#she's here spitting fax

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

The Art of obsession.

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x reader

Summary: When you decided to be a preschool teacher you didn't know you would be teaching the famous Alpha Celebrity Elvis Presley's daughter Lisa Marie Presley. What you didn't know was that it would take a twisted turn when you got to know the 'Alpha' himself more and soon start to think you shouldn't have met him in the first place. (@galaxygirl453 )

Warnings: Manipulation, Gas lighting, Guilt tripping, Forced marriage, Drugging, Delusional/Obsessed Austin!Elvis, Baby trapping, Breeding kink, Forced marking, Creampie, dinner room sex, At school sex, Dirty talk, Housewife kink, Praise, Cock warming, Bullying, Pregnancy, and Pregnancy sex, Gorely murder.

A/n: So the anon who requested this, I hope you like it.

Elvis only could hear the clicking of his dress shoes against the preschool's tile, his thoughts grow wild. While he was at home, practicing with some of the Memphis Mafia in The Jungle Room, he got a call from the principal that Lias Marie had gotten into a fight, his Lisa? He knew it was hard for Lisa Marie to go through the change of having divorce parents but she wouldn't fight another kid, would she? No, she wouldn't. Elvis closed his eyes and took a calming breath in and opened the door.

"Ah! Mr. Presley, there you are." the principal exclaimed mockingly, a sarcastic smile on his wrinkled, chubby face "What happened?" Elvis asked as he sat beside a sniffling Lisa, putting a hand on her tiny back, quietly comforting her "Lisa Marie attacked a little boy, while they were playing. If I were you I'd discipline her better." the old white-haired man practically snarled, Elvis could feel his blood boil, his wolf growling and ready to protect his little pup. Elvis opened his mouth to reply when the door swing open and the scent so luring filled his sense of smell, Rose & honey with a hint of firewood, his ocean orbs snapped to the source.

"Miss. (L/N)!" The principal called out but you ignored him, and simply squatted down in front of Lisa "Are you, okay sweetheart? I heard what happened." you gently cooed to Lisa wiping away her tears, Elvis's heartbeat quickened as he stared at you in awe, his body heat raised and ringing filed his ear, it was getting hard to breathe, everything in his body screamed to be yours, your omega but you wasn't an alpha, you couldn't be, you don't act like one, plus he worked so hard to be an 'Alpha' to lose it. Elvis breathed in and thanked God for his dark shades that helped conceive his emotion. "Miss. (L/n) this is a private meeting." you stood and turned to your boss, with a warm smile that didn't reach your eyes " With all due respect, sir, We both know Bobby Field likes to push around others, it's quite boggling to me that little Lisa Marie is here instead of him" the elder man opened his mouth to speak, but you continued "I get that you might be jealous of Mr. Presley's effect on your new 'wife' but we should not take it on the children Mr. Dryier." The beta man in question looked away in shame "Leave me." the beta waved his hand dismissing him, Lisa, and Miss.(L/n). They wasted no time leaving the stuffy office and into the hallway.

"You alright little Marie?" Miss (L/n) asked bending down and smiling down at his daughter "'m alright." Lisa nodded to you and wiped her puffy face from the tears in her eyes, wearing a cute tiny pout that made her teacher giggle softly, to Elvis it was like the sound of Angels singing and joyful bells ringing, his heartbeat once again raced just a little. You stood up, turning to him with your warm and soft smile, and he swear his heart skipped a beat, his body heat raised hotter than before, suddenly his throat felt dry and he felt like he was hardly breathing, his wolf begging and whimpering for his Alpha "Thank you, for doin' that." Elvis managed to spit out, with a fax confidence smirk even though a raging storm of emotion waved its course within him, "Your welcome. I just hate when adults are petty and mistreat children." you huffed before a smile was back on your face " I'm (Y/N) (L/n), it's a pleasure to meet THE Elvis Presley." you held out your hand that he gladly took, electricity ride up his spine and a groan tried to force it's way out his lips, he suddenly needed to fuck, to breed you, the want became almost unbearable. Elvis gulped before speaking "Pleasure all mine, darlin'" You shake his hand "Well it's time for me and Marie to head to class, recess is over." you said taking his little girl's hand, waved at him, and walked off.

