pieces here and there, but I'm by no means an expert."

"But you don't have the books?" Dean followed up curiously.

"The books are in the show, but I'm pretty sure they aren't published in… my 'real life'-who knows what the hell that is anymore. If I understand correctly, each book was supposed to equate to one episode in a season of the TV show. The published books stopped when Dean went to hell right?" Dean grumbled a yes and George continued, "OK, for the TV show that's the end of season three."

"How many seasons are there?" Dean asked curiously.

"Uhh, I think fifteen, so far?" Had it been canceled? She couldn't remember.

"Fifteen?! People have been watching our lives for-" Dean cut off and took a breath. "I can't decide if I'm annoyed that people are watching our boring ass lives for that long or that our lives are dramatic enough to be a television show for that long."

"What season did we come to your reality?" Sam wondered. Dean 'ughed' loudly at the memory.

With an amused shake of her head, she answered, "Season six, I think? Such a great episode! That whole season was pretty solid, actually. A great combination of funny yet emotionally gripping. I think that was also Cas and Meg kissing-" She looked at Cas earnestly and interjected into her own rambling, "That was awesome-and the posse magnet episode-which, btw, of course, people made shirts of that." For once in this conversation Dean looked happy, giving Sam a pleased expression, which garnered an eyeroll.

"If I'm not mistaken that was also the season with soul-" she was about to say "soulless Sam" but her heart twinged and she realized she couldn't be so flippant with the fandom created monikers anymore. These were no longer just characters, they were, inexplicably, very real people whom she now knew.

And cared about, she heard a tiny voice add.

"Er, it covered Sam's time after hell…without a soul," She grimaced a bit in sympathy, not knowing how best to fill in the blanks.

Sam's face went from startled to shame on a small delay. Further confirmation that she knew of the million awful things he'd done, he grimaced. If she knew everything it could not bode well. The thought filled him with a surprising amount of disappointment.

She'd seen the look on his face and quickly added with a hopeful smile, "And it also covered the time after you got your soul back! Which included the French Mistake!"

"The French Mistake?" Castiel asked.

"The one when they came to my reality!" George grinned and Dean made a yuck face. "You guys had so much great chemistry that episode. Making fun of their names and the alpacas, it was golden. Can't say enough about how hilarious that episode was. I was surprised by the dialogue about their tension on set because that's actually always been rumored to be true. It seems weird that they'd talk about it if it was true, though, so who knows what to think?" The men in the car certainly didn't but they nodded politely and let her ramble. "So, either it's all just stupid rumors and they find it funny or-HOLD ON!" Suddenly her face fell and she looked at Sam in shock upon realizing, "Did you sleep with Jared's wife?"

Three pairs of eyes were boring into Sam and he shrunk down in his seat, looking stunned and stuttering, "Er-I-Uh-You-you know abou-"

"You had sex with fake Ruby?!" Dean was beyond indignant.

"Who's Jared?" Cas asked.

Sam looked mortified and George instantly felt bad about starting them down this path. She hadn't meant to embarrass him, she just failed to think before she spoke sometimes. Especially after realizations like that. Obviously, this whole "Supernatural is real" had more ramifications than she'd realized.

Making a mental note to maybe ask him about it later, she quickly changed the subject, "They were filming the French Mistake when we lost Misha." Frowning sadly, she patted Castiel's knee, "I want you to know I was devastated about that. Misha was my favorite Castiel."

Castiel looked confused, glancing at Sam and Dean, "Thank you?" She smiled and squeezed his knee gently before letting go. "So, in your reality, I'm dead?" Castiel asked with a contemplative look.

"Well…" She paused, trying to think of how to explain it so he would understand, "you're not-er Castiel is not. But the actor who played the vessel you're currently inhabiting is."

"Jimmy Novak?" Castiel confirmed and George nodded a bit.

