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5lazarus · 3 years ago

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The Domestics

Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.” Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It’s snowing at Skyhold, which delays Alistair’s plans by a day. Anora cuts him loose, locking herself in the ambassador’s heated room with her furs, and he wishes he could change into less fine clothes and join the children in their snowball fight, or wander into the kitchens and see if he can sweet-talk the cook into giving him something hot and sweet to drink. He’s king, so he could ask for all the chocolate in Seheron, and doubtless the Inquisition would try to give it to him.

He walks the battlements so less people will see him and watches the battle in the courtyard below. The Inquisitor’s children seem to have made common cause with the servants’ kids against the visiting nobility; honestly it’s just a relief to see that it isn’t human against elf. Alistair, a tad self-conscious, touches his right ear. An older elf is watching them, smiling. Alistair wonders if she’s the mother of one of them below.

“Which one’s yours?” Alistair asks.

The woman says, “I’m only watching them for the Inquisitor. I’m their guard.” She’s got short black hair, threaded with silver, but her eyes are lively enough. She’s wearing green robes with a bit of Dalish-looking embroidery at the ends of her sleeves. She’s got an Orlesian accent, too. He didn’t know the Inquisition was working with elves from Orlais, didn’t Anora tell him to keep an eye out for Ambassador Briala’s livery?

“Oh.” He shouldn’t feel awkward, but he blushes anyway. He stares at the woman’s feet, toes poking out of those foot wraps, and wonders how on earth she’s not freezing. Alistair’s got a coat of heavy wool, trimmed in fur.

The woman notices he’s staring and says, matter-of-fact, “My circulatory system is different than yours. We conserve heat more efficiently than your people. Besides, I’m a mage. It’s easy to keep warm.”

That has him a bit miffed. Of course he knows elves are biologically different than humans; they can still breed, though. He’s evidence of that. He doesn’t feel the cold as intensely as the others at court, and he knows why. The servants at the palace can tell, even if he passes, for the most part. Eamon and Tegan talk all the time about how much he looks like his father, how much he looks like Cailan, but he’s seen enough portraits of them both to know how he differs.

Alistair says, again, “Oh. Cool. I’m half, you know.” It’s not that he’s discouraged from talking about it, but it’s never been something to advertise. Those with eyes to see it don’t need to be told, but right Alistair feels like he needs to justify himself, with the way she’s looking at him. Skyhold has had him wrong-footed; Leliana has been distant and he is finding it harder and harder to slip away from the King. Anora tells him that’s part of adulthood. He’s not so sure.

The woman says, “I know.”

Alistair folds his arms. “Really? Because I didn’t. What’s your name, by the way?”

The elf smiles sadly. “Fiona. I used to travel with the Grey Wardens, when I was young.”

Alistair says, “Really? The Grey Wardens don’t really let people leave. Unless, you know, you point out that yet another civil war is going to break out if they don’t let you put your ass back on the throne. What was your excuse?”

Fiona says, “I had a baby. It’s hard to keep a nursery going in the Deep Roads. The darkspawn get jealous.”

“Oh. Can’t be having that, they’re crabby enough as it is. Though I heard of a Warden who brought his cat into the Deep Roads too, scratched out the eyes of a hurlock apparently. You’re lucky, most of us can’t have kids. I can’t. Probably.” He thinks about his own natural daughter with Tabris and blushes at the lie, rubbing at the back of his head. It’s for her own good and the good of the realm he hasn’t brought her to court. It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason, and Morrigan has the spare heir anyway, if Anora can’t figure something out.

Fiona says, “I suppose it’s luck. The Circle took him away from me, and gave him back to his father.” She sounds wistful. “But under the Inquisition, the mages keep their children. It’s a different world now. There’s no going back.”

He thinks to himself, I’m not so sure—the disastrous plans for the Hinterlands, the riots in Denerim, the failure of the embassy in the Brecilian forest. He thought after the Blight, with this new alliance between elves, dwarves, and men, there would be no going back. Anora tells him it’s a struggle for the future and that reform doesn’t come in a day, perhaps not even their lifetime: sometimes they need to settle for establishing the groundwork for the next person to rule, like Maric did for them. But of course, Anora’s never had her cousin kidnapped and brutalized, or her father sold into slavery. That sort of perspective changes things.

Alistair says, “Really?” He scratches his head. “I look at things in Ferelden and wonder how things can stay so stagnant, and then you look at Orlais and how they’re eating themselves alive. And Orzammar, of course, which is basically a living fossil. People don’t like change. They’d prefer for things to stay the same, or even go back to how they were a generation ago.” He is surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

Fiona cocks her head and looks at him curiously. She says, “You’re too young to be talking like that. You must understand it comes in seasons—we flourish in spring and reap our harvest in summer, and then prepare for and suffer through the conservative reaction in winter. Sometimes it’s a harsh winter, and many do not survive. But then there is always the spring. You lived in Ferelden, you should know—from the Night Elves who freed your people from the Orlesian occupation to Clan Alerion securing the boundaries of the Hinterlands now, things have changed. You just need to…riot every so often, to make sure no one gets complacent.” She grins.

It’s nice to talk politics with someone who doesn’t know who he is, who thinks he’s just another wealthy Ferelden currying favor with the Inquisition, not a king staring down the religious cult that just carved itself a city-state at the border of his realm. Below the children are yelling. A couple of them are using magic to freeze the snowballs, and they’re having a fierce debate, interspersed with throwing said ice balls, on whether that’s fair.

Alistair says, “Then I hope you’re right. I hope the mages and the Inquisition’s made enough of a, er, spring, to shake things up. It’s good for these kids to stay with their families, I hated what the Circle did. I didn’t know my mother, growing up. Would’ve avoided a lot of angst if I’d gotten to meet her.” He thinks about Morrigan and her awful mom, and then Goldanna flashes through his mind. Ashamed, he pushes the thought away. “Or maybe it would’ve made it worse! Hard to say, I certainly don’t know!” He smiles at the woman brightly.

Fiona says, “It might have made it worse, since she was an elf. Your life would’ve looked very different, even in Ferelden.”

His heart stops. Surely she doesn’t know who he is. That could be awkward, considering what he’s been saying. Anora will be furious that he’s gone off and talked politics with another random person again. He can’t help it, he gets bored easily, and the courtiers and advisors only tell him what they think he should want to hear.

“How do you know I’m Ferelden?” Alistair asks suspiciously.

“You’re wearing the badge on your fur coat. And, of course, your accent. Unless I am mistaken?”

“No, no,” Alistair says. “But yeah. Sorry. I don’t know much about her. Don’t know if she’s still alive. Just that she was an elf. Always assumed she was a serving woman or something, if my father was anything like C-Caleb.”

Fiona says, “Sometimes it’s better not to think about it, how we came into the world. I never met my parents either.” She leans against the balustrade and shakes her head at the kids fighting in the courtyard below. They’ve devolved into outright brawling, but that weird Warden the Inquisitor keeps around her has waded into the fray, bellowing orders. “It’s good to see them playing again. They never had enough time to play.”

“When were you a Warden?” Alistair asks. “You know, my dad travelled with the Wardens too. But they didn’t make him join up—guess that’s why I’m here, ha-ha.” He wants to ask her if she ever met him, because they might have overlapped. It’s hard to tell with elves sometimes though, they age more slowly, but she looks like she’s in her late forties, a bit careworn. Then he decides he really doesn’t want the conversation to get weird, because he is a king and his father was a king, and it’s rare that someone speaks to him normally now—treats him like the lovable idiot he knows he is, not the history-breaking king.

Fiona says, “Oh, give or take thirty years or so. I try not to count the years, at my age. My people live a long time if left unmolested, but I have a knack for running into trouble.”

Alistair laughs. “Oh, me too! I don’t even mean to do it, I’ve just never learned to keep my mouth shut.” To Teagan and Anora’s chagrin, he thinks ruefully. “I was given to the Templars as a boy, before I managed to get the Wardens to take me, and Maker! The Mother despaired of me. Called me most the accidental heretic she’d ever known. Really the Wardens taking me saved my life, Maker knows what they would’ve done to me if I kept poking at them like I was.”

Fiona pauses, trying to suppress a laugh, and then says, “At least you’ve never started a war.”

Alistair laughs heartily at that. Then he realizes what she’s said. “Wait, what? You started a war?”

Fiona says, “You…you didn’t know?”

Alistair says, “Is there something I should know?”

Fiona steps away, smoothing her expression away. “Many things.” Anxiously she peers down into the courtyard, smoothing her sleeves over her hands. The two factions of Skyhold children have joined forces and are attacking Blackwall with snow, but another one of the Inquisitor’s companions has joined the fray—a cackling elvhen girl, and then Alistair sees that from the balcony of the inn there’s a mustachioed mage swatting snowballs away from his friend.

Alistair says, “You never asked me my name.”

Fiona glances at him and then turns away. “I didn’t need to. You look very much like your father. Though I suppose you must know that.”

Alistair opens his mouth and then closes it. He says, voice hoarse, “Did you ever—“ He stumbles over his words, and clears his throat. “Did you ever find out what happened to your baby? When the Circle took him away.”

Fiona hesitates. The silence between them is filled with the children laughing below, the mage grandiosely chanting what are clearly made-up words, and the old Warden dramatically pretending to be overwhelmed by the volley of snow. The elven girl is swearing revenge, right now. It looks the children are trying to steal the “body” and make a pyre out of snow.

Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

Fiona covers her face with her hands.

Alistair continues, “Then, yeah, being apostates suck. Believe me. I met a girl who lived in a swamp. But I think we could’ve made it work. Like since I pass, and I’m not magic—at least I don’t think so, but I think I’d know by now? I’m like, thirty-five. Or something. I could’ve gone to the villages and traded for food. And I would’ve known more about who I am. Than just Maric’s bastard. Who’s just a story, anyway. That’s how kings like that end up. Just stories.”

His mother is weeping now.

He says, “I have no idea how you started that war you said you did. But I think I know what I’m supposed to know.” He takes a step closer, and she doesn’t move. He says, helplessly now, “I think I have your eyes.”

Fiona leans against the balustrade, back to the courtyard below. She’s not crying now, but she’s not making any sound. Alistair is afraid to go closer. Her hands press into her face like a mask, restraining a scream. He thinks if he touches her, all that tension will explode. He gets overwhelmed like that too. Can you inherit that sort of thing? He has to wonder, does the way one expresses pain get passed down in the blood?

He waits for her to speak. A door behind them creaks open, footsteps scuffle to a stop, then retreat. The door shuts. The mage has come down into the courtyard now and is chanting what appears to be Nevarran over the pile of snow that is Blackwall’s pyre. The elven girl is leading the children in mourning—but then the mage flourishes, and the snow glows purple, then scarlet, then green as he sparks. Blackwall throws the snow off and roars. The children cheer.

Fiona breathes heavily, drawing herself out of wherever she retreated. She swipes at her face with her sleeves. She says, “Forgive me. It was better that you didn’t know. You couldn’t have become—you deserved—Maric needed—what are you going to do, I told the Divine to go fuck herself, you can’t have a mother who told the Divine—“

Alistair says, impressed, “You told the Divine to go fuck herself? I am your son, I knew it had to come from somewhere! This is your fault!” He gestures at himself, and Fiona manages a laugh.

“An exaggeration,” she says. “I merely said the Divine should fuck herself, right before we voted to dissolve the Circles and separate from the Chantry. I’d hoped to tell her that at the Conclave, which is why they sent Orsino rather than myself.” Her mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Perhaps the only time running off my mouth and losing my temper has saved my life.”

Alistair says, “Well, the Divine was kind of an ass. Somebody had to say it.” He laughs. “Oh, this is wonderful. My mother, the rebel mage.” He’s genuinely delighted, this is much cooler than anything he came up with as a boy. “This is so cool. Anora’s going to be so annoyed when I tell her. Not like she can complain, her dad betrayed the realm and got all the Wardens killed, so really on the scale of shitty in-laws, I win.” He pauses: he isn’t sure he conveyed what he wanted to by that. Fiona is just staring at him. “But seriously, I don’t know who you are. Besides, obviously, my mother.”

Fiona says, disbelief in her voice, “I’m the Grand Enchanter."

Alistair says, “Oh Maker, I should’ve recognized the belt, shouldn’t I?”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfic #dragon age fic #fiona #king alistair #alistair finally gets reunited with fiona #alistair #alistair theirin #fiona & alistair #I have typed this man's name so often it ceases to look real #fluff #family fluff #family reunion #happy ending

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inkribbon796 · 4 years ago

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Shutdown Ch. 3

Chapter 3: Damage Control

Summary: Logan finally finds Nate and things continue to escalate.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Nate was talking with a couple of Legionnaire hunters in some bar when he got a text from both Bing and Marvin that Logan was heading his way, and that he was acting weird.

Problem number one: he preferred not to be seen with the other hunters around the Coalition. Especially since the hunters didn’t like how “permissive” Nate was about them keeping demons under their roof. The singer took great joy in telling them to take their heads out of their asses and not to attack people. And that he was not going to help them until they stopped.

Problem number two: he very possibly more than a little bit drunk.

“Hey Nate, you might want to watch out. Logan’s upset.” It was from Bing.

“In fine,” Nate struggled to text.

That was when Marvin rushed in, he took one look at the hunters and said, “Get outta here, Google’s coming an’ he’ll kill yah guys if he sees yeh, come on Nate.”[1]

“Come on, let’s wait for Lo,” Nate told him, before the singer called over to the bartender. “Hey Greg, can I get a gin and tonic for my friend, he’s coming in.”

“Nope, nope,” Marvin said and after a couple minutes was able to pull Nate out of the bar. The hunters didn’t leave but they hung around the area.

“Come on Nate, help me out a little” Marvin muttered. Silver flying overhead with Henrik, Patton, and a couple of bags.

“I haven’t had drinks with Logan in ages, I’ve been out of town doing fuck all,” Nate complained.

“Yeah, whose fault is that?” Marvin retorted as he dragged him out.

“It’s freezing out here,” Nate complained. Mare was getting antsy, clearly better able to read the room — so to speak — than his inebriated host.

“Sharp!” Logan called as he walked over, still in his uniform, Roman hot on his heels. Google kept his distance as Bing and Jackie were braced for trouble.

“Ahhh, hey Lo,” Nate smiled, even after Logan walked over and ripped the singer out of Marvin’s hands and slammed him against the brick wall of the bar.

“What the fook[2]!” Marvin spat in surprise. Logan wasn’t violent. Logan at least tried to communicate.

“Where is it?” Logan demanded.

“Hmm, what?” Nate slurred. He was tired, and maybe he was a little more drunk than he thought he was.

Logan’s hands got a little close to Nate’s throat. “My camera, what did you do with it?”

“You said it was fine,” Nate reminded.

“You stole from me!” Logan spat in a rage. “Give it back.”

“Logic,” Silver warned, putting a hand on the Side’s shoulder. “Let’s go back to the base and talk this over.”

“So he can steal from me again?” Logan spat and shoved into Silver with much more force than the other hero expected. He could have easily withstood the shove and not moved but he wasn’t expecting it.

Mare was finally fed up with the situation and easily pushed himself into control of the body, surging out of the necklace and grabbing onto Logan’s wrist with a false light grip. “Hey hero, let’s not make a scene in front of people.”

The Side looked back at Mare and Nate, dark lines coming down from Mare’s eyes. The arm of the suit briefly vibrated for a second before Mare felt electricity coursing through the body. He quickly kicked Logan away before he could do damage the demon couldn’t block.

“All this for a fucking splitter?” Mare shouted. “Thought you were the smart one.”

“I don’t care what you two want it for,” Logan proclaimed, “he stole it from me and everyone is insisting I keep waiting until he gives it back.”

“Come on Nate,” Mare decided, “time to sober up. I think it’s time you got a nightcap, buddy.”

“I just don’t understand why I am forced to sit idly by while things are taken from me,” Logan spat.

“Yeah well Nate’s drunk, so you’ll have to wait until he’s sober again,” Mare told him.

Logan went quiet for a second before something that looked like brass knuckles shot out of his suit and Mare didn’t like the look of them. He knew Logic wasn’t a brawler, so there was no way he was just planning on beating the shit out of Nate and taking the camera off his broken body.

“Okay, alright,” Mare began sliding along the wall, trying to put distance between Nate and Logan, “I’m still using this body, just don’t hit the face. I need it.”

“You demons and your face fixation is a little unnerving,” Roman commented.

“You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you have a nice face,” Mare defended. “If I wanted absolute power I could get that just about anywhere.”

Logan went to hit Nate’s chest, clearly just trying to get into contact with him rather than go for a quick knockout.

“Hey!” Mare yelled.

“Bing, get the can opener,” Silver ordered.

Bing was quick to move it and between Silver holding him down and Bing working with the nanites they got the suit fully turned off.

Logan stopped talking and fighting, just quietly laying there, Mare released Nate who looked a bit more sober and hungover than before and he rubbed at his eyes as Henrik began trying to find what was wrong.

“He said he was fine with me holding onto it,” Nate grumbled, keeping his eyes on the bar. None of the other Legionnaires had come out of help or confront him about Mare.

“I guess he wasn’t,” Roman commented.

“You okay?” Patton asked Nate.

“My head feels like sandpaper and my mouth feels like ass,” Nate grumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

Henrik directed Silver to take Logan to the hospital since he: A— wasn’t breathing; B— didn’t have a heartbeat; and C— was cold to the touch.

Mare quickly took back control of Nate’s body and just ran off into the night before anyone could stop him, and Google stayed following from a distance. He didn’t go into the hospital but he was very clearly watching from a distance for a while before leaving to take his notes and test back to his workshop.

Virgil raced into the hospital, since he’d been called by Patton about what was going on. He proceeded to freak out and have a mental breakdown.

At this moment several things were missed. A swath of freckles covered by a mask. The fact that Virgil’s eyeshadow was always dark and did weird things sometimes. And since people tend not to look down when directed, there was a black stain on the hem of Roman’s normally perfectly white coat.

Logan was admitted to a room for treatment where the doctors stated that he was still pumping blood and his heartbeat had returned, but he wasn’t breathing so he was going to be kept for tests.

After everyone had called asleep, Janus slipped in, disguised as a nurse. He’d been watching for a couple hours, waiting for his moment to move in.

Janus sighed as he walked in, looking at all the Sides. More importantly he looked at the new additions on the Sides. The freckles, the deep black eyeshadow, the black tinge on a coat, and most damning of all Logan laying there in the middle, not breathing.

A deeper sigh came from his chest. “Oh Logan, what have you done?”

From his caplet he pulled a spell book, and flipped it open to a page before he started chanting a spell. He made sure to do so quietly so that none of the Light Sides would wake up. His aura lit up into a magical circle around the Light Sides.

Once Janus stopped speaking, Logan drew in a breath and everything finally went back to normal. Patton’s face had his normal late winter pallor. Roman’s coat was its normal color. Virgil’s eyeshadow looked slightly lighter.

Janus let out a sigh of relief, using his nurse illusion again but promising, “Don’t worry, I won’t let this happen again.”

Carefully the deceitful protective Side left the room and the hospital was left none the wiser.

After the warehouse the silent sniper had followed Google outside the bar until the other heroes had swarmed around Logic. The accidental victim had seemed fine, a little more aggressive than he was usually reported as being. But then there was all this talk about a lack of a heartbeat, and Nate had clearly been possessed and slipped off into the night without waiting to talk to anyone.

Or more likely the demon suspected it would be forcibly placed back into containment.

It wasn’t until the coast was clear that the hunter got into a car and drove just outside of Gainesville city limits while they could still reach the location. It looked like a simple storefront if not for the plain clothes agents inside.

The hunter flashed a quick ID badge and the guards let the hunter in, barely offering a comment as they headed down the stairs to a room where there were four people talking. Three men in suits, and a woman wearing a cloak with rune tattoos going up and down her arms.

The hunter threw the crossbow down in front of the woman, “You gave me the wrong spell.”

“Excuse me,” one of the men in suits barked angrily. “We are having a discussion, if you could wait until we’re done.”

“No, they were sent to get Google, I want to hear how it went,” one of the other men in suits commented, he was in front of a laptop working on something.

“Fine,” the first spat. “I can already see it didn’t work.”

“Calm down,” the woman told him. “What happened?”

“I had the robot in my sights but the arrow hit the hero instead,” Taylor told her. “He saw me, I was told he was a null. I shouldn’t have even been able to hit him by accident.”

“You’re positive that it was one of the null heroes?” She asked.

“Director,” one of the agents walked in with a new folder and handed it to the more frustrated suited man before he handed it to the man who was in front of the computer.

“This thing should be decommissioned and ripped apart,” he commented, Wezel remembering how Google had almost killed him in his own office. “At least the other one doesn’t try to rip your nuts off.”

“I’m not losing all the resources we dumped into it, I want this thing back,” the Director reminded. “If I have to get them back as scrap, I’ll take it.”

“Fine,” Wezel snapped. “Would help if you all used the stuff I made.”

“We did,” Taylor snapped. “It targeted someone else.”

“That’s impossible,” Wezel insisted. “It wasn’t designed to work on people.”

“Well that obviously doesn’t seem like the case,” the third man in a suit commented. His suit was an off beige and his tie was a blood red color. His smile was as sharp as broken glass.

The Actor’s placement was off but he fit like a puzzle piece, forced into place and his aura dampened to look human.

“I don’t care what it seems like, you can’t give someone a computer virus,” Wezel snapped.

“I think maybe you can,” the Actor smiled confidently.

“No, you can’t,” Wezel pulled a file out of the stack and slid it over to the Actor. “Here, take it and just go already.”

The Actor stood up, flipping through it, “Screw this robot hunt, Dames is mayor again.”

“We have more important things to worry about than a corrupt politician,” the Director reminded firmly. “But if you want to deal with it, be my guest.”

“Nice, ah-score,” the Actor smiled and kept flipping through the folder until he found a set of pictures stapled onto the folder to keep them from falling out.

They were different pictures of Dark’s Lost Ones, the Actor ignored all the others to the side and ripped Illinois’s picture out.

“You sure this kid is Wil’s?” The Actor chuckled. “Looks a bit too good looking to come from that sleaze ball.”

“Who cares at this point?” Taylor commented. “They’re all spawnlings by now.”

“Well I lost something a couple years back, looks like Dames found him for me,” Marc smiled, taking the picture as he stood up. “You need me for anything else, Director?”

“No,” the Director scoffed. “As far as I’m concerned, you and these other magic freaks can all get lost.”

“Alright, see you all around then,” the Actor just walked out, whistling to himself as he left, a slight skip in his step.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. Get out of here, Google’s coming and he’ll kill you guys if he sees you, come on Nate.

2. fuck

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hermankopusortizorsumshite · 4 years ago

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Bikes, Bikinis, and Blanket Forts

This was a writing prompt. I ran, RAN with it. So enjoy this super long, fluffy, smutty, sweetness that is Herman Kozik. Sorry in advance. It’s super looooong. I just oculdn’t stop. XD

You grabbed your phone, tapping in your brother’s new number and shooting him a text.

Tiggy: Alexander! It’s your sister! Dawn and Fawn are supposed to be over today. You better get your ass here! These fifty boxes of cake mix aren’t gonna magically make themselves. Feel free to bring a couple guys for backup. Maybe a cute one if you can handle it. And no, Happy isn’t cute. Love you! See ya in a few!

You: Hey! I think you have the wrong number, but I’ll be there in a few! Frosting cakes is my specialty! Love you too! PS I like to think I’m pretty cute.

What? Who did you text then? In all honesty, you weren’t really even mad. The more help the better, and he was confident in his looks. About half an hour went by and you heard the bikes roaring down the road. Your laughed to yourself, Tig must’ve just been messing with you. Dawn and Fawn emerged from their cave at twelve-thirty, and the bikes pulled into your driveway. You counted five bikes, which wasn’t normal, maybe bike five was your mystery man. You laughed to yourself, shaking your head. Tig gave a quick knock before pushing open the door.

“Hey guys!” You cheer, waving to the few you already knew. Happy, your brother Tig, Bobby, and Juice, but you didn’t know the blonde who hung back behind everyone, a smile on his face so wide his blue eyes were barely visible.

“Shoes at the door assholes, dirt in the kitchen makes you a dead man.” Tig barks at the blonde who kicks his boots with everyone else’s. “Hey princess, the girls finally get up?” You looked back to the couch where they’d been and no longer were.

“Maybe they went to the kitchen. Wanted to look like formidable wives when your biker gang showed up.” You let out a laugh, holding Tig’s shoulder. He laughed dryly. He didn’t like the idea of you with a biker, much less his daughters. Your eyes met the blonde’s for a second before you looked away. “What’s the deal with Creeps over there?” You ask lowly, Tig’s eyes follow your directional nod and finds Kozik standing at the receiving end.

“That’s Kozik. Used to live around here, moved to Tacoma after he killed Missy.” Tig nips, frowning. He felt you roll your eyes and heave a sigh.

“Christ Alex, that was eight years ago. Just forgive him.” You snap, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the kitchen. “Feel free to follow Mister Kozik!” You call as you disappear around the corner. He followed, still smiling, she was as cute and sassy in real life as she was in the picture.

“Happy, don’t break that, Jesus.” You nip, snagging the pig decoration from his big hands. You wrap him in a quick hug, getting a kiss on the forehead.

“I just don’t see why you can like pigs so much. The animal or the cops.” He rolls his eyes with a chuckle as he heads to the sink.

“I think they’re cute! The animals and the cops!” You retort, kicking him in the ass as he washed his hands. “Everyone, wash your grubby greasy hands and follow me. I have fifty boxes, so everyone’s gonna have to do a few.”

“I got dibs on you.” Happy calls, drying his hands. You threw a box at him.

“Shut it, bald head!” You call, shaking your head before handing out bowls and whisks. “And I have the girls on cutting parchment circles for our pans. So once you get a box mixed, pour into a pan, the girls will get started putting them in the oven.

Three hours spent mixing boxes of cake batter and putting it in the oven, once you were done, you had a kitchen table full of small round cakes and a big smile. You had made more the twice the amount of frosting you needed because you knew these idiots would make a mess.

“So Kozik, you’re from Tacoma, you killed my brother’s beloved Missy. And I texted you this morning, didn’t I?” You ask, handing him a bowl of frosting and a frosting spatula. The blonde gave you a look of concern and then smiled.

“Yeah, it was me. I told Tig he better get his shit around, you didn’t sound like you were playing. My frosting skills are, at best, adequate. Just so you know.” He laughs, getting you to laugh too. Tig watched from the other end of the table as his sister fell for the blonde idiot. To break up the weird dynamic, Happy grabbed a finger scoop of frosting and smeared it across your face. You couldn’t help the laugh as you grabbed a little frosting and smeared it back across his shirt and face.

“Hey now!” He barks, grabbing some and smudging Dawn’s face. She shrieks, smearing some on Tig’s goatee. You watch on as he gets her back. You couldn’t help the laugh. You had needed a fun change. The seriousness of work had been too much lately and you just needed a break. Alex always knew how to cheer you up. The blonde gets the bright idea to follow suit, getting a little frosting and wiping it down the bridge of your nose, dotting each cheek and your chin.

“Actually, my frosting skills are still badass.” He nods, grinning from ear to ear as you try to lick it off your nose.

“Oh buddy, you have no idea.” You disappear into the kitchen, returning with a plastic spoon and a dark grin. Dipping the back of the plastic spoon, you smudge it across his forehead. “Simba!” You laugh, going back to frosting your cakes.

“You guys quit! We only have two more hours before I have to go to work and these are getting dropped at Gemma’s.” You bark, trying not to smile as Kozik mimics you, rolling his eyes. Tig couldn’t help the littlest smile. You and the dumb blonde were getting along well. You finished the cakes’ first layer of white frosting and got out the piping bags and colored frosting. You had a bag of pink frosting, red, black, and green. “S-O-A is going on thirty of them. Like this.”

You concentrated on the lettering, making it look so easy and pretty. Kozik was mesmerized as he watched you work. You handed him a bag of red frosting, Happy a bag of black, the girls each a smaller pink and green bag for flowers, and the others grabbed their own bags and filled them with black frosting.

An hour later, all the cakes were decorated and put into cute boxes that the girls decorated. You gave a content sigh, happy with the finished products for Gemma’s fundraiser and piled them into your car.

You got to Gemma’s and shockingly enough, there was blondie, waiting patiently to help unload the boxes. Gemma watched the interaction, your face hot with blush as you let him do all the heavy lifting. Once done, he met you back at your car door with that big dumb grin on his face.

“You goin’ to the fundraiser tomorrow?” He asks, eyes dropping to your badge on your scrub top.

“Yeah, I plan on it, but I gotta get to work.” You smile, climbing into the car.

“I’ll see you there. Hey! I think you’re beautiful. Let’s hang out tomorrow. Can’t promise how long though. I guess Gemma’s making me help the guys with something.” He chuckles, watching you flush bright cherry red, looking down at your tennis shoes.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t make any promises either, I guess I’m on the bike washing in a bikini crew.” You roll your eyes as he laughs.