Once you were out of sight, Elvis rushed out of the school and drove to Graceland, with the pain going through his veins, body screaming for release. His back laid against his comfortable mattress, clothes on the floor, and his cock in his hand, pumping fast, pre-cum leaking out and over his hand, his hips jerking into his fist, wishing it was your pussy, He cummed with a whimper and whine.

That was the best orgasm, Elvis had ever experienced, he didn't cum that hard even with Priscilla.

He wanted you, wanted you to be his, by God, you will be, whether you want that or not, he decided you'd be his alpha, no matter the costs. He didn't put his plan into action until a month later, he convinced the principal to have you tutor Lisa at Graceland when you had the time, after all every man had a price. It was a Tuesday when he acted, it was a sunny day and you came exactly the same time you always have, a bright smile and warmth in your eyes as he opened the door "How are you today Mr. Presley?" you asked walking into the beautiful mansion "Doin' just fine." Elvis smiled back and locked the door behind him, actually, he was more than fine, he was excited, he got off his suppressants and stopped wearing his mask scents, and he was going into heat, no alpha couldn't resist an omega in heat, not a sweet little alpha like you. "So where is little Marie?" you questioned looking for her, normal the little girl would come running to greet you, "Goddamn, I forget to tell ya she's at her mother's. I'm sorry darlin'," he said "It's okay I can just go." "You sure? The drive here is at least 2 hours, would ya like a drink?" Elvis asked, gently guiding you to the dining room "I could go for some coke." you smile softly as you sat in a chair at the large dining table "Great, just relax darlin' I'll get yar coke."

Elvis walked into the kitchen, grabbed two coke bottles, and pulled out a set of different quickly, tasteless dissolving drugs, one to enhance your instinct and one to trigger his heat, dropping each drug in your respective drinks, he brought and sat your coke in front of you, before sitting across of you, taking a sip of his coke "So how was school?" Elvis asked leaning back in his seat, "It was okay, the kids were a little—" you trailed off, once a temping scent filled the air, The smell of fresh morning due and lavender sage, your eyes meet Elvis's when a pained whimper left the omega, wait omega? He usually smelled like another alpha, that of Sandalwood and vanilla, he was a beautiful sight, his normal ocean orbs were hard to see, his pupils so dilated he was breathing heavily and sweat begin to make his skin shine. A strong want for, no need to have this omega, ride him until he begs you to stop, your eyes dilated as you stood up and walked to him "Get up." you order and like a good boy he did what he was told "Such good omega" you cooed " your reward." you said before pulling the godly of a man into dominating and passionate kiss, tongues swirling each other and your hands worked on removing his black half unbutton blouse. You both parted Breathing heavily as you remove his blouse and he was working to remove his pants "Such a gorgeous Alpha and gonna take care of me? Huh, darlin'?" he teased, kissing your neck before taking off his pants and lifted himself onto the table, his cock stood tall, your mouth watering and your pussy became slick. You crawled over him and lined his cock with your weeping core and slowly descended upon him, and immediately started to ride him it's been so long since you had sex nevertheless, you couldn't believe your luck a male Omega they're is so rare as Alpha females, you throw your head back, and rolled your hips sharply causing a pretty gasp and moan from the men below you.

His large hands quickly gripped your hips, moans, and whines left his pink lips, his Raven hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes lidded, desperate, you bounced faster and leaned down to kiss him, not once stopping. His scent filled your nose and lungs like a drug, your kisses strayed from his lips to his neck, and a sudden desire, temptation, want, set your body ablaze, a want to mark, claim this man, his hand held your head to his neck, and his arm throw over your waist, holding you as you bounce. His scent became deliciously overwhelming and you bit down on his neck, staking your claim. Elvis gasped, it worked! He flipped you both, your back on the warm smooth wood as you licked up the blood and the bite with your healing saliva, Elvis pounded into you with a strong punishing rhythm, each thrust from his skilled hips, would push your hips against the table and his cock reached your sweet spot like no, Alpha or beta never had, the sexy growls and huffs leave the rock and roll king brought you closer to your climax "T-That's it! Cum, cum on this cock lil Darlin'! Goddamn, I'm close!" Elvis panted, his already fast thrusting turn frantic, and with a rub against your little nub, you came with a scream, Elvis not far after, with a groan he came, painting your walls and womb white with his seed. it took you a minute to realize what happened, you forcefully claimed him, and your widen eyes snapped to Elvis who was tracing the mark with shock and terror on his face "I'm so sorry I didn't mean to.." you trailed off as guilt set heavily into your chest "I'm ruined.." Elvis whispered, pacing in front of you "What can I do?" you begged "There's nothing you can do." he said, his back turned to you, a sinister smirk on his lips, it really was working, you were going to his. "Please there must be something?" you plead more desperately "Move in here and marry me, people will think it was consensual and you will be able to keep your job. We'll say we kept our relationship secret" Elvis turned to look at you, his eyes holding a strange gleam but you were too much in turmoil to notice "O-Oh Okay." you shakily nodded.