"That sounds right," She agreed; she'd only seen the episode once so she couldn't be sure. "When Misha died tragically in that horrible stabbing 'accident,' the writers were just going to write Castiel out of the show but the fandom fired upon them with the white hot rage of a Deastiel shipper left unsatisfied," Her eyes were wide with emphasis; Sam snickered, Dean huffed and Castiel was oblivious, "so they quickly brought you back in a new vessel a couple episodes later." {author's note: yes I prefer 'Deastiel', it makes the most sense for the mashup of both their names IMO and it's my story}

The three men considered the scenario for a minute. Sam seemed unsure, Dean wondered what the new actor looked like, and Cas paused, then nodded, "Well, I suppose that makes sense. If I could find another vessel willing and able to hold me I'd want to still be around to help." George smiled at his loyalty. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed MishaCas. The replacement actor was fine but to her, the chemistry was never the same.

George said absentmindedly, "As far as I can tell-though my knowledge is obviously limited-most of the rest of the story line from the show has been the same here? Castiel's the only major difference I recognize."

After a long, pregnant pause, Dean asked tentatively, "So… exactly, how much do you know about us?"

George squinted a little at him and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well… like, do they show everything?"

George smirked and shook her head, "It's basic cable not HBO. Maybe a handful of shirtless scenes but nothing Game of Thrones graphic. The focus of the show is the supernatural-is you guys, hunting and saving and all that, so not really a lot of romantic, naked stuff. The focus of the fandom, on the other hand? Well that's a very different story," She cracked with a chuckle.

The next nine or so hours of their car ride passed fairly uneventfully as George rambled about the show, asking them questions and comparing notes about their lives. Dean took over driving after a pitstop and as the hours turned into nearly day(s), everyone-including Cas-started getting a little punchy, not to mention ripe. Nice, fun friendly games of I-Spy or the license plate game had dissolved into butt-hurt bickering and the silence that returned to the car for the last two hours had been welcomed by everyone.

Finally, though, George caught a road sign for Reno, Nevada - 30 miles and decided she couldn't take it anymore. She was sore, tired, tired of wearing a bra, in desperate need of a shower-or three, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep silently farting and blaming it on Cas. Luckily for her, he remained his usual indifferent self but Dean certainly seemed to be getting suspicious of the smells emanating from the back. She also made the startling realization that she had no change of clothes with her during one of her earlier daydreams about a long hot bath. Hopefully she'd made enough headway with Dean for him not to be too pissed when she mentioned it.

"Hey, I have a fun new game we could try." George paused to allow the three grumpuses to groan in unison before continuing, "it's called let's stop in a real town-say Reno!-and get some actual food and maybe a hotel room for some actual sleep for the first time in 24 hours! Any takers?" She tried to keep her expectations low. "Dean, I bet Reno has great pie."

"You know what George?" Dean began in a mock angry voice, pausing for dramatic effect. "They have some damn good pie in Reno. Remember that one place just off the 659, Sammy? That pie was orgasmic! What was that place called…"

"Brown Cub Diner?" George offered.

"That's it! How'd you know?"

"I'm from Carson City; I grew up around here. Brown Cub Diner is famous in our area. Have you tried their pancakes? They have a special sweet cream batter and those flapjacks just melt in your mouth." She saw Dean's reaction and could almost taste the hot, bubbly bath water and nice soft warm (flat!) mattress. She pressed on, "I think we're only about 30 minutes from there?"

"Ya know Dean, we have been driving for about 24 hours. Obviously, we need to get to Jack but we're of no use to him if we're sore and exhausted. Wouldn't be such a bad idea to take a break, get some good food, take a shower," he gave an exaggerated, unpleasant smell look in George's direction and she swatted his shoulder, "and recharge before hitting the road for the last stretch?" George could have kissed Sam for the assist, even if he did use it as an excuse to call her funky. Rude.

"Fine," Dean huffed and everyone, well Sam and George, Cas was pretty indifferent, celebrated with high fives. "But we're getting pie-and pancakes-first!"

"Uh, if I could just interject one quick additional favor?" George asked, causing Dean to let out a low exasperated, yet questioning growl. "I literally only have the clothes on my back and seeing as how there also happens to be a Target just off the freeway on Sparks Blvd coming up in 2 miles," she pointed to the excellently timed street sign they were passing, "then perhaps we could make a super quick stop so that I could get a change of clothes or two?" It all came out in one breath and she stopped to catch her next. "Pretty please?"

