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catchester · 5 years ago

Text

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Epiphany

Authors: @evieplease and @catchester

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Epiphany

I’m not much of a cook. I mean, I can feed myself but that cordon bleu shit is way out of my wheelhouse. I don’t really have the time or patience for it anyway. Tom beats me like a drum in the cooking stakes, but if there’s one thing I can cook perfectly, it’s a steak.

I also make wonderful, fat chips—twice cooked so they’re lovely and crispy outside, but fluffy inside. And I’ve mastered a couple of sauces, but creamy pepper is Tom’s favourite, so we’ll be having that.

I’d also bought a little bit of broccoli to ‘show willing’, as my gran used to say. It was an afterthought, but it looks pretty on the plate, so. . .

Normally I’d cook a ribeye but tonight I was going all out and had bought three, fat, juicy sirloin steaks. I was salivating just thinking about them.

I’d even bought a new dress, a little red dress—a nice companion for my overworked little black dress. I kind of love it. It’s figure hugging, but with a little flirty flare at the hem, and an almost exact match for my crimson Sephora lip stain. Looks great with my boots too. And I know that Tom will appreciate the back view. Just wearing the thing made me want to wiggle my arse for him!

I’d spent much of the day in my workshop, which is just a fancy way of saying the garage I rent near my flat that I store my spares and heavier equipment in. I knew I was pushing things time wise, but I was nervous, okay?

The fresh layer of snow didn't help matters, snarling up traffic and meaning my errand took twice as long as it should have.

I ended up having to leave my chips boiling while I got ready, and kept darting back to poke them with a knife. I was damn lucky I didn't overcook them and end up with mash, but somehow I didn’t.

I had just slid into my new dress when the buzzer went, and I scrambled to do the zip up before Tom and Diana reached my front door.

I didn’t quite make it, and had to greet Diana with my bra strap hanging out. Luckily Tom spotted my predicament and zipped me up the rest of the way, but not before Diana commented on how chilly I must be! But I got a kiss on the back of my neck from Tom, so it’s all good.

My flat might only be two bedrooms, but it was pretty spacious. I’d improved it a lot over the last five years and it was worth a small fortune thanks to London prices. I would never have been able to afford a flat in London if not for my Dad. Growing up, we’d lived in a council house, which Dad bought at a vastly reduced rate back in the 80s when Right to Buy came in. As such, his small mortgage was long paid off, and the prices had skyrocketed over the years, so when all three of his kids had flown the coop, he sold the four bedroom place and bought two flats in the same estate, but different blocks.

We’d drawn up a contract and when I reached what he’d paid for it, he’d transfer ownership to me, or it would come to me on his death, whichever came first. My brothers would get his larger flat to share between them. Good luck to ‘em! Those boys haven’t agreed on anything but the MCU since they were ten and twelve, and I can just about predict the rows they’ll have deciding to renovate or sell Dad’s place. I plan on sitting back and enjoying the show.

One of my improvements to my place was to knock down the wall between the living room and kitchen. Where the wall used to be I kept a narrow, oblong table that folded out into one that could comfortably seat four. My extra folding chairs were kept in a cupboard. In my defence, they’re very nice folding chairs and I have cushions I can tie on…

How naff. I’d hang my head in shame, but I know Diana will appreciate the irony.

Thank god I hadn't had time to worry like this earlier, or they’d likely have arrived to find me sloshed again! Speaking of which...

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked, my stomach swooping, suddenly realising I should have picked up an extra bottle of wine! Bollocks! Wait, didn’t I have a nice one Tom bought as a gift a few months ago lurking at the back of a cupboard somewhere? I’d have to get it in the fridge ASAP.

“I don't have any red wine, I’m afraid, only rosé.” I worried my lip. I’m not really a fan of red wine, but red meat goes with red wine, and Diana would know that!

“Oh lovely, I like a nice rosé.” Diana to the rescue! God, I love that woman. She’s so polite.

I did find the bottle Tom had brought around before. It too was pink, but it was prosecco, not wine. Aah well, maybe that would work better as a dessert wine. Or, with luck, a fizzy celebration wine. I put it in the top of the fridge and opened the cold bottle of rosé.

“Here you go.” I handed them each a glass, but decided to have a beer myself so the wine would go further. I did decant my bottle contents into a tall glass for a change though because I’m at least attempting to be civilised tonight.

“You have a lovely home,” Diana said as I sat down on my L-shaped unit. It was a bargain I’d found on freecycle then re-upholstered, but it was a quality piece and looked expensive.

It’s not that I can’t afford a new sofa, even an expensive one—my business does well and my rent to my Dad is whatever I want to pay him. I pay quite a lot because I want him to get his investment in the flat back quickly, but he wouldn't mind at all if I took a whole year off payments because he trusts me. Plus, he’s semi retired now so all he does is answer the phones and do the books, for which he claims 30% of the profits. He started the business so I don’t begrudge him, and it means he isn't desperate for my rent as his income.

The real reason I upcycled my sofa is that she had such lovely bones, and I love crafty activities. After the renovations on the flat were done, I’d set about finding pieces I could give new life to. My bed mattress was brand new, but the headboard was second hand and recovered in a print to compliment the aqua and white paint in there. I’d stripped the old varnish off the wood parts and stained it new.

I asked Diana about the exhibition she was going to see and she explained it was actually a workshop where she’d be learning something called blackwork embroidery. I’d gathered from looking around her home that she was quite arty, but I hadn’t realised she enjoyed crafting too. It was nice to know we had something in common and I told her about a couple of my projects in the flat. I even told her the story of stapling my finger to the sofa she was sitting on, the very first time I used an upholstery gun, and she told me about some of her past projects.

After topping up their glasses, I began preparing the meal, but I could still chat to them as I worked. They wanted their steaks medium, which everyone defines differently but after some probing I determined that they liked it red inside, but not bloody cold, which was my preference too. Okay, maybe I like mine a little bloody, but it went on the skillet only 60 seconds after theirs.

I served my very fat chips in a sort of jenga tower with the middle bricks missing, being very careful not to wipe my greasy fingers on my red dress, then the steaks, a very healthy dollop of peppercorn sauce, and the broccoli topped with a knob of butter on the side.

“You led me to believe you weren’t a very good cook,” Diana gently chided me as we ate.

“I’m not,” I assured her. “I know how to cook, like, three things really well, this, lasagne, and a cheesecake, which we’re having for desert. Everything else falls somewhere between okay and inedible.”

“Do not ask her to cook fish,” Tom winked at me conspiratorially.

I laughed. He’d once said something about liking salmon, so I got a recipe and tried to cook it for him. It was all new to me, the only fish Dad or the boys would eat came from the fish and chips shop down the corner. Unfortunately no matter what I did the stuff tasted like dirt! Very fishy dirt! I ended up over seasoning, then overcooking it so much that it dried out and it really was inedible.

And it still tasted like dirt!

We’d ordered a curry instead.

“Well, these potatoes are amazing, you must give me the recipe,” Diana told me, smiling warmly at me.

It wasn't hard, so I explained it to her as we ate.

As well as complimenting me, Diana ooh’d and ah’d as she ate. Tom just ate steadily as if afraid someone might nick his plate if he slowed down, glancing up at me with a warm appreciative smile now and then, so I think they genuinely liked it.

Good, Diana would probably not like it if I poisoned her boy.

Talk of the salmon disaster naturally led onto other food related disasters, and I quickly learned I was in good company.

“Do you remember when you left some steaks out to defrost?” Tom asked his mum.

Apparently their neighbour’s cat had neatly chewed away all but the rind of fat while they were in the garden. Then there was the story of a time they’d been visiting a friend, and another friend’s dog had eaten the shepherd’s pie they were to be served!

The Guinness pie was my favourite story though. It was apparently a steak pie made with Guinness gravy, that Diana loved as a child. It was her father’s recipe, basically the only thing he cooked, and then only once or twice a year, on special occasions. She swore she followed the recipe her father gave her to the letter but it was awful.

“Turned my stomach, honestly,” she admitted, turning pink even after all these years.

Tom was grinning. “She served us all first, then she realised she’d forgotten the pot of English mustard and told us to all tuck in. Well we did, and there’s me, my sisters and my dad just looking at each other. We all knew she’d spent all day on this and was really looking forward to it. None of us had the heart to tell her we couldn't eat it. She came back and we all plastered smiles on and told her how wonderful it was, while helping ourselves to carrots.”

“That should have been my first clue,” Diana laughed. “Honestly, you’d have thought this one was allergic to vegetables, given how hard he tried to avoid them, and there he was larding his plate with carrots!”

“Then she took one mouthful and her face just turned grey,” Tom laughed. Diana reached out and playfully smacked his shoulder.

“I still tried it a second and third time, in case I’d made a mistake, although I didn't make the family try it. I thought that perhaps the stout needed to marinate longer, or be cooked at a higher temperature so it burned off, but each attempt was just as inedible as my first bite. My father was adamant that he’d given me the exact recipe he used. I gave up in the end and concluded that he must have substituted something else for the stout, possibly something like cider. I’ve tried other recipes with cider gravy over the years but never quite managed to replicate the same taste.”

I cleared the plates from the table but everyone wanted a little break before desert, which was fine with me.

“Has Tom told you about our 12 days gifts?” I asked Diana as I grabbed a box from a kitchen drawer.

Suddenly I had a sort of out of body experience where I was watching myself sit with Tom and his mum, I must be mad for even considering what I was about to do...

“He’s told me all about it,” she grinned. “What a lark! It sounds like you had great fun.”

“We did, but more than that, those gifts, specifically the thought Tom had put into his, had really brought home how much he cares for me.”

I handed Diana a gift box, about 6 inches by four, and maybe two deep. It wasn't wrapped but I had done it up in a fancy ribbon. Eventually she freed it from it’s ribbon prison and opened the lid.

There in the middle, nestling among some tissue paper (which was hiding some printer paper because I didn't have enough tissue paper, and I wasn’t using bog paper) sat a ring box.

“This looks interesting,” she murmured, reaching for the ring box.

I could hardly hear her over the hammering of my heart, and I couldn’t look at Tom. My hands were sweating, and my leg was jittering under the table.

As I got off my chair, my knees were trembling but I managed to move beside Diana’s chair before I collapsed to my knees. I barely made eye contact with Tom, who looked curious.

“It’s a. . . a ring?”

I had found an incredible rose gold, tungsten ring with a gorgeous burl wood inlay for Tom. I thought it would look warm and elegant on his left hand. It’s unusual, but once I saw it, I couldn’t even look at any bog standard men’s wedding bands. I hope he likes it. Diana’s finger traced thoughtfully over the design, so I think she liked it.

Diana looked up at me, eyebrows up and questions in her eyes. I shuffled around, less gracefully than I’d like until I was on one knee before her, in the traditional pose of a proposer.

I desperately wanted to look at Tom to see his reaction but I didn’t dare. I’d lose my bottle, if I did...

I took the ring box from her, but I was shaking so much I had to hold it with both hands. I cleared my throat, and sternly ordered myself not to tear up out of sheer nerves.

“This last year taught me a lot about Tom and our relationship, and I suppose you could say I’d had an epiphany about how much your son has come to mean to me. With that in mind, Diana, I..” My voice cracked and I had to clear it and try again. “I wonder if you would do me the honour of becoming my Mother-in-Law?

The next three seconds seemed to last an hour. Diana’s mouth opened in surprise as she stared down at the ring. Not unpleasantly surprised, but, oh god, she also wasn't answering me...

I shouldn't have done it this way, I shouldn't have brought Diana into this. I’d just thought it was a funny and quirky way to include her, but of course, she couldn't answer for Tom. This was such a stupid idea!

I saw Diana’s gaze flick in Tom’s direction and still couldn’t look at him. I kept my eyes steady on hers and wished the ground would open up to swallow me whole. Hell, it could take my whole apartment, as long as this nightmare stopped!

I could feel my eyes pricking with tears of humiliation. I should have got drunk again, then I’d probably be passed out and unable to make a fool of myself. Again. I lifted my chin and grabbed courage with both hands, waiting for the verdict.

Suddenly there was an arm around my shoulder and I realised Tom was kneeling beside me.

“Please, Mum, say yes!”

I’ve never felt so much relief as when I heard him say that. I swayed on my knees and my surroundings spun briefly as all the air seemed to rush back into the room.

Diana’s hand moved to her chest, patting it as if she’d had heart palpitations, her eyes twinkling down at me.

“Well I don’t know…” she deliberately drew out her response, the tease! “Don’t you think this is... awfully sudden, dear?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. What was she on about? She looked just exactly like Tom when he was about to spring a horrible pun on me, the same sly little smile lurking about her lips.

“I’m trying to think what those vows would be... ‘Do you, Rocky, take this woman, Diana, as your Awful Wedded Mother-in-Law? To poke and to prod, to stick her nose in where it isn’t wanted, and to generally make herself a pain in your arse? So help you baby Jesus?’

I grinned. Yep, I definitely wanted her! Tom choked beside me, laughing.

“Diana, that is exactly what I had in mind!” I nodded my head hard, my hair bouncing wildly around my head. “So, um, will you?”

Diana reached down and carefully pulled a strand of hair from my mouth, tenderly tucking it behind my ear, her eyes softened into the exact shade Tom’s get. Her hand cupped my cheek gently.

“Yes Rocky, I’d be delighted to be your Mother-in-Law.” she said softly. I heard Tom’s breath gust out in relief beside me. I knelt up, throwing my arms around her and squeezing hard. “Thank you,” I whispered into her hair. I cleared my throat, because I was not going to cry on Tom’s mum.

Diana put her hands on my arms, gently pushing me away, her eyes going behind me.

“I think there’s someone who wants his turn…”

Before I could even look his way, Tom had pulled me onto his thighs, wrapping his arms around me tightly and hugging me hard. One hand went into my hair and pulled my face up to his. There were tears in his eyes, and a crooked smile on his lips.

“Yes please, Rocky.”

Then he was kissing me fiercely, and by god, I was giving back, my hands clutching his shirt.

“Ahem…” Diana cleared her throat. I pulled away from Tom long enough to glance round at her.

“But you said I could have him!” I grumbled at her, hiding my elated laugh. Her eyes laughed right back at me.

“Yes dear, but not right now, if you please! I believe I was promised cheesecake!”

***

We put Diana in a cab back to Tom’s for the night, hugs and kisses all around. She even pinched my cheek! Tom and I stood, arms around each other’s waists, waving goodbye to her as she drove off

“What would you have done if she’d said ‘no’?” Tom’s tone was slyly curious as we made our way back up the stairs to my second floor flat. I blanched.

“Died of humiliation?” Even thinking of the possibility gave me cold shivers. But Tom had slid to his knees next to me.

“What would you have done?” I turned my face up to his, wondering if he’d have gone along with his mum. Tom scowled.

“Rocky, you know I love my mum. But I’d have told her to…” Tom stalled out as he considered his words. I cocked my head, waiting.

“I’d have told her to bugger off,” said the very civilised, posh idiot. I gasped, only then realising that I’d been holding my breath.

“But Rocky,” Tom stopped before the door to my flat and raised my chin to look into my eyes. “That was never going to happen, my love. Because Mum loves me, and she knows I love you. Also,” he grinned, “Mum likes you. And now she finds you very engaging.”

Well shit. My eyes teared up at least as much from the sentiment as from the pun. I stood on my toes and kissed him.

Tom opened my door and ushered me in, turning to close the door behind us. When he turned back, I pushed him against it, holding him there with a hand in the center of his chest.

My other hand slid down his torso to the waistband of his trousers, flicking the button open and sliding the zip down, ratcheting slowly.

I stared into his eyes, watching them darken from their Caribbean blue to steel, the creases at the corners of his eyes tightening.

“Rocky…” he breathed.

“Shhh…” I replied, slipping my hand into his trousers to grasp him. The posh idiot never wore pants, which was calculated to make me rethink the ‘posh’ part. Somehow, knowing that he was bare behind that zipper made me hard.

When my hand encountered all that hard, silky steel. Practically leaping into my hand, I could feel my pussy clench in sheer anticipation. I wanted that hard cock inside me, like, yesterday!

Oh wait. It was inside me yesterday!

I wrapped my hand carefully and firmly around his shaft, my thumb extending over his bell end to protect him from any chance zip or harsh denim scraping against that tender, sensitive tip.

I like that cock. I wasn’t going to allow it to be hurt on my watch! Besides, if it was going to be mine for the rest of my natural life, forsaking all others, it was in my best interest to see to its proper care and feeding!

My hand tightened around him, just thinking what I wanted to feed it into. Tom lifted a hand and set it onto the column of my throat. I swallowed, feeling my throat move against his palm.

Tom’s head was tilted down watching me as I blindly explored his cock with my hand, palming his length and running my fingertips up his shaft, all the way to the edge of his foreskin. I ran my finger around the rim, gently pushing it down and freeing the vulnerable, delicate bit of skin right beneath his cock head.

I lifted my forefinger, dipping it into the drop of precome waiting there for me, dropping down and letting my finger glide around the edge of his foreskin on the slick fluid, being sure to slide over the tender skin of his bell. How can something so soft be so hard?

I think of myself as hard, but I’m soft for Tom. Really, the only thing to do is to make him mine. Thank god he said yes. Or…

“Um…” I cleared my throat as I continued to glide my finger over him. “You did say yes, didn’t you? I mean, you get that having your mum as my mother-in-law actually entails you marrying me, right?” I lifted my eyes and searched his.

The blue of his eyes softened. His nose nuzzled below my ear.

“I do, Rocky. And yes, I will.”

All the air left my body and my fingers clenched on him, one hand on his chest, my nails digging into his skin, the other around his cock.

Tom hissed, and his hips shot forward into my fist, forcing his cock through the tight ring of my fingers.

“God, Rocky…” he groaned, his hands moving into my hair, thumbs on my jaw as he leaned down to kiss me roughly.

I stroked that silky smooth, incredibly hard length against my palm. Tom tore his mouth away, breaking our kiss and breathing hard. I took my opportunity to slip to my knees in front of him.

“Rocky...you don’t have-” He gasped.

“Tom,” I said sharply, “if you finish that sentence with ‘don’t have to suck my cock’, I might do you an injury!”

I squeezed his shaft, just to be clear what part might be injured.

“Right,” Tom gasped, “carry on, then.” He swallowed audibly hard, his hands clenching in my hair.

I grinned cheekily at him. “Don’t mind if I do!”

I dragged my free hand down his torso, firmly pushing his back against the door. I took a quick swipe at him with my tongue from stalk to tip and grinned up at him.

“I do what I want!”

I wrapped my lips around the head and gave a suck, swirling my tongue tip over and around the head.

I felt Tom’s deep throated groan vibrate through his body and onto my tongue. Stopping for a second, I looked up at him, for once with no quip on the tip of my tongue.

“I love you, Tom.”

Tom’s eyes completely dilated and he thrust into my fist, his cockhead pushing between my lips, and suddenly he was coming against my mouth.

My hand pumped over his cock, squeezing and pulling his climax from him, licking his come from around my lips and working the rest out in hot ropes onto my neck and chest.

Tom made a tortured noise, his hands clenching in my hair and hips thrusting helplessly. I gentled my hand, holding it still and warm over his softening shaft as he panted above me.

“Rocky…”

I tore my eyes away from the sight softening in my hand and looked up.

“You undo me, my love.”

His hands moved to my arms and lifted me to stand, wrapping his arms and body around me like a loving cloak.

I nuzzled my nose into the patch of hair in the center of his chest.

“Love you, Tom,” I murmured into his skin, speaking directly to his thumping heart. The arms around me tightened.

“Come along. I have something for you.”

“I hope it’s a hot flannel!”

Tom snickered and trod across the room into the kitchen, dragging me to the sink and wetting a tea towel. He wiped us both clean, and tossed the towel on the side.

He’d left his tablet on the table. Pulling a chair out, he sat, tugging me down onto his lap. He reached for the tablet.

I was wondering if he planned to treat me to porn, or puppies. I never know with Tom, which is of course, one of the things I love about him. He swiftly swiped through a few screens and brought up a file.

“Here, what do you think?” He pushed the tablet into my hands and set his chin on my shoulder, looking over me at the screen.

My hand flew to my mouth, fingers trembling over it as I stared down at a page of gorgeous, conflict free, diamond engagement rings.

“I didn’t want to choose one without you, and I honestly didn’t know what sort you’d like, since you never wear rings or other jewelry,” Tom murmured.

My hand dropped down to the partridge in a pear tree necklace Tom had given me on the First Day of Christmas.

“Except your partridge,” he acknowledged. “But I chose that, so I really have no idea what your taste in jewelry is.

I was speechless as Tom slowly scrolled through several pages of rings, all sorts, my eyes filling as it finally dawned on me that Tom had been planning to ask me, or was at least thinking about it, when a teardrop landed on the screen. His arm stole around my waist as he turned his head and kissed my neck.

I sniffled, slightly embarrassed, and let out a watery laugh.

“What’s funny, love?”

I sniffled again. “I got engaged today, and here you are, making me cry.”

Tom chuckled.

“Though it might just be PMS.”

Tom lifted his head with a great shout of laughter. “Oh darling, with you it’s probably the entire alphabet!” Tom teased.

He brought up another page, this time with rubies and sapphires and such. My breath caught at a dark red, square cut stone with two smaller, smokey coloured square cut stones set on either side, all swirled about in a fanciful gold setting. It was stunning,

I reached out a finger and touched it. The image changed, showing other angles of the ring.

“Ooh, I like that one!” Tom wriggled a bit under me in his enthusiasm. “You like coloured stones? Unusual settings? So much better than boring old diamonds, don’t you think? Bloody marvelous, aren’t they?”

I nodded, my throat tight. I hadn’t even given any thought to a ring for me, yet.

“Tom, I must tell you though, it’s unlikely that I’ll wear it much. With my job, my hands are in and out of all sorts of muck…”

“That’s alright then.” Tom hugged me. “There are plenty of times that I can’t wear jewelry on my job, too. On stage or filming, and so forth. We’ll just have to work out a routine for taking them off before going to work, and putting them back on when we get home. Think of it as putting on and taking off your shoes, only in reverse!”

My head spun with all the things that we haven’t talked about. Oh my god, I don’t know how to throw a wedding! Budget, guest list, venue, flowers, bridesmaids, grooms men, catering, open or closed bar, the dress… the list seemed endless and I knew I was probably forgetting a dozen other things.

“I guess there’s still loads of things to work out before we do this thing, right?”

“We can take as long as we need,” he soothed, sensing my unease. “And if we want, there are people we can hire who take care of the organisation.”

“Okay,” I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “As long as you don’t expect me to look like some giant, frothy meringue.”

“Never,” he laughed. “And if you get one of those dresses with a thousand pearly buttons down the back, expect them to get torn off on the wedding night.”

The idea of being torn out of my wedding dress actually turned me on a little. Is that bad?

“Oh, you like that idea,” Tom purred.

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve heard.”

“Well I’ll have to practice,” he told me, his face the picture of sincerity. “We’ll start easy, maybe try ripping a robe off, then we’ll graduate to t-shirts and shirt-shirts and before you know it’ I’ll be ready to destroy your wedding dress in my haste to get to you.”

“Or,” I said, holding a finger up as I presented my counter argument, “You could just destroy me right now and I’ll wear a white string bikini on the wedding day.”

“Only if I get to wear white speedos.”

“Fine, but you also need a white bow tie.”

Imagining literally the worst of the worst white trash wedding was kind of fun.

“And white flip-flops,” Tom added.

“What about if we want a winter wedding?” I asked.

“White wet suits,” he answered without missing a beat. “I’ll draw a string bikini on yours in Sharpie marker pen.”

“And I’ll be sure to outline your English countryside. Very much looking forward to shading in your arse crack.”

That was the remark that made us lose it and we laughed until our sides hurt.

Eventually we calmed down, with just the occasional giggle reemerging as we lay there.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong,” Tom purred, “but I believe there was some mention of me destroying you?”

“Well yes. I’d hate for you to be embarrassed on the wedding night because we hadn’t practised.”

I swear I heard him growl as he pounced on me, his smile positively wolfish.

Oh dear, I had awoken the beast and now I was doing to pay.

I shivered in anticipation.

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iwantthedean · 5 years ago

Text

The Division

Part Seven: The Past in the Present

Summary: Rookie agent Sam Campbell comes face-to-face with his past. Pairing: Dean x OFC Finley Word Count: 2175 Fic Warnings: Language, angst, canon-typical supernatural elements. Chapter Warnings: None, other than above. I think.

Masterlist

The crowd in the conference room was bigger than Sam had seen since coming to The Division. He had heard a variety of reports of the things that had happened a few nights ago — Cuthbert Sinclair’s assassination, Finley O’Connor going missing right after — but no one had yet offered an explanation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please.”

A man of short stature stood at the front of the room, hands clasped and waiting for everyone to quiet down. What he lacked in height, he seemed to make up for in presence. One look at him and Sam was certain he would have answers by the end of this meeting.

“Thank you.” The man let his hands drop, sliding one into the pocket of his neatly-pressed trousers. “I’ll cut right to the chase. My name is Mick Davies. In the wake of Cuthbert Sinclair’s assassination, I have been sent her by your British counterparts to manage The Division until one of you can be appointed to do so. You may see an associate of mine, Mr. Arthur Ketch, roaming around. You’ll be best interested to not start a conversation with him, just let him speak to you, or avoid him altogether.”

Sam frowned; no words of comfort? No respects paid to a man who had been the head of The Division for longer than Sam had been alive? Only quick, cold introductions — and, now, a picture of Finley O’Connor pulled up on the projector screen.

“Many of you will be familiar with this woman, but for those of you who aren’t, let me inform you. This is Finley O’Connor, The Division’s top recon agent. Two nights ago, she came back after drinks with colleagues under the guise of getting a file for a case. We believe that she took that opportunity to assassinate — execute — Cuthbert Sinclair.”

Sam glanced over at Benny. He knew that the vampire was relatively close with Finley, as much as she allowed others to get close, anyway. Other than the initiation fight with her, Sam didn’t know much about Finley. He did know, however, from the look on Benny’s face, that it was unlikely Finley O’Connor was the true culprit in Sinclair’s death.

“Going forward, we will be labeling Finley O’Connor an enemy of the state. Anyone who sees her should apprehend her and bring her back here immediately — dead or alive.”

A woman Sam didn’t know raised her hand. “If this is all American government business, why have you and your colleague come to maintain the status quo until further notice?”

Mick chuckled. “I suppose you wouldn’t all be Americans if you didn’t question authority, right? Ketch and I reached out as soon as word of the assassination reached the British Men of Letters, with whom we are associated. The government accepted, in light of the fragile work we all do. If that’s an acceptable answer for you, we’ll continue on with the briefing.”

Sam maneuvered his way over to Benny. “Benny — what is going on?”

Benny took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

Just under forty-eight hours later, the story was all over the news. Cuthbert Sinclair was dead and Finley O’Connor was being held responsible for his assassination. Sam sat with Benny at a bar many of The Division’s agents liked to frequent, sipping from a longneck and watching the reports on the television above the bar.

“Crazy, isn’t it,” the waitress commented, shaking her head and delivering another round. “That girl was in here the night it all happened. They say she left here and then went and killed that old guy — who does that?”

Benny and Sam exchanged an uneasy glance. When the waitress was gone with their empties, Benny leaned in to Sam.

“Something has to be done about this.” He took a deep breath. “I’m putting you on a tail, Campbell. I have an idea of where Finley might have gone.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, you know, I don’t think — Finley told me herself that she has nowhere she would go when she needed to run. She could literally be anywhere.”

Benny chuckled and knocked back half of his new beer. “Remind yourself that you’re still learning, Sammy-boy. I’ve known Finley better than anyone for a really long time. She has people, even if she doesn’t want to admit it to someone she just met. Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to tell a newbie everything about here, immediately. She’s such an open book.”

“All right, all right,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. Benny’s sarcasm reminded him of when his older brother used to give him a hard time about things. “Where do you think she’d go? And how are we going to find the place?”

Benny leaned back in his chair. “Easier than you think.”

When Sam arrived at the place Benny had directed him to go, there was, of course, no answer to his pounding on the door. Reluctantly, Sam used the key Benny had provided him, and stepped inside the old, forgotten place.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed, taking it all in from the top of the staircase. He could see more as he descended the steps, and each new piece that came into view put his research-hungry brain further into overdrive.

After a few minutes of wandering the underground location, Sam’s mobile rang. He punched the button to accept the call, still looking in awe as he trekked through hallway after hallway.

“Did you find her?” Benny inquired.

“No, no one’s here, I don’t think. I’m guessing if they were, they would have dropped me by now.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Benny, what is this place?”

“Old Men of Letters bunker. Before Abaddon, before we were The Division. That’s been home base for her contact for a while now.”

“How’d they manage to get in?”

“They’re Legacies,” Benny replied, matter-of-fact. That wasn’t a term with which Sam was familiar, but Benny’s tone told him that the Q&A was over. “There’s someone they may be going to meet with. If I can track her, I’ll send you new coordinates. In the meantime, head east on the main highway. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

Sam felt as though he was being sent on a wild goose chase, but he was here to follow orders. So, he got on the main highway, headed east, no clear destination.

When Sam finally caught up to them, Finley and another woman were breaking up a fight between two men. He couldn’t see the face of the other woman as she pushed a dark-haired man away from one with sandy, brown hair, but as he drove to a more isolated parking spot, the man Finley was now speaking to came into view.

Dean. His brother. Too many years had passed since the brothers had seen each other — since John and Dean had dropped Sam off at that boys’ home and had never come back for him. Sam had since stopped using Winchester as his last name, changing it to Campbell. In his mind, his mother deserved the honor of a continued family name; in his mind, she would never abandon him.

The first thing Sam wanted to do was get out of the car and pull Dean into another fight, but he was here on orders, he reminded himself. He would trail them as he had been instructed to do and leave his personal bullshit at the door. After Benny assured him there was no time to worry about conflict of interest, Sam did his best to concentrate only on the mission he had been assigned.

As the days passed and Sam continued to keep a close eye on Dean, Finley, and the other man and woman with them, his anger slowly faded away. He saw bits and pieces of the life Dean had been dragged away to with John. Dean hadn’t been old enough to have any sort of voice with their father when it came to decisions regarding Sam. Maybe it wasn’t fair to hold him accountable about that. Sure, Dean could have come looking for him after the fact, but for all Sam knew, Dean had looked for him and had come up empty. The longer time went on, the more Sam simply wanted to know his brother.

Now, it seemed the fugitives had nowhere else to go and nowhere else to turn. A call from Benny gave Sam the information he needed to relay to Dean and Finley, and came with a warning.

“When you go to talk to them, Sam, the blonde woman — you might recognize her. I don’t want you to be taken by surprise.”

Sam’s brow deepened into a frown. “I haven’t recognized her yet.”

“Once you’re up close — just listen to me, all right? You’re well aware there’s some weird shit that goes down in this world, and I’m not in the mood for questions. I wanted to confirm it before I said anything, but I have it on good authority that the woman traveling with your brother and Finley is Mary Campbell-Winchester.”

His mother. Sam had been watching her for days and hadn’t even known. Why would he suspect, though? Even knowing about all of the ‘weird shit’ in the world, nothing would have prompted him to imagine, even for a second, that the blonde woman was the mother who had died before Sam had the chance to form memories of her.

Sam ended the phone call with Benny and decided it was now or never. He left his own hotel room to go and knock on theirs, fully expecting to be hit at least once. Finley would be suspicious of every agent, Mary wouldn’t recognize him, and he didn’t know the other man from Adam. Dean was his only hope of recognition — and even then, there was no reason for them to believe that his intentions were good.

He had to knock several times before Finley opened the door. She grabbed him by the lapel and pushed him into the room. Prepared for such a visitor, Dean had pulled him into a chair and put a cocked gun to his head while the dark-haired man bound Sam’s hands and feet.

“What are you doing here?” Finley demanded, brandishing a gun of her own. “They’ve already sent people after me once, that didn’t end so well. What’s a rookie like you hope to do?”

“Help you,” Sam promised, looking her dead in the eye. “I’m here to help you, Finley. Benny sent me. Besides — you’re traveling with my brother and my mother. I have every reason to help you out of this.”

Finley’s eyes snapped to Dean’s. The older Winchester stepped carefully around to face their hostage. “Sammy?”

“Hey, brother,” Sam nodded.

The dark-haired man was still confused. “What’s he talking about? Dean, how many people from your past are gonna come out of the woodwork before this is all over?”

Dean worked quickly to untie the ropes binding Sam to the chair. He pulled his brother up to a standing position, and hugged him tightly.

“Thought I’d never see you again,” Dean admitted, choking a bit on the words. “Dad left you in that place — I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry.”

With those words, Sam returned his brother’s embrace; his suspicions were confirmed. Dean had no say in the matter. The two brothers didn’t part from each other until the hotel door opened and shut again, and Mary Campbell-Winchester walked through with a bag of fast food in one hand and a pack of beers in the other.

“What’s going on?” she frowned.

Dean looked at Finley, then at Sam, then back to Mary. “Mom, this is Sam.”

Mary’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Sammy? You’re a little bigger than the last time I saw you.”

Sam chuckled through his own tears. “Yeah, just a little.”

“Oh, well, um …”

Mary was suddenly in a frenzy to set down the things in her hands. She rushed to her little boy and threw her arms around him. Sam had never hugged anyone so tight in his life. This woman who had carried him for nine months, had given him life … this woman he had only ever seen in pictures and dreams … she was here, and she was real.

“How did you find us?” Dean finally asked, breaking the silence.

Sam swallowed and sniffled, exchanging an amused glance with Finley. “I work for The Division. I’m still the new guy, so I haven’t been there long. In fact, this bruise still fading on my face? That’s from this one here.”

Finley blushed a little, realizing she had beat up Dean Winchester’s little brother. “It’s an initiation thing. He got a hit in.”

They all had a tension-easing chuckle about that, then sat down to eat the food Mary had brought and crack open the beers — and listen to what Sam came to warn them of.

Keep It Original: @ashleymalfoy @atc74 @melbrandes @smoothdogsgirl @illisea @ravenesque @spnbaby-67

The Division: @xtina2191 @itsallaboutthedean @roxyspearing @adoptdontshoppets

#supernatural #fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #ofc #dean x ofc #dean winchester x ofc #finley o'connor #dean x finley #the division #part 7 #the past in the present #spnfanficpond #jelly fish #iwantthdeanupdates #iwantthedean's tag team #all my lovelies #that's my queue

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gabekidd · 6 years ago

Text

Paradigm Shift

Characters: Kenny Omega x OFC x Jon Moxley (fka Dean Ambrose)

Summary: In the cold war between WWE and AEW, Hannah McMahon has a foot in both worlds: she's climbing the ranks in her father's company while also dating Kenny Omega. But as more disgruntled wrestlers leave WWE for AEW - including a certain lunatic fringe - Hannah faces an impossible choice: fight for her family or for love?

Note: Featuring my OFC, Hannah McMahon. Takes place within the same universe as a couple other fics I wrote over on FanFiction. I’ll be cross-posting this over there, as well.

Part 1/?

Chapter One: Cheaper Than Therapy

Sunday, April 21, 2019 Davenport, Iowa

“Alright, alright—everyone raise your glasses!” The table grew quiet as Colby called for attention, and everyone reverently raised their shot glasses and drinks in toast. “I’ll try to keep this short and sweet,” he started. “Tonight was The Shield’s Final Chapter, and I’m not gonna lie: it’s bittersweet. When The Shield debuted at Survivor Series 2012, in those god-awful turtlenecks, I had no idea that it would become one of the greatest stables in WWE history and, in my very biased opinion, all of wrestling. Those first two original years not only shaped who I am as a wrestler and person, but gave me a sister and two brothers in Hannah, Joe, and Jon. And no matter what we’re going through or where we’re working, I know they’ll always have my back, and I’ll always have theirs.

“So here’s to Jon, who’s going off to greener pastures. We wish you nothing but success in all your future endeavors. And here’s to The Shield, the greatest faction this side of DX.”

“To The Shield!” the table proclaimed, and after clinking glasses with everyone around her Hannah McMahon kicked back her shot. She twitched unpleasantly as the Jack Daniel’s burned down her throat; it’d been awhile since she’d drank hard liquor, but tonight called for it.

Just over an hour ago in front of less than 12,000 fans in Moline, Illinois, The Shield had wrestled their final match. Hannah had fought back tears as she’d raised Seth, Roman, and Dean’s arms in the ring for the last time; truly, it had felt as if she were closing not just a chapter, but an entire book in the anthology of her life. The Shield was what had brought her to WWE TV after years of refusing to become an onscreen character. It had been her creative outlet for all her backstage frustrations; it had molded her philosophy on the business; it had made her a stronger person, both in front of and behind the camera. It had given her love; it had given her pain. And even though the show had been a beautiful send-off for the group, it would take more than just a final match for Hannah and the rest of them to adequately close that chapter. So here they all were, just over the Mississippi River in Davenport, Iowa, where they could all pour one out for The Shield at Colby’s favorite hometown haunt.

“Hannah! What do you want? I’m buying.”

She snapped out of her reverie at the sound of Baron Corbin’s voice. Most of the other wrestlers on the card had come out to celebrate—either because they were good friends with Colby, Joe, and Jon, or just because they enjoyed a good time. “Oh, I’m good,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m gonna head out here in a little bit.”

“What?” Joe whipped his head around when he heard that. “Six and a half years of history and you’re only gonna have one shot? I’m disappointed, Hannah. As I recall, the very first time we went out drinking together you rode a mechanical bull on Bourbon Street.”

Bayley’s eyes lit up at that. “Are you serious?! Okay, I have to hear this story.”

“No, you really don’t,” Hannah interrupted before Joe could elaborate. “All you need to know is it was Bourbon Street. And a lot has changed in six and a half years, Joe.”

“Yeah,” Fergal—a.k.a. Finn Balor—said from next to Hannah. “Now instead of staying out drinking with us she wants to get to the hotel so she can have phone sex with Kenny.”

Everyone within earshot either gaped in shock or burst out laughing. Hannah backhanded Fergal’s shoulder. “We don’t have phone sex!” she proclaimed in disgust.

“Bullshit. You two’ve kept up a long-distance relationship for over a year, you must be doing something.”

Hannah’s entire face burned bright red. What she did behind closed doors with her boyfriend was no one’s business. “Well, you’re an asshole, and I think I’ll take that drink now.”

“That-a girl,” Joe grinned.

“I’ll get it,” Fergal said in consolation as he got up from the table. “You know I’m just teasing you, Hannah.”

“Uh huh,” she muttered; but when he returned with her favorite beer all was forgiven.

The night continued on, friends and colleagues reminiscing about the past and wondering about the future, and one by one people closed their tabs and headed out to the next town, until there were only a handful left at the bar. It was nearing midnight when Hannah finally decided she should hit the road herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to crash at my place?” Colby asked as she stood from the table. “My guest room is only 20 minutes away.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’m gonna let you two,” she suggestively wagged her finger between Colby and Becky, “have the house to yourselves. Besides, you know I like my midnight drives. They’re cheaper than therapy.”

“That I do know,” Colby grinned. “Come here.” He wrapped her up in a hug, and suddenly Hannah felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes again. While her relationship with each of the guys in The Shield were unique and special in their own way, her friendship with Colby was beyond. Colby was her brother, her partner in crime both on and off-screen, and the best friend she’d ever had. Now that The Shield was officially disbanded, she didn’t know if they’d ever get to work together on TV again—and, deep down, that was what really got her.

“Okay, I’m gonna start crying again,” she forced a smile as she pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I gotta get out of here.” She turned to Becky and gave her a warm hug. “See you at the next one.”

“Drive safe, alright?” Becky said. “Send us a text when you get to the hotel.”

“I will,” she said, and with another wave she went up to the bar to settle her tab. Jon was there ordering another drink. “Planning on closing the place down?” she asked.

He sent her a crooked smirk. “When have you ever known me to do anything else, Hannah?”

“Fair point. Renee’s driving, I hope?”

“Yeah, but we got a hotel here. She’ll go to Des Moines in the morning.”

Hannah gave a silent nod as she handed the bartender her card just as the other barkeep set Jon’s drink in front of him; but he didn’t make a move to take it. He just stood there, watching her.

“What?” Hannah finally asked.

“You know I’m going to AEW, right?”

The bluntness of his tone caught her off-guard, but the statement itself didn’t. “Please,” she dismissed. “Of course I know you’re going to AEW. What kind of dumb fucking question is that?”

They locked eyes across the bar—and then both let out a wry laugh. “That was a dumb fucking question, wasn’t it?” Jon grinned.

“It really fucking was.”

Their shared smile lasted a few seconds longer, but soon enough a lull fell between them, as it always inevitably did. Over the years there’d been far too many words left unsaid, and they’d pooled up like a vast gulf separating shores. When the bartender brought Hannah her receipt, she all but jumped to sign her name and split. But then Jon said something that really did catch her off-guard.

“I’m gonna miss you, Hannah. Really. You always stood up for me.”

Hannah fiddled with the pen in her fingers. “Well, I just wanted you to be happy and succeed. Same as I want for everyone in this company. And I’m sorry it didn’t work out. For you in WWE, I mean,” she quickly added.

Jon flashed that smirk again. “No worries, boss. We had a good run.”

Crimson involuntarily blossomed across Hannah’s cheeks. Knowing Jon, he’d fully intended the double entendre behind that statement. She scribbled her name on the receipt. “Well, I’m heading out—”

“Hannah! Are you leaving?”

Hannah momentarily closed her eyes at the sound of Renee’s peppy voice. She really needed to go. “Yeah, I gotta get to Des Moines. I think I need the drive to unpack tonight, honestly.”

“Oh my God, I know,” Renee empathetically intoned. “The Shield was like your wrestling coming of age story!”

“That’s… actually a really good way of putting it,” Hannah agreed.

“Well, even though tonight was the end of something special I’m excited to see what you’ll do down in NXT. I really think the show will benefit from having you as GM.”

Hannah couldn’t help the puzzled look that crossed her face. Why did Renee have to be so nice? It would be so much easier to just ignore her if she wasn’t so nice. “Thanks, Renee. That means a lot.”

Suddenly her phone buzzed in her hand—it was a text from Kenny. “Gah, I really should go,” she said, and after a second’s hesitation she gave Renee an awkward hug goodbye. She turned to Jon. “Good luck, Moxley,” she quipped; and before she knew what was happening, he pulled her into a hug.

Every muscle in her body tensed. It’d been what felt like a lifetime since they’d touched like this. It was something foreign that had once been familiar, and that made it all the worse. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said into her ear. It sent goosebumps down Hannah’s neck, and she had to pull away.

“See you tomorrow,” she said to Renee, and she walked as quickly as she could out of the bar and to the illuminated parking lot where her rental sat. She dialed Kenny as soon as she climbed into the SUV. He answered on the third ring.

“Hey, baby.”

Hannah relaxed back into the driver’s seat. Hearing Tyson’s soft voice floating through the speaker immediately put her at ease. “Hey. You haven’t been up waiting on me, have you?”

“Well, technically not; I’m up playing video games. But you know I can’t sleep until I know you’ve made it to the next stop.”

“I know,” she said apologetically. “I’m leaving Davenport now; I should be in Des Moines in about two and a half hours. I honestly probably should have left here an hour ago.”

“Why?” he sounded surprised. “Is everything okay?”

She sighed. “Yeah. Tonight was just… emotional. The Shield was like my version of Bullet Club or The Elite, you know? And now it’s over.”

“I know. But it was time. You’ve all outgrown it, and now you’re each going on to do more amazing things. And from now until the end of time everyone will look back at The Shield as the thing that first put four incredible performers on the map.”

Hannah’s smile risked splitting her face in two. God, she was in love with this man. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“It’s a preternatural gift, I can’t explain it.”

“Well, thank you. And you’re right. But nostalgia’s a hell of a drug.”

“That it is. But don’t you worry; in two more days I’ll put you through a strict detox program.”

Hannah bit her lip at the thought. After SmackDown’s show in Lincoln, Nebraska on Tuesday she’d make the short two-hour flight to Winnipeg to spend a few days with Tyson before she had to be back on the road Friday. That was how they’d managed their time together ever since he’d left NJPW in January: splitting their free days between his place in Canada and hers in Connecticut, or wherever was most convenient. It could be stressful at times, and Hannah lived out of a suitcase—but it was the same for any other pro wrestler who maintained a relationship with someone outside the business. The only difference was that Tyson was in the business; he just worked for a different company. A rival company. But they both chose not to think about that.

“Oh really? And what will you prescribe, Dr. Omega?”

“I have a few pretty intense regimens planned,” he said, and Hannah couldn’t help herself—she let out a laugh. “What?”

“Back at the bar Fergal accused me of wanting to leave early so I could go have phone sex with you. I told him we don’t do that, but this is sure starting to sound like it.”

“Please, this is barely phone foreplay. Besides, Fergal doesn’t have any room to throw stones about phone sex.”

“Yeah, don’t wanna know,” Hannah quickly said. “But I’ll be counting down the days until Tuesday. I’m excited to finally get to spend some time with you in Winnipeg again. I feel bad that you’ve mostly been the one traveling to see me the last month.”

She could almost hear him shaking his head through the phone. “Don’t. You’ve been really busy and I haven’t. And if the roles were reversed, I know you’d travel to see me.”

“I would,” she said, and in that moment her heart swelled with joy. She was so lucky to have found someone as understanding and supportive as Tyson. It made all the difference. “Well, I’m on the highway now, so I’ll let you get back to your game. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel.”

“Ok. Drive safe and listen to loud music.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Hannah ended the call, her soul a million times lighter. She turned up the radio and focused on the road ahead, the past in the rearview mirror. As she’d told Colby, midnight drives were cheaper than therapy.

#jon moxley #dean ambrose #kenny omega #dean ambrose imagine #dean ambrose fanfiction #jon moxley imagine #jon moxley fanfiction #kenny omega imagine #kenny omega fanfiction #wwe #aew #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #aew fanfiction #aew imagine

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