You sighed as you struggle to get out of bed with your 8 months baby bump, your husband sound asleep, it was a rare sight to see, he laid on his stomach, his head on his arm, his lips parted in silent snores, his jet black a mess on his forehead, he was it was gorgeous even if he was asleep, 'no fair' you chuckled and bend down as best as you could, kissed his forehead and walked into the bathroom and got ready for work, it had been a year since that, and it wasn't bad being married to the rock star, sure he had his moments, but he treated you well and you have grown to even love the man. Though you could go without the bursts of anger and possessiveness, it was worse when your ex came around which happened more often than not, he works at the same school you did, and now that you think about Elvis acted more than an alpha than you did sometimes, You yawned as stretched your arms, it was lunch time so the little pups went to the cafeteria. you were about to reach for your lunch when a knock on your classroom door made you sharply inhale, feeling irritation enter your system you took a calm breath then smiled "Come in." you spoke calmly and your husband strutted in with a small smile "How're my girls?" Elvis asked taking off his famous shades and hooking them on his belt "We're doing alright." your smile turned genuine "What are you doing here?" you asked as he leaned against your desk, looking at you with the same loving and devoted look in his eyes when never he looked at you, his smile tugged into a smirk at your question, his orbs was overcome with lust. "I came to check on you and the babies. God..you smell so good."

'Oh' you thought as heat rushed into your body, it had got clearer, the closer you got into your pregnancy, you hungered for sex more, and seeing the predatory lust-driven glint didn't help, you could feel the Alpha purr inside of you, she was pleased, happy to have such a doting omega to take care of her and your needs. Elvis rushed to sweep everything off your desk and helped you upon it, lips locked in a passionate kiss as you slowly leaned down onto the light brown desk, Elvis's fingers hooked onto your underwear and slide them off from under your sundress, your core already slick ready to take your omega he fumbled with unbuckled his belt and unzipping his pants, letting out small whimpers of want. "Shh it's okay omega, your Alpha is here" you purred, eyes blew out as he slowly slid into your pussy despite everything in him wanting to slam into you, his thrusts were slow but precise at first, trying so hard to be gentle, in control but it was slipping as he pounded faster, the poor old desk creaked under the pressure. The classroom echoes your lewd moans and the arousing sound of skin smacking against the skin, and your wet pussy taking a beating.

You whined as Elvis whispered sweet nothing, his pubic bone smacking against your clit, your eyes drifted into the small rectangle window of your classroom door, a set of brown tearful orbs looked back at yours; your ex Joseph a hurt expression plastered on his face but you couldn't find it in you to care while you were being fucked dumb, you grabbed Elvis's face and pulled him into a kiss of swirling tongues, your hips bucking upwards to your husbands hammering, the band in your stomach coming closer to snapping a sharp thrust had you coming, you left out a satisfied sigh as he finished inside. Your eyes looked to the window once again, Joseph was gone and a tiny feeling of guilt wash over you.

Elvis helped you down, helped cleaned up, and organize your desk, he stayed with you for the rest of your break, and the room was filled with laughter and talking. He left as the bell ranged not before leaving with a kiss and that was the last time he really spend time with you.