Dean remained silent as he drove the next two miles and George was starting to feel deflated. But when he pulled off the Sparks Blvd exit, she wrapped her arms around his neck from behind for a thank you hug, causing him to swerve slightly and curse before gently sloughing her off. They arrived at Target and Dean parked toward the back, keeping his baby away from any other riff raff cars. Turning off the engine, he then produced a wallet from his back pocket. He dug out a small stack of $20s and handed it to her.

"We typically like to pay for things, Sticky Fingers." Dean began.

"With all your stolen money?" She asked cheekily, because she just couldn't help herself either. He was the quintessential big brother and it set her little sister mode on 11 every time.

He paused and gave her a squinted stare before continuing, "In and out in 30 minutes; those flapjacks are calling my name!"

She thanked Dean for the cash, promising to pay him back before realizing how impossible that was, and the three boys decided to wait in the car while she ran in.

Heading first for the toiletries for some personal essentials, she then doubled back toward the front where she picked up a generic pair of tennies-comfort and function seemed more important than style in her current situation-and a packet of white socks. Next she grabbed up two half-decent bras and a pack of underwear before crossing over to the racks of outerwear. She'd tried to work out in the car how many items she'd need and to keep things conservative she figured a two-three pair of pants and the same amount of plain shirts would suffice. She'd finally settled on two pairs of dark denim boot cut jeans and one pair of black cotton joggers, along with two fitted, v-neck, long sleeved t-shirts, one in navy, one in maroon, a black sleeveless undershirt, and couldn't help grabbing an oversized pink and black madres plaid button down. She also grabbed a black pull over hoodie with the Friends logo, since she knew that the redwoods could get pretty cold and she was stoked that Friends was still a thing in this reality. Lastly, she grabbed a pair of plain, flowy black PJ pants and a large men's pale blue v-neck tee for sleeping, and made her way toward the register.

As she waited in line with her cart, spacing out about whether or not she grabbed too much or not enough of each clothing item, she caught a glimpse of something familiar out of the corner of her eye. Three lanes away from her a short, chubby woman with mousy, short brown and graying hair, wearing a familiar pale green jacket was also checking out. From behind, the woman looked exactly like George's mother and she felt whiplashed back to her reality.

"Mom?" Her voice came out scratchy and quiet as she involuntarily called out to the woman. Part of her felt compelled to scream out, run over and grab her into a hug, listen happily as her mom comfortingly told George that everything was OK and she'd just been dreaming. But she was frozen in place by shock. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the woman-her mother! She was sure of it!-finish her transaction and head for the front door. George looked back at her cart and the money in her hand. She debated with herself for half a second before abandoning the shopping cart and bolting after the pale green jacket that had exited the store and disappeared from her sight. She made chase, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the store and frantically searching the parking lot for the woman.

When George finally spotted her unloading her purchases into a car she didn't recognize, George's stomach dropped. She could now see her face and it was very clear that the lovely middle eastern woman was not her mother. Tears began welling up in George's eyes, her face flushed red from emotion, and she walked over to lean on the building, trying to get a hold of herself.

Her mind was racing and she was trying to catch her breath in her panicked state. She had gotten so swept up in the adventure and insanity of this dreamlike experience that she'd forgotten about her actual life for the past 24 hours. But now that she thought about her old, boring normal life-a life where she wasn't crazy; where she wasn't feeling this constant, strange, unshakable feeling of inaccessible deja vu; where she wasn't carpooling with an angel to go rescue someone from potential death; where she wasn't conversing with Sam and Dean motherfucking Winchester-she wanted to run. All knowledge of how difficult and far-from-perfect her real life had been were forgotten in the moment. She glanced over toward the back of the parking lot where she could still see the Impala parked where she'd left it, then pulled the money out of her pocket, counting through it - $300.

As fate would have it, she spotted a taxi dropping a couple off near the corner of the building and jogged over.

"Are you taking fares?" She bent over to ask the driver as the couple walked away.

"Where you going?"

"Carson City?" George almost hoped the woman would turn her down.