“I’ll be sure to bring the Dyna through.” He assures, giving you a wink and biting his bottom lip before heading back towards his bike.

“Hey! You were right!” You call as you watch him walk away. He looks over his shoulder at you. “You are pretty cute.” You bite the corner of your lip as he chuckles and climbs on the Dyna, leaving you there smiling like an idiot.

“Oh hunny, you two might as well get hitched at this gig tomorrow.” Gemma calls from the front door.

“Shut up.” You laugh, leaving to the hospital. As you stepped into the locker room to put your lunch away, Carrie Ann meets you in there, giving you a knowing look.

“You met someone.” She announces, grabbing your shoulders.

“I did.” You put your head down and sigh, giving it a shake to try and get rid of the smile but to no avail.

“Tell me everything, but let’s talk in the ER, I’ve got a couple guys needing some stitches. A couple harmless wounds.” You follow her to a bay and you turn around quickly.

“Shit.” You mutter, gripping your fists together Carrie Ann caught you, and peeks back into the room. She saw your brother, whom she’d met at a little party you’d had, but the blonde, she didn’t know him.

“Oh girl. Hunny. Yes.” She nods, patting your shoulder as the two of you walk into the room.

“Well you were the dumbass that pulled out into traffic. And I’m the one without a license!” Tig barks, smacking Kozik upside the head.

“Ow! Asshole listen! I said I was sorry! Listen, about your sister— I really-“ Tig coughs, points a thumb behind him. Kozik peeks over his shoulder and quickly turns back around. “Shit.” He coughs, putting on his best grin. Carrie Ann starts to disinfect the wound on Tig, making small talk with the man. Carrie Ann had slept with your brother more than once, but you didn’t much care. Groaning internally, you slide a cart over to the grinning blonde with a stab wound to the shoulder. You start disinfecting, numbing the area around his deep cut.

“You two in an accident?” You ask, grabbing the curved needle and the sterile thread.

“Nah, I—“

“No! His stupid ass pulled out in front of a black van full of cholos and the cholos jumped out, cut us off, and beat our ass.” Tig barks, yelling more at the blonde.

“I said I was sorry! I swear to god they were not there before!” He shouts, throwing an arm at your fired up brother. He hisses, grabbing at his shoulder.

“Well, quit moving.” You snip, giving him a sweet smile. He visibly calmed down when he saw your smile. Tig watched on with a smug grin.

“Tell me doc, why are you doing the bike wash tomorrow?” He asks as you continue stitching the gash.

“Why not?” You ask, eyes never leaving his chest.

“Cause you’re too pretty to be standing there in a bikini, gettin’ chatted up by a bunch lowlifes.” He coos, stopping your hand. You look into his dark blue eyes for a second, getting lost in the pools.

“Wouldn’t that make you a lowlife?” You ask, raising a brow at him.

“Yeah, I am. I don’t deserve you. No one does, but I don’t wanna beat up some guy cause he put his hands on you.” He mutters, hiding his face as he dropped his chin to his chest.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask, lifting his chin.

“Yeah, I just-I don’t even know you and I already wanna fight guys that haven’t even seen you yet. It’s just weird. I’m not normally like this.” He chuckles, standing and following you out of the room as you discharge him.

“Okay, Kozik. No swinging punches or anything, got me? You pull those stitches you’re gonna cry. And I’m gonna laugh.” You order, pointing a stern finger at him. He grasps your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“Yes dear.” He smirks, watching you turn cherry red and yank your hand away as if his lips were made of fire.

“Christ, go on.” You push playfully at his shoulder and he turns and saunters away with your brother. He looks over his shoulder as he rounds the corner, giving you a wink before disappearing out of sight.

“Oh my God!” Carrie cheers, grabbing your hands and shaking them. You laugh, shaking your head as you start towards the other bay ready to finish your night. The rest of the night was pretty normal, as normal as it could be in the emergency room. You were heading home when a bike pulls out behind your car on the last bend before your driveway.

“Hey,” Tig coos as he shuts the bike off in the drive. He sometimes stayed the night if the clubhouse was overcrowded. A bike roared up as you two headed towards the house.

“Hey!” Kozik calls as he makes it towards the steps. Tig ignored him as he swung the door open for you.

“You invite the whole club for a sleep over?” You ask with a chuckle. Kozik gives a low warning as he scoops you up at the threshold.

“Nah, just lover boy. I’m building fort. And you fuckers aren’t allowed in if you don’t help.” You giggle excitedly. You and Tig built blanket forts so often as kids, it was your fondest memories of him. With a spring in your step, you headed to your room and pulled out a pair of matching jammies that consisted of a SAMCRO tank top and shorts with a drawstrings. Slipping on your favorite pair of pink socks that went up to your knees. You and Tig used to race across the kitchen floor in your slipperiest pair of socks.

Tig offered Kozik a pair of basketball shorts he’d never worn to keep and he warned him before you and the girls came running back with armloads of blankets.

“No funny business. You’re lucky I’m letting you see her like this. This is our secret. I’d like you to straight-ly explain to another biker that you were making a blanket fort with me. Gay. It doesn’t leave this room. Got it?” He asks, pointing a ringed finger at him.

“The only thing gay is that you’re here.” He laughs, heading to change. When he returns, he stops short, jaw close to the floor. There you were sitting on the counter with a Jaws coffee mug full of brightly colored ice cream, spoon in your mouth, head tipped back and eyes closed. Tig cleared his throat next to him, wondering if they saw the same thing. The pale peach skin that divided the shorts from the socks made Kozik shift uncomfortably. He wanted a taste of it, his face between your—.

“Are you okay?” His thoughts are interrupted by Tig’s daughter Dawn, and he coughs, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sorry.” He smirks, wiping a hand down his face. You hop down, giving him a little smirk as you swing your hips while you walk. He watched every movement with full attention. Tig gave a low guttural warning, glaring at you.

“Enough, get all the pillows and blankets.” He barks to the girls, yourself obviously included. You scamper away to get all the pillows, big and small. Kozik appears at your doorway, giving you a little fright. He takes the pillows from your hands, watching as you head back towards your bed for more. Stretching you toes to boost you a little further forward, Kozik drops the pillows and grabs your hips, pulling you up and back against him. Finally. You thought, letting his breath tickle the back of your neck. Your breath catches, and he hears it, revels in it. His lips brush gently against the column of your throat, sending shivers down your spine. Your eyes closed, listening to the thudding of your pulse in your ears as his hands drifted up your body to your breasts, your nipples taut as the pad of his thumb brushed back and forth across them. You stifled a moan as you rolled your head back against his shoulder, pressing your lips to his jaw. He groaned, pulling away from you and gathering the pillows he dropped, disappearing. He left you there, in shock, completely vulnerable. Your hands followed the path he’d made like a brand.

You grabbed the rest of the pillows and head out to the living room. Hanging blankets precariously from chairs and the sofa, you hand Kozik the other end to hang over the TV. Tig watched the interaction with a smile. A small part of him saw a glimpse of the future. You and Kozik with two kids, maybe a boy and a girl, doing this ten years from now. He accepted that might be a good outcome.

“Alex? Alexander!” You call, snapping your finger in his face.

“What? Sorry.”

“Get the movie started! I’m gonna start the popcorn, Kozik is grabbing beer and pop.�� You laugh as the two of you leave the fort. Once behind the safety of the kitchen wall, Kozik’s hands find your waist, his lips meeting yours for a quick passionate kiss. You toss a bag of popcorn into the microwave and hit the button.

“Here, put them in this basket.” He took your stretched up figure as an opportunity, grinding against you, his lips pressing quick hot kisses where your tank top strap had been nosed aside. As quick as he was there, he was gone, filling the wicker basket with drinks and heading back to the fort.

You awoke with a start, smiling when you felt. A nose pressed against your neck. You peeked as gently as you could to see Kozik fast asleep, arm slung heavily over yours, hand tucked under your ribs. Wriggling out from under him, you’re met in the kitchen with a hot cup of coffee and a smiling Alex.

“Aren’t you two just cute as pie.” He chuckles softly, sipping from his favorite mug with Missy’s face on it. The girls got it for him last year.

Shut up, asshole. You’ll never experience it. Cause you beat hookers.” You giggle, mimicking his sip. You shivered as the coffee warmed your soul.

“You are. Seriously, kid. Just be careful.” He warns, sitting at the bar. You finish the coffee in silence, kissing your brother’s cheek in agreement before disappearing to your room. Finding your black bikini with high waisted bottoms, you find your curling iron, giving your hair a quick once over. Brushing on a light dusting of makeup, you slip on a yellow sundress and slip on your pink strapped gladiator sandals and head out to the fundraiser. You met Gemma there, helping her set up the cakes. She was grinning as if she knew something. You didn’t dare ask with her, you didn’t really wanna know.

“You and Tacoma, what’s going on?” You shake your head as you put down the last cake on the table.

“Nothing much, just a little fun. He’s a pretty cute guy, Gem.” You gush, sitting in a chair with her as you waited for the rest of the girls to show up. This kicked off at eleven, and it was currently nine fifty-eight.

“Yeah, he and Tig have a deep beef. You know that right?” She asks, eyeing you as you drink your coffee.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, Alex even said he thought we were cute. Okay? Plus, I’m never gonna be with Jax, stop trying. He’s too young.” You both laugh. For a long time, Gemma was sure you’d date her perfectly eligible son, but you kindly refused each time.

The bikes began rolling in, as did the Cara Cara girls, and you pulled your sundress off. Heading towards the small crowd of women, you greet each with a hug and smile. Handing them each a small tube of sunscreen and chuckle.

“Girls! We’re here for a good time and a good cause! Don’t burn yourselves, don’t dehydrate yourselves, and don’t take shit from a man that isn’t yours.” Gemma cheers as the women get ready. Bikes were lined up down the street when Kozik and Tig arrived, Tig’s eyes found you washing down a bike from another charter, the man standing there obviously looking at your ass. Tig groaned in pain when the man slid money into the hip of her bottoms, he wanted to drop that old fuck for touching his sister. Stalking to the table, his hands hit the top and make Gemma jump.

“Yes?” She nips, glaring at him.

“Why in the fuck are the other guys touching them? I told you I’d talk my sister into it if they were just washing bikes.” He growls, white knuckles gripping the edge of the table.

“Oh shit.” Gemma mutters, heading towards the blonde Tacoma man as he stormed into the line of fire of the hose. You turned, wondering where the water was, when you saw a very angry Kozik standing behind you, the water pattering against the leather kutte.

“Hey you!” You giggle awkwardly, patting his chest.

“Garage.” He demands, pointing to the open bay of the Teller-Morrow repair garage.

“Koz-“

“Now.” His eyes were dark and dangerous. You headed towards the garage, stopping to tell Lyla you’d be right back. Kozik stormed ahead to his bike, grabbing a small blanket from his saddlebag and wrapping it around you. Once in the garage, he herded you into a corner, his lips attacking yours hungrily.

“I wanted to kill him.” He grinds through clenched teeth, leaving angry little marks along your shoulder. He was claiming his territory, and it was hot. You wrap your legs around him, his hands holding you against the toolbox.

#imagine #cute imagine #herman kozik imagine #kozik #herman kozik #kozik imagine #kozik oneshot #soa #sons of anarchy kozik #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagines #kozik!reader #kozik soa #smutish

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abusybuzzingbee · 4 years ago

Text

Dead in the Water | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 3 Rewrite | Dean x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Major Character: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Canon level violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other

Word Count: 9,161

Summary: Dean and the reader still do not get along, but they slowly begin making progress toward a healthier relationship in a town threatened by a lake-dwelling supernatural creature.

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

Click here for the series playlist!

You were sat inside of a diner across from Dean, munching on the last of your fries as he circled names in an obituary. Sam had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and you and Dean refused to speak to each other unless it was to start a petty fight.

The pretty blonde waitress returned, leaning over the table and showing off her boobs. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked Dean.

You looked over at him as he grinned around the pen he was chewing on.

You suppressed an eye roll, addressing the waitress. “Just the check, please.”

“Okay,” she smiled at you, glancing over at Dean once more. The waitress strutted away, and Dean dropped his head down before looking over at you.

“You know, (Y/N), we are allowed to have fun once in a while.” He pointed at the waitress as she walked into the kitchen, “That's fun.”

“You can have fun when we find your dad.”

Dean went to say something back to you, but Sam sat down and effectively cut the conversation short.

“Hey,” he said. “What’d I miss?”

“Just your brother trying to pick up our waitress,” you stated, glaring pointedly at Dean.

“Can it, (Y/N).” He put the newspaper in front of Sam. “Take a look at this, I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin.” He pointed to the obituary he had circled in the paper. “Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago.”

“A funeral?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin. For, uh, closure, or whatever,” the older of the two shrugged.

“Closure? What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them.”

Dean’s expression hardened. He squared his shoulders and leaned forward on his forearms on the table. “Something you want to say to me?”

You took a sip of your drink, eyes widening as you looked down and to the side of you, feeling pretty awkward.

“The trail for Dad,” Sam started, “It's getting colder every day.”

Dean sighed. “Exactly. So what are we supposed to do?”

“I don't know. Something. Anything.”

“You know what? I'm sick of this attitude.” Dean’s tone was harsh as he spoke. “You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?”

“Yeah, I know you do, it's just—”

Dean cut his younger brother off. “I'm the one that's been with him every single day for the past two years, while you've been off to college going to pep rallies. We will find Dad, but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he did so.

The waitress walked past again, effectively distracting Dean from his anger toward Sam. His gaze was focused right on her ass.

You scoffed and snapped your fingers a mere inch in front of his face.

He jerked back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What was that for?!”

“For focusing on getting your dick wet instead of the task at hand,” you replied.

Dean went to shoot something back at you, but Sam was quick to jump in. “Alright--” he directed his next question at Dean, “--Lake Manitoc, how far?”

***

The car rides between hunts were the only things in your life that resembled “normal.” They were an opportunity for you to get to know the boys better, even if Sam was the only one who talked to you.

“Sam, you cannot look me in the eyes and say Clueless is a bad movie.” You crossed your arms over your chest. You were sitting behind Dean’s seat facing Sam with your right leg up on the seat to look at the boy a little better.

“I just did. So, ha,” he quipped lightheartedly. “I mean, it’s borderline incest, (Y/N/N).”

It made you happy that Sam had given you a nickname.

“Not really. They weren’t blood-related,” you shrugged. “Sure, the relationship’s a little weird, but it’s part of the comedy of the movie.”

“Agree to disagree,” Sam chuckled.

“Sure.”

“You ladies done with the chick flicks?” Dean questioned.

“I guess we are now,” you retorted. “Why?”

“Because we’re here,” he informed you as the Impala pulled up in front of a lake house.

“Oh, would ya look at that,” you commented.

You got out of the car and headed up the painted green steps leading to the house. The wooden stair boards creaked beneath your boots as you walked. Dean knocked on the door of the house and was greeted by a man that looked to be about your age standing there.

“Will Carlton?” Dean questioned the young man.

“Yeah, that's right.”

“I'm Agent Ford,” the older Winchester started. “This is Agent Hamil--” he gestured to Sam, “Agent Fisher--” he gestured to you, “We're with the US Wildlife Service.” He held his fake badge up for Will to see. “Can we ask you a couple questions? Maybe see the spot where your sister went down?”

“Sure,” Will nodded. He led you and the boys down to the edge of the water. “She was about a hundred yards out.” He pointed at a spot far out into the lake. “That's where she got dragged down.”

“And you're sure she didn't just drown?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. She was a varsity swimmer,” Will answered. “She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub.”

The older man sitting on a bench on the wooden dock that jutted out into the lake grabbed your attention. The following interrogation was just background noise to you as you studied the man’s slumped over form.

“So no splashing? No signs of distress?” Sam piped up.

“No, that's what I'm telling you.”

“Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?”

“No. Again, she was really far out there.”

“You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?”

“No, never. Why? Why, what do you think's out there?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we do,” you heard Dean say. You sucked in a breath when Dean suddenly yanked on your arm to get you to follow him to the car.

“What was that for?” you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip.

“You wanna stop creeping on the old man and focus on the case?”

“I wasn’t creeping on him,” you replied.

“Yeah? Well, then what were you doing?”

“Just... thinking,” you answered.

“You can think when we’re not in the middle of talkin’ to a witness,” he told you.

“Are you that much of a control freak that I can’t think when I want to?” you asked incredulously. “Grow up.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something back to you, but Sam cut him off in an attempt to stop a fight from happening in front of the Carltons. “Okay, so. Can’t talk to Mr. Carlton.“

“Okay...” you trailed off, “So our best bet is the police station, then.”

***

The sheriff, whose name you found out was Jake, walked out from behind the desk in the police station’s lobby as he addressed you and the boys. “Now, I’m sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?”

“You sure it's accidental?” Sam challenged. “Will Carlton saw something grab his sister.”

Jake led you and the Winchesters into his office. “Like what?” He motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk. "Here, sit, please.”

You took a seat in one of the chairs and Dean sat in the other. Sam leaned on the back of your chair as the sheriff continued to speak.

“There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster.”

“Yeah, Dean laughed, “Right.”

“Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still--” Jake sat down behind his cluttered desk, leaning forward on it on his forearms, “We dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there.”

“That's weird, though,” the older Winchester noted, “I mean, that's, that's the third missing body this year.”

“I know,” Jake started, “These are people from my town. These are people I care about.”

“I know,” Dean told him.

“Anyway,” the sheriff sighed, “All this...it won't be a problem much longer.”

“What do you mean?” Dean questioned.

“Well, the dam, of course,” Jake stated as if it were obvious.

“Of course, the dam. It's, uh,” Dean stuttered awkwardly, “it sprung a leak.”

‘This dumbass,’ you thought.

“No, it’s falling apart, remember? The feds won’t give us the money to fix it, so they opened the spillway,” you told him.

“It’s good to see somebody does their research,” the sheriff commented. “As Federal Wildlife, you should already know that.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed.

A few quiet knocks on the door drew your attention behind you.

A pretty brunette walked into the office. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

You and Dean stood up, facing the young woman.

“I can come back later,” she said, turning to leave.

Jake’s voice stopped her movements as he stood up as well. “Gentlemen-- and lady-- this is my daughter.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” the older Winchester smirked.

‘Oh, this asshole’s making his voice deeper.’

“I'm Dean.” He shook the woman’s hand.

“Andrea Barr,” she smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“They're from the Wildlife Service,” her father interjected. “About the lake.”

“Oh.”

A little boy with shaggy, copper-colored hair walked out from behind Andrea, his head down low.

“Oh, hey there,” Dean grinned. “What's your name?”

Lucas looked up at Dean with sad eyes before turning and walking out of the room without saying a word. Andrea looked at Dean apologetically before following who you assumed was her son out of the room.

“His name is Lucas,” Jake answered for the boy.

You watched as Andrea gave Lucas a box of crayons and ran her hand over his hair.

“Is he okay?” Sam asked.

“My grandson's been through a lot. We all have,” the older man admitted. He went and stood by the entrance to the office, turning to face you and the boys. “Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know.” He led the three of you out of the office.

You thanked the sheriff.

Dean looked at the sheriff as he began to talk.“You know, now that you mentioned it--”

‘Oh, boy.’

He directed his attention toward Andrea, “--could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?”

“Lakefront Motel,” she told him. “Go around the corner. It's about two blocks south.”

“Two—” He pretended to be confused. “Would you mind showing us?”

Andrea laughed. “You want me to walk you two blocks?”

“Not if it's any trouble,” Dean stated, his smile bright.

‘Is he for real?’

“I'm headed that way anyway,” she shrugged. She told her father she would be back to pick up Lucas at three and told Lucas that she would take him to the park before leaving with you and the boys.

“Thanks again,” Sam nodded at Jake as he followed Andrea out of the station.

You and Sam stayed a few paces back from Dean and Andrea as he attempted to charm the brunette. You and Sam both wanted the pavement to swallow you whole.

“So, cute kid,” you heard Dean tell her.

“Thanks,” she replied.

‘Short, to the point, not taking any of his crap,’ you thought. ‘I like her.’

“Kids are the best, huh?” the older Winchester tried again.

Andrea glanced back at him over her shoulder, shaking her head with a smile on her face as she continued walking.

She stopped in front of a place that said “Lakefront Motel” in bold, white letters, contrasting with the red background the words were placed upon. “There it is. Like I said, two blocks.”

Sam thanked her.

She turned to address Dean. “Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” She walked away, calling back over her shoulder, “Enjoy your stay!”

You let the laugh you were trying to suppress burst out of your lips. “I love her!”

“‘Kids are the best'? You don't even like kids,” Sam pointed out.

“I love kids!” his older brother argued.

“Name three children that you even know,” Sam deadpanned.

Dean paused to think for a moment but came up empty. You waved your hands at him in a shooing motion before walking toward the motel with Sam.

“I’m thinking!” he called after the two of you.

“Have fun going to get the car, dumbass!” you called back to Dean as his younger brother chuckled.

“We seriously just walked two blocks and left the car at the fucking police station all so Dean could try to hook up with the hot mom,” you sighed, shaking your head.

***

You and the boys had gone to your separate motel rooms to unpack once Dean had grabbed your bags--well, his and Sam’s, making you go out to the Impala to get your own.

Sam told you that he and Dean were going to take some time to unpack and the three of you would meet up again later. You were never one for unpacking your duffel bag on hunts since you would not be staying in one location for very long. Instead, you took the downtime you had been given to do some research.

You pulled your laptop along with a few other items out of your bag before flopping down onto the flimsy mattress and kicking your combat boots off. As you blew out a puff of air, you opened your laptop to The Lake Manitoc Tribune’s browser page. You scrolled through article after article on the drownings in the town. One article, in particular, caught your attention. The headline read “Local Man in Tragic Accident” with the story of a man named Christopher Barr written below.

‘Christopher Barr... as in Andrea Barr?’

Your question was answered when you scrolled a little way down the page to see a picture of a soaking wet and seemingly traumatized Lucas wrapped in a towel. He was standing next to a policeman who you assumed was Lucas’s grandfather.

You read the article in full detail. It told the story of how Lucas and his father were out swimming in the lake when Christopher was pulled beneath the surface of the water. Lucas was floating on a nearby wooden platform at the time of his father’s drowning. Two hours later, Lucas was rescued.

‘That poor thing...’

You were no stranger to witnessing the death of a parent, so you knew how hard it must have been for Lucas. You had been older than Lucas was when you witnessed the deaths of your parents, so you could only imagine how crushed you would have been had you been as young as he was.

As far as you could tell from reading through loads of articles, Lucas was the only eyewitness to see whatever creature you were dealing with. This struck you as peculiar since there were so many accounts of other lake monster sighting, making you believe you were not dealing with something corporeal.

You heard a knock on the door moments later, and you opened it to find Sam standing there. You invited him into your room, and the two of you sat at the small table by the window of the room to talk.

“So,” he started, “we figured out what’s up with Lucas.”

“Yeah, I did too,” you responded. “That poor kid.”

“Yeah...” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Back in our room. He’s still unpacking.”

“Jesus, how much shit does he carry around with him? He’s been unpacking for, like, forty-five minutes,” you scoffed.

“He’s slow,” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, so I’ve gathered,” you retorted. “Oh, hey, since Lucas is the only eyewitness, we should probably try to talk to him. Andrea said she was gonna take him to the park at three back at the station. Should we go try to catch ‘em there?”

“‘S worth a shot,” the younger Winchester shrugged. You saw his eyes drift over to your bed where some of the contents of your duffel bag were scattered. He nodded at what you assumed was your sketchbook as he questioned, “You draw?”

“Yep,” you replied.

“Can I see?”

“Sure,” you nodded, leaning back in your chair to grab it off your bed. You opened it to some of your most recent drawings and let him flip through them.

“Dude, these are really good,” he complimented you.

You thanked him with a smile. “I did one of you last week.” You showed it to him.

“Thanks,” he grinned. “This is amazing.” He looked from the drawing back up to you. “But why’d you draw me?”

“Well, I draw people I find interesting,” you shrugged. "You and that freaky head of yours are interesting.”

“Who ‘re the other people you drew?”

“Not a clue,” you answered. “Like I said, people I find interesting. Randos in bars, diners, pretty much anywhere.”

“That’s so cool,” he told you. Sam handed you the book back.

“What about you?” you asked as you took it from him. “You have any fun hobbies? Hidden talents I should know about?”

“Not really,” he replied. “I mean, I like to read.”

“Lame,” you joked, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed. “C’mon, there’s gotta be something more fun than that.”

“Well, I liked going to the gym at Stanford and going on runs.”

“Oh, so you’re a health nut,” you chuckled.

“I guess so, yeah,” Sam laughed.

Your conversation was cut short by a knock on the door.

“You girls done in there?” Dean called through the door.

“I guess we are now,” you remarked.

Sam got up and let his brother into the room as you glanced at the clock on your bedside table that read “3:15.”

“We should probably head over to the park now,” you told the boys.

“Park? Why?” Dean inquired.

“Andrea said she was bringing Lucas there at three. He’s the only eyewitness we got, so we should probably try to talk to him,” you informed him.

“Alright, let’s go.”

***

Conveniently enough for you and the Winchesters, there was only one park in Lake Manitoc since it was such a small town. You noticed Andrea sitting on a bench on the outskirts of the small field near the playground watching over here son. He was sat on the ground by another bench a little ways off from Andrea, using the bench as a table for him to color on. Lucas had crayons, paper, and what appeared to be green army men scattered on the bench.

“Can we join you?” Sam asked Andrea once you three had gotten up next to her bench.

The brunette looked up at you three, smiling as she stated, “I'm here with my son.”

“Oh,” the older Winchester started, “Mind if I say hi?” Without waiting for her answer, he went over to Lucas.

Andrea addressed you and Sam as the two of you sat on the bench next to her. “Tell your friend this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me.”

“I don't think that's what this is about,” Sam told her.

You watched as Dean knelt next to the young boy while Andrea and Sam talked about Christopher’s drowning. Lucas paid Dean no mind, continuing to color as Dean played with the army men on the bench briefly. He spoke a little more before grabbing a piece of paper and sitting on the bench. Dean showed off whatever he had drawn to Lucas before putting the drawing down when Lucas was unresponsive and decided to say something else to the young boy. Moments later, the older Winchester walked back over to you, Andrea, and Sam. Andrea was saying something about how Lucas had not spoken since his father’s death as Dean reached your group.

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Sam told her. “What are the doctors saying?”

“That it's a kind of post-traumatic stress,” she explained.

“That can't be easy. For either of you.”

“We moved in with my dad. He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw...” she trailed off and shook her head.

There was a short silence broken by Dean. “Kids are strong. You'd be surprised what they can deal with.”

You noticed Lucas get up from his seat by the bench out of the corner of your eye and make his way over to your group with a piece of construction paper in hand.

“You know,” Andrea began, “he used to have such life. He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—” she was caught by surprise to see Lucas suddenly next to her. “Oh, hey, sweetheart.”

Lucas ignored his mom and looked up at Dean. He handed the man the picture.

“Thanks,” Dean nodded, looking the drawing over. “Thanks, Lucas.”

You caught a glimpse of the paper, recognizing the house in it but unable to place where you had seen it.

“We’ll see you around,” Sam told Andrea as you and the Winchesters turned away from the Barrs.

You studied Dean as he looked over the picture. In your mind, he was still a dick but had made the child feel comfortable enough to communicate by some means with him.

“What are you looking at?” Dean interrogated you gruffly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

‘And he’s back to being a dick.’

***

You slept pretty well that night but woke up groggy and in deep need of coffee. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and got up from your bed, moving over to your duffel bag. You grabbed a clean black shirt from your bag along with a pair of jeans and socks. You tucked the oversized shirt into your jeans and tugged on your combat boots. After finishing your morning routine, you headed out of the door. You figured it was late enough that the boys should be up, and knocked on the door to their room. Sam opened it a few seconds later.

“I want coffee,” you stated dryly, feeling a bit like a zombie in your decaffeinated state.

“Me too,” he answered. “You want anything, Dean?”

The older brother grunted in response from somewhere within the room.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

After grabbing the Impala’s keys, you and Sam headed over to the car.

“Is he always that cheery in the mornings?” you asked referring to Dean.

“Yeah, he’s a joy to be around when he first wakes up,” Sam responded sarcastically. The two of you got into the car and Sam began to drive away from the motel.

“Ooh, I saw a cute little coffee shop over that way.” You pointed out of the passenger’s side window.

Sam followed your instructions, and soon the two of you were off for a drive in the neighborhood around the lake with coffees in hand.

You straightened up in your seat when you saw an ambulance in front of the Carlton house. “Pull over.”

Sam did as told, and the two of you hopped out of the car. There were several other onlookers standing near the house.

“What happened?” you asked one of the older women nearby.

“Oh, the young man who lived here, Will Carlton,” she began, putting a hand on her chest, “he died last night.”

“What?” Sam asked incredulously.

“The poor thing drowned.”

“How?” You gave the woman a quizzical look.

“I don’t really understand it myself,” she laughed uncomfortably, “he drowned in the sink. His father didn’t find him till this morning.”

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath.

“Poor Bill,” the older woman sighed, looking at the house. “First his godson in May, then his daughter, and now Will.”

“His godson?” Sam questioned.

“Christopher Barr.”

You looked up at Sam, who looked down at you with a confused expression that mirrored your own.

You said your goodbyes to the older woman and headed back to the car.

“This just gets weirder all the time,” Sam commented as he drove the two of you away from the scene.

“At least now we know there’s a connection to Bill Carlton,” you reminded him.

“But what did he do to deserve this?”

“Hell if I know.”

***

You and Sam filled Dean in on the situation as soon as you walked into the boys’ shared motel room.

“What the hell? So you're right,” Dean said, talking to Sam, “this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else.”

“Yeah, but what?” you asked.

“I don't know,” he told you in an annoyed tone as if you had asked a stupid question. “Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water...” he trailed off. He straightened up and his eyes grew wider as he came to a realization. “Water that comes from the same source.”

“The lake.”

“Yeah.”

“Which would explain why it's upping the body count. The lake is draining. It'll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, it's running out of time,” you added.

“And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere.” Dean got up from the bed as he spoke, his stress level seeming to rise slightly. “This is gonna happen again soon.” He sat down on one of the chairs at the table near the window.

“And we do know one other thing for sure. We know this has got something to do with Bill Carlton,” Sam mentioned.

“Yeah, it took both his kids,” the older Winchester acknowledged.

“And this lady at the Carlton house said that Chris was Bill’s godson,” you explained.

Dean looked up at you and Sam. “Let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit.”

***

Your attempted questioning of Mr. Carlton had gone unsuccessfully.

“My children are gone. It's...it's worse than dying. Go away. Please,” the older man dismissed you. Through the duration of his visit, he refused to look up from the boards of the wooden dock. His posture had been slumped over, and his facial expression remained solemn.

“We’re sorry,” you told him before you followed the boys back to the car.

“What do you think?” Sam asked.

“Aw, I think the poor guy's been through hell,” Dean replied. “I also think he's not telling us something.”

“So now what?” the younger brother inquired, leaning on the roof of the car.

“Huh,” you let out.

“What?” Sam asked.

“You got Lucas’s drawing on you by any chance?” you asked Dean.

He looked at you questioningly but pulled it out of his jacket pocket nonetheless.

You unfolded the paper and held it up next to the Carlton house. Lucas had drawn Bill’s house on the paper, which is why the drawing looked familiar to you.

“Maybe Bill's not the only one who knows something,” Dean commented.

***

You and the boys were just inside the door of the Barr household, trying to get Andrea to let Dean talk to Lucas.

“I'm sorry,” Andrea expressed, “but I don't think it's a good idea.”

“I just need to talk to him. Just for a few minutes,” Dean pleaded.

“He won't say anything. What good's it gonna do?”

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt. We think something's happening out there,” Sam explained.

“My husband, the others, they just drowned. That's all.”

You could tell Andrea did not really think that.

“If that's what you really believe, then we'll go. But if you think there's even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let me talk to your son,” Dean tried one last time.

Andrea gave in, showing you and the boys down the hall to Lucas’s room. Your group found Lucas sitting on the floor surrounded by drawings and army men. He was coloring another picture.

Dean walked into the room and crouched down beside the boy’s setup. “You know, I, uh, I wanted to thank you for that last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again.”

You looked over at what Lucas was drawing. It was a person in the water. You quirked an eyebrow at it as Dean placed the picture of the Carlton house in front of Lucas.

“How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen? Maybe you could nod yes or no for me,” Dean offered.

Lucas ignored him.

“You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.”

That seemingly touched something within Lucas, who dropped the crayon and looked up at the older Winchester.

You heard Andrea suck in a breath as Lucas handed Dean a picture of a white church, a yellow two-story house, and a little boy with a red bicycle.

“Thanks, Lucas,” Dean said quietly.

***

“Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died,” Dean brought up as he drove along the highway. The three of you were attempting to find the place Lucas had drawn.

“There are cases—going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies,” Sam explained.

“Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow? I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please,” Dean remarked.

You leaned forward on your elbows on the back of the leather front seat. “All right, we got another house to find.”

“The only problem is there's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean brought up, his tone once again implying what he thought you were suggesting was stupid.

Sam looked at the picture, which he held in his hand. “See this church? I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here.”

“Oh, College Boy thinks he's so smart,” the older brother mocked. SAM

“You know, um...” Sam started. “What you said about Mom...You never told me that before.”

“It's no big deal,” Dean shrugged.

Sam looked at him with his signature puppy dog eyes expression.

“Oh God,” the older Winchester groaned. “We're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?”

***

You and the boys walked up to the yellow house that matched the one in the drawing. The house just so happened to be across the street from a church just like Lucas had drawn.

You were greeted at the door by a petite old woman. “Hello,” she smiled.

“Hi,” you grinned back. “I’m (Y/N), this is Sam and Dean--” you gestured between the two boys, “--we just have a question for you.”

“Come in, come in.” Her friendly disposition was incredibly welcoming as she allowed you and the Winchesters into her home.

“We're sorry to bother you, ma'am,” Dean began, “but does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle.”

The woman’s formerly cheery disposition suddenly shifted to solemn. “No sir. Not for a very long time.” She looked over at a picture of a smiling little boy on a table in the living room. “Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now.” She turned back to you and the boys. “The police never—I never had any idea what happened. He just disappeared.” The woman’s voice wavered as she spoke.

Your eyebrows turned upwards out of sympathy for her.

Sam nudged your elbow and pointed out toy soldiers sitting on one of the side tables.

“Losing him—you know, it's...it's worse than dying.” The woman echoed Bill Carlton’s earlier statement.

“Did he disappear from here? I mean, from this house?” the older Winchester question.

“He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up,” the woman whimpered.

Dean picked up a picture off of a mirror in the room. It was of two little boys in boy scout uniforms, one of them being Peter with his red bicycle. “Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen seventy,” Dean read from the back of the photo.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sam stated softly. “We’ll just be going now. Thank you for your time.” He and his brother turned to head out of the door.

The woman turned away, her sniffles tugging on your heartstrings as you went to follow the boys.

“Mrs. Sweeney?”

She turned to you, as did the boys, who watched from the door.

“Can I give you a hug?”

She seemed surprised by your question but accepted your offer nonetheless. As soon as you wrapped your arms around her, she broke down into sobs.

“I’m so sorry about Peter,” you whispered to her.

She nodded into your shoulder as a response.

After another moment, you released her and rubbed up and down her arms. “It’ll be okay.”

She nodded once more.

You and the boys showed yourselves out. None of you said a word until about halfway through the drive.

Sam was the one to break the silence. “Okay, this little boy Peter Sweeney vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow.”

“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?” Dean mentioned.

“And Bill, the people he loves, they're all getting punished.”

“So what if Bill did something to Peter?”

“What if Bill killed him?”

“Peter's spirit would be furious. It'd want revenge. It's possible.” Dean’s eyes flickered to yours in the rearview mirror. “This is probably the quietest I’ve heard you since I met you, (Y/N). Wanna share what you’re thinkin’ about with the class?”

“Like you give a shit.”

“I was trying to, but fine, keep being a bitch.”

You could not believe Dean. “What, you treat me like I’m stupid, act like a dick to me for weeks, and suddenly I’m supposed to believe you’re genuinely concerned?”

“Forget I asked.”

***

The Impala pulled in front of the Carlton house, and to your surprise, you had not seen Bill sitting on the dock. You and the Winchesters got out of the car, calling out to Mr. Carlton.

You wheeled around when you heard the roar of what sounded like a boat engine.

“Guys?” you called to the boys behind you when you saw Bill driving his boat out into the lake.

You immediately broke out into a sprint, yelling for the man to turn his boat around.

Bill turned his head to look at you three standing at the edge of the dock but continued driving out. As soon as he turned his head back around, the water beneath the boat sprang up as if a bomb had been blown up beneath the surface. Bill’s boat flipped over into the water, and neither Bill nor the boat ever resurfaced.

You and the boys called Jake to the scene of Bill Carlton’s disappearance. Neighbors gathered around the lake, looking for signs of Bill, the boat, or whatever had taken him down. After Jake found nothing and questioned the neighbors who witnessed what had happened, he asked you and the Winchesters to head back to the station with him.

Once inside the station, you spotted Andrea and Lucas sitting behind the desk in the police station’s lobby.

When the young woman saw you, she bounced up and put the bag that was in her hands on the seat behind her. “Sam, Dean, (Y/N), I didn’t expect to see you here.

Jake looked between your group and Andrea. “So now you're on a first-name basis,” he scoffed. “What are you doing here?” He directed the question to his daughter.

“I brought you dinner,” she explained.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't really have the time.” He shook his head and moved past her to head into his office, you and the boys hot on his tail.

The sound of Andrea’s voice made all four of you stop and turn around.

“I heard about Bill Carlton. Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?”

“Right now we don't know what the truth is,” Jake relayed. “But I think it might be better if you and Lucas went on home.”

As soon as the older man mentioned Lucas going home, the little boy jumped up with a panicked look on his face. He whined and tugged on Dean’s arm as Andrea and Lucas tried to comfort him.

Andrea managed to get her son off of Dean and pull him out of the office. You watched the pair as they left, and noticed Lucas’s eyes never left Dean.

The sheriff threw his jacket onto a chair and scrubbed a hand through his hair as he walked into the office.

You looked at Sam and the two of you supposed you were to follow Jake.

You sat in one chair, Dean sat in the other, and Sam leaned on the back of your chair just as had happened before.

The older man leaned on the front of his desk in front of your trio. “Okay, just so I'm clear, you see,” Jake trailed off, recovering a moment later, “something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the drink, and you never see him again?”

“Yep, that about sums it up,” you replied.

“And I'm supposed to believe this, even though I've already sonar-swept that entire lake? And what you're describing is impossible? And you're not really Wildlife Service?” Jake casually mentioned.

You managed to keep a poker face on, but apparently, Dean gave you away.

“That's right, I checked. Department's never heard of you three.”

“See, now, we can explain that--” Dean started, but was immediately cut off by the officer.

“Enough. Please. The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here. I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as material witnesses to Bill Carlton's disappearance. Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get into your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again.” Jake jutted his finger in your face as he spoke, his tone harsh.

“Door number two is... rather appealing.” You were trying to keep up your plucky attitude despite your circumstance.

“That's the one I'd pick,” he said sharply.

***

You had your head against the window, legs tossed to the side of you as the hum of the Impala’s engine was slowly lulling you to sleep.

Sam’s voice pulled you out of your haze. “Green.”

“What?” Dean asked. Apparently, he had been in a daze, too.

‘Not good considering this asshole’s the one driving.’

“Light's green,” Sam elaborated.

Dean turned right.

“Uh, the interstate's the other way,” you yawned,

“I know.”

“Okay--” you dragged out the word, “--so why are you heading back to Lake Manitoc?”

“Cause I think we still got more work to do,” he responded.

“But Dean, this job, I think it’s over,” Sam interjected.

“I'm not so sure,” Dean replied shortly.

Sam gave his brother more pushback. “If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest.”

“All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done? You know, what if we've missed something? What if more people get hurt?” Dean argued.

“But why would you think that?”

“Because Lucas was really scared.”

The younger Winchester was caught by surprise. “That's what this is about?”

You were caught by surprise, too, but for a different reason. Once again, the scents of coconut and tobacco filled the air.

“I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay.” Dean tried to play off his concern nonchalantly, but you could see right through the bullshit act.

“Y’know, I’m actually with Dean on this one,” you declared.

Dean quirked a brow at you in the rearview mirror, but you simply shrugged at him.

“Who are you two? And what have you done with (Y/N) and Dean?” Sam quipped sarcastically, glancing between you and his brother with a confused expression.

There was a slight pause before both you and Dean said in unison, “Shut up.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Sam looked around as you and the Winchesters stood on the front porch of the Barr house. “It's pretty late, man.”

Dean ignored him, ringing the doorbell. Immediately it opened to reveal a panicked Lucas.

“Lucas? Lucas!” Dean called after the boy as he took off into the house.

You followed behind Dean as all four of you sprinted through the house. You heard a splash beneath your feet and realized water was pouring down the stairs in front of you. Lucas started to pound on the door that led to where the water was coming from, which you assumed was a bathroom.

Dean pulled Lucas out of the way just before you gave a powerful kick to the door, effectively knocking it in.

Inside the bathroom, the tub was filled to the brim with murky, brown water. You jumped out of the way to let Sam try to pull Andrea out of there, knowing he would be a better fit for the job than you were.

Sam eventually managed to pull her out of the bathtub. They landed with Sam on his back and Andrea on top of him, sobbing and coughing up water. You immediately offered the woman a towel you had found and wrapped her in it.

Lucas threw Dean off of him and immediately wrapped his arms around his mom.

Happy to see that she was okay, you and the boys let Andrea have some privacy to get dressed. After she had done that, she and Sam went into the living room to talk while you and Dean looked for a connection to Peter Sweeney.

You found a bookshelf full of photo albums and began giving the labels a quick once-over. You found one with “Jake-- 12 years old” scrawled across the white label of the brown cover. You flipped to a page with pictures of the same Boy Scout troop that Peter Sweeney seemed to have been in from that picture you saw at the Sweeney house. You shut the book on your finger, holding your spot in the photo album.

“Whatcha got?” Dean asked.

“You’ll see.” You walked past him back into the living room. You opened the photo album to the page your finger was tabbing, putting the book in front of Andrea on the coffee table. “You recognize the kids in these pictures?”

She seemed caught off-guard, and you felt bad for potentially startling her after the night she had had.

“What? Um, no.” She took a pause. “I mean, except that's my dad right there. He must have been about twelve in these pictures.” The brunette dragged her finger across the page gesturing to her dad as a young boy. Jake was standing next to who you recognized as Peter Sweeney in several of the pictures.

“Chris Barr's drowning,” Dean spoke up. “The connection wasn't to Bill Carlton. It must have been to the sheriff.”

“Bill and the sheriff,” the younger man corrected his brother, “they were both involved with Peter.”

“What about Chris? My dad—what are you talking about?” Andrea was looking at the three of you like you were crazy.

“Lucas?” Dean’s voice brought your attention to the little boy staring out of the window. “Lucas, what is it?”

Lucas kept his gaze focused outside as he walked out of the door. Andrea continued to call after Lucas as you all followed him outside. Lucas stopped and looked at the ground and then up at the older Winchester, who stood beside him.

Dean faced Andrea. “You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay?”

Andrea did as told, pulling her son away from your trio.

“You guys still have those shovels in the trunk?”

***

“Keep workin’ hard over there, sweetheart,” Dean deadpanned.

You pushed yourself off of the tree you were leaning against. “Dude, you only had two shovels and you were too busy being macho and dig whatever’s down there up yourself to let me use one of them,” you protested. “So don’t tell me shit about ‘working hard.’ But by all means--” you then started to use a mocking baby voice, “--if Dean is getting a wittle too sweaty, I’d be happy to take his pwace.”

“Nope. I got it.”

“So hush your mouth.”

He glared back at you and plunged his shovel back into the dirt when the metal part of the shovel hit another piece of metal. You and Dean both looked down at what laid beneath the ground and you helped the boys pull the object out of the dirt.

“Peter’s bike,” Sam remarked.

You heard a gun cock behind Sam and Dean. “Who are you?”

You looked up to find Jake standing there and pointing a gun at the three of you.

The boys slowly turned around.

“Put the gun down, Jake,” Sam pleaded.

Both he and Dean dropped their shovels.

“How did you know that was there?” The sheriff demanded.

The older Winchester did not answer his question. “What happened? You and Bill killed Peter, drowned him in the lake, and then buried the bike? You can't bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried.”

“I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” The sheriff’s lie was not even in the ballpark of convincing.

“You and Bill killed Peter Sweeney thirty-five years ago. That's what the hell I'm talking about.”

“Dad!” Andrea yelled, running up on the altercation.

“And now you got one seriously pissed-off spirit,” Dean continued, keeping his eyes trained on Jake.

“Peter’s gonna get everyone you love--Lucas, Andrea-- and drag their bodies god knows where, so you can feel the same pain Peter’s mom felt. And then it’s gonna take you. It won’t stop until it does,” you informed him.

Jake looked at you as if you were stupid. “Yeah, and how do you know that?”

“Because that's exactly what it did to Bill Carlton,” you told the older man.

“Listen to yourselves, all of you. You're insane!” he chided.

Dean scoffed. “I don't really give a rat's ass what you think of us. But if we're gonna bring down this spirit, we need to find the remains, salt them, and burn them into dust. Now tell me you buried Peter somewhere. Tell me you didn't just let him go in the lake.”

“Dad, is any of this true?” Andrea interrupted, her voice shaking.

“No,” her father lied. “Don't listen to them. They're liars and they're dangerous.”

The brunette wasn’t having it. “Something tried to drown me. Chris died on that lake. Dad, look at me.”

He did.

“Tell me you—you didn't kill anyone.”

Jake looked away from his daughter, unable to form a response. The guilt was too much to bear.

“Oh my God,” Andrea breathed.

“Billy and I were at the lake,” Jake started to explain. “Peter was the smallest one. We always bullied him, but this time, it got rough. We were holding his head under the water. We didn't mean to. But we held him under too long and he drowned. We let the body go, and it sank.”

‘Great,’ you thought. ‘Makes our job so much easier.’

“Oh, Andrea, we were kids. We were so scared. It was a mistake. But, Andrea, to say that I have anything to do with these drownings, with Chris, because of some ghost? It's not rational.”

Dean was done with Jake’s skeptical attitude. “All right, listen to me, all of you. We need to get you away from this lake, as far as we can, right now.”

Andrea turned her head and immediately cried, “Lucas!”

You turned your head in the direction she was looking to see the little boy leaning over the side of the lake reaching for something.

You took off, following close behind Jake as you ran. You spotted Lucas get pulled into the water by something, causing you to cry out his name.

You ran off the solid ground onto the dock, leaping into the water once you reached the edge of the platform.

You dove deep into the lake, trying your best to make out the shape of Lucas or the spirit of Peter. You went back up to the surface, taking in a deep breath.

You looked over to Andrea on the dock, and she stared back at you with a panicked expression. You shook your head, diving back below the surface.

While you did not see Lucas, you did see a boy with skin a pale gray and tattered clothing rising to the surface. You flinched back, the appearance of Peter’s spirit catching you off-guard. It grabbed Jake, who you just noticed had gone into the water and began pulling him under.

You sprang into action, swimming as fast as you could over to where Jake was being pulled down. You reached your hand down, trying to grab him, but. it was too late. You were running out of air, and because the water below was getting blacker as you went deeper, you could not see Jake anymore.

You clawed your way back to the surface, gasping for air when you came up.

Andrea looked to you frantically, and you shook your head once more.

She screamed “No!” just before splashing coming from behind you on the right caught your attention. You looked behind you to see Dean holding an unconscious Lucas to his chest. The poor little boy’s head was lying on Dean’s shoulder limply, and you and Sam swam to help him. Sam took Lucas ashore, and you checked him over to see if he would need CPR. Once you determined that he would, you immediately set to work.

You were able to revive him with two cycles of rescue breaths and chest compressions. He immediately coughed up water as air filled his lungs once more.

You got out of Andrea’s way and let her hug her son.

The scene before you-- Andrea on her knees, crying and hugging her rescued son-- was the reason why you did what you did. Seeing families reunited and given a temporary happy ending was what made you love hunting, despite how gruesome the job could get at times.

You figured that even though your life was so screwed to hell, at least you could save the lives of others.

***

Once you and the boys had changed clothes, dried off, and packed up, you began loading your stuff into the car.

Dean clearly had something on his mind, and you were not the only one to notice.

“Look, we're not gonna save everybody,” Sam reminded his brother, having figured out what Dean was mulling over.

“I know."

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N),” you heard Andrea call.

You looked up to see the young woman walking toward you with Lucas, who carried a tray of food wrapped in cellophane.

You all walked toward each other, stopping once you had met in the middle.

“We're glad we caught you. We just, um, we made you lunch for the road,” Andrea smiled. “Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches himself.”

“Can I give it to them now?” Lucas asked his mom.

The sound of his voice made you smile.

“Of course.” The young woman kissed her son’s head.

“Come on, Lucas, let's load this into the car.” Dena led Lucas over to the car, and you stayed with Sam to talk to Andrea.

“How you holding up?” the younger Winchester asked her.

“It's just gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?”

“Andrea, I'm sorry,” Sam sighed.

Andrea shook her head. “You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that. Dad loved me. He loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold on to that.”

You heard Dean talking to Lucas from behind you, and you turned around to face them as Dean spoke. “All right, if you're gonna be talking now, this is a very important phrase, so I want you to repeat it one more time.”

“Zeppelin rules!”

“That's right. Up high.”

The two boys high-fived as you, Sam, and Andrea began walking over to them.

“You take care of your mom, okay?” Dean told Lucas.

“All right.”

Andrea leaned over the open door of the Impala that Dean stood behind and pressed her lips to his.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

You rolled your eyes, pissed at him for his ability to pick up whoever he wanted.

He scratched his head, walking around to the other side of the car. “Sam, (Y/N), move your asses. We're gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road.”

You got into the seat behind Dean, waving to Andrea and Lucas who were waving back at you as Dean backed the Impala out of its parking spot.

Once you were on the road, you spoke up over the music. “Y’know, I’m not dissin’ on Zeppelin because I love them, but there were so many other amazing bands that ‘rule’ that you could’ve told Lucas about.”

Dean groaned. “Really? You’re picking a fight with me about that?”

“I’m not picking a fight, I’m giving my honest opinion,” you replied.

“Okay, well, who would you ‘ve told Lucas about?” he questioned.

“Um, how ‘bout Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, Queen, need I go on?”

“I cannot believe you just said Fleetwood Mac is better than Zeppelin,” he stated incredulously.

“It’s fucking Stevie Nicks, dude, of course Fleetwood’s better than Zeppelin,” you argued. “She’s a goddess.”

Dean turned left onto the Insterstate, picking up the Impala’s speed. “Robert Plant’s better.”

“Yeah, no,” you responded dryly.

Instead of responding verbally, Dean put one of his Led Zeppelin tapes into the cassette player and cranked the volume up. “What’d you say? Can’t hear you over the greatest band of all time!”

For the first time since you met him, you laughed at Dean’s antics. “You are such an idiot!”

Tags are open and feedback is always appreciated!

Series Rewrite Tags:

@rach5ive @ppeachygemss

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n #supernatural #dean #sam #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #supernatural rewrite #supernatural reader insert #SPN #spn reader insert #spn series rewrite #supernatural series rewrite #supernatural series rewrite dean x reader

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gwoongi · 6 years ago

Text

𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖽 ♥︎ jeongguk (ft namjoon)

𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖽 jeon jeongguk / reader (ft kim namjoon) genre: pornstar au, smut rating: explicit words: 4749

The sight of his shit-eating grin leaves Namjoon with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. Just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him.

a/n: i……………i don’t know what came over me.

warnings: graphic sexual content, rough sex, porn themes, choking, impreg kink, creampie, squirting, daddy kink, loving sex, dirty talking, degradation/humiliation, unprotected sex, cum eating, porn couple, name-calling (slut shaming?), bisexual namjoon, dirty talk literally inspired by dirty talk i see in sexy stuff im sorry

Namjoon liked porn. Like virtually every guy in his fraternity, Namjoon watched porn almost daily. There was something addictive, like a drug, about visiting PornHub; porn was like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while, and watching porn was like relieving an itch that he couldn’t quite reach.

“The fact that all you do when you get home is watch porn is just sad,” his friend Sunmi had said, with her cheek pushed up against the worn bicep of Namjoon’s one of many frat brothers, Hoseok. Namjoon had just scowled and said nothing, not feeling the need to defend his unrequited friendship with porn because, “everybody watches porn”. To him, it was kind of like gaming; everybody played games, some more than others. And Namjoon enjoyed exploring every category, watching searches with pretty thumbnails of peach genitals or cum-stuffed faces, holes leaking with it.

It was a Friday evening, the end of Namjoon’s long haul of work from a week of University. With an untouched linguistics assignment flashing to be given attention in his emails, Namjoon closed the tab and sighed loudly with a frown, rubbing the side of his face with his hand. Boredom was the bane of his life, and he could feel it slowly creeping up on him, wrapping like a snake to prey around his body and very slowly squeezing the life out of him. After a few moments of exhausting hesitation, Namjoon groaned and reluctantly reached for his laptop.

“When you’re bored, try and reach out to a friend,” was something his Mother had always said. Granted, she didn’t quite mean friend as a synonym for PornHub dot com, but at the end of the day, she never specified what a friend was or who the friend could be. And, look, Google filled in the blanks for him as he typed in ‘p’, and like a loyal good best friend, Pornhub logged him in automatically, his premium membership like a badge of honour.

Namjoon glanced at the time- ten fourty three in the evening, and the exhaustion from classes and his late afternoon shift at the Italian restaurant down the street still hung over him, despite the glorious view of cum-filled cunts and leaking dicks. Because, when dabbling with porn, Namjoon wasn’t picky. Life could throw a thousand warm wet vaginas in Namjoon’s face, or a thousand veiny cocks, and he’d still find himself with his hands stuffed down the front of his pants, begging for some kind of release. Sunmi’s old words echoed in his head- it was sad. What he was doing, and how often he did it, was actually the saddest thing in the world.

Unlike normal, Namjoon hovered his cursor over the categories, undecided on where to go to. He’d viewed every category to death, spending hours jerking to images of girls on all fours, dressed like cats, gags stuffed in their mouths; boys with big dicks up their asses, tears down their faces. You name it, and Namjoon has probably seen it, bought the t-shirt, left a rating. As he scrolls, Namjoon’s cursor lands on a category he admits is rather alien: Verified Couples.

Not that Namjoon is at all against love- in actual fact, he thinks that is what he yearns for most of all. Somebody he can take care of, and look after, and wake up in the morning next to and stroke hair from their face, all whilst simultaneously being able to shove their faces into the mattress and fuck them, and be fucked. He’s just never explored the Verified Couples section, because honestly, he thinks he might get a little jealous of either either party in the video. What if the girl is the hottest woman he’s ever seen before, and she’s being dominated by a guy Namjoon knows from three seconds isn’t good for her? And what if the sexiest man alive is wasting his time with a selfish girl who only cares about herself?

Regardless, Namjoon decides that today, this Friday of April, he is going to explore this category like Lara Croft in a new tomb.

He clicks, unbothered, and scrolls for a few seconds. Nothing is catching his eye; none of these thumbnails show him anything he’s never seen before, and they’re all painfully mediocre and white, some just plain weird with titles like “Abusing my husband with feet!”, which is certainly not going to make him feel good tonight. After a minute or two of bored searching, Namjoon almost realises why he never dapples into this section of porn when he pauses, mildly interested in a thumbnail and a title reading, “Rough sex with my girlfriend.”

The sight of the thumbnail takes his breath away; a man, with unbelievably toned thighs and a gorgeous curved ass holds his girlfriend like she is the last thing alive on the planet, his arms wrapped around her body, the skin bunching up like old Greek statues you’d find in galleries. She is made of marble and the guy is the sculptor, breathing life into her skin as he, from the thumbnail, holds her side with his left and her small tit with his right. The thumbnail moves as he hovers the cursor over it, and for a short few seconds, Namjoon watches the boy’s hand move from her tit to her throat, and the muscles in his hand suggest he is holding tightly, his hips meeting hers in a sweet kiss as she matches his thrusts.

Namjoon can already feel the discomfort tenting in his joggers and he clicks the video without a minute of hesitation.

It begins like most pornos, the sight of the boyfriend’s enlarged cock at the bottom of the frame, the delightful view of a V-line and honey abs filling the screen for a moment as the boyfriend fiddles with the camera of amazing quality. In the background, Namjoon sees the girlfriend, her body dressed in pointless coral lingerie, the sight of perked nipples soaking through and faded bites on her collarbones. Before enlarging the video, Namjoon checks the uploader: koopid. The bio reading, Fucking Y/N until she cries for me to cum inside her, signed by Jeongguk. Now he’s familiar with names, and it feels as though he’s watching in through the window, hiding behind curtains as Jeongguk fucks the living shit out of his unbelievably cute girlfriend Y/N.

“Mmm, you look so pretty, baby girl.”

Namjoon notes how sweet the unknown Jeongguk sounds, almost as if his voice had been dunked in honey, and his words were the glump of thick substance dripping down. He sucks in a breath when Jeongguk comes into view, naked for the world to see, a smile on his face Namjoon believes was made for him. He’s boyish enough for Namjoon to enjoy, and he leans back, allowing the couple to do what they intend to do.

“So fucking pretty,” Jeongguk comments between his teeth, his fingers looping around your underwear. “Who bought you this?”

“You did,” you reply, shimmying to aid Jeongguk as he slowly pulls your panties down the length of your thighs, smooth and newly shaved. Namjoon can see a shine. Marble. “Do you like it?”

“Mm, that’s right. I love it, baby,” Jeongguk says, lifting you with ease up and out of the panties, already relatively soaked from whatever foreplay he did beforehand to get you hot and flustered. “Are you gonna let me fuck you tonight, for everybody to see?”

A gasp leaves your lips. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he murmurs in reply.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Mm, good girl. You’re so good,” Jeongguk praises, kissing beneath your chin and encircling your arms around you. You grab onto his biceps for balance as he smooches the skin, with one swift movement setting you down on your back onto the plush pastels of the bedsheets, a whitewashed blue with pretty tiled patterns on the pillows. You lie there, staring at Jeongguk as he shadows over you, a hand on either side of your body. The muscles in his back flinch as he moves downwards in a curve, kissing a messy line from your chin to your sternum, leaving behind a visibly wet trail Namjoon follows with his eyes. “You’re so good for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, only for you, Daddy,” you squeak out, like a little kitten, a strangled and high-pitched moan leaving your lips as Jeongguk licks a line between your breasts, one hand palming a tit in circles, his thumb rubbing your nipple beneath the lace of the bralette. “Only for you.”

“I know,” Jeongguk acknowledges, rising up when he realises he’s prolonging things. “Keep being good for me, okay, baby?”

You mewl with a nod as he continues, getting off from his words, a vocal God, “you gonna let Daddy have your sweet little pussy, hm? Let me fill you up with my cock, fill your pussy with Daddy’s cum?”

“Please,” you breathe out, arching your back up as Jeongguk removes the bra with one hand, taunting his experience to the audience and helping you slip out of it, your perked breasts sloping upwards like tiny mountains, a delicious treat for Daddy. He contains a groan. Tonight, he wants to be mean. Tonight, Jeongguk wants to have you all, every inch of you, he wants to shove his cock so far inside of you that it hurts. For the first time on his channel, Jeongguk wants to be rough. He wants to put on a show, show everybody who you belong to. “Please. I want it- I want you to fuck me.”

Jeongguk palmed your breasts for a while longer, deciding what he was going to do with you. After a very short briefing in his head, Jeongguk hummed to himself as if thoughtfully pleased and moved between your legs, satisfied and proud when you spread them open for him. He let out a hiss between his teeth, looking at the wetness pooling between your legs.

“My, my,” Jeongguk comments. “All this for me?”

“All for you,” you confirm. He is so close, his touch burning, and you rise off the mattress impatiently, whining loudly. “Please, Daddy. I need you.”

Jeongguk makes a noise with his mouth, as if disappointed. He isn’t, but he knows how to push your buttons. He knows what to do and when to do it to get a reaction. “I don’t think you deserve my cock just yet. Daddy needs to hear what you want him to do to your precious little pussy. Hm? Tell me, tell me what you want me to do, baby.”

Namjoon thumbs his head, rubbing pre-cum like it was a new lotion. His cock was throbbing, pulsing as if breathing on its own.

“Please,” you begin, your voice enough for Namjoon to wrap his fingers around his cock in anticipation, “I need your cock inside of me. I want you to fuck me, until I can’t walk. Please, please, you own me. You own my pussy. Ugh- I need-to feel you inside of me.”

Jeongguk almost has the nerve to look unsatisfied, but he reckons, and only because he knows the ratings depend on it, that he’s prolonged it enough. He knows what everyone’s here for. Even though he does, nobody else cares about what you have to say. He pretends to think about it, humming once more before smiling, dragging you down the mattress by your thighs so your wet cunt is closer to his dick. You writhe with anticipation as Jeongguk massages his cock for a few moments, sucking in a breath and then positioning the tip near your entrance. He’s going in raw today.

Underneath him, you moan as it teasingly prods at your entrance, throbbing for his length. From where he kneels between your opened legs, Jeongguk stares at your hair dancing around your head like a halo, the blush burning on your cheeks. With his mouth open with admiration, his heart widening out of pure love, Jeongguk remembers what he’s doing and without warning, shoves his cock inside, without giving you the chance to grow accustomed to his hardened length.

He’s big- Namjoon, behind the screen, can see that.

Beneath his body, and heavily breathing torso, you cry out with pleasure, a large and loud moan ripping out into the silence of your bedroom. It sounds like Heaven to everybody’s ears, Jeongguk responding with a grunt of pride, knowing only he can make you feel this good. He pulls out and thrusts back in roughly, without caring for how it hurts. From the angle of the camera, Namjoon gets a good view of Jeongguk’s dick pushing in and out of your hole, that tiny hole Namjoon thought nothing could ever get inside. He watches with wonder, his expression like a child in a sweets shop, as Jeongguk pulls you closer to him, pushing deeper inside.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks through laboured breaths.

“Yes!” you squeeze out, tightening around him. “Oh, yes!”

“Mm, you like Daddy’s cock?”

“I love your cock,” you rush out. “I love Daddy’s cock so much.”

“Hmm,” Jeongguk replies happily, the praise making his chest inflate with adoration and confidence. “I love how you take my cock, baby. Your pussy is so pretty with my cock inside.”

You fall silently shortly after that, save the erotic groans and moans and the distinct clapping of skin, like an applause for all your hard work. Namjoon pumps his own dick desperately, his eyes flitting from your face to your tits, the right cupped by Jeongguk’s large hand and the other bouncing gorgeously in the light, to the way Jeongguk’s ass clenches as he finds a new spot to abuse inside of you, a new spot to send you yelling out with pleasure; Namjoon shakily breaths out a moan as he stares at your gaping cunt, wet and glistening like a 90’s edit from Tumblr, Jeongguk’s dick moving in and out with wet sounds.

Jeongguk changes the pace, quickening his thrusts as if it doesn’t even matter. He gets drunk off the reaction, grinning with a soft chuckle as you cling to his skin like letting go will kill you, each thrust met with a yelp that increases in pitch and volume. Namjoon knows how this looks and sounds, but he doesn’t care anyway. His laptop is on its side as Namjoon frantically pulls his joggers down to pool around his ankles, his red and angry cock snuggling into his hand as he watches the pair of you, entangled together, lovers, in a sort of love Namjoon can’t even wet dream of having. He looks at the screen through a blurry gaze and sees you writhing with pleasure, tears slowly pulling down your flamed cheeks.

“O-oh, right there!” you mewl, your hands clenching around the skin on Jeongguk’s thighs. “Oh my God, Jeongguk, right there.”

He visibly falters, as if the screen glitched, and the hand wrapped around your tit moves up to your throat. The thumbnail- Namjoon groans out loud at the thought, remembering how it went. Jeongguk wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb where it needs to be, his eyes glued to your face observing your reaction. He wants to test how far you can go. He wants to make you cry, and hurt. He wants you to feel humiliated, embarrassed by how you beg for him to keep going deeper, faster, rougher. Jeongguk feels like a church-boy discovering sex for the first time, testing the waters on how many sins he can break before his Priest father comes into the room.

“Who said you could call me that?” Jeongguk sneers, his hand tightening slightly. You moan around the struggle, your eyes lidded and heavy with the euphoric weight of sex. “Hm?” Jeongguk’s hips stutter faster, rougher, sharply hitting a spot that sends you in a squealing mess.

“I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” you gasp. “‘m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll be good.”

“You’ve disappointed me,” Jeongguk admits. Then, quite suddenly, he stops moving, the absence of his pace sending you writhing with anxiousness. The threatening orgasm begs to spill over, like a nearly full glass that needs a few more drops before overflowing from the top. “You gonna make it up to me, little one?”

You nod against the sheets. “Yes, Daddy. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Okay, baby girl,” he agrees, He sits back on his heels and Namjoon watches with agonising anticipation as Jeongguk sits between his own legs, his feet behind him, pulling you from the mattress onto his lap where your own legs wrap around his tiny waist. “Fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock.”

Like a good girl, you don’t need to be told twice. Namjoon finds out from the way you look at your boyfriend between barely open eyes that you’re a total cockslut; you wrap your arms around Jeongguk loosely as you sit back down on his cock, like it’s your throne and you own it. It takes a moment for you to readjust to his size, sucking in a breath and rising up and down on it, doing all the work as Jeongguk watches with his tongue between his teeth, his arms up with palms flat on your back.

“Hmm, show everybody how good my cock makes you feel,” he instructs, moving his mouth to your nipple and giving it a light suck. It’s as if he’s taking a toothless bite out of a whip of ice cream, getting a taste before going in for the whole thing. He looks up at you between his thick eyelashes, “go on. Show them who’s making you feel good.” With one hand, Jeongguk kindly wipes away the tears from your face. “Don’t even think about cumming. You haven’t earned it.”

Namjoon can feel his body deepening with a hot flush as he watches- perhaps not entirely with want but with need, a need to be loved and fucked and held the way you are. He never realised how much he needed koopid in his life until he stumbled across it, and his heart panics with an unfamiliar lust when you rock your head back and look shyly at the camera.

Namjoon can see now that your face is hot, sweaty slightly and tear-stained, your lips swollen from whatever foreplay Jeongguk failed to include in the video. He doesn’t care- he’s torn between looking at your eyes and your tits, bouncing around Jeongguk’s lips, or your ass, moving with each deep sit you take on Jeongguk’s dick, his length buried in your warm cunt. He wants to see more; he wants to see your pussy stuffed with dick, he wants to see the cum pour out of you slowly like cake mixture. With his hand moving quickly up and down his own length, Namjoon can feel the nerves twisting inside of him, like the rise in volume slowly creeping, his orgasm nearing. You lift yourself up and down on Jeongguk’s dick like you were made for it, like you were the only person worthy of sitting on it.

“Dirty little slut, being selfish with my cock,” Jeongguk words around your nipple. “Huh? Look at you, taking in all my cock like a big brave girl. Bet everyone wants to see your pretty pussy.”

Yes, Namjoon says to himself. Please. Please.

“Do you want that?” he edges. “Want everyone to see how red and stretched your hole is for me?”

You don’t reply, stubbornly, fucking yourself onto Jeongguk’s dick like its your life’s purpose. Jeongguk doesn’t want to show people. He doesn’t want them to see everything on this one video- if they want to see your pussy stretched out and pretty for them, then they can check out your other videos. Namjoon’s a porn connoisseur; he know looks, and he knows that’s what Jeongguk wants as he glances you up and down and then at the camera. He smiles smugly, and the audience suddenly know it too. He’s not going to give you what you want. It’s his turn to be selfish. Namjoon moans out loud.

“Tell me baby,” Jeongguk asks, “what you want?”

“Please-please,” you gasp out, “please c-cum inside of me. Please. Please- oh, Guk, please, baby. I’m close. Please cum in me-fill me up?”

Jeongguk kisses your breast. “Do you deserve it, princess?”

“Y-yes, I do,” you reply. “I’ve been good for Daddy. I’m Daddy’s good little girl.”

“Mmm, you are,” he agrees. He kisses your breast sweetly once more, looking up to kiss you round on the lips. Around him, you groan, sending butterfly kisses across his lips and he smiles, half forgetting what he’s doing. From his smelly bedroom, Namjoon thinks it’s sweet. He wants to cum so badly.

“Okay, honey. I’ll cum inside of you this once,” Jeongguk complies. He pulls you flush against his chest, rearranging himself inside of you and then lifting his hips to match your rhythm. “Are you gonna be good for me?” You reply with moans.

Namjoon moves his hand so fast- he pumps his dick with a quicker speed, his mouth hanging agape as you moan sweetly above Jeongguk’s forehead, and then slowly look to the side at the camera, daring the audience, staring into the lens and by extension, right into Namjoon’s eyes. He wants to fall inside the screen, and rip you out of Jeongguk’s hands. He wants to be the one inside you. He also wants to be the one around Jeongguk, feeling his big dick stretch him out. Namjoon cries out- porn was so unfair.

“Bet you’d like that, you little slut,” Jeongguk grins, “wouldn’t you? Letting Daddy fill you up with his cum. Yeah? You want me to do that, put all my sperm inside you and make a baby?”

“Mmh, Jeongguk!”

“Look at you,” he continues, laughing slightly. “Look at how you take me. Your tiny little hole.” He scoffs with affection, “You’re a mess, baby. My little baby, taking my cock so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You cling to your boyfriend, your jaw slack as you groan and stare at the camera. Namjoon can feel his stomach twisting, his hands cupping at his balls for relief, imagining that one hand is you, and the other Jeongguk. He can feel his heart in his ears and his throat; Jeongguk buries himself deeper inside of you, gripping at your marble skin to drag you down and up onto his dick, the slapping skin no match for the moans pouring from your lips, and faintly, he can make out Jeongguk’s own moans, slightly high and breathy, indicating the end is near. Namjoon doesn’t know what to focus on.

Still watching the camera, you shake your head back and move one hand to Jeongguk’s throat, clenching it to hear him groan out with pleasure and pain beneath you, your face scrunching up as you slam yourself down onto his dick. It’s rough and wet with sounds that fill Namjoon’s ears, and Jeongguk’s hand comes down like a whip to smack your ass, a boob filling his face as you arch up with each smack, girlish moans escaping free. Namjoon can taste salt in his mouth, and blood from biting down on the inside of his cheek, and he almost screams out about how unfair life is because koopid is there and he is here, when you bow your head to Jeongguk and shiver.

“I wanna cum, Jeongguk,” you beg. “Please, baby.”

Jeongguk cocks his head with sudden kindness. “Okay, baby. I’ll let you cum. Cum for me, cum around my dick.”

Threefold sounds fill the remaining seconds; you cry out with relief and pleasure as you spill cum around Jeongguk’s dick, the white substance trickling down the running vein that pulses and Jeongguk stuffs his face in your neck, and Namjoon back home yells out with abused satisfaction, closing his eyes as his own relief spills out on his stomach and bedsheets, his fingers soaked with his own cum. He breathes in the fantasy of seeing his own cum pouring out of you, the way Jeongguk does once you’ve fucked yourself tired on top of him, and he lifts you up by your thighs to marvel as the sliding semen down your legs, clumped in your hole, dripping like a tap. Jeongguk’s dick vibrates between his legs and twitches at the sight. He doesn’t show the audience. They don’t deserve to see you. They don’t deserve to see what he’s done to you.

Jeongguk doesn’t even say goodbye; he lets the audience and his girlfriend catch their breath before he smiles down at you, adoringly, praises your hard work and shuffles himself towards the camera, where the sight of his shit-eating grin leaves Namjoon with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. Just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him.

Namjoon needs more. His dick hurts and his head throbs, but he needs more- he physically needs to see more. His hands tremble as he clicks on koopid’s profile, observing the fifteen videos you have public. He doesn’t need to watch them all tonight, saving them for his lonely evenings, but he does click on “creampie in my girlfriends cute pussy”.

He knows it’s worth the overstimulation when he gets five minutes in and sees you squirt, unexpectedly, onto Jeongguk’s face and the bedsheets. Aside from the view and the surprised gasp that is ripped from your mouth, Namjoon hears Jeongguk’s throaty chuckle up close and personal, and he sees Jeongguk’s cocky smirk now that the boy has set the camera to the side, giving Namjoon a beautiful view of your cunt and the side of Jeongguk’s wet face.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself when Jeongguk manoeuvres himself back between your legs and thrusts, the sight of your cock-filled hole and the curve of Jeongguk’s toned ass filling his screen. Jeongguk cums noisily; he groans gruffly, sounding intimidating and the blood rushes to Namjoon’s cock and he cums unexpectedly, missing the grand finale of when Jeongguk pulls out after filling you up with his cum.

He grins to himself and moves the camera so everybody can see how pretty it looks; Namjoon stares, milking his own high, looking at how Jeongguk’s cum leaks out of you slowly. You’re filled with it, the dried mess staining your skin and your body rising with deep and heavy breaths. It’s pink and abused, your hole wide and clenching almost with each breath. Jeongguk’s hand comes into view, the other holding the camera shakily, and he pulls apart your lips to show the sight clearly. His fingertip curls around the substance and as you lift yourself up onto your elbows, Jeongguk switches for two fingers, lapping up the escaping cum and shoving it right in your mouth and on your tongue.

Namjoon cums again. It’s the third time he’s came this evening, and it’s the first time he’s ever added a channel to his favourites.

He’s not sure what it is about koopid that makes him feel so fucking good, but when Jeongguk heaves himself down next to you and flips the camera, showing the unfair gorgeousness of the pair of you fucked out next to each other, your hair slightly in Jeongguk’s mouth, Namjoon knows he wants more. He needs more. He doesn’t care if Sunmi calls him sad, but, Namjoon knows that there is nothing on Earth that can cure the want and need he has for koopid.

Jeongguk grins to the camera, looking at you against the sheets and Namjoon can see in his eyes the way he is so in love with you. You smile too, kissing his lips and curling up against his neck and the last thing Namjoon sees before his own dumb reflection again is Jeongguk smirking at the audience before leaving. Jeongguk knows what he has and how lucky he is. Namjoon isn’t sure how to feel when he realises that he’ll never have what you and Jeongguk have. He feels empty and pathetic with his cock out and a black screen looking at him.

He’s not sure who he’s jealous of. Jeongguk, for getting to stuff his fat cock into your hole and seeing you, hearing you, feeling you on a daily basis. Or you, for getting fucked relentlessly and lovingly by the best looking man he thinks he has ever seen. Maybe it’s both.

(It’s definitely both.)

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divergencyposts-blog · 6 years ago

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A/N: Hey guys, so I will be writing a part two to the other one eventually but I have had muse for this idea for months now and decided to just go with the flow and finally make it bloody happen. Heads up in this story, there will be violence, gore, well- you know what to expect when it comes to our Eric. I might even try a bit of smut eventually, but we’ll see. For now, please enjoy my attempt at a different take to an Eric Coulter imagine, and please feel free to ask or say anything about it. This might be a long story guys.. I’m talking chapter 60′s and stuff. But that’s only if you guys enjoy it to the point you want me to write more! It’s pretty pointless to write a story nobody will read. Let me know, please!

Y/F/N = Your first name

Y/L/N = Your last name

Y/N = Your name

Y/DoB = Your date of birth

Forbidden in Every Way. Pt 1.

The moment you opened your eyes, everything seemed peculiar to you. Including the people. But somehow, instead of freaking out and demanding answers for the weird situation you had found yourself in, you found yourself feeling far too calm and relaxed pushing you way out of your comfort zone.. if it decided to make an appearance, that is.

The paranoia that seeped through the cracks of your mind and into your thoughts was soon replaced with a euphoria of numbing sensations, where your mind just blanked completely and refused to cooperate with you, in terms of letting you gain access. It appeared your mind had somehow found a mind of its own.

You felt like you were supposed to be freaked out as the IV’s clung to your skin, blotching the areas around it until a perfectly circular vessel of blood pooled around the intrusion into your skin. Monitors were everywhere, but they weren’t heart rate monitors or anything of the sort. Which is what should have had you completely freaking out by now. There were no heart rate monitors anywhere. No beeping could be heard. Instead, as you lay in the bed you had woke up in, all you could see was a railing and all you could hear were hushed whispers and footsteps circling around your bed.

No, the thing that should have freaked you out but definitely didn’t, was that the hushed whispers belonged to people in long white lab coats, no name tags connected just an ID badge hung from the one pocket on the front of their left side torso, and all that they were doing were analyzing your entire flesh and bones on a computer.. that wasn’t a computer. It reminded you of that one time you went to see the film Lucy in the cinema with your friend Jez, where a woman had been a drug mule and the drugs eventually burst inside her and got into her system, and she ended up unlocking 100% capacity of her brain. She was able to pull up a sort of Artificial Portable Computer where ever she went, controlling everything no matter where she was or what she was doing. A similar sight in front of you now.

You bit your lip out of frustration as your eyebrows burrowed in a complexed manner. You were trying to locate the source of your emotions so you could pull them to surface and make sense of them, but just as soon as you had experienced just a pinch of an emotion, they were shackled and pulled hard from your grasp, leaving you with the numbing sensation you continuously encountered.

You shifted your head to the right and saw a bedside table beside you with a pitcher of water and an empty glass beside it. A snore followed by a grunt sounded to your left. You groaned as you sat up and reached towards the handle of the pitcher, wanting to get some hydration in your system as soon as possible, but just as you were about to lift it with great difficulty, a hand came down and flattened over the top of the pitcher, pushing it so that it wouldn’t budge no matter how often you attempted to pry it from under the grip of the incredible sulk.

Who the hell doesn’t let a girl get hydrated?

Another attempt to remove the pitcher from under the hand failed, and you found yourself flustered with frustration as you let go of the handle and instead replaced it with the hand that prevented you from getting your fluids. You tried to manually remove the hand before huffing and putting your thumb and index finger over the middle of the webbing between the thumb and index finger of the hand on the pitcher. You squeezed indefinitely and without hesitation as you tried to find the nerve, but groaned loudly after your weak attempt and instead found yourself angrily throwing your arms back down to your sides on the bed. You looked forward and nearly knocked yourself out on the brick of a bicep that blocked your view, just about catching a glimpse of the maze like block tattoo on the lower arm before it disappeared out of view completely and instead was replaced with a rather dangerous and smug but handsomely devilish looking male, whose icy blue eyes connected with yours and pierced them with the steel they were made of.

“Well then. Who the hell are you and how the fuck did you fall out of lightning?” You shrunk back in the bed. And the face only got closer, analyzing your reaction.

“Eric, step back you’re scaring her.” Came another voice as it got closer.

Eric’s amused features only got brighter as the smug features were replaced with a sadistic grin while he turned his attention to the other voice. “Very well..” He paused, straightening his posture but remaining where he stood.. still too close for comfort. “But she caught my attention the moment she landed at my feet.”

That earned a snort from you. As if I’d fall for this creep without laying eyes on him. Eric’s eyes fell to yours just as you hurriedly turned yours to stare at the cuticles on your nails. “Care to share?” Came the rough and deep voice you had grown somewhat addicted to already. If sleep would come soon, you’d enjoy just listening to the sound of his voice. It was very distinctive.

“Nope.” Came your reply, a grin stretching your features as you tried your best to suppress any intentions of a laugh.

“Perhaps we should start with your name. Can you tell us who you are?” The other voice, smooth like velvet, sounded closer and soon you were met with two pairs of legs on either side of your bed.

You raised your head slowly, before bringing them to meet with the darker toned man’s own windows into his soul. Your eyes immediately widened in recognition as your best friend Jez made an appearance and you couldn’t help but laugh as you looked at him. Why does he sound so formal and why is he dressed like a futuristic asshole like this other one?

“I don’t get it.. is this a joke?” You started, looking between the two with an accusing finger pointing towards each of them before crisscrossing them to point the other direction and repeating the motion over and over. “Did you hire this Godlike piece of ass to play a prank on me?” You continued your query, landing both fingers on the one named Eric.

Both males looked confused as they looked down to you then back to each other. Well.. Eric might has just had his ego inflated. “Max?” The one called Eric, with the rough but distinctive voice sounded. “What is she talking about? Do you know her?”

Then you laughed again, cutting Jez off before he had time to even open his mouth and reply. “Now I know this is a set up. Where are the cameras? Is this MTV but poor people style?”

Jez, sorry.. ‘Max’ only frowned at you, causing you to become confused and irritated that he was still trying to pull this off when you had already caught him out and recognized him. What the fuck?

“Jeremiah.. you can stop now.” You voiced weakly, a worried look etching itself onto your features, and you felt at this point it could be a permanent look for you. The makeover, as Jez had kindly put it before this random event starts to happen. “Please?”

“Miss.. I’m sorry, but I’m not this Jeremiah person that you speak of. My name is Max and I’m a leader here at Dauntless.” He explained.

You wanted to believe him, he was your best friend right? You should never question your best friend when their features look that sure.. but how could you believe something so ludicrous when not more than 24 hours ago, you were just put into a police cell with your best friend for robbing a convenience store and had to call his deadbeat dad to come bail you both out and then proceed to give you both a lecture on how he could ‘lose his job if he has to bail out his miscreant son from jail one more time and miss out on another successful sale’. Boohoo.

“Right.. and I’m the Queen of England, and my main automobile is a Jammy fucking Dodger that runs solely on cigarette ash and water.” You reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes to add emphasis on the fact that you didn’t believe a fucking thing that came out of his mouth.

“Miss, can you-” You put your hand up to stop this ‘Max’ impersonation your friend Jez was playing.

“You know my name. It’s Y/N.” You paused when you noted the uncertainty on his features, and a sudden feeling of dread washed over you and you were sure it was evident on your features when he didn’t act like he knew you at all. “Y/F/N Y/L/N? I’ve been your best friend for the past 18 years?”

When he still didn’t recognise you, you sat up firm and glared at the man who was, surprisingly, a very good actor. A sadistic grin, similar to the one Eric wore just moments ago, planted itself on the edges of your lips as you stared daringly into his eyes. “I helped you bury a fucking body? Practically lost my entire family’s heir looms in the process with the arson, you know, to rid of the fucking evidence?”

Max stared wide eyed, mouth agape and closing every so often making him resemble a fish.

“Jesus, I think you fucking broke him.” Eric muttered from the corner of the bed he had now perched himself on. “Y/N, right?” He questioned, making you nod your head cautiously in return. “Okay, Y/N. Can you tell me your date of birth and today’s date and year?”

You stared at him skeptically, unsure of why he would ask you these things.

He saw your stare and almost immediately he figured out what you were thinking and immediately tried to reassure you as best as he could.. you think. He seemed like such a complicated man with a very sickening and morbid sense of humour already. “It’s just proceedure that we ask these questions so we can detemine whether or not your brain is functioning as it should be.”

You nod, understanding. So you don’t miss a beat when you tell him. “My date of birth is Y/DoB. And today’s date is January 19th 2019.”

When you say this, a bewildered look crosses both the mens features before they stare at each other then towards the scientists or doctors, whatever they are, that were just an arms length away from the bed studying the air computers. When they nodded back to the men, both men appeared startled and as they turned their attention back to you, you gulped and shrunk back against your pillow. Sliding down the bed very easily and nearly nudging Eric with your foot.

You saw their faces, and you knew something was wrong. “What is it?” You quietly asked, fretting the answer.

“Y/N, today is June 2nd 3079.”

Now it was your turn to look bewildered. And you were sure you did just that as you sat wide eyed and mouth open, before eventually letting the darkness that started to seep into your vision eventually take over and consume you.

#eric divergent imagine #eric divergent #Eric Coulter #eric x reader #eric imagine #divergent fanfiction #four #max #divergent eric #divergent eric x reader #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter divergent imagine

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themoonandotherslikeit · 6 years ago

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Back to You- Chapter 2

*REQUEST by UKgirl71

On a case, Sam Winchester saw a friend that he hadn’t seen in over ten years, Freya Scott. Freya was a blonde, fiery hunter with a serious skill set. The couple quickly realize how good they are for each other, in cases and life. With her, Sam starts to remember the possibilities he has outside of hunting, but when an accident rips them apart, will Sam ever be able to love anyone again? Will he be able to make it back to her?

Chapter Two, Snowflakes in Her Hair

Freya

I glanced at Sam. He came to the same conclusion I did. I could tell by how his eyes widened in surprise and his upper lip twitched. We were outnumbered, and I was wearing a fucking dress. Looking the part felt a little frivolous now that I was up against a huge vamp nest. One of the male vampires was hunched over the neck of a catatonic woman wearing a deep blue gown.

Sams eyes were scanning the room for an escape. We needed backup. We needed a plan. The vamps eyes shot open, as if he could feel my eyes on his.

We needed to run.

"Sam." I whispered before the vampire let out an inhuman yell, alerting the rest of the nest.

"Shit." He mumbled, pulling out his knife.

I pulled mine out and we got back to back. We were so screwed.

The vampires moved from their feeding positions and circled us. I pressed against Sams back. We took a defensive position, our hands up, blades at the ready.

A woman pushed through the crowd, she wore a red romper, the legs were floor length and the neckline dipped almost to her belly button. She dabbed her lips, wiping off a bit of blood. Her long black hair flowed effortlessly down her back. "Relax." She said cooly to the group of enraged vampires. "Our guests won't hurt us."

"The fuck we won't." I hissed back at her.

"Hm." She responded, tilting her head to the side. "You hunters just don't have it anymore. All flannel and leather, shoot first ask questions later. You aren't suave, or careful. You walk right into our domain with no back up, and obviously with no plan."

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

"Raven." She said calmly, walking to Sam. "Why don't you put down the knife so we can talk?"

I swallowed, pressing my back harder against Sams. "We will put the knives away, when you put away the fangs. Oh wait, you can't."

Raven looked annoyed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We don't need to hunt anymore. A prestigious club. They walk right in and beg to bond with the creatures of the night. It's elite. They offer their veins and we are happy to oblige."

"They can't want to be killed."

"They aren't killed." Raven retorted. "We have many repeat customers."

"Tell that to the girl we found in the park today."

Raven looked surprised. "I don't know what you are referring to."

"Sure you don't." I bit back.

We needed to stall. If Sam and Dean were as codependent as I've heard over the years he shouldn't be too far behind us. Not that an extra set of hands will help take on this mass, but it'll do in a pinch. It'll have to.

"The kill was messy, disorganized." Sam began. "Maybe she changed her mind and ran."

"Maybe she threatened to expose your nasty little game."

"Convenient for you." The vampire pursed her lips.

"I'll say." I said glancing around. No exit. We were surrounded.

"Does anyone know about this?" Raven asked, glancing around the room. The other vampires seemed to back down a bit. She was their alpha. "We do not kill."

She hissed, her eyes landing on Sam and I. "But tonight we will make an exception."

She snapped her fingers and the vampires lunged forward.

"Not on my watch!" A voice said from the door we entered in. Gunshots rang into the air. "Say hello to my little friend!"

Dean.

The vampires he hit fell, weakly at our feet. "Dead mans blood bullets!" Sam grinned widely.

I lunged forward, sending my knife slicing through the necks, and spinal cords of the monsters within reach. Sam did the same. We took care of the ones that weren't hit, and Dean came to kill the ones that weren't.

I walked to Raven, who was hit in the chest. The bare skin pooled with blood. I raised my blade and in one blunt motion her head rolled to the side.

Sam offered me a handkerchief from his pocket, and I wiped the blood off my face. What a gentleman.

"We should take care of the bodies." I said quietly, my heart pounding. “We need to clear this place out, too. I’ve got my badge in my bag.”

"Let us take care of the bodies.” Dean said, putting away his gun.

I looked up and met his eyes. "I'm a hunter." I said simply. "I clean up my own messes. I'm coming with you."

Dean nodded knowingly.

——————————————-

The boys had ditched their jackets and ties, and I stood barefoot in front of the flaming pile of vampires. There was no sense in making a grave for something that was essentially already dead.

We cleared out the club, flashing our badges. Explaining that there was a hidden sex ring in the back, and the club would be permanently shut down. They were all shocked. Their hands on their chests with a dramatic gasp, as if they weren’t letting vamps suck on their necks in their free time.

Fuckin weirdos.

I crossed my arms and we watched everything burn. The flames licked up toward the moon in the clear night air. The smell of flesh as the flames in front of us started to dull, turning everything to ash.

"I think we deserve a drink." Dean said with a grin, dusting off his hands.

"I need a shower." I laughed, wiping a bead of sweat off my forehead.

"Me too." Sam said with a nod.

"Meet at the bar after?" Dean asked.

"Sure." Sam and I agreed.

The boys and I were staying at the same motel. Guess we learned our ways by the same breed of man.

My body hurt, and I was fucking exhausted. It was nice, though, not hunting alone for once. I wondered how the night would’ve went if it weren’t for the boys. The Winchester’s. I shook my head. It was all just too weird.

Other hunters whispered about them. I wondered if they knew that. I’d have to ask Sam about all the apocalypse shit, because if it was true... then they do a lot more high level shit than a vamp nest.

I started to unzip my dress, to let out my breasts and let my organs fall back to their natural location, when a knock came to my door. I opened it slowly.

Sam leaned against the door frame. "Dean locked me out. He thinks he's funny."

I smiled a bit. I opened the door wider so he could squeeze past me. “Come in." I moved out of the way so he could walk in. "Is he always like that?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, he saved our asses tonight so I can't really complain."

"I can." Sam said cheekily.

"Can you help me with the zipper?" I turned my back towards him, looking at him over my shoulder.

There was a glint in his green eyes. "Sure." He walked to me and effortlessly unzipped me, running his fingers down my bare back. Down the length of my spine. The hairs raised on the back of my neck.

Damn it’s like he has an electric touch.

I turned towards him, holding up my dress with one hand. "You can use the shower after me."

"Deal." He said, his eyes lingering on my mouth.

Little Sammy Winchester. I licked my lips. Not so little anymore.

10 years ago

We looked at each other, my butt still on the slide and his hands awkwardly on my waist. He was cute. Awkward or not.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

Even as a kid, I knew that life was short. Take what you can get while you can.

I could feel his surprise against my kiss. He literally whispered, "oh."

I pulled away with a laugh. "Let's get out of here, Kansas." I pushed past him.

"Where are we going?"

"Everywhere."

Present

"Or maybe we could save water and shower together?" I asked, locking eyes with him. My heart pounded in my chest at the thought of his slick muscles against my skin.

It was a bold move, but I'd been rejected before. It'd be a strike to my ego at worst. Hunters were an odd breed. They were equally all about the here and now, about sex, but they also didn’t trust anyone. There was a trust element to sex, to laying naked and vulernable. Even a quickie in the single stall bar bathroom was a risk. Hunters didn’t let their guards down, not without reason. Not without need.

The way Sam looked at me, though, made me think he would say yes.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine urgently. I groaned, melting into him instantly, letting go of my dress. It pooled at my feet.

His lips were warm, and so fucking soft. Hunters were so rough, around the edges and otherwise. Sam was different. He was both the little boy I remembered, and the man in front of me. His hands rested on my back, the callous on his trigger finger tracing the length of my spine.

I pulled back a bit, and he glanced down at me, his cheeks growing a bit red. "I showed you mine." I whispered.

He pulled back and unbuttoned his shirt slowly. I never knew a button down could be so erotic. He shrugged it off, and reached back and pulled off his undershirt, exposing his skin. Holy shit. I ran my fingers along his chest. The curves of his body. He used to be so lanky. I think wiry were his exact words. But now he was fucking ripped. I’d ran into women who slept with Dean, who described his thick form, but Sam wasn’t so easily obtained. He didn’t seem like the one and done type. He was obviously a hidden treasure. My fingers landed on his tattoo. I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and grinned. "Anti possession. Genius."

"One of our brighter ideas." He agreed. He pushed my hair behind my ear, and hooked my panties in his thumbs. "I don't want to talk." He whispered, gruffly.

My heart skipped a beat. He wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man, and I was way too into my throughts. I wrapped my arm around his neck, and met his eyes. "You got it, Kansas."

He picked me up by my thighs, and I wrapped my legs around him. I would let him take me, my body and my mind. I didn’t trust hunters, but he wasn’t just a hunter. He was Sam. He was my Kansas, the boy that got away.

We were kissing, tongues exploring, and hands gripping each other tight. All the way to the shower. He turned on the water and stepped in, his pants still on. The water was hot as it ran over us, I rolled my back to press against him. His hair was soaked. Water ran down our faces, down my strapless bra, and down his bare chest. His tongue was soft against mine.

We'd kissed before, but this time we felt like different people. This was a different life. There was no awkwardness, no nerves, just two people finding ourselves in each other. This was a different life.

In this life I was about to sleep with Sam Winchester, and fuck was he wonderful.

I ran my fingers through his wet hair, tugging gently. He groaned in response. I grinned. "What?" He mumbled against my neck as he left open mouth kisses.

"It's just..." I pulled his face up to mine. "I thought we were pretty screwed for a minute. I thought we were going to die. I'm glad we didn't."

Sam grinned and pulled me to him again, kissing him hard. He reached behind me, unclasping my bra. The wet fabric fell to the ground with a smack. He eyed my chest hungrily and brought my breast to his lips.

I groaned, my back arching. I was drowning in him. This was a one night stand that I hoped I'd get to repeat many more times.

Sam

The sun came in through the blinds and danced over Freya's bare chest as it rose and fell with each breath. She was beautiful.

Images from the night before flashed through my head. Skin on skin. Groans. Names whispered in the night. My head was spinning.

Freya Scott, the girl who got away. The girl who I was determined to not let her away again.

I reached over, pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and pressed my lips to hers. "Morning."

Her eyes fluttered open. She looked a little surprised to see me, but after a moment of taking in her surroundings she relaxed again. "Guess we missed the drink with Dean." She yawned, the skin around her eyes crinkling.

"I guess so." I grinned kissing right between her breasts. "15 year old me is so stoked right now." I mumbled, pressing my lips to her soft skin again. She smelled like the motel bar soap, and the image of my soapy hands running over her breasts flashed behind my ryes.

Freya laughed. It may be the best sound in the world. "Really?"

"I always thought you were great." I told her. “Strong. Pretty.”

"You were cute." She pulled me on top of her completely. "You still are."

I smiled and kissed her, feeling her warmth surround me as her legs tangled with mine. She arched her back, causing her breasts to press against my chest.

A swift knock came to the door. "Hey Blondie, is Sam still with you or did you kick him out last night?"

I could hear his smug smile through the door.

"Shh." I whispered to Freya, trying to kiss her again. I didn’t want him to pop the bubble. I could stay in those sheets with her forever.

"I can hear you two in there." Dean said through the door. "Come on, I've got a case for us. Freya can come along if she wants. Meet you both in ten."

Freya started to laugh. The giggles bubbled in her chest. She reached up and touched my cheek. "We're busted."

"We're so busted." I agreed kissing her one more time, deeply, just in case it was the last time. "Have anywhere to be? Sounds like we have another case."

"I'm a hunter. You know I can't say no to a hunt. I'll get dressed."

5 years from now

I stared at her. I couldn't believe it. It was her. I knew it was. "You look like someone I used to know." I said, wincing. She was there in front of me, but yet she was miles away.

"I understand that." She said kindly, taking off her glasses. "Who was she?"

"She was the love of my life." I said, as if it could ever be that simple, as if words could explain.

"Was? She died?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault." I told her. I tried to memorize her face, the way she tilted her head. The way her blonde hair fell into her eyes. It was shorter now. It only went down to her shoulders.

Even through time. Through changes to her appearance. Through distance. She was still her. I recognized the way she chewed on the ear piece from her glasses when she was thinking.

"So, Sam." She leaned forward. "I'm Maddie."

"Nice to meet you." I said, taking her hand in mine. I could’ve sworn a burst of electricity shot through us when we touched.

I didn’t think I’d ever touch her again.

"Likewise."

"What... uh.. what are you working on?" I asked, not wanting this to end. I wasn't ready to let go. Not yet. Not ever.

"Scheduling. It's very exciting. What about you?"

"Me? I'm... trying to get away from the cold." I scratched my head.

"It's awful out there." She smiled widely. "You from the city?"

"No, just visiting."

"It's a beautiful place." She leaned in, her eyes meeting mine. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"I feel the same way." I said quietly. "Would you... would you be interested in having dinner with me? Maybe show me around town?" Don’t be desperate, Sam. She doesn’t know you. She is gonna say no.

Her lips pressed together. She was considering it. "Yeah, okay. Eight?"

"Yeah." I said handing her my phone. "Put in your number. I can pick you up."

"You? You're not from here." She laughed. "I'll pick you up." She said with a smile. "Text me your location, but for now I really do have to get back to work." Her hands ran along her laptop. I eyed her bare fingers. Void of tan lines. Void of callouses. Void of me.

"Okay." I smiled a bit, my heart aching at the thought of another goodbye. "I'll see you then."

Eight pm

She stood in front of my motel wearing a long coat, over a green dress, and a stocking cap. She looked angelic in the snow. I opened the door and walked into the night. "Where's your car?"

"No one drives in New York, Sam." She smiled widely. "Hope you brought your gloves."

I shrugged and pulled a pair out of my pocket. "Better safe than sorry."

She offered her hand to me. "I was thinking Thai food."

I met her hand graciously, lacing our fingers. "Perfect." I'd go anywhere with you.

She smiled widely. "Let's go."

And I went. To the ends of the earth. I squeezed her hand, and I spun her, like a dance. She laughed, and snow flakes attached to her hair. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Heat rose to her cheekbones, and I tried to peel my eyes away. "Sorry, you just... you look beautiful in this light."

She smiled a bit. "Let's get some food, big guy. You've already got me out, you don't need to keep convincing me."

She released my hand and walked ahead of me. I had a feeling I would have to be convincing her of a lot of things, because she wasn't Maddie. She wasn't this person who believes New York is the most beautiful place in the world. She spun into me like she had a dozen times before that, with her hands open to the sky. She smiled in the same way she always had.

I would remind her. I would find out where she went. I would find out what I lost five years ago, and no matter what I would always find my way back to her.

________

Chapter Three, Someone Worth Having

Get caught up!

Forever Tag List:

@foreverwayward

#fanfiction #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #writing #mine #back to you #sam winchester #samxofc #sam winchester x oc #original character #freya scott #request #love #otp #dean winchester

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trollhunter94 · 6 years ago

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This Isn't Most Haunted

Characters: Ghostfacers and Hunter!Reader

Warnings: Flashing Gifs, Swearing, Creepy-ass Ghosts, character injury.

Words: 3k

A/N: Happy Halloween! Let’s get spooky.

Summary: A haunting in Ohio leads the reader to a house that has more than one unwelcome occupant. Can they work together to solve the case?

Cleveland, Ohio.

This was the first time that you’d ventured into this town, but only by recommendation of Garth. The ‘Old Western house’ was famously known for paranormal activity, but had never been proven by professional investigators in the past.

Most recently though, a group of teenagers- most likely looking for a party spot- had been found butchered inside the house. Definitely worthy of an investigation.

Driving the car up to the boarded and rickety old building, the setting sun was casting shades of crimson through the sky and giving an eerie sense of forewarning.

Checking that the coast was clear, you stepped out and headed quietly to the trunk before stocking up on the usual items. Salt and shotgun rounds, EMF reader, Iron rod and Flashlight. Check.

The front door opened with a protruding creak, revealing a rush of cold and uninviting energy from the entrance hall. Ducking under the police tape and switching the torchlight on, you entered cautiously. The house was eerily dark and the smell of dust and rot was thick in the air.

You made your way through the house with the EMF in the other hand, checking the energy of each room. The counter was showing no sign of activity until you passed through the kitchen, where it spiked near a heavy wooden door.

Turning the EMF off, you pulled out the iron rod, gripping it tightly as you slowly turned the handle. Pushing it open in one swift motion, you were immediately blinded by a succession of moving lights. “Oh shit!” you cursed, bringing a hand up to shield your eyes.

The sound of multiple voices became present, shouting in hysteria and confusion. It was clear that these were just civilians, gatecrashing a crime scene. You instinctively switch into authority mode, calling to them. “Police! This is a crime scene. You kids shouldn’t be in here”.

One of the individuals kept their torchlight still and quickly calmed their friends from their panicked frenzy. “Guys, guys. Who does that remind you of?”

“Oh crap” the tallest kid said in distaste, lowering his camera. “You’re not with the police. You’re here with the Winchesters aren’t you?”

A sudden moment of confusion washed over at the mention of the famous hunters. “What the- How do you know about Sam and Dean?” It was obvious to them, from the plaid shirt and boot combo, not to mention the lack of any official uniform or badge.

“Those lumber heads are always bursting in on our cases” the tall and nerdy kid complained. You repeated his words, “your cases?” Were these people really a part of this world? “Who are you guys?”

“We’re the Ghostfacers” the smaller guy chirped proudly. “Professional paranormal investigators, at your service”. You let out a hearty chuckle. “Ah yes. I’ve heard of you guys”.

“You have?” They both looked at each other, pleased that they had reached a partial fame. “I’m Ed, and this is Harry”. You outstretched both hands for a double handshake. “Nice to formally meet you, I’m Y/N”.

“Oh, and that’s Spruce, our cameraman” Harry informed, pointing to the guy behind him. “Hi Spruce”. You gave a small wave, to which he waved back, his face still obscured by the large camera.

“So, Ghostfacers” you addressed them optimistically, hands falling to your hips. “What’s your verdict thus far? What are we dealing with?”

“Well”, Harry spoke up. “It’s a known fact that Old Man Western was a butcher. Legend says that he killed fifteen people, chopped them up and sold it as meat”.

“Okay”... you responded, feeling nauseous at thought of cannibalism. “So, does anyone know the cause of death?”

“There’s various myths” Ed explained. “Some say he died in the cholera epidemic, others say that he was burned alive at the stake for his crimes”.

This seemed a plausible explanation, considering your research. “Well, I’ve just been to the County Records department. There’s no record of him being buried, if there was a body. So, it’s a no-go on the Salt ‘n Burn”.

“His spirit must be tied to an object then”. You looked to Harry, impressed with his knowledge. “Yes, anything with DNA on it. Could be hair, nails, teeth, blood or even saliva”.

“Or sperm”, Spruce joked. Everybody’s eyes squinted in distaste, turning to glare at him before Ed questioned his sensitivity.

“Dude!?”

Shaking it off, you set a quick plan in motion. “We’ll have a better chance of finding it quicker if we split up and cover more ground”.

Ed jumped at the chance of working with a serious Hunter. “Great! I’m with you, Y/N”. He stood closer to you and looked to his co-workers with a smugness. “Harry, you and Spruce check this floor and the basement. We’ll take the upstairs rooms”.

Harry frowned at this decision and raised a hand. “Objection. Why do we have to check the basement? Do you remember what happened to Corbett?”

Ed placed a hand on his chest and took a step backwards, dramatically shocked by Harry’s hurtful reminder of their lost intern. “How dare you. Of course I do... God, Harry. I live with his death on my hands every day”.

“Could you live with mine?” Harry challenged, still unamused by the plan.

Ed’s eyes danced around as he thought about it. Eventually he sighed, knowing this was going to have to be decided the ‘good old-fashioned way’. “Fine” he said, lifting his fist and holding it outwards.

Harry nodded at the universal symbol of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’, holding his own fist outwards. Three counts were followed by a paper and scissor result.

Ed made a scissoring motion with his hands. “Chirp, chirp” he gloated. Harry turned around and threw his arms in disappointment. “Stupid, stupid game!”.

Eyes rolling at the dramatic performance, you pinched your nose and took a calming breath. The sooner this is done, the sooner you can go home. “Right” you asserted, “before we get started, how are you guys doing for protection? Got any salt, iron?”

“We’ve got Salt and our EMF reader” Ed prompted, feeling the need to prove their credibility.

Harry waded in, pointing to their new equipment. “And some full-spec cameras set up throughout the house. Hopefully we’ll catch some decent orbs or apparitions”.

“No, guys” you dismissed, looking to Harry in disappointment. “This isn’t Most Haunted. Ghosts don’t just throw things about and make weird noises. They can kill you, or worse, wear you as meat-suit”. Silence was the only response from each of them.

“Here, take this”. You reluctantly passed over your favourite shotgun that had killed its fair share of creatures over the years. Harry accepted the weapon with uncertainty, having never fired one before.

“Trust me. If something does show up, that will save your life. Just cock the barrel and pull the trigger. Simple”.

“Simple” he echoed, placing the strap around his shoulder, not believing it himself.

“Alright Ghostfacers” Ed addressed the group. “Let’s hustle up”. Stretching his hand into the middle of the congregation, Harry and Spruce’s were quick to pile on top.

Together they lowered the hand pile, “Ghost-” Lifting up and apart, their hands glided down their faces dramatically, whispering the remaining word “-facer's”.

As Team 1: Harry and Spruce fanned out, you and Ed climbed the stairs. Each plank of wood announced your accent with croaks and squeaks.

The first bedroom was piled high with clutter. Giving the EMF reader to Ed, he scanned the room before wandering off, leaving you to do the heavy lifting. First course of action: start looking through draws and stacks of boxes.

After checking the ground floor, Harry and spruce began to descend the stairs to the basement. The room was dimly lit and smelled of damp, full of large furniture and cobwebs. Harry led the way forward with caution. “Getting a lot of EMF spikes” he said, pivoting on the spot and watching the counter.

Eager to capture some strong evidence, Spruce reached out and started talking. “Hello? Is anyone here with us?... What’s your name?”

It wasn’t long before Spruce felt something pass behind him, causing each hair on the back of his neck to stand on alert. Turning around, he watched the space before him, seeing nothing there but now feeling a static chill within the air.

Something was standing there.

An immediate flush of forfeit spread through him as he lowered the camera and began to walk back upstairs, eager to get to safety. The door slammed shut behind him, instantly alerting Harry. He walked over to the door and pulled strenuously at the handle.

"Spruce? Was that you? Come on. It’s not funny. Open the door”.

Spruce tried to turn the doorknob without any luck. “I can’t. Harry? It wasn’t me. Wait there. I’ll go and get help”. A loud plead of objection came through the door as the EMF counter beeped noisily. “No! Please? Don’t leave me!”

Spruce came back down a step and spoke to him through the wooden separation. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you. I’m right here”. This gave Harry some reassurance, allowing him to reach into the salt bag and start making a circle. He stepped inside before taking the shotgun off his back and balancing it against his shoulder.

No shitty ghosts are taking any more members of this team today!

An eerie silence washed over the room, only Harry’s rugged breaths being audible as he waited anxiously for any change in atmosphere. What happened next was quick and sudden. A full-bodied apparition flickered across the room, stopping just meters away. With the face of an older man, pained and angry, it warned him in a low and threatening tone.

{Get out! Leave!}

The remaining wind from its deep bellow brushed across Harry face, which was now plastered in fear. Pulling the trigger, the kickback made him jolt as the salt round hit the spirit’s torso. A dissipating cloud of fog was followed by a clicking of metal from the door.

Spruce took this opportunity to test the knob again, turning it with ease and revealing a shell-shocked Harry. “Dude” he yelled supportively, “let’s get out of here”.

Scuffling over to the stairs with motivation, Harry dropped the gun and grabbed Spruce’s arm in relief and followed him up the creaking steps. The door-frame quickly came into view, followed by a manifestation of thick, black mass that surrounded it.

A low and ungodly moan vibrated through the wooden fixtures and sent chills through both of their bodies. The only way out was through this black cloud, would they have the courage to face this obstacle.

Apparently not.

That same face, aged and angry, manifested within the dark cloud. Producing a low and ungodly scream, it sent a burst of energy against the duo, forcing them backwards down the stairs.

Frustration was now building as you finished looking in the second bedroom and came out empty-handed. A floorboard creek originating from the corridor drew your attention over to Ed, who was transfixed on the counter as he paced slowly. You approached from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh shit” he jumped at your presence.

”Sorry” you whispered, holding your hands up in defence. “Getting any activity?”

“No” he replied, dropping his arms and looking in both directions down the corridor. “Just a few point 1's and 2's. Did you find anything?”

Heading to the next room, you remained optimistic. “Not yet. There’s still three more rooms to search though”.

“Yeah, sure” he agreed passively, walking alongside you with a sense of intrigue. “So how long have you been doing this? You know, hunting ghosts”.

“About six years” you recalled. “It’s not just ghosts though. My first case was a Wendigo and yesterday it was a Crossroads Demon”.

“Oh, cool” he mused. “We’ve encountered Angels and what we thought was a Tulpa”.

“Really? An Angel?”

“Yep”.

“You looking to become a Hunter?”

“No. Not really. Ghosts are enough trouble I think”. The conversation seemed dead until the strangest sentence came from his mouth. “You know, I once lit a match off of a shark’s dorsal fin”.

You stopped and looked at him sceptically. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

He seemed to forget that by being here, his team were walking the thin line between life and death. This was no time for charm and distraction. “Can you please focus. We haven’t got a lot of time before this thing shows itself”.

“I know” he admitted. “It’s just that I want you to like me, you know”.

The room at the end of the corridor echoed as a floorboard creaked under the pressure of a heavy foot. You and Ed quickly turned to investigate the spooky sound.

The room appeared to be empty, containing nothing but an old wooden bed and uneven piles of paperwork on the floor. Ed scanned the room before looking over to you. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s go back downstairs”.

As he began to turn away, you extended a blockading arm across his chest as something else came into ear-shot. “Shh. Did you hear that?” Full concentration was given as you both stilled and listened tentatively.

The faintest of mumbles passed through the corridor, sounding almost child-like. Wide eyes met each other, mouths dropped open with recognition and chilled to the spot.

“I heard that” he gawped quietly, hand running through his hair in astonishment. Rather than talking about it, you and Ed continued to listen.

Suddenly, a gunshot from downstairs stole your attention. Looking to Ed, he shared your concern for a moment before pulling out his walkie and attempting to contact his partners.

"Harry? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

There was no reply. Seconds had passed before a symphony of screams came flowing up the staircase, causing you and Ed to share a worried glance. He began to move towards the sound. “We have to help them”.

You quickly pulled him back and took control of the situation. “No, you stay here and find that object. I can help them”. You pulled the iron rod from your belt and shoved it against his chest. “Take this. You need to find that object and burn it”.

After their interaction, Harry and Spruce had made their way back down the staircase and jumped into the salt circle, standing back-to-back, scanning the room and waiting for it to appear again.

Seconds of anticipated silence passed before the sound of scuffling wood gained their attention. They watched fearfully as large objects were catapulted towards them, the impact cracking the screen of Spruce’s camera.

“Holy shit!” He dropped the device without care, running to hide behind Harry. The final projectile was a wooden stool that slid along the floor, pushing through the grains in the salt circle.

The spirit materialized, vivid facial features that radiated pure hatred as it flickered towards them. With nowhere safe to go, they began to wail in fear as you reached the bottom step and clocked the moving mass.

Picking up the discarded shotgun, you aligned the shot and fired, sending the bullet flying directly through its torso. Tension left the air as it dissipated into a cloud of fog, leaving behind a pair of bewildered spectators.

You approached them with concern. “Is everybody okay?”

Snapping out of their paralysis states, they both replied in unison. “Yeah”.

Now that everybody is alive and safe, it was a good time to get the situation back on track. “Spruce, fix the circle”. Handing the shotgun over, you continued. “Harry, you cover him. If you see it, don’t hesitate. You pull that trigger, got it?”

Harry passed Spruce the salt bag before raising the gun, face now serious and focused. “Got it”.

The room was silent as everybody stood completely still, wondering where the ghost was. Seconds passed before the Western Ghost appeared once more, this time it was pissed.

“It’s back!” Spruce warned, aiming a finger at the other side of the room.

“Shoot it!” you commanded, unintentionally drawing the spirit’s attention. Malicious eyes fell on you. “Oh shit”.

Pulling the trigger, Harry felt the kickback as the bullet travelled through the barrel and into the wall, just inches off target. “Oh shit” he cursed, moving to reload as quickly as he could.

As suspected, you came under attack. With holographic movements, it flew up and hit you with a mighty force, sending you flying across the room. As you hit the ground harshly, Ed came rushing down the staircase.

“I’ve got it” he shouted, looking from Harry and Spruce, across the room to see you climbing back to your feet. The lighter in your pocket was the only obstacle between life and traumatic paranormal death.

As you fumbled to grab the lighter, the Western spirit flickered before you once more. A ghostly hand outstretched to penetrate your body, closing around your heart with a frozen fist.

Harry aimed the reloaded shotgun and studied his view with uncertainty. Growing impatient, Spruce encouraged him. “Shoot it!”

“I can’t!” Harry refused, glancing sternly at his friend. “Y/N’s in the way”.

Chest pain now at severe, it took all your energy to give a flick of the wrist, sending the lighter across the floor. “Burn it” you groaned, hoping someone would save you this time.

Ed scrambled to pick it up and ignited it with one flick. Holding the flame under the blood-stained hat, it was soon spread with a bustling red fire. Old Man Western’s hold on you grew weak, sparkling flames danced along his outline and cackled. With a scream of defiant agony, he dissipated before your eyes.

The silence that held the room was now laced with peace. Ed’s face radiated smugness as he closed the lighter lid and headed towards his friends. Dropping to the floor with your back against the wall in recovery, you praised the Ghostfacers for the successful mission and their bravery. “Yay. Go team”.

Thanks for reading.

#ghostfacers x reader #hunter!reader #spn reader insert

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ganglylimbs · 7 years ago

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Small Talks Of Something

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Jaune/Ruby

Notes: Future AU with fluff and small amounts of angst. I don’t know if this info is really needed but in this AU, Jaune is a teacher at a newly reformed Beacon, Ruby is still a Huntress with a new team, Weiss had started a new company, Yang is also a Huntress and Blake leads the new White Fang (they live in Menagerie and are also getting married so there’s some slight bumbleby)

“...Ok. Now that we can see how the armies are set, with the red chalk being Army 1 and the blue chalk being Army 2, can anyone tell me what a smart first move is?” Jaune Arc asks, turning around from the chalkboard set before him to look at his students. He stands tall, with long blond hair pulled back into a bun. He is one of the more casually dressed teachers at Beacon, with his worn jeans and t-shirt, hoodie tied around his waist. But Jaune figures as long as he is comfortable and can move around freely than it’s fine.

His classroom is set up in a wide half-circle, his students spread out. This is a class for third-year leaders, so there is only a handful present. A few hands shot up, a few more following as he waits a minute. Finally, he calls out. “Ms. Alice?”

A young girl with short, spiky pink hair speaks up. “If Army 1 could split their forces, then half could distract Army 2, while the other half flank them.”

Jaune nods. “Ok, that’s a pretty good move. Can anyone tell what could be wrong with this strategy?”

A few more hands. Jaune points to another student, a boy this time. He also stands up, answering “If you halve the army, that halves the manpower. Army 1 will be crushed before they can fully flank.”

“That’s certainly a worry.”

“But it depends on the army.” Alice pipes up again. “If the distracting half of the Army can hold their own, and if the flanking half of the Army is quick, then the strategy still works.”

Jaune moves to sit on the edge of his desk, watching Alice and the boy (Cadet) argue back and forth. He smiles as a few more students started adding their own suggestions. Just as he is about to break in, the door to his classroom bursts open.

On instinct, he reaches for Crocea Mors, the sword is a comfortable weight against his side. But his hand stills at the sound of a familiar voice. “Jaune!”

“Ruby?” Jaune asks, a frown waring with the smile that threatens to take over as Ruby strolls into his classroom, seemingly oblivious to the commotion her appearance is making.

“Is that Ruby Rose ?”

“That’s totally Ruby Rose! I can’t believe she’s here!”

“Do you think I could get an autograph?”

“Do you think she could teach me some moves?”

Jaune ignores the whispers of his students. Instead, he walks forward to meet Ruby. “Ruby, what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow?”

Ruby shrugs, taking Jaune’s hands and giving him a peck on the check. “I rushed home to see my husband. Is that so bad?”

The frown wins out. Jaune looks her over. “And you aren't hurt? Right?”

Ruby grins. “Yep!”

Jaune purses his lips. “Uh-huh.”

Ruby doesn’t relent. “Jaune, it’s fine. I’m here now, right?” She grins, wide, spreading her arms out. Jaune runs his eyes over her quickly. She doesn't appear to be hurt beyond a few bandages on her hands. Jaune has no doubt that she had been well taken care of by her teammates while away on her mission, but he still worries.

Sighing, he lets it drop. He could take a closer look later. “So what are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you.” She exclaims. “And to tell you that you now have the rest of the afternoon off.” There is a mischievous look in her eyes, a twinkle even.

“Really? I’m finding that hard to believe that you got that cleared.” But Jaune can see that the damage is already done. At the promise of the class getting out early, his students start to get antsy. Combined with facing the great Ruby Rose, no one is paying attention anymore. Scrolls are out and friends have clumped together to talk.

“Come on.” Ruby pleads. “I’ve been gone for two months. Don’t you want to hang out with your wife?” She batters her eyes at him.

Jaune can feel his resolve crumbling. Taking one more look at his students, seeing the way they are looking at him, anxious and hopeful, makes the last of his willpower disappear. Taking a deep breath, his shoulders slump. “Fine.”

Chaos breaks out. Students rush to pack their bags and leave. Over the sound of rustling and talking, Jaune tries to call out their homework. “Please write a half-page of what your first move would be if you were the leader in this situation. It will be due by next class period.” He feels Ruby pull at his arm, trying to force him out of the room. He digs his heels in, still calling out assignments. “And please remember, your essay on weapons and war is due next week.”

Eventually, Ruby hauls him out the room and down the hallway.

They end up having lunch at a nearby cafe. Hidden between two larger buildings and only a few tables wide, it wasn't the most well-known place. But the sandwiches are like heaven to the tongue and Jaune loves their coffee. He watches, with a small smile as Ruby digs into her food. He knows that food on the road isn’t the best, that the rations that are often given to the Hunters were better used as ammo. So he doesn't say anything as Ruby orders another plate of fries. Instead, shrugs his shoulders at the waitress.

When Ruby finally settles back in her chair with a happy smile and a pat on her tummy, Jaune knows it's safe to talk. “So tell me about your adventures.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up. She leans forward. “Oh Jaune, you would have loved it. I mean, not the Grimm part but you should have seen the view. And I got to meet some new Hunters. Just out of school. A bit cocky, but good kids. They should go far.”

Ruby babbles on, sometimes tripping over her own words in her haste to get them out. Jaune continues to listen. He loves the way Ruby talks, the high pitch of her voice as she describes fights, the way other’s names are cradled on her tongue, the one place they can always be safe. Comrades who have fought side by side with her for years now. Her hands are just as expressive. They cut through the air, showing Jaune what her words can not say.

“And guess who I ran into?”

“Who?”

“Weiss!” Ruby’s grin turns bright as she leans in close. “I was even able to get coffee with her.”

“Oh? How’s she doing?” It’s been a few months since Jaune last saw Weiss was when she had come to stay with them during her business trip in Vale.

“Good. She had another breakthrough with some weapons she's been designing, something to help the metal from wearing down. And she made top ten Women of the Year for science and technology for the fifth time, which is exciting. I'm pretty sure I convinced her to hold a party for the event Oh. And I think she broke up with her latest boyfriend. Again.”

“Wait. I thought she was dating that Atlas Huntress?”

“No, she broke up with her early this year, remember?”

Jaune chuckles at that. Weiss still holds a Huntress badge and would go out time from time to help protect Atlas’ borders. But she had given that up as a full-time job years ago. Instead, she focused her attention on creating a more equal and powerful dust company than that of her brother’s. Jaune was glad for her, Weiss was determined and inspirational, a force to be reckoned with. She was well on her way clawing to the top.

She also seemed to be taking those same traits into her personal life. She made no secret of the line of lovers she had coming into her office. As she told them one day, “Why should I keep it a secret? Whitley would find out anyways and use it against me. Might as well get it out in the open.”

Jaune figured she was still revealing in being free from the restrictions of her family.

“Considering she just released her new line of dust based battle gear, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Jaune says.

Ruby shakes her head, smiling. “That’s what Yang said too.”

“How is she by the way?”

“Stressing about the wedding. So the usual.”

“She knows it’s going to go off without a hitch, right? Especially because Kali and Taiyang are busting their ass off to make sure it goes well.”

“Oh, she knows. But she’s sure that something is going to go wrong.”

“I thought Blake was the one to get uptight about these kinds of things? What happened to carefree and adventurous Yang?”

“I know! It’s so weird. It’s like they switched personalities or something. It’s freaky.” Ruby shudders. “Anyway, I offered our help if she ever needs it.”

“I’ll bring my muscles,” Jaune says, flexing. Ruby snorts and Jaune pouts at her. “Hey.”

“Aw, I’m sorry but do you think Yang needs help moving anything.” Ruby reaches across the table to grab Jaune’s hand. “And besides, I’m pretty sure if she needs extra muscles, she’ll call Nora.”

“Ok. Fair.”

“Or maybe Ilia.”

“Sure.”

“Sun, too.”

“I get it.”

“Probably Ren.”

“Now you’re just getting insulting.”

Ruby smirks, sticking her tongue at him before bringing his hand up for a light kiss. Jaune smiles back, enjoying their shared warmth, the way a light breeze blows through his hair, the way everyone else seems to disappear. “I’m glad you’re back.” He whispers. “I missed you...missed this.”

“...I did too.” But something flickers in her eyes and suddenly Jaune is sitting straighter.

“You. You are staying, right? At least for a few weeks?” He asks.

Ruby looks away. He silence is answer enough. Jaune looks down. “How long?”

Ruby clears her throat. “They want me in Mistral by the end of the week. I’ll be taking a ship in two days time.”

“Two days?” Jaune wrenched his hand away, leaning back in his chair. “You only get to rest for two days? Ruby. Don’t you think that’s pushing it a little?”

Ruby frowns. “Jaune, they need me in Mistral.”

“Do they?”

“Yes.” Ruby reaches her hand across, reaching for Jaune. “They need all the Huntsmen they can get. I know...that I haven’t been spending a lot of time home but I need to do this. I need to.”

Jaune sighs. “I know you do. But, Ruby. You can’t keep doing this. You were gone for two months. Then before that, you did a three-month mission. Before that, it was five weeks. You barely get a rest in between each. You’re going to burn out.” But he holds her hand again.

“I’m fine.”

Jaune is silent for a second. “Do I need to stage an intervention with Yang, Blake, and Weiss?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would and you know it.”

Ruby slumps in her chair. “That’s not playing fair.”

“When it comes to getting you to take care of yourself, I can’t afford to play fair.”

“Oh look who’s talking.” Ruby sticks her tongue out at Jaune before giving him a small smile. “You’re still seeing that therapist, right?”

“Yep. She thinks I’m making great progress,” Jaune says. “I don't as anxious anymore when you or Ren or Nora or anyone else leaves. It would help though, if I knew you were taking care of yourself, though.” He gives Ruby a pointed look.

“Point taken" Ruby shakes her head. “I’m am glad that you’re still working on it. I would like to keep having you in my future.”

“Likewise.” Jaune gives her hand a squeeze. Ruby looks away for a moment but quickly looks back.

“One more mission. Then I’ll request for time off.”

“Not just for a week?”

“Not just for a week. A couple months at least. A proper vacation.”

Jaune’s shoulders drop, all tension leaving him. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my nagging husband.”

“Your nagging husband who loves you very much.”

“My nagging husband who loves me very much, yes.” She brings Jaune's hand up for a kiss. “I love you, Jaune, nagging and worrying and all.”

#rwby #rwby fanfic #lancaster #i probably didn't need to have the info dump in the notes #but eh #i've been thinking about this for a while #and just wanted to share

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dontcallmecarrie · 7 years ago

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Live Through The Rain

On a bit of a WtNV kick lately, despite not being completely caught up yet. Add in dubious amounts of sleep and caffeine, a bout of Maria Stark feels, plus my knee-jerk reaction to stress, and I think you guys can tell where I’m going with this.

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe [films], Welcome To Night Vale [podcast]

Warnings: for everything Night Vale related [Librarian-caliber gore, cosmic horror, dystopian themes, etc.] plus unreliable narrator [because of different priorities, skewed ideas as to what’s normal, etc] and large amounts of crack because reasons. Under the cut, also because reasons.

Here’s a fic idea/minific-I-might-expand-later-on from some premises I kinda want to play with, with bonus Maria Stark backstory because turns out she’s a pretty major influence and butterfly effect ftw:

In which Maria Stark’s hometown was Night Vale.

Maria Carbonell grew up in a small, quaint town with good schools, [literally] breathtaking infrastructure, and left a legacy that had everyone warily looking over their shoulders and in the rafters before speaking her name.

She may or may not have been part of the reason the town referred to an incident only as the Time of Knives, featuring a teenage Maria and a truly terrifying number of Librarians, and had been taking classes at the community college and interning at the local radio station when an errand to investigate the appearance of mysterious portals ended up leaving her stranded in New York.

She didn’t have much to go back to; her father had entered the Blood-Space War when she wasn’t quite eight, and his letters always reached her regardless of where she was. Her mother was bitten by an antique years ago, and she’d been an only child. Besides, she could hear the radio just fine, so the homesickness wasn’t that bad.

So Maria Carbonell did what any Night Vale citizen did: she rolled with it, and settled into this new world with what she had in her pockets, and little else. Turns out, it was just enough, especially paired with her skills from when she’d earned her Undercover Operations badge, back when she’d been in Girl Scouts.

Time passed, and she fell in love with Howard Stark, and you guys know the rest of the story.

He thinks she’s got some odd quirks, but didn’t everyone?

And Howard…changes, over the years. Hardens, becomes colder. Becomes more secretive. In another life, Maria might’ve been dismayed, by that.

But in this one, she’s reminded of home more than ever before, because…really. Besides,it’s not like she doesn’t have her own secrets, like the bloodstones she’s carried in her pocket since leaving Night Vale, and she’s so proud of his progress in making a Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency. [Really, his attempts at secrecy are adorable.]

He’s gone for more and more time, searching for Captain America, and Maria’s left holding down the fort, smiling prettily for the cameras and unnerving literally everyone else, because the spies who work with Howard are seeing her skills with counterintelligence and information-gathering and debating about whether she’s a deep-cover agent or something else. [Howard, for his part, gets very offended by any implications of his wife being a spy, plus he researched her background himself, thus their reluctance to say anything otherwise.] Plus her skill with anything with blades? Ditto. Jarvis is slightly wary at first, but they become friends soon enough, bonding over watching Howard’s back and sharing recipes [even if Jarvis had to modify some, because apparently people around here didn’t like adding crushed pumice to brownies. Weird].

Just…Maria Stark’s content to be in the background, but is kicking ass and taking names because she was born and raised in a small town that regularly deals with eldritch abominations and temporal disparities and it’s hard not to be a badass after having earned merit badges in Concealed Weaponry and Advanced Knife Fighting Techniques before puberty.

She loves quietly but fiercely, and takes on the world with a bright [vicious] smile and a knife tucked out of sight. [Turns out it’s genetic.]

I could go on, but this got off-track as is, so…

Tony’s birth signifies a change.

[Of course it does.]

Suddenly, the differences between Night Vale and the rest of the world are so, very vivid.

For instance, her pregnancy had been very interesting.

She was just happy Tony had ten fingers and toes, really. And didn’t mind that he’d taken after his father in looks, because her side of the family had tentacles in their family history, and while Maria didn’t see what all the fuss was about, these people were surprisingly squeamish about extra appendages. [Weird.]

Time passes, and Howard’s still out and the mansion’s mostly vacant, excluding Jarvis, so nobody should be surprised at just how large a role she played in raising him, really.

In canon, Tony was always closer to his mother than his father, but here? Well…he’s got Night Vale in his blood.

Here, Tony’s childhood is unusual, and it’s not even because of the genius thing.

His bedtime stories are of flying police cars and Hooded Figures and Radon Canyon. Howard’s not home very often, but his grandfather’s letters arrive like clockwork, so there’s that. [It was only when Tony got older that he realized the irony of it, really.] The Sumerian lessons, and the self-defense against Librarians, and the best way to handle assault rifles, were all part of his fondest childhood memories. Even if they had to be kept secret, because he noticed how some people looked at his mother, like she was an alien in human skin. [Or a Librarian, or…]

Time passes, he gets older, and Jarvis is despairing in the back because Tony inherited his mother’s taste, and explaining just why there was motor oil in the cereal bowl had been a trip and a half.

Tony’s growing up, and while he’s blowing through classes, and being a prodigy just like in canon, here, when he’s at home he’s learning how to make hot chocolate just the way his mother makes it, with a dash of chili powder and just a hint of antifreeze. The stories now include the Void and Street Cleaning Day and monsters great and terrible [Librarians, what can you do? Plus the Woman From Italy] and whenever the signal’s good, they hear the broadcasts together.

[Part of Tony knows it should be impossible, but then, so’s the bloodstone circle chants, and the small bits of dark magic his mother knew and taught him because she’d earned a merit badge for Combat Incantations. He’s not good at it, but it’s enough for a pinch, so whatever.]

Sometimes, he wants to visit, but life in the spotlight, plus it being practically impossible to find sometimes, meant it’d be something for the bucket list instead.

Time passes, and he gets older.

He’s learned from his mother how to smile for the cameras, and he’s not even a year into MIT but he’s already sick of hearing everyone comparing him to Howard because sure, they had a family picture every so often, but really the last time he saw his father had before the man had left for yet another expedition, nearly five months ago.

Maria’s still done her best to bridge the gap, but here there’s also the Family Secret to contend with; Tony’s got Night Vale in the blood, after all. That’s not a small thing.

The car crash still happens, and Maria still dies.

Except here, Tony chalks it up to time-traveling assassins from the Society For A Blood-Space War, because he’s heard of them before and it would’ve taken a lot more than a mere car crash to end Maria Stark neé Carbonell.

The Winter Soldier, meanwhile, had to fight for his life and only narrowly made it out because the target’s wife put up unexpected resistance. The scene had to be set on fire to get rid of all the biological evidence, and HYDRA had to do some emergency surgery even though nobody’s quite sure as to where the machete wounds, or third-degree burns, even came from.

Maria had taught Tony how to handle assassins from an early age. She thought it’d be his grandfather, or his father, that’d be the reason for trouble, but just in case…

Tony’s grieving, of course, but he’s a bit more at peace than in canon. [It helps that he recognized the lingering scent of dark magic, and knew she’d fought back, when he goes to the scene.] But he’s got Night Vale in the blood; death and fire are like a second skin, to him.

Time passes, and canon ensues, for the most part.

He still becomes the Merchant of Death, still sells weapons that devastate landscapes and smiles for the camera. [It’s Tony Stark, of course.]

The changes are more minute than not, here; they’re in how Jarvis lived a few months longer than what the doctors had expected, after having been diagnosed with cancer [bloodstone chants for the win], they’re in how Tony actually likes DUM-E’s smoothies, because the tang of motor oil’s a very good counterpoint to the mellow notes in the alfalfa, they’re in how he sometimes turns off the music and puts on the radio, when it’s late at night and he’s alone in the workshop. [Rhodey, Happy, and Pepper get clued into his unique background, of course, and roll with it..]

Canon ensues, and shit goes down.

He’s still captured on a bright day, not a cloud in the sky and the sun scorching down on him.

The change here is, Yinsen’s feeling tendrils of darkness where there’s supposed to be a heart. The difference here is, Tony first wakes in the middle of his impromptu surgery to a doctor who’s looking at him with horrified awe, and the arc reactor goes in anyway because turns out that physiological quirks aside, his heart still doesn’t like getting shredded, protection around it or no.

Tony left his bloodstones back home, and he was never quite as good at magic, so he goes with what he knows, to break out. Except here, he also has the shadows to help him, and their captors become increasingly drawn and tired as the days pass by. Yinsen doesn’t breathe a word, but watches with fascination as this all goes down.

They break out, of course.

Not sure if Yinsen makes it, in this one. Hmm…details, details.

Tony crash-lands, and it might’ve killed a normal human, but…well. He’s not normal, now, is he?

Canon ensues, with a few tweaks.

When he meets Nick Fury for the first time, Tony doesn’t get why the man twitches like that when he offers him a drink. [Fury’d seen Maria cheerfully add Tabasco sauce to her tea, like hell he was going to drink anything her spawn offered him!] And that talk of a bigger universe? Adorable. Why’d he’d booked it shortly afterwards, he did not get, either.

The palladium tastes like grape-flavored cough syrup, so of course it had to go. [The headaches he got from it were secondary, really.] Natasha gets hired, because he recognizes the gleam in her eyes. He hasn’t seen it outside of the mirror for decades now, like hell he wasn’t hiring her. [It’s months later that he finds out she’d been born five minutes away from Nulogorsk. Nice.]

The Avengers assemble, of course.

Except here, there’s a lot more weirdness to contend with; Steve is so, very not prepared for the chaos that is Tony Stark. [Nobody is, really.]

The fight with the Chitauri’s the first time people start to twig that he’s Not Normal, though. Kinda hard not to, when he’s so very nonchalant about fighting alien armies [his laser knife fighting skills were very rusty, but decent enough in a pinch]. When he diverts the warhead from its intended target, he remembers all the warnings about the Void, but curiosity killed the cat so he glimpsed it anyway.

Wasn’t much of a Void, really; the aliens are mildly alarming, to be sure, but this still isn’t the cosmic horror of the Things That Should Remain Unseen that he’d been expecting. [Overall, 4/10, for being a disappointment.]

[Loki, though, he saw the Void, Tony knew. It was obvious, from the look in his eyes even if the others didn’t quite recognize it.]

Time passes, and he carries on.

Thanos is a threat, to be sure, but Tony’s already been quietly preparing for the Blood-Space War, so it’s a minor issue. Even if the others don’t quite agree.

Tony talks in Russian with Natasha, sometimes, and alarms the team as his more private quirks start to show the longer he sticks around. Steve’s horror at his not blinking at the soap in his smoothies is pretty entertaining, to be sure. The less said about Clint’s finding his homemade chocolate stash, the better, and Tony only knew a few phrases in Triple Spanish but it was still enough to get the room’s attention.

Wanda tries to get the drop on him, but turns out his worst nightmare’s a scorching sun with a Smiling God in a desert so it’s pretty much impossible to manipulate that into anything she can work with. That Tony threw a fireball right back at her didn’t exactly help, either.

Ultron still happens, except here, JARVIS has some…quirks, because Computer and Fire Science is a department in Night Vale Community College and that implies a closer relationship between the two than one would expect. [Ultron doesn’t happen, is what I’m saying.]

Civil War, if it were to happen, would be…fun. I mean, it probably wouldn’t even happen, because no Sokovia, and without the time crunch Tony’s able to hit everyone upside the head with the paperwork and broker something that’s approaching functional.

Thanos…well. If Infinity Wars were to happen, Tony would go ‘screw it, time for the big guns. JARVIS, help me find Night Vale, time for that vacation’, and…well. Thanos is formidable, sure, but Tony can get his hands on Librarians and he’s the son of Maria Stark neé Carbonell, so really, who’s the scariest here?

Not mentioned: HYDRA’s got some ties with Desert Bluffs, Phil Coulson’s from Red Mesa [thus the nonchalance at all this shit going down], if I wanted even more crack I could easily try shipping Thanos with the Woman From Italy, and I could probably—uh-oh.

…this is going to be its own AU, isn’t it. Dammit, brain!

I mean, this is pretty rough considering it’s off the top of my head, but…oh no. Brain, don’t do it.

#fic idea #fic ideas #crossover #brain don't do it #gdi brain #my brain did a thing #welcome to night vale #marvel #naught rambles

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goshiyachi · 7 years ago

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Sipping on emotions

Fandom: Haikyuu!! Pairing: Oikawa Tooru/Miya Atsumu Summary: Oikawa couldn’t help but sink deeper and relishing on the high of falling in love. Prompts Used: Flight, Firsts, Kygo & Ellie Goulding “First Time” @volleyball-rarepair-week

Or read on Ao3.

It was petty to sneer, but it felt so good.

With everything said and done, it was gratifying to have that kind of privilege after winning the battle. It was like a badge of honor for Oikawa to be able to showcase his victory. He had always been addicted to having a winning streak whether it was through trivia, academics or within athletic purposes. There was just something about winning a debate or a game that made Oikawa smile, he knew it was a bad habit of being happy over something like that but, he honestly couldn’t help that kind of impulsive reaction. But then, why did God make it feel so satisfying in the first place then if it was so wrong?

He always appreciated the type of people that didn’t mind him and his gloating (since they tended to have the same disease as him of being overly competitive).

It was simpler to be occupied by a sea of others that understood his language and style. That and because, he could continue with his silly arguments and never feel too paranoid on stepping on landmines that would jeopardize him of losing people from his inner circle. It wasn’t foul proof but, with his kind of charms and flexibility to live it made it possible for him to roam and create a place to freely discuss and enjoy himself well enough.

Maybe that was why he liked how he met Miya Atsumu before beginning college. (A week prior to be exact.) The new spring semester was a colossal dynamic that it made him want to settle into his new environment earlier and assess his new chapter before it would get cluttered by the end of the year. He met Miya in a passive tempo of carrying some his boxes while listening to the hallway of his apartment’s level hum of multiple lives being jumbled together. It wasn’t as claustrophobic or overbearingly loud as he made it sound but, it made him aware of the new flavors he would encounter if he lingered in the hallways long enough.

Miya was in that mix; with his bleached hair standing out a little from the sun glares that casted into Oikawa’s vision, his eyes were mischievous enough to make him drag the second longer than necessary (he could feel a small smirk form in the back of his mind in curiosity). He was a pretty boy like Oikawa, he granted that with first impressions. The way he glided in the hallway made it easier to conclude that he was associated with some type of an athletic hobby or job. They didn’t speak or introduced themselves then.

Or the second and third day.

Before he knew Miya’s name, Oikawa dubbed him as the cocky pretty boy. (In hindsight, it wasn’t the most creative nickname but, it did its job.) Each time they passed each other Oikawa held his breath and squared his shoulders. In a minimal tone, he studied him, because there was tipping point of his curiosity for him. He felt like the type of person that lived in a similar fashion of loving to conquer everything and anything.

It was on the fifth day when they officially introduced themselves, Oikawa was coming back from his morning jog. Making his way to his level he felt another pair of eyes watching from behind. It was an intensity he was familiar with when he played volleyball or when there was a fangirl that wanted to confess to him. He didn’t change his pace of walking, but made himself relax as he heard another pair of shoes walking almost side by side. He checked his phone and lowered the volume of his current playlist playing when he caught Miya’s mouth opening and looking at his direction.

It was a straightforward conversation that Oikawa was used to from past cocky volleyball players, there were under layered challenges that made him steel his own words. Neither one of them were out right nasty to each other, but it was plain to see that Oikawa remembered seeing his face somewhere and apparently, Miya felt the same. It was the start of them bustling through the quiet exchanges of winning admires from a distance and the louder ones when they raced in their morning jogs, or when played against each with their separate volleyball teams. Competitiveness between them was the stepping stone for the both of them to continue on learning more about each other, and it was the perfect excuse for Oikawa himself to seek his own personal enjoyments when he won. It was a sweet kind of victory when he became accustomed to seeing Miya give him a special type of attention only reserved for him.

He was vain, Oikawa could admit that. But so was Miya. (It was almost like it was destined for them to cross paths at one point.) They both posed the same type of drive to be the incarnation of perfection. With the way life was handling them Oikawa couldn’t help but be overjoyed by time that was given to him to study Miya Atsumu.

The vantage point of witnessing Miya smile genuinely was unintentional.

They were lounging in Oikawa’s living room watching some old rerun cartoon from their childhood. It had been three months of slow edges of their words teasing more openly. As if they didn’t care of the world catching a glimpse of cheerful banters that borderline flirtations. It was slipping and swooning like water droplets; Oikawa noticed the way Miya glanced at him. (He was sure Miya noticed his too.) They had become more acute to each other’s habits and personal walls. Secrets had been shared in the late-night texting and the few times Oikawa allowed Miya to sleep on his couch after drunkenly misplacing his own keys.

Miya was the first to crack a real smile, his face radiated from old unspoken dreams coming into light. His voice was a murmur in the dark, they had been eating junk food and wasting time talking about old stories from their youth. It was weird how Oikawa’s state of mind was blinking and refocusing on Miya’s shift in tone as the story continued. (Like his gut was telling him something was going to happen.) Half his mind was recalling the story with precise detail, the other was catching how Miya’s glow from the TV made it accentuate how tired he was from his team practice. As the seconds ticked; Oikawa noticed it.

It was faint but the atmosphere was changing. And then he heard it: his own heart floating above his rib cage, then soaring past his body in a phantom speed that left him momentarily breathless. Miya’s smile that was unlike the rest he was acquainted with made him grasp the situation. He had fallen. So deep, and far from his old presumptions. As he relapsed into the present he couldn’t help but sigh in defeat the way Miya’s eyes were twinkling at him. Iwaizumi was going to be annoyed (and most likely slap the back of his head) when he would visit him this upcoming week. But he would live.

“Tooru.” His voice was becoming a little slurred from the lack of sleep. “Tooru, I’m gonna crash on the couch again. I don’t think I can make it to the door.”

Listening to Miya complain about his twin brother was a normal rant, one that Oikawa could relate to. He had older siblings to compare with and a nephew he sometimes still baby sat on occasion. Meeting Osamu was a different matter after the revelation. They weren’t complete strangers, they had met briefly in the occasions Miya face timed him while Oikawa was in the background. There were enough stories that he heard about the other Miya brother but that didn’t give him the best representation to understand the other brother. But that was beside the point, before Oikawa was aware of this dimension of wanting Miya he hadn’t thought too much about meeting Miya’s close-knit family back then.

It would pose a problem that would give him insomnia when Miya told him off handling that his brother would come visit soon.

Like most siblings, they all had their quirks and system of coexisting. Miya was the flashier, selfish, vain and over competitive and sometimes pettier brother. Osamu was quieter (that it was harder to know what he was exactly thinking), he was a little bit of an ass but, when your twin was Miya, Oikawa had to guess that having thicker skin was a must. At first glance, there was a coldness that was casted between him and the brothers, as if he was intruding in their private turf. They shared memories and inside jokes that only they could describe and comprehend with each other.

A contrasting picture of the sun and moon was the mental visual he had as he went through the motion of talking to the Miya twins in his apartment. He didn’t bother shooing Miya when he opened his bedroom and saw him and Osamu eating his breakfast he made a few minutes ago. Oikawa had long given up going a mid-morning without Miya eating his food. They were just lucky that he expected this type of mooching when Miya’s brother would visit would incline to bring him over to his place. Making Oikawa prepare in advance to have enough groceries for the three of them that weekend.

Having Osamu watching him carefully and in the flesh, was different from the few skype and face time chats he was pushed into. His eyes were just as deadly as Miya’s, his voice was clipped and hinted boredom (or was it tiredness from Miya’s happier energy never seeming to quit?). When he spoke directly to him Oikawa was (a little) intimidated because he shared the same piercing voice pattern (the vocal ranged differed enough if someone personally knew the twins or was as observant as Oikawa). It felt like he could read Oikawa’s thoughts without a problem. He didn’t know what Osamu precisely saw but it was enough to make him paranoid when he was around him.

Which was why finding out that Osamu was granting Oikawa the privilege to court his brother was the last thing in his mind to happen. He thought becoming a fool for love wouldn’t make him forsake his capability to hide his heart’s matters. Turned out that nothing could bypass a Miya when they had sharp senses of these kinds of developments. Even with the blessing (that included Miya’s parents since he was like the middle man for these kinds of matters) nothing truly changed with his status with Miya.

Miya himself never said he was opposed to Oikawa kissing him (both during his abrupt drunken self and lament quiet sober person) but then again, he never started the trend to open that Box of Pandora.

It made it harder to decide the next course of action: to be the catalyst for a new tempo to dance in or, to pretend that his heart didn’t fly at the daydreams of Miya kissing him.

Oikawa becoming drunk at the same time as Miya was probably not the smartest move. They both got locked out of their apartments and had to camp outside the hallway. The walk to their tenant’s office the following hours was fuzzy, there was a small tension building up when they each got their respective “lost” keys back. Going inside Oikawa’s was faster, the curtains were half parted making his living room dark enough for their eyes to sting less. The hangovers were a pressing matter that Oikawa scarcely made an effort to object Miya following him back to his room. It was left unsaid when they woke up later in the afternoon that if one of them didn’t lose their key something would have snapped.

Nonetheless, Oikawa made breakfast (he didn’t care if it was 3pm) Miya ate half of it like usual and the world moved on without a care.

Becoming lovers was never a goal Oikawa thought he would accomplish. Sure, the kissing privileges appealed to him, and not having to overthink everything would sound good. But in all honesty, Oikawa preferred to sleep for thirty years after going through finals week. As the summer session was coming into the picture Oikawa couldn’t make himself believe that Miya was the first to confess with haste explanation and a kiss that burned his lips long after he was left alone when he didn’t respond fast enough.

He had many past relationships that were shambles. Only one he previously and naïvely thought he was in love (but really, he was happier about the theory than her). Miya was really his first love that he was invested in. With a sudden confession to a person who grew on the opposite side of the court he fought countless of times during his youth; Oikawa found it. A life and a possibility of having Miya become his home. As the sun’s rays were fading he walked back to their apartment complex, when he reached his level Miya was watching the day transition to night.

Minus the city noise and other people’s windows starting to glow there was a calmness among them that he couldn’t ignore.

He opened his mouth, he didn’t know what he said but it was loud enough to catch Miya off guard. They didn’t cry and hug dramatically like the movies, but they did walk inside to Oikawa’s couch and sat closer to each other than the yesterday. The following hours were swept under without a care, they familiarized themselves with the sudden new direction of where their hands and lips could roam now. They were comfortable to laugh when they fumbled and reap in the lightness of their happiness when they drifted into another day and week. It was a feverish race of living in a temporarily high of being first time lovers.

The world was theirs for the taking.

The colors seemed to mix, the vibrations of the city being constantly awake made Oikawa feel like he was in one of those cliché music video scenes of being a young and reckless boy. Miya was always by his side, hands holding his, or lips too close, hovering and teasing in the wide open. It was a blessing in disguise that neither of them knew how to drive a motorcycle because God knew the dumb shit they would attempt. The train rides were all they could do if they wanted to explore the deeper sets of the city. To get lost in all the colors and promise of adventure.

Being firmly placed into the realm of only lovers knew was a strange one. It was a place that felt infinite, it corresponded with a certain type of youth who went against the impossible without a care. A paradise that manifested itself into his heart and actions as he filled his social media with an endless trail of his time in love. It was a modern take of two people being consumed with new emotions, making them stagger as if drunk by life itself. Time was irrelevant then.

Oikawa just wanted to cherish the feeling of being powerful, admired and genuinely having a reason to breathe. Miya’s adoration may have been ticked by misplaced oddities and playful teases but, it rose above it as it progressed. He became what Oikawa once dreamed about; a constant in his life that created a happiness he never fully experienced yet. Treasuring this new part made him see how wondrous and random it really was. He could have gone to a different college, could have picked a different career or stayed behind in his sleepy suburban neighborhood.

There were so many other possibilities but in the end, Oikawa smiled at what was in front of him.

Sniffling, Oikawa trudged on as the fall semester was consuming his coffee intake. Miya had moved in with him by then, since there really was no reason for him to waste that much money on rent when he practically already lived with Oikawa for a long time. Osamu visited more often when Miya announced it on a random night. Oikawa by then was getting better at reading him to know he was happy for the both of them. He was still a stiff sarcastic guy but his humor was on point. (He really did love hearing all those embarrassing kid stories that Osamu provided for him.)

With happiness seeping out of his body Oikawa engulfed himself into this transition. College was a pain in the ass but with his friends and Miya around there was calmness that relaxed him by the end of each day. Love had always been one side of the coin that made him question its potent but, as he was summoned by its own accord he learned to accept its kindness and cruelty. Engraved into his soul Oikawa smiled wider with the simpler moments and loved every touch Miya gave him. It was easier to clasp this side.

His eyes were smoldering, Oikawa always loved it when the fire brew out.

They were in the middle of a volleyball match when Oikawa relished; he had the upper hand after winning a set. The newest battle was rasping into a long dance, with the ball being push, pulled and assaulted in the air. He felt his lips form his usual shit-eating grin and was pleased to see Miya openly glaring at him. It was game on. How couldn’t he when Miya was making it sweeter the way he made the game so much livelier. Each new ploy, decoy was making him hungrier to win.

He knew him so well, the way Miya sneaked in a fast attack when Oikawa soaked in the quick victory for a beat longer than it was necessary. He took a quick scan of the room, and then his teammates. They didn’t look too bothered rather, they were pumped from the challenge. The ball flew higher again, his fingers tingled; just as the first time he found his love for volleyball his face lit up brighter. His body moved into sync with his ace. He was alive; and he loved it.

The way the fire burned his body and watching him gain another point against Miya. As a fellow setter and observant boyfriend that he was, Oikawa flew higher. With the way, the game was going Oikawa laughed out loud, Miya from the other side chuckled. (He probably had an idea of what Oikawa was feeling like to understand.) He was scheming, the tide was rolling and the game could tip to his favor if Oikawa made a mistake. It was exciting to have Miya as his opponent.

“You’ve seen nothing yet, Tooru!”

He was cocky for good reasons, but Oikawa was always amped up to push the limit higher.

#haikyuurarepairweek #atsuoi #Oikawa Tooru #Miya Atsumu #Haikyuu!!#lee attempts to write #Soe: Sipping on emotions #Miya Osamu #it feels so long since I've written and posted something

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kaoruyogi · 7 years ago

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How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 17)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 17: War is Hell (And It’s Not Just a Fucking Cliché)

Forced marches could suck a fucking dick. Better yet, they could suck two dicks and a left nut.

Belle’s entire body ached from tip to tail. Her head ached more the further south they marched because, apparently, there were still allergens in Thedas to compress her sinuses. Her neck, back, ass, crotch, and thighs ached from riding in the carriage and riding on horseback. She walked when she could, but she almost snapped her ankle on the third day and had to stop trying.

It was a small mercy that Eudora had decided to come along with the other healers. She patched up Belle’s little cuts and bruises, though they were less numerous or frequent than Belle thought they might have been. The healer’s best balm for Belle was to be a much-needed lifter of spirits. The woman was, after all, a noisy and unashamed rabble-rouser. “Maker, this cart is rattling my bones from arse to tits,” or, “I never could master that twirly-whirly, spinning nonsense with my staff when I was in the Circle,” she would say. The latter made Sera laugh, too. Eudora was also Sera’s favorite healer, surprising no one. The two women had a lot in common, including boundless snark.

Dorian would ride alongside the women, putting in his two cents about Eudora and Sera’s colorful commentary on “the modern mage.” The phrase made Belle chuckle each time she heard it. The modern mage. She envisioned magazine covers with too-thin models draped in Chanel or Alexander McQueen robes, arms wrapped like boney serpents around Tiffany staves. Maybe it would be more like a family magazine, and the cover would bear images of happy little mage families or couples decked out it matching polo shirts and playing catch with fireballs. The articles inside would range from “How to Find the Best Necromancy Preschool for Your Tot,” to “Fifteen Ways to Thaw Your Ice Mage in the Sack.” Belle nearly toppled from her horse, she laughed so hard.

Max had gifted Bull a battlenug because the Qunari was just this side of snapping a horse’s back, even the drafts. The battlenug was somehow both hulking and snuggly with a face like a squishy rhinoceros and horns like an ancient mountain goat. Bull named him Mertam—an exercise in irony, according to Bull—and the two were perfect for each other. Bull spoiled the giant thing rotten the whole march, sneaking him vegetables and the odd fruit every time they stopped.

“You treat that drooling animal better than you treat me,” said Dorian one evening at their campfire.

“I treat you just as sweetly when I’ve turned you into a drooling animal, kadan,” said Bull. Dorian shut up after that.

Varric wrote everything down, even while he rode. When Belle asked him why, he said with all seriousness and conviction, “Counselor, someone’s got to tell this story to everyone who wasn’t here. Some of the things that happen along this march will be legendary one day. Incidentally, what do you think would be a good title for the book? I’m thinking, ‘All This Shit is Weird,’ by Varric Tethras. Or maybe, ‘No One Listens to the Dwarf’ with the subtitle, ‘The Story of How Thedas Almost Burned to a Crisp Six Thousand Times.’” Belle picked the second option.

Vivienne, Leliana, and Josephine spent most of their time in one of the carriages. When Empress Celene surprised an entire army by joining the march with her forces, the four women were all but inseparable. Belle spent what time she had to with the empress, kissing ass and licking boots, but preferred to be away from the onslaught of noble horseshit the woman spewed on a never ending basis. Belle was not Vivienne, who seemed unable or unwilling to stop appearing unreadable and superior. Belle liked to shut her superiority off after a few hours of use. It was too exhausting to spend the whole day looking down her nose, and her glasses weren’t suitable for accommodating the adjustment.

Morrigan likewise lingered near Celene, though she could also be found arguing with Solas about something related to magic or elves or just about anything. On rare occasions, she rode with Max, though he seemed to tire of her company after fifteen minutes. He didn’t care for her. Her presence was a means to an end, he’d told Belle. The witch, he’d said, knew something.

When Solas was not arguing with Morrigan, he could often be seen riding in silence, a pensive stare glued to his face. Belle liked the elf well enough, though he may not always have liked her. The way he’d spoken about her unceremonious arrival in Thedas sometimes sounded like chastisement. Other times it had sounded like he felt a personal attachment to the incident. He had become less apt to ask her about it in recent months, but everyone had become less apt to ask her about it in recent months.

Cole lingered near everyone at one time or another. He had become more…corporeal lately. Belle noticed him more, and he surprised her less. His personality had not changed—he still said odd and invasive things—but he seemed happier, in a way. It was in his tone and on his face in tiny increments. She might even have heard him laugh once, though the sound was so short and came as such a surprise no one could be certain.

Blackwall, as everyone agreed to continue calling him, marched with the soldiers. He was no more fit to ride than any one of them, he’d said before they set out. The soldiers began to accept him again as they marched. It was a slow process, but Spencer helped, choosing to sit next to Blackwall at meals and march with him for several days. Spencer chastised some of his fellow soldiers for their judgments and accusations, reminding them how many of their own lives Blackwall had saved. Belle could not have been prouder of her brother for championing the beleaguered man. Spencer was one of the good ones.

Cassandra alternated between riding and marching, always near the front of the forces. She was a galvanizing and powerful presence for the soldiers, never showing weakness and always understanding of their struggles. She made sure boots were kept dry and shields were kept high. She and Cullen often rode side by side, locked in intense conversation or in complete silence. Casualness between the two warriors was a rarity.

Cullen had withdrawn from Belle in degrees too small to cause her to worry until midway through the march. It started the day Max told everyone they would soon be marching to the Arbor Wilds. Cullen spent that night with Belle, but he had refused to leave his office for dinner. He started refusing to leave his tower for lunch. He started refusing to leave his tower for any meals. He stopped spending the night in her tower.

She tried to be understanding. He was under immense pressure to plan a successful march, a successful attack, and a thousand successful contingencies. The Inquisition’s cause and his cause had to be one and the same. She understood. She was a workaholic before being sucked into Thedas, even a bit of one thereafter. She tried not to mind the dark circles under his eyes or the way he would ignore food when it was brought to him. She tried not to pay attention to the way he snapped at people more than usual or pinched the bridge of his nose. She tried not to feel hurt at his continued absence from her bed or his constant answer of, “There is too much work to be done,” when she asked him to join her. She tried, but it wasn’t working.

As the troops marched on, Cullen grew ever more distant. Belle had hoped that they would share a tent, and they did. She would creep in after dinner to find him already hunched over some document or another, writing or reading by dim candlelight as he held his forehead in his left hand. The muscles of his neck and shoulders were stiff and knotted, as if a pack of overeager boy scouts had gone to work on him in pursuit of a merit badge. Belle would dig her hitchhiker’s thumbs into those knots, squeezing and massaging them until she thought her fingers would snap at the first knuckle. She was nearly brought to relieved tears when he finally dropped his head and groaned at her ministrations, but that only happened once.

She was brought to tears after the first week. She began massaging his shoulders, and he reached back to lift her hand away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he said.

“I’m not troubling myself. I want to he—”

“I will join you in bed shortly.” He didn’t look at her when he said it.

“Fine.” It came out exactly as harsh as she meant. Still, he did not turn to look at her.

He was just under stress, she told herself. He had not intended his words to be cruel. He was Atlas with the world on his shoulders, and he was Achilles with an arrow in his heel. His withdrawal symptoms were flaring up under the pressure of thousands of lives resting on his judgment. Constant headaches, flop sweats, she may have heard him vomiting once.

Belle laid down, tearful, angry, and terrified. It took almost an hour for her to fall asleep to the sounds of Cullen’s scribbling. She drifted off with her back to him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her hands balled into fists.

She woke up alone.

She had her own tent set up the next night. It wasn’t because she was angry at him. It wasn’t because she needed distance from him. It wasn’t because she thought he needed to be alone. It was because she could not watch him do this to himself again. She could not watch him kill himself under the yoke of his workload a second time, and she could not intervene. It was not her place to tell him not to plan or not to work. The strain on him, his tension, was justifiable. The fate of an entire fucking continent depended on his strategy. The weight of that would have broken a lesser man. She only hoped it would not break him.

She had barely seen Cullen during the last leg of their journey. He walked alongside soldiers and he rode at the head of the army as he had done, and he slept or didn’t sleep alone in his tent. His skin went sallow and his eyes seemed to sink into his head to be surrounded by yellowish, blueish, purplish circles. He was worn down and ragged, yet he managed to appear composed in front of his men. He looked almost regal with his tired head held high and his tired gaze held firm. Even at his worst, he was a fucking sight to behold.

When they finally reached the Arbor Wilds, Corypheus’s forces had already entrenched themselves in the network of groves nestled in the vast woods. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Red Templars and Tevinter mages calling themselves “Venatori” sat between the Inquisition and some magic mirror in a temple. Belle would have been lying if she claimed to have full comprehension of the importance of this magic mirror, but it was important to Max and it was important to Cullen and it was important to Josephine, so it was important to Belle.

Cullen approached Belle after dinner that night. The attack was to happen at dawn, he had told everyone upon their arrival. They all had one more night to rest, he’d said. The irony was not lost on her.

She had been forced to join Celene’s party for some eve-of-battle pow-wow that didn’t include anyone actually involved in the battle or its planning. It was an excuse for the empress to gather those she considered kindred close to her while she was afraid. If the battle was lost, there was a very good chance that Celene would no longer be empress by the time she returned to Orlais, if she returned to Orlais at all.

A gloved hand came to rest on Belle’s shoulder. The touch was gentle, like a nervous little boy trying to get the attention of the teacher he thought was beautiful so he could hand her an apple. When Belle turned, Cullen’s weary face looked back at her with a kind of doleful affection. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

She nodded, turning back to her esteemed company to bow her head. “I beg your pardon, your majesty, but I must excuse myself for a few moments.” Celene cast an appraising glance at Cullen before issuing a silent decree with a flippant wave. Belle clenched her jaw to keep herself from sighing as she stood. She bowed her head again before following Cullen to a quiet spot among the trees.

“I apologize for interrupting your meal,” said Cullen. His voice was soft and sad. The same doleful affection still rested on his features.

“It’s okay. It was begging to be interrupted. I hate having to sit up straight and pretend to be interested for that long.” She really did. “I don’t mind you stealing me away from the pompous bullshit.” She really didn’t.

“I—Uh…” His hand found the back of his neck, his sore neck he wouldn’t let her massage. His enervated eyes wandered to where the stars would have been had the trees not been so lush and so numerous.

His other hand lifted from his side. In it was a simple black leather scabbard with an equally simple black leather belt beneath it. The hilt of the dagger in the scabbard was also simple in its way. There were no gems or shining adornments, only deep azure leather embossed with a Celtic or Norse-looking design. It was Fereldan, without a shadow of a doubt.

“I want you to have this. I want you to wear it tomorrow—until the battle is done.” Cullen held it out in the too-substantial space between them.

Belle seized the opportunity to close the distance. She stepped forward, taking the dagger in one hand and locking his fingers in the other. “Okay.”

His gaze was uneven. The little lines on his forehead contorted into an upside down horseshoe with his apparent worry, spilling his imaginary luck down the bridge of his nose. His nose that was bent ever so slightly in the middle. His nose that had probably been broken at least once. His nose that she would gamble would be passed on to his children. “I know you’ll stay in the camps, and I know you’ll be protected, but I need you to wear it. I need you to stay safe.”

“Okay.”

“I need to know you’ll stay safe, stay alive.”

“Okay.” Belle’s hand unclasped from Cullen’s, and she moved her palm to his jaw. Her thumb traced a tiny blue vein down from his cheekbone until it met with her other fingers. His eyes that had seemed nearly as pale as his skin were once again warm as honey whiskey. They roved over her face, scanning every mole and freckle as if to memorize them.

His lips crashed into hers without warning. It could not have been called anything but a crash. It was a reckless collision of flesh, a desperate meeting not to be averted by any force in any universe. His arms flew around her waist to press her to him, though his breastplate forbade the closeness they sought. His mouth opened once to close around her lower lip, and again to close around her upper lip. His tongue tasted her, teased at her skin, but did not beg entry at first. When it did, there was a kind of glory to it. It was brilliant and bright, his every movement a subtle devotion. He paid his penance, tucking it away in the corners of her mouth for safekeeping. Her hand squeezed at the back of his neck, and his hands squeezed at her waist. It was the kind of kiss meant to end all kisses. That, she would not allow.

Difficult as it was, it was Belle’s turn to withdraw. She watched his lips, pinker from the press of her own, then followed his scar up toward his eyes. “I need to know you’ll stay safe too, you know. You’re not allowed to just kiss me and run off in the morning to die. You have to take care of yourself.”

“I will do what I must to ensure the Inquisition is victorious,” said Cullen. His fingertips still burrowed into her in the spaces between her corset’s bones. Their lips were nearly touching.

“Man, fuck that,” said Belle. She dropped the dagger onto the weedy and leafy ground so that she could surround his face with her hands. “Fuck that noise, Cullen. You think the Inquisition’s going to be any good without you? You think someone else can just pick up your sword and go, ‘Oh, hey, yo, woah, I’m your Commander now,’ and that’ll just be all sunshine and rainbows? No. You live. You do what you must to ensure you live. I’m not hanging around in fucking Thedas if you’re not here. I’m not. So you better goddamn well live.”

There was a ferocity in his stare, a determination. “I do not plan to die.”

“Yeah, well, don’t just not plan to die. Plan to live, okay? And for the love of God, will you please stay hydrated?” Belle ran her thumbs along his cheekbones. “It’s really obvious you haven’t been drinking water. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

Cullen’s intensity turned to mild amusement. His mild amusement turned to adoration. “Alright. I will try to take care of myself, and I will do everything in my power to return to you.”

“That’s better.”

He kissed her again. There was less hopelessness in it, less fear. It wasn’t a kiss to end all kisses. It was a kiss to show his love. There didn’t need to be anything else to it. He would take care of himself. He would survive the fight. He would come back to her. That was all.

Belle told herself it would be alright, despite the pit in her stomach and the reminders screaming and clawing at the back of her mind that nothing was ever alright. But it had to be. It would be.

*****

Two days. For two days, the fighting dragged on. Belle did not see Cullen at all, though she heard from returning scouts and incoming wounded that he was fighting with everything he had. She heard that he saved one soldier’s life, then another, then another. She heard that he was pushing the Inquisition’s troops forward. She heard that he was pushing the Red Templars back. A tentative kind of pride swelled in her at the thought of his courage and compassion, and she would rest her hand on the dagger she wore beneath her light surcoat or the coin she kept in her deepest pocket.

Max had gone out with the first wave, but had been drawn back for his protection several times. Cassandra, Blackwall, and Iron Bull were helping Cullen with the push on the front lines. Cole and Sera ventured out past the front from time to time to set fires whose smoke could be seen from the rear camps, and Varric followed to lay traps for anyone who should not have been behind them. Dorian, Morrigan, and Vivienne fought among the warriors while Solas acted as a protector and healer, leading out whatever the mage versions of battle medics were to aid the injured.

Of course, Belle received all of this information second and third-hand. She was stuck at the rear camps with Celene and Josie. Leliana and a line of archers and mages stood at the edge of camp, decimating anyone foolish enough to approach.

Belle split her time between sipping tea with Empress Celene and helping Eudora with the arriving wounded. Belle had learned enough in all her time in doctor’s offices and emergency rooms to know how to triage. Crush wounds, stab wounds, blunt force trauma wounds, fatal wounds. Most were easy to discern. There was blood, or there wasn’t. There was bruising, or there wasn’t. The soldier was conscious, or they weren’t. The soldier was alive, or they weren’t.

While Belle sat with the Empress, she penned triage signs in secret. She wrote large numbers—one through four—on pieces of parchment as if writing short updates to the nobility. One was meant for those whose injuries were mild and non-life-threatening. Two was meant for those whose injuries were severe and bore non-imminent threats of death. Three was meant for those who needed immediate attention if they were to survive. Four was meant for those who could not be saved. Belle hated fucking four. She wanted to stop writing four for the rest of her life by the first evening. There had been too many fours. One would have been too many.

In the early afternoon on the second day of fighting, someone approached her. She was all but breaking her fingers, tightening a tourniquet around the arm of a hard-faced woman with a deep gash in one arm and a piece of parchment with a two in the other. Belle thought she heard her name, at first, but couldn’t be sure with the choir of the wounded crying out around her.

“Lady Dolan,” an Orlesian voice said again. She glanced up to see a man she may have recognized as one of Celene’s servants. The ubiquitous masks they wore made it difficult to be certain who was who in the zoo.

Belle grunted out a “Yes?” as she pulled the fabric a final time. The wounded woman beside her whimpered for the first time.

“Empress Celene has requested your presence, at once.”

Belle looked up at the man. His arms were crossed over his chest and his foot tapped the ground in a dramatic show of impatience. “I’m a little busy, in case you hadn’t noticed. And, you know, I just left her.”

She stood to move to the next cot. A man in his forties sat up, an eerie red shard sticking out of his lower abdomen. She looked over the wound, putting her hand near the shard as she did. The air around it felt hot. Something about it made nauseated her. She’d seen a great many shards like these since the battle began. Red lyrium. Varric told her not to touch it before he left, so she didn’t. She handed the man a three.

“That may be so, but she has requested your presence again. The Empress is not to be ignored in favor of these…common soldiers.” The Orlesian’s accent made his words sound even more laden with disgust than they might otherwise have been.

Belle wanted to tell the man to shove it up his ass, to shove himself up the empress’s ass so she wouldn’t feel ignored. “There aren’t enough healers here. I just relieved some of them. Somebody could die if I leave.”

As if on cue, one of the healers she relieved, a young Qunari man, trotted back into the tent. “I took the liberty of retrieving him,” said the Orlesian. The Qunari touched Belle on the shoulder and gave her a small smile. He nodded toward the exit of the tent.

Belle sighed through her nose, trying not to look too petulant as she stood. “Fine. Let’s go.”

As they walked through the camp, she swore she heard an explosion and felt the ground quake beneath her feet. No one else seemed to notice, as everyone kept about their business of mixing potions, making arrows, and cleaning and repairing blades. She thought about the one on her hip, concealed from the world like her worry for Cullen was concealed from the world. She hoped he was drinking water.

“We just passed Empress Celene’s tent,” said Belle as she watched it fall further and further behind her. Calling it a tent was doing it a disservice. It was more of a portable multi-room structure, like a rambler made of canvas. It sat among the other tents, cream colored where they were maroon, massive where they were tiny, and stately where they were shabby. It was a feckless display of wealth amidst those fighting for the welfare of the world.

“She wishes to speak to you where there are fewer eyes and ears.”

Belle was not about to sleep with Celene. Fuck diplomacy. Maybe that was what it was called when people did that. “Fuck Diplomacy” sounded like an archaic negotiation tactic. “Okay,” said Belle, knowing full well that she might lose her job if this little tete-a-tete took a swerve. She might lose her head while she was at it. No pressure.

The man held up the flap of a far flung tent and gestured for Belle to enter. The tent was tiny, likely erected to keep sensitive supplies dry. That would explain the smell of salted meat and the large crates. What it would not explain was the absence of anyone else in the tent. “Where’s Empress Celene?” asked Belle as she turned to look at the Orlesian.

No sooner than she had closed her mouth had he rushed her. She gasped and flinched, as was her way when she was startled. She felt cold metal against her throat and wood against her back. The foulness of the man’s breath had no room to dissipate before crawling up her nose. Every detail of his mask was visible to her, each dent and ding immediately suspicious. His ice-blue eyes bore a smugness that made her angrier than the thought of the blade meant to take her life. There was nowhere to escape, nowhere to run but through him. She leaned her head back as far as she could without causing him to take notice.

“This is what happens to cunts who tear down noble families for sport.” The man spat as he spoke, peppering Belle’s lips and chin with his rank spittle.

Belle’s right hand crept up her thigh. Her dagger was tucked away. He didn’t know she had it. Even if he did, he didn’t know she’d learned to use it. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling the smooth bottom of the scabbard. “I have no idea who the fuck you’re talking about.”

The man hissed a wet breath through gritted teeth, pushing into her and knocking her head against the crate behind her. “Perhaps you know my name then? Does Asselin sound familiar to you, you foreign bitch? Neville Asselin? Mallory’s brother? The man whose future you fucked when you ruined her marriage?” He spat again.

Belle’s fingers found the hilt of the dagger. Her fingertips grazed the design stamped into the leather before closing around it to withdraw the blade from its sheath. She took it out slowly as she said, “I didn’t fuck your future. You should blame your sister for that. If she could’ve just moved on and not stabbed me in the middle of a crowded room—the same crowded room as the empress was in—maybe your family wouldn’t have lost everything.” The tip of the blade swayed in the air when it came loose. She turned it upright as he spoke again.

“My sister is not at fault in any of this! You ruined her life! You ruined all of our—” Neville stopped short when Belle jammed the blade into his chest. Between the third and fourth rib and up to pierce the heart. That was the way she’d practiced with Cullen. They had practiced it for days. Her wooden practice blade had never entered his body, never pierced his flesh or his organs, never killed him. Every blood vessel in her body felt as though it was flowing with ice. Every muscle was tense. Every breath was shaky as it came in or out. Her thighs ached. This was fight or flight. She had the urge to do both.

Neville’s eyes went wide. He let out a thick cough as his blade dropped away from Belle’s throat. She jerked the hilt of the dagger to make sure she hit something vital, and he coughed again. When he finally went limp and heavy against her, she let him fall to the dirt in a heap.

Her hands trembled even after she balled them into fists. Her breaths were noisy, in and out of her nose. Cold in, cold out. He was dead. She had to be sure he was dead. She reached down, seeing her bloodied hand for the first time and not minding, and ripped the blade from the body. She stabbed him in the heart again, down instead of up. Neville didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. She checked for a pulse to find none, not even the faintest thump against her index and middle fingers.

Belle was overwhelmed by the compulsion to get away from the corpse she’d made. She’d always thought that if she had to kill someone to stay alive, she would say something afterward. “Fuck you,” or something. Maybe something quippier, she was never really sure. Instead, she took her dagger from the body and left the tent in silence. She thought about sheathing the blade, but decided she didn’t want to get any more blood on her clothes or ruin the scabbard. Banal practicality in the face of crisis was ingrained in her bones. She almost laughed at the way her mind worked, but she’d just killed a man and she thought better of it.

She wandered over to Celene’s obscene tent, aware that her surcoat and pants were splashed with blood. Celene’s servants balked when Belle entered. “Josephine? Are you in here?”

“Belle?” said Josephine’s voice from behind a wall of cream colored fabric. “I thought you were aiding the healers fo—” She rounded the wall and stopped in a stiff motion. “What in the Maker’s name?” She walked a couple of hasty steps to meet Belle in the center of what passed for a foyer. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess? Neville Asselin just tried to cut my throat.” Belle gestured with her bloody knife in the direction of the tent containing the salted meat and the corpse. “I killed him first.” Her matter-of-factness made her a little dizzy. It seemed dumb.

Celene’s voice rang out in shrill tones from where Josephine had been. “Is everything alright, Lady Montilyet?”

“All is well, Your Majesty. I shall return in a moment.” Josephine lifted Belle’s chin to examine her neck. “We must get you to the healers to have your wound tended.”

Belle shook her head. “He didn’t get me, though.”

Josephine’s dark brows knotted together, her blue-hazel eyes quizzical. “Belle, you have a two-inch cut along your throat.”

“I do?” Belle started to reach up to feel her neck, stopping once she remembered the upward-facing dagger in her hand. “He cut me?”

“Yes, and you are still bleeding. Come with me.” Josephine ushered Belle out of Celene’s quarters and toward the healers’ tents.

“Goddamn. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing.” Belle started to feel the sting of the wound when they reached the halfway point. “Ow. Now I know it’s there. Shit.” She reached up with her left hand to touch the tender skin around the cut. She was, in fact, still bleeding.

“Are you alright?” Josephine asked again as they entered the dingy red tent.

Exhaustion began to wash over Belle the moment she sat on an empty cot. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “I dunno. My neck hurts now. But someone should really go get that dead guy. Like, secure the scene for investigation or something. I dunno how you guys do shit here. I dunno.”

The same young Qunari man she had relieved and had relieved her in return approached. “What happened?” There was a distinct measure of consternation in his voice.

“I know, right? I just left here all not bloody and here I come a few minutes later all…bloody. That guy tried to slit my throat. I guess he did a little. Did he say anything to you?” Belle pointed at the young man with the hand she’d forgotten was still clutching a dagger.

He was gentle with her when he moved her bedaggered hand away. “About killing you? No. You can put down the knife, though. You’re safe now.”

Belle’s fingers would not loosen. Her nails dug into the bloodstained blue leather. “Um.” She willed herself to let go of the knife, but her fingers were not to be moved. “I can’t.” She tried again. “Nope. I can’t.”

Josephine’s hand came to rest over Belle’s, and the muscles began to relax. When Belle’s fingers loosened enough, Josephine slipped the dagger away. She laid it down on a small table next to the cot. Belle’s jaw was set tight while she watched. Her nails had left little crescent indentations in the blue leather, and she could see the spot where her hand had been—the only part of the grip that wasn’t coated in rapidly coagulating blood.

“I do not wish to leave you just yet, but Celene—”

“No, yeah, dude. Go ahead. Handle it. We got this.” Belle gave Josephine a weak smile as she pointed back and forth between herself and the young man. Josephine gave her one last baleful look before leaving the healers’ tent. Belle sighed an unsteady sigh. “Yeah. We got this.”

Some kind of horn sounded outside while the man, whose name Belle learned was Ash, twinkled his magical fingers around her bleeding knife wound. The feeling of tissue knitting itself back together was eerie, and a bit squishy. “Battle’s over,” said Ash absently, looking down at Belle’s still-healing neck with an appraising eye.

“Is that what that horn thing meant?”

“Yes. Have you never been to battle before this?”

“No. This is my fir—” She gasped as the last jagged bits of her cut reconnected. “First battle.”

“Well, well,” said Ash. “First battle and you didn’t even have to leave camp to kill a man. Well done.”

“Doesn’t feel well done. Feels shitty.”

“I know, but it happened. Stay here for a moment, I’m going to get you some water. You look a little pale.”

Belle couldn’t stop the little puff of laughter that left her nose. “I always look pale. But I guess this is the ‘no blood in my body’ kind of pale, huh?”

“The very same.”

Ash came back with a small cup of cool water a moment later. Belle drained it, and he went to fetch more. They went through this two more times before her thirst was slaked. “You should have brought me a bigger cup.” They both laughed a bit. She felt nauseous.

He told her to lie still for a while before she tried to get up. She knew that her body need time to make more blood, and she complied. She couldn’t keep from looking at the ruined dagger. Could daggers get ruined? They were intended to spill blood. That was their raison d’etre. How was she meant to clean the dried blood from the leather so she could use the thing again? Was she supposed to use it again? Would she have to use it again?

Hullabaloo and ruckus outside pulled Belle from the whirl of her thoughts, and she blinked her dry eyes. She was still conscious. She reckoned she would still be conscious if she stood to see the cause of the fuss. Testing her theory, she rose inch by inch from her cot, inhaling the whole time. Dizziness when standing was, after all, most frequently caused by lack of oxygen flowing to the brain.

Belle stepped out of the tent and glanced around. Entering from the edge of the camp where Leliana had been holding the line, Belle made out Spencer and his friend, Aldridge, dragging something on a makeshift half-stretcher. On closer inspection, the thing they were dragging appeared to be an unconscious man. Dark, greasy hair lay in a messy mop around his head and face, and some of his veins seemed to glow red. Bits and pieces of silvery armor clung to the fabric of his gambeson, but they looked as if they had been shattered.

Following close behind the stretcher, to Belle’s shuddering relief, was Cullen. She stepped toward him, though she was a good distance from the entrance to the camp. He was all in one piece. He looked tired and irritated, and someone had opened up his eyebrow with a well-placed punch, but he seemed alright. His posture was straight as ever, his head held as high as ever. She could have cried at the sight of him. She did cry at the sight of him.

Then he saw her. The fatigue and irritation on his face melted away into joy before dissolving into apprehension. His pace quickened until he was jogging toward her. She imagined she looked rather stupid the way she was holding her arms out long before he reached her, though it was worth every ounce of embarrassment the moment that he did. She wept into his neck when he embraced her, not caring for what seemed like the hundredth time that his armor pinched and pushed at her. Every bit of everything she was feeling rushed out of her eyes in globulous tears and out of her mouth in muffled sobs. He lifted her feet from the ground and carried her somewhere. She didn’t care to look where.

Cullen laid her down in the cot from which she’d risen. She supposed she had not gotten very far from the tent. When Belle allowed him to pull away enough to see her, he asked, “Whose blood is that?”

“Some of it’s mine. This guy—the chick who tried to kill me at the Winter Palace, y’know—her brother. He tried to kill me.” Before she could finish, Cullen lurched away.

“Where is he?” His voice was dark and robust when he spoke, filled with rage and something like desire.

“The rest of it’s his blood. He’s dead. In a supply tent somewhere that way.” She pointed, making aimless shapes in the air with her uncertain hand. “Or maybe not in the tent anymore. I told Josie. Maybe they took him out already. I don’t know. Did we win?”

Cullen’s face had become a battlefield. Worry and happiness and fury and weariness warred within his features. “In a way, yes.”

“Was that Samson that Spencer was dragging in?”

“It was. Though, Corypheus has not been defeated. Not yet.”

“That sucks, I guess. But yay, you got Samson. That’s good right?”

Cullen removed his glove to run his knuckles across her cheek. She reveled in the sensation of him. “It is. Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I’m alive and Ash was kind enough to put my skin back together, so…I guess in that sense, I’m fine. But…I don’t know.” There were too many thoughts vying for top billing in her mind for anything to coalesce into something clear. “I should thank you for the dagger. And for all the training. I would be much less okay without those.”

“Maker’s breath, Belle.” Cullen enveloped her in his arms again. It was the first time she’d felt safe since the battle began. “Thank the Maker you’re alive, my darling. I could not bear it if you—If—”

“Shh, no. No, no, no. None of that bullshit. We’re both alive, and we’re both together. That’s enough right this second. Okay?” She felt him nod into her neck and shoulder. “Is Max okay?”

“He is alive, but he went through the eluvian with Morrigan and a few others. He is likely back at Skyhold. A few of us must leave as soon as we can to get home ahead of the march.”

Belle let out a heavy breath into his skin. She swam in the scent of him for a moment, spiced herbs and soft powder and the little something that was just him. She could take the time to cope with everything later. In that moment, she wanted to remain where and as they were. “Can we sleep first? We’ve both had a rough couple of days, one of us more than the other. I’ll let you pick which one.”

Cullen chuckled, letting his warm breath splash across her neck and through her hair. “Yes. We can leave in the morning. I would like to stay in your tent tonight, if that would be agreeable?”

“Pfft. Agreeable. Of course I want you to stay with me. I’ve missed you so fucking much I can’t stand it.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x belle #belle dolan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #mgit #modern girl in thedas #self indulgence au #htwwain

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drewxmay · 7 years ago

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Contestshipping Review - Part Eleven - Deceit and Assist

Index

-The Title-

You know what there are actually a few different ways you can interpret this title but I'm sure that they are just once again doing the same thing they did last episode in making fun of Pokemon attacks.

-Episode Link-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9qOP_KdhJA

-The Review-

0:0

Episode starts out with May getting her Pokemon back from Nurse Joy and then Nurse Joy absolutely burning Brock.

0:13

Harley: May! Oh I've been looking absolutely everywhere for you!!!

May: Oh hi Harley!

Harley: I was just wondering but can you and I practice later today?

May: Of course!

Harley needs a nickname.

Deceitful Liar seems to work for now but later I need a better nickname.

0:38

Unfinished theme song that ends at 0:48.

0:55

Drew is a very nice and thoughtful person who takes care of his Pokemon well.

Just look at the second image that is too cute.

1:19

Hey look the girl with the Espeon again!

Wait no that is the same exact image from last episode.

It's just been flipped.

1:38

Ash: Snowrunt now time to practice Ice beam!

Snowrunt: :tries shooting ice beam and it hits this guy:

Put it simply: No.

I do not like this character.

2:29

Ash: So Anthony are you going to the finals?

Anthony: I would've but I lost all of my ribbons.

Again: Why aren't they on their records like gym badges are on trainers records? If it was like that then this wouldn't be as big of a deal.

2:50

Well It's way to obvious Team Rocket stole the ribbons, I don't see why you have to explain this. If you want to skip this scene go to 3:45, no need to summarize.

2:45

May always has been and always will be cute.

Here is some exposition:

Brock explained to May that one of the rounds within the grand festival will require two Pokemon to be used as a tag team. May decided she needed more practice in this.

May: Who wants to pair up with Beautifly for our first practice?

:All of May's Pokemon other than Munchlax who is sleeping cheer:

May: Harley is that fine with you?

Harley: No problem.

May: Alright Skitty you're up!

And Drew is still right there watching.

Right there.

Harley: You go on and make the first move May!

May: Okay! Skitty use assist!

Skitty: :Assist turns into fire spin and utterly destroys Cacturn, but Cacturn is still up:

May: Skitty assist again!

Skitty: :Assist turns into Silver Wind, it doesn't hit anything though it just look pretty:

Harley: :runs up to May: That was cool!

May: Huh?

Harley: I didn't know you had a trick like this up your sleeve!

Harley: With a combination of that assist and that silver wind you'd be unbeatable!

May: I... can't becuase there's no telling whether I'll get silver wind or something else...

Harley: Oh the judges wouldn't penalize you for that! Why that's the appeal of the assist! It's exiting becuase you'll never know what will happen next it doesn't matter becuase your Pokemon are all to great anyways!

Harley you're getting a little too close there...

May: I think I will use Skitty in the first round!

May.

That is an assist attack.

Can you not see this?

5:00

Caroline: Kinda a risky strategy!

Drew: I'll say. :walks away:

Drew say more try to do something about it.

You know what do whatever you're going to do.

5:20

Back to Anthony and Ash.

Officer Jenny: Anthony, if you report this to the main office they will still let you in!

Anthony: I'll never be able to get in.

Did you even listen to what she said?

6:00

Yay and so it begins!!!

6:35

Three Nurse Joys to be judges.

Now a score of 500 points, much better than the 100, even though they should've kept it at a 300.

7:30

:Backstage:

Harley: May what's wrong?

May: Oh just looking for a friend.

Harley: ooooo you're looking for Drew aren't ’cha!

It's funny that a lot of contestshipping actually don't know that she wasn't looking for Drew. This is a very popular scene but sooo many people believe that she actually was.

May: No! What happened is this guy lost his ribbons and we figured the thief will enter the contest... so I'm just keeping and eye out for them...

May doesn't know who Anthony is you dumb-ass show.

Harley: Oh my I hate the fact that their might be dishonesty around us...

I'm adding this to Harley's list of quotes.

8:03

More contest!!!

Lilian: Judges will all have a 1-20 point scale

what

so 5 x 200 = 1000

okay 1000 different point can be given, not the original 500.

8:48

Harley's turn, wonder if he will do something more interesting then shooting poison sting as the grown really fast.

Summary:

Harley sends out Benett and the audience is silenced after he lets out an evil laugh and a scary face. Benett uses Will-O-Wisp, and the shoots thunder at the sky. The thunder comes down onto Benett inside of the circle of Will-O-Wisps, which Lilian points out should've knocked it out, but it isn't and instead it is giving off that same creepy laugh.

Harley gets an 89.

10:00

Skip-able scene where they found Jessie pretending to be Anthony and Jenny tried to arrest Jessie.

She gets away obviously.

11:18

And becuase I have to here is a summary of Anthony's appeal.

He sends out Swallot, who goes high into the air and then back down onto the ground, it squishes a lot then goes back together like goop. Then it uses sludge bomb and Bullet seed. The seeds destroy the sludge and then his Swallot ate all of the seeds.

He gets an 82.

12:01

And now for May's turn!!!

When May sends out Skitty she does many cartwheels in the air and then lands on the ground, obviously the Skitty has a lot of agility. Skitty triumphantly says "Nya!" and the crowd is very happy, obviously in awe of her cuteness. Skitty then uses assist which comes out at Silver wind, luckily for May this turns out well. Then, it shows Skitty using assist many more times, coming out as many different attacks, and Lilian makes a comment about how it seems to be showing all of the attacks from the rest of May's team, and everybody is extremely pleased by this.

Harley, back,stage, on the other hand, is very unreleased, saying that it should've failed.

Back to May, she uses assist again and it comes out as Solar Beam, May and Skitty become very confused becuase she doesn't think any of her Pokemon know Solar Beam. Time is running out, and so May decides to use assist one more times. It comes out as petal dance, and the timer still has very little time. Then, Skitty becomes confused, and starts running in circles chasing it's tail. Oddly enough this didn't lose her many points becuase the crowd found it adorable, but the judges on the other hand are becoming less and less happy with May's appeal.

14:30

Harley: Yes! All of the stuff I've said to May about only using one attack is working!

Drew: I knew it!

HOLY SHIT

DREW WAS WATCHING AND ALREADY FIGURED IT OUT BUT HE HAD NO 100% GARENTEE THAT THIS WAS THE CASE

JUST LOOK AT THAT FACE OF RAGE HE HAS

Drew: You're no friend of May's! You're just trying to make advantage of her!

Harley: So what? It's a competition right!

And now that he knows, Harley can be just as rude to him as he wants to, no reason to hold back now.

14:37

May: I'm sorry Harley... Skitty use double-slap!!!

Once Skitty uses double-slap, it continues ti slap itself, and that knocks them out of their confusion. May is then relieved and full of confidence, while backstage Harley is full of rage and is shocked that she of all people were able to do it. When Drew sees this he smirks. May calls out for a blizzard. When Skitty uses blizzard, it prepels itself off of the ground high up into the air, and the snow turns to ice under her, and it creates a giant icy mountain, and then the timer finally runs out.

May gets a 79, and everybody is worried that she won't advance.

15:22

May: I'm sorry to let you down Harley but I just couldn't do it with assist alone...

Drew: Don't apologize to him.

May: Why?

Drew: That whole line about only using one attack? It was all just his plot to make sure you don't win!

May: what do you mean?

Harley: It would've worked too if your annoying boyfriend here kept his trap shut!

May: But wait what about all of the compliments and nice things you've said to me!?!

Harley: I only said those to gain your trust!

May: But that just... so rotten!!!

If you were willing to you should really use much stronger words May.

Harley: Ugh! Please cry me a river! It's your own fault May, never trust anyone!

May on the verge of tears: ... I still don't get why you did it...

Harley: I did it to get revenge against you.

May still almost crying: huh-?

Harley: For the time you beat me in that contest!

May: But I beat you fair and square why would you want revenge for that?!?!

Harley: You say it was far becuase you won it!!! But, you won't be winning today, not with that score! :bumps May while walking off:

you know so many people were watching that.

16:25

May: What a creep... :shouts towards Harley: BUT YOU DRESS WEIRD!

Drew: He was right about one thing you have to admit. You shouldn't've trusted him.

May: But how could I know?

Drew: Stop listening to advice from other people! Just trust your Pokemon and do what you know is right. :walks off angrily:

You can really tell how bad of a mood he is in, but what he is saying is right. Even if it does seem like good advice from a person you trust, you should really think to see how good of advice that is, and think if what your Pokemon think is more important, becuase it is. Now May has almost no chance of getting to the next round becuase she wasn't thinking and was only paying attention to the compliments somebody that she could've easily saw was lying but she was too trusting and eating too many of the compliments fo figure it out on her own.

16:46

And now it is Drew's appeal. Time to summarize.

He sends out Masqurain, who then uses hidden power. The white orbs swirl around its wings and turn them into rainbow colors. When Drew holds his hand up towards Masqurain, Masqurain lets all of the colors go away and the orbs turn into sparkles that cover the stadium.

May notes in her head his type of battling.

Next, the entire stage has been covered with bubbles, and then Masqurain uses Silver wind to make all of the bubbles blow off the floor and all over the stadium.

AND THEN DREW GETS A PERFECT 100.

Good job :D

18:11

Hey look, Robert is back and also got a perfect score with his Milotick.

One thing that bothers me about Robert is that his Milotick seems to be his only Pokemon, but she should have at least two Pokemon for the grand Festival.

Unless he has two Milotick, which would be impressive.

18:30

And now, all of the people who will make it to the next round show up on the board, May is the very last on the list, but she is very glad that she was able to get on.

Now to see what they did with Drew and Roberts tie.

so, they put Robert before Drew. This probably does tie in with my theory that they do re-watch the clips to to settle ties.

18:50

Now they are randomizing the contestants to see who will be battling who, May has to battle Harley.

19:10

So random very small team Rocket scene were was Jessie wants to be in the Grand Festival.

Remember that one time she actually earned five ribbons and got extremely far into the grand festival, only to be bested by Dawn?

nvm that is in like so many more seasons.

19:30

Now for the rest of the episode!

It is the next day, and the first battle is starting: May VS Harley. May sends out Beautifly and Bulbasoar, and Harley sends otu Cacturn and Benett. The episode ends of a cliff hanger for what will happen in the next episode.

-Conclution-

I love this episode, lessens have been learned, battles have been fought, victories have been cheated, and interaction between characters we usually don't see interact otherwise.

You can tell in this episode Drew has real concern for May, he is watching out for her, keeping a close on Harley ever sense he met him. He could tell something was up, and when he has confirmation Harley didn't deny it. He instead boasted about it, and was proud that he was able to pull it off. And May in the episode had fallen for Harley's tricks, and was blinded by compliment and her own willingness for forgive and trust people. When Drew explained to her what she should've done instead, you could see every point of what Drew was saying was correct. May knew this, and so during his appeal she tried paying attention to how he battled. She knows she should've done with before and shouldn't just try to learn from Ash, and while we're at it she gets most of her skills from Ash, and tries to analyze his gym battles to try and learn, but once she finally realizes that that isn't want she should be doing, she tries to learn from other coordinators. The reason that trying to copy Ash actually hurts her, is becuase Ash always goes for the knock out, like how you should in gym battles, but contests are different. You need to look for ways to appeal, and ways to subtract points and do damage. Knock-Outs is not a coordinators first choice to make, it just won't work like that.

May learned a lesson, and she tried to grow from it.

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wheres-mulder · 7 years ago

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Alien Baby Daddy: Part V

by @haywarde37; Part I + Part II + Part III + Part IV

(Author’s Note: this delightful piece was a prompt given by Miss Abbie. It features both Scully and Mulder’s points of view, Scully in the present and Mulder’s as a blast from the past. Also, lesbian aunts at your insistence.)

October 25th, 2003 The kids’ costumes arrive in the mail a day before Beggars Night and Scully goes to great lengths to hide the box from Mulder much to his chagrin. He lives for Halloween and depending on how tonight goes, she’s either going to get laid or ruin their relationship.

She banishes Mulder from the house to buy candy for trick or treaters and dresses the kids in their room. William’s outfit fits and with a few safety pins, so does Rosalind’s but it’s not until Scully knots the ugly ties does everything look perfect.

Her children are mini-Mulders of a bygone age with their tiny, custom suits and fake FBI badges. Even their faces reflect his flirty swagger from the nineties. How many times did he chew his lip like William is doing now? All her son needs is an X-File and a cup of cheap gas station coffee then he’d be Mulder, ready for another foray into the unknown.

She stands up and walks to her closet. In the very back, hidden by scrubs, jeans and all things elastic is another relic of her X-File days, the brown suit that she wore during the Tooms case. It’s the only suit the survived her many wardrobe changes over the years. She tells herself she doesn’t have the heart to throw it away but she knows it’s because Mulder likes it.

Scully slips the suit off the hanger and is struck by how early nineties it is. She wouldn’t be caught wearing it now but on Halloween where ghost, zombies and other spooky things come out to play, she just might make an exception.

When Mulder comes home, she watches him balance bags of candy as he steps out of the car. She’s leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him to notice.

“You know, you could help—” his words die on his tongue when he sees her.

She grins at the way his eyes roam over her body, how his gaze stops at her crucifix necklace on proud display. She licks her lips and juts out the hip her SIG hangs from. “You’re late, Agent Mulder.”

“Late for what, Agent Scully? I thought I didn’t have to go to meetings now that I’m retired.”

When he’s on the porch, she crooks her fingers through his belt loops and tugs him to the door.

“Move it, Mulder. The junior agents are tired of waiting.”

She guides him inside the house and to the playroom. The moment of truth. On the toy filled floor, Rosalind lies on her back, teething on her fake FBI badge. Next to her, William pulls at his tiny dress shoes. Mulder stares at them.

“Scully, what did you do to our children?”

She kisses his neck. “They’re the Bureau’s greatest cryptids.”

“Oh,” he says, getting the reference.

October 31st, 1993 Spooky Mulder is celebrated on Halloween. His fellow agents, who normally avoid him at all costs, surround him to hear stories of aliens and vampires. He’s invited to costume parties where the women dress up as slutty nurses and the men are either werewolves or Dracula but of course, Mulder is far more creative.

Every year he’s a different cryptid. For ninety-one, he was the Loveland Frog, ninety-two, a Reptilian and this year, he’s going as the Flatwoods Monster—an unidentified extraterrestrial being that haunts West Virginia.

He makes the costume with Scully’s help, more specifically, a pleated skirt of hers he stole. For some reason, she borrowed one of his suits last week so he doesn’t feel too bad about wearing it. An eye for an eye. Sort of.

At Mulder’s insistence, they’re going to the party together. Her abduction changed their dynamic. They’re more than partners now, they’re friends and it’s not weird to take a friend to a party. It’s perfectly normal. They might even share a few drinks like friends do and laugh at their coworker’s crappy, unimaginative costumes.

He knocks on her apartment door, smelling like the shot of whiskey he took to calm his nerves before driving here. He hears footsteps, high heeled footsteps and sighs. Clearly, they’re not close enough for her to let loose and dress up for a stupid party.

Mulder sends a quiet prayer to her God to take mercy on him when she opens the door and sees him wearing her skirt with a pair of leggings that might also be be hers too.

“Mulder?”

He starts to explain but stops when he sees what she’s wearing.

His suit.

“What do you think?” She asks shyly. “I’m the greatest cryptid the Bureau has ever known. You.”

October 25th, 2003 “I swear I’m only hard because of that suit and the memory of our first fuck.”

Scully nips his ear and pushes him against the wall. “That’s what I was hoping for, Mulder.”

“Is that why your sister and her wife are here? To watch the kids while we have a quickie in the bathroom?”

“You know Melissa doesn’t think we have enough sex. She was glad to do it.”

Mulder hums and cups her ass. He’s a tactile man, his hands have to be doing something and Scully thanks God that her body is usually that “something.”

She nudges a knee between his legs. “I may be horny but I will not miss Rosalind’s first Trick-or-Treat so get to fucking work, Mulder.”

He kisses her roughly then spins them around so she’s the one pinned to the wall. She growls when he slips his fingers down her pants.

“You don’t even like Halloween, Scully.”

“I promised my mother I’d take pictures.” Fingers brush through her pubic hair and part her lips. “I’ll be quick then.”

“That’s what you said ten years ago and we missed the party.”

October 31st, 1993 Mulder doesn’t mean to kiss her but she’s wearing his clothes and it incites a primal response. His suit is swallowing her whole, so naturally, he should too.

He pulls away with an audible smack and looks down at her flushed face. She stares back at him, her lips red and parted. He’s sure she’s going to punch him once she regains her wits.

But she does something worse, she pulls him in for another kiss and all of the anger and uncertainty from her abduction floods him and he kisses back. Hard.

For Scully, this is not romantic. This a fuck with a man she respects but expects nothing from. For Mulder, this an act of love he’s only recently realized he harbors for his partner. He wants to hold and kiss her tenderly but he doesn’t out of fear he’ll scare her off. He bites back his words of affection as she shoves her hand down his—her?—skirt. He kisses her again. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

October 25th, 2003 “Fuck!” Scully hisses when Mulder enters her. Her pants are caught around her knees so his thrusts are quick and shallow but Scully’s fine with their situation. The nerve endings at the entrance of her vagina don’t get enough attention. She’s all for cervical orgasms but it’s nice to change things on occasion.

She kneads his ass through the fabric of his jeans, making him buck harder. He hates this position because he can’t feel her the way he wants to and Scully knows that he’ll take her on the floor after she has her orgasm. It’s endearing that he insists on her coming before him if not a little aggravating at times but that’s just Mulder. Endearing and aggravating, a living, breathing contradiction.

One hand palms her breast while the other entertains her clitoris with slow, torturous circles of his thumb. She whines low and deep at the sensation.

“Fuck! Mulder!”

He chuckles and pinches her nipple through her shirt and bra. “You’re lucky I can multitask.”

“You are such an—” she squeezes his ass instead of saying the word and he laughs harder.

“I love your ingenuity, Scully. So creative.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it.” He raises a foot to nudge down her pants, the rubber of his shoe burning against her calf. “In order for me to do that, these have to go.”

“Then yours go too. I don’t need a zipper poking me.”

He complies with a grunt, shoving his jeans down to his ankles then guiding her to lie on the cool linoleum floor. He pulls off her pants completely but leaves her pumps on. She grins.

“What?”

Scully raises a foot and touches his shoulder. “You have a heel fetish.” Eager eyes focus on her slick and swollen sex. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You never take my heels off.”

“That’s because they’re too damn complicated and trying to figure them out makes my boner flag.”

Mulder stops the laughter bubbling in her throat with a quick snap of his hips. He gives her no time to adjust, burying himself to the hilt, blurring pain and pleasure in a delightfully torturous mix. Sometimes she wants him to make love to her, slow and sweet but right now, she wants a good, hard fuck, one that leaves her sore in the best way.

“Fuck me, Mulder,” she groans and he does. His thrusts go deep to her cervix, eliciting raw, guttural noises. God, she hopes Missy can’t hear them. She knows she’ll have a post-fucked glow when they leave the bathroom, she doesn’t need her sister to comment on her vocals too.

“Jesus, Scully!” He draws out her name. It’s the closest thing to a prayer he’ll ever mutter. He may believe in aliens, ghosts and monsters but he’s a secular man. Once, he told her God left him when his sister was taken away but Scully thinks that just maybe, God sent her in his stead to look after his precious, erratic soul.

She kisses his neck because she can’t reach his mouth. “I love you, Mulder. You mean the world to me. You and our children.”

“I wish you said that ten years ago. I would have saved us so much trouble by asking you to marry me.”

“You’re not the marrying type, Mulder.” But that’s okay. Marriage is too straitlaced for them—and expensive. Instead of a cupcake dress and matching gold rings, Scully would rather spend their money on diapers and possibly a new vibrator (her old standby broke a month ago). She doesn’t need Father McCue or anyone else to validate what she has with Mulder. Their kids are proof enough they love each other.

She digs her heels into his sacral spine. “We don’t need to get married. Doing this until we’re too old to means more than marriage vows.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good.” She touches his cheek. “Now let yourself go. I want to watch you come.”

His face is beautiful when he reaches orgasm. He bites his lip and closes his eyes, every muscle straining, wound so tightly then suddenly snapping. Warmth spreads inside her as he ejaculates. The sperm won’t have much of a journey to her womb but there will be no egg to fertilize as Rosalind is still nursing. It’ll be at least a year until they can conceive again, but right now, she’s full of life even if she can’t get pregnant.

“Do you need a minute?” She asks when Mulder sags against her.

He rests his chin in her shoulder. “More like five or ten.”

“You get two. We need to clean up and get ready for Trick-or-Treat.”

“You don’t like Halloween,” he reminds her and she slaps his ass in response.

“Get off of me.”

When they leave the bathroom, Melissa is waiting for them in the den, dressed as a witch. Behind her, on the couch, Monica holds both William and Rosalind on her lap. Monica is nonplussed, bored even while Melissa grins.

She brushes flyaway hairs from Scully’s face. “Did you make me another niece or nephew?”

Before Scully can answer, the doorbell rings, heralding the first of the trick-or-treaters. She glares at her then stalks to the door, trying to hide her smile.

#MY FAVE INSTALLMENT OF ALIEN BABY DADDY #haywarde37 #submission #fic #alien baby daddy #slutty msr

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