You were on your 9th month and at home, Elvis and you had agreed you were too close to your due date to work, so you just cooked and cleaned around the house. He was as always at his Studio, hanging out and recording songs with the Memphis Mafia when he got home he would just kiss you on the lips and Lisa Marie on her cheeks before doing his own thing. Today you decided to clean some of the rooms downstairs, you just finished one and were heading to the other when something catch your eye, the door that was normally locked was open just a slit, like a cat that was killed by curiosity, you completely open the door and a set of stairs lead down into the poorly lit room. You grip the metal rails as you take cautious steps can you pause once you smell stench so horrible like something was rotting? You watched as your feet bit the bottom step and when you finally looked up a gasp of pure horror left you. Dried blood splattered everywhere, bits and pieces of Flesh ran across the floors and walls as if an animal ripped apart its prey not caring where the pieces landed, and a ripped leg enters your vision, your eyes traced up, and what you saw would haunt you as bile rises up your throat. A man's body slumps against the back wall, his left arm cut off, and laying beside his thigh, his jaw hangs open, some teeth missing and his other leg gone, what you assume it was the bits of rotting flesh scattered around. A familiar scent entered your nose beneath the rotting corpse, Seabreeze vanilla, and coconut... Joseph. A chill climbed its way up your spine and tears build up in your orbs then another scent enters your nose and your blood runs ice cold.

"Tsk, such a bad alpha." a voice mocked you in the Stillness of this horror, your head snaps up at the top of the stairs, and your 'innocent' husband looks down at you coldly, eyes glowing blue as he leans against the doorframe

Taglist; @reddie-freddie, @father-of-2cats, @yynneessmons, @trinityscarlett173, @mnessasstuff, @galaxygirl453, @xxmadhatter39xx, @pennyroyalcreep, @elvisalltheway101 ,@plasticfantasticl0ver, @kendralavon7, @crash-and-cure, @flwersgarden. @airyx0x0.

"You're afraid? Good, you should be."

(@galaxygirl453)

#elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis smut #austin butler smut #austin butler x reader #elvis 2022 #yandere!elvis x reader #austin elvis imagine #yandere austin butler x reader

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Oikawa YN:

Manager of Team Japan

Team Japan featuring Oikawa x Oikawa YN (fem! Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, Oikawa and Atsumu in the same fic again

A/N: This is a request from @korrynn-nadine!

I see not one way this could go bad 😅

Even writing that I'm laughing, failing to convince myself that managing Team Japan AND being an Oikawa is a good idea

But at least you're a well liked Oikawa

You are so pretty YN 🥺

Seriously Iwaizumi is like 100% sure you were adopted because there was just no way NO WAY

When you first learned of the position as Team Japan's Manager, you honestly thought it would be a great gig

You knew alot about volleyball and you knew several of the players

Including our residential hotty Iwaizumi Hajime, 27, Athletic Trainer 🥵

Who you probably, more than likely definitely had a crush on 😏

Anyways, you didn't tell anyone you applied for the job

Because like if you didn't get it, there honestly wasn't any hurt feelings

But since Kuroo Tetsuro was put in charge of hiring the manager (let's just pretend he was ok don't come for me), he saw your name and thought

"What fun" -Kuroo 😈

You see Oikawa had quite the reputation in Japan and around the world

Not necessarily a GOOD reputation but he definitely did have one

Kuroo knew Ushijima, Kageyama and subsequently Iwaizumi were looking forward to crushing Argentina and therefore our bby boy Oikawa

So how fun would it be to have Oikawa's baby sister as manager 😃

God he's a brilliant man everyone, round of applause 👏🏻

Needless to say, you were so excited you got the job that you told Makki and Mattsun

You were going out to dinner with them when you broke the news

"Guess whose the new manager for Team Japan??" You said, beaming

Makki and Mattsin rn 👉🏻🤨🤨 who?

"Me, it's me"- you 😐

"Team Japan's what YN?"- Makki said

You just rolled your eyes because honestly boys 🙄

"Volleyball silly"- you

"Women's right" Mattsun said 😳

"Nope! Mens!"- You say as Makki spits his drink across the table and nearly chokes

"Oh my god YN you have to record Toru's reaction when you tell him!"- Mattsun said laughing so hard he almost fell on the floor

You rn 👉🏻😐

"Where'd the hidden camera's YN because this has to be a joke"- Makki, literally dying

Even telling your bestie Kyotani didn't go like you expected

"The men's OLYMPIC Volleyball team YN?"- Kentaro asks you

You RN 👉🏻 seriously why does everyone keep asking that 😐

Nevertheless, we have a job to do YN and there is only one person who can do it

That's right, you, Oikawa YN

You walked into the gym on your very first day so excited

Bby please I'm so excited FOR you 🥰

The guys all knew they were getting a manager and they were SO EXCITED

Bokuto, Hinata and Atsumu... mainly those three 🙄

so you walk into the gym and all eyes go to you

Kuroo is standing there too because why the fuck not 😅

Iwaizumi rn 👉🏻🤨 YN what are you doing here?

Kageyama and Ushijima 👉🏻 😐😐

Bokuto and Hinata 👉🏻🤪 🤸‍♂️

"Hi Haji!" You say waving "oh hi Tetsuro! I didn't know you'd be here today"

Iwaizumi is now looking between you and Kuroo like 😐😑

"Kuroo...."- Iwa getting a volleyball ready to throw

"Yes Iwaizumi"- Kuroo 😇

"Why the FUCK is YN here?"- Iwa 😠

Luckily for Kuroo, you save him from answering

"I'm the new manager Haji!! Isn't that great?!" You say so freaking excitedly

Please you are so happy and jumping with joy YN

The boys rn 👉🏻 😐😳 Iwaizumi istg if you don't say it's great...

"You do know who this is right?"- Iwa

"I'm YN silly"- you completely oblivious

"Yeah silly, she YN and she's hot"- Atsumu 😍

"Shes also an Oikawa"- Kageyama 😑

"You don't like me Tobio?"- You rn 🥺

"KAGEYAMA ISTG IF YOU MAKE HER CRY"- literally all of Team Japan rn

They all instantly love you 🥰

"YN, don't you think your brother is going to have a problem with you being our manager?"- Iwaizumi says

"I mean, who cares. Since when have I ever listened to Toru"- you

Straight fax not printer 💯

Iwaizumi 👉🏻🤔 you right

Thus begins the journey of our precious YN-chan

The boys instantly love you

Literally Hinata and Bokuto FEED off your praise

Everytime you compliment them, they legit get so cocky it's unreal

"Did you hear what YN said crappy-yama?"- Hinata 🤪

"You're receiving is still sloppy. Have you learned nothing"- Kageyama

Que the fighting 🙄

Mentally they are still in high-school and you can't convince me otherwise

Good think YN is great at talking people down

Seriously it's like a skill your proficient at especially having Toru as a brother

The sheer number of times you kept Iwa from killing him YN ☺️

Toru owes you his life honestly

Even Kageyama and Ushijima start to warm up to you

"Tobio that dump was SO COOL! Literally I had no idea it was even coming"- you 🤩

Kageyama 👉🏻😐😳😊 ah well-

"Wakatoshi oh my god I felt that spike shake the whole gym! I can't believe how strong you are!"- You 😍

Ushijima 👉🏻😐😊

Please Ushijima gives you headpats

You've officially been accepted YN 🥺

Now your relationship with Atsumu is basically the exact same as your relationship with Toru

Literally it's like being back at Seijoh again 🙄

"YN did you see that set??"- Atsumu

"Yes Sumi, perfect as always"- you 😐

"It was a tiny bit low but thankfully I'm so proficient you probably didn't even notice"- Atsumu 💅🏼

Please everyone knows Iwaizumi throws just as many balls at Atsumu as he did Oikawa

And YN is there with her concussion protocol sheet handy

And to remind Iwaizumi that Team Japan needs Atsumu to beat the other Oikawa

Honestly Team Japan is like a dream and you adore your boys

So why haven't you told Toru that you manage the team yet YN 🤔

Sounds like you might be putting it off 🙃

Not sure why you'd ever do that but you do

"Haji, please don't tell Toru I manage Team Japan yet ok?"- You begging your husband boyfriend bestie

Iwaizumi rn 👉🏻🤨 why....

"I don't want drama Hajime and wr all know Toru will drop everything to come here if I tell him"- You

Iwaizumi crosses his big strong arms across his buff ass chest

You rn 👉🏻😳🥵

"So you just plan to tell him at the Olympics YN?"- Iwaizumi

"Well I may or may not plan to tell him depending on the situation"- you 😬

Iwaizumi just shakes his head and laughs

He tells Mattsun and Makki (also Kindaichi and Kunimi) to get the cameras ready 🤣

So we finally make it 🙌🏻

The Summer Olympics 🏐🏅

You are excited and nervous

You managed to keep your secret for so long and now it's finally going to have to come out

You have carefully planned this moment YN

Down the the last detail 👏🏻

You are going to walk up to Toru in your team Japan jacket and just tell him

He definitely won't cause a scene at such a huge event like the Olympics right?

Totally right 🙃

You jump up and down, preparing yourself a little for the confrontation

"Toru, I'm team Japan's Manager and there is nothing you can do about it"- you say to yourself

"You got this YN!"- You, mentally

It's a good thing you don't have a needy team YN because that would make this lile 1000 times worse

Oh wait....

"YN HELP"- Hinata screams as you turn to see him

"Shoyo what's wrong-" "WE LOST BOKUTO" -Hinata screams

😐😐😐

Ok nothing to worry about...

When all of a sudden, I hear this agitating grading voice

"YN- what the hell..." your eyes widen as you turn to see your brother standing in his Argentinian jersey

when he looks at me 😐 and I look at him 👀 and he looks at me 😑 AND I LOOK AT HIM 😗🎶

"Uhhhh-" you 😰

"YN BOKUTO IS MISSING"- Atsumu screams from behind you

"YN"- Toru 😑

"YN- oh hi Oikawa" Iwaizumi 🙃

You rn 👉🏻 fml 🤦‍♀️

"YN- Oikawa " - 😡 Kageyama followed by Ushijima

This has to be some cruel joke from the universe istg-

Please Mattsun, Makki, Kunimi and Kindaichi have all appeared by now and have the devices recording 📱

Suna joined them

You 👉🏻🙄 ok ENOUGH!

"Sho, Sumu have you tried calling for him?"- You say as everyone stares at you

Hinata and Atsumu 👉🏻.... no....

You 👉🏻 ffs I have to do everything around her

"HEY HEY-"

"H E Y"- you hear Bokuto belf out as he makes his way through the crowd

You turn to see Toru now burning with fury

You cross your arms and glare at him

"Toru I'm managing Team Japan and there's nothing you can do about it"- you

Iwaizumi, Ushijima, Kageyama 👉🏻👀👀👀

Mattsun, Makki, Kunimi, Kindaichi, Suna 👉🏻🍿🧎‍♂️ 📱

Hinata and Atsumu 👉🏻🤨🤨

Bokuto 👉🏻 lost again 🙄

"I can't believe my sister would betray her own flesh and blood like this!"- Toru says in his dramatic ass tone

You 👉🏻😐🙄 I don't have time for this

"Alright boys come on, we have a match"- you say turning and walking ad the entire team follows you like little ducks in a row

"OIKAWA YN DONT YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME"- Toru screams

"Try and stop me"- you 🖕🏻

"You want me to hit him Yn"- Iwaizumi

"No let him be dramatic"- you say, grabbing the teams gear and heading to the gym

After your first game, you prepare to leave when you are stopped by the brick house that is your brother

"YN why didn't you tell me?"- Toru

"Because I knew you'd be this way Toru and I'm happy! So please don't ruin this"- you say, begging at this point

"YN I'd never ruin your happiness"- Toru, shocked and appalled ag your statement

You 👉🏻 🤨 I can't even count the number of times Toru

"I'm upset YN but i wish you would have told me sooner. As long as your happy YN"- Toru says

You 👉🏻😳🥺 really

Please hug him YN 🫂

"Also ypu can't date any of them"- Toru says as he kisses the top of your head

"Oh don't worry Toru, I only like Suna and Iwaizumi anyways"- you

"YN WHAT THE HELL"- Atsumu shouts 😱

Suna and Iwaizumi rn 👉🏻😏 😏

Please YN you've already created enough chaos for today 🥰

#haikyuu!! #haikyu! #haikyū!! #haikyu x female reader #x female reader #female reader #team japan x reader #hq team japan #team japan x female manager #team japan haikyuu #team japan #oikawa toru #iwaizumi hajime #aran ojiro #ushijima wakatoshi #kageyama tobio #atsumu miya #hinata shoyo #bokuto kotaro #kuroo tetsuro #sakusa kyoomi #hoshiumi korai #hakuba gao #suna rintarou #hyakuzawa yuudai #yaku morisuke #komori motoya #haikyu x you #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x reader

[naoyaslut]

Part I | Part II

pairings: time skip ran haitani x femreader

w.count: 5k

synopsis: Against your better judgement, you agree to meet Mr. Ran Haitani for a job opportunity.

tw: spitting, fingering, oral (m.receiving), penetration, light praising, sex under the influence, doggystyle, pet names

a/n: - maniacal laughter-

After receiving an ultimatum from your