"That's nearly 40 miles away, it's gonna be over $100?" The driver responded, questioningly. George shot one last guilty look back at the Impala before climbing into the back.

"Let's go." She crouched down low in her seat as they exited the parking lot and tried to ignore the intense guilt-nausea building in the pit of her stomach.

[tydy-the-megnet]

"It's impractical!"

"It's awesome!"

Lance and Pidge were having yet another discussion about Lance's newest bayard form as they walked down a barren street. He had it transformed, in full blue scythe mode, and was twirling it around like a flag at band practice.

He was actually quite skilled with it, not that Pidge would ever tell him that.

"You should stick to your guns –as in, your guns, Lance." Pidge sighed, pushing up her glasses as she continued to watch his theatrics with great distain. They were supposed to be hunting a klyber'nar – whatever that was – not goofing around with dangerous and impractical weaponry.

"But watch this!" Lance bent forward and let the scythe twirl blade-first around his neck like an extremely deadly hula hoop. He caught the polearm in both ands and continued the twist in full as he spun in place, letting the light of the bayard leave afterimages in its wake as he did so.

The techie refused to admit how cool it was, instead listing off the vectors and trajectories that the scythe had followed as they walked, and just how close it had come to slicing Lance's head clean off.

"Relax, I actually used a scythe fairly often on my family's farm back home–it's not like I don't have any experience with this sort of thing."

"Even still, it's monumentally stupid."

"Then why are you here, so clearly range?"

"In case you hurt yourself. Someone has to be able to respond immediately when you slit your throat by accident."

"Aw," Lance slammed the arm onto the pavement and heaved himself upward before pole-dancing on it, using the blade as a counterweight to keep the thing upright. "You care about me."

"Someone has to," Pidge sighed, her eyes stuck on Lance's core as it coiled and curved dangerously close to the business end of the weapon. His shirt was riding up, exposing his stomach just the barest bit, and she was sure the cloth would get caught and that Lance would tumble to the floor, causing the scythe blade to swing down and pierce his heart.

Or he'd hit his head on the asphalt.

"You'd be dead by now if we didn't." She added when he dismounted from the reaper with his usual flair.

"You're just jealous because you–watch out!" The bayard's arc went wide, sailing right over Pidge's face, and she went paler than she already was. There was a sickening fwoolk and some thick green liquid sprayed above her head. Alarmed, she glanced up at Lance.

He was looking over her, face void of all merriment as he brought the scythe around a second time. Pidge dove forward and rolled to his side, pivoting on the spot to see what he'd hit.

"The klyber'nar," Coran had said, "It has a large thorax with twenty-seven stomachs and eighteen hearts. It spits acid, so don't let it spit on you. It's teeth aren't sharp, but it can–"

"Weird space hippo!" Lance's cry brought Pidge back to the present. She watched as he spun his bayard faster and faster, the blade continually digging into the – it really did look like a space hippo – klyber'nar's hide. It was bleeding green, and when the liquids fell to the ground Pidge could see steam and bubbling reaction start.

"Be careful, that think doesn't just spit acid, it bleeds it to."

"It what–ah!" Right as Lance said that, klyber blood splashed on his arm and he flinched back. Pidge took her own bayard out, figuring she'd try to detain it or something while Lance delivered a coup de grace, but the blue paladin was way ahead of her.

Lance lunged at the thing, stepping on its head and letting it rear up at a remarkable speed. Lance used that momentum to leap upward, spinning into the sky with his scythe at the ready like a grim reaper.

Time seemed to slow down as Pidge watched Lance. He was silhouetted against a beautiful night sky, looking completely at home among all the stars. His bayard flashed, a light blue glow enveloping the blade as he swung it downward. Driven by his own gravital momentum, Lance dove into a fierce somersault and brought the scythe through the back of the beast's head.

Pidge went slack, wide eyes watching the klyber'ner slump over as Lance yanked the blade free and began idly twirling his scythe around again.

"See?" The boy laughed, "Totally badass."

*nonchalantly begs for a fic where lance secretly has a scythe bayard transformation and he’s a badass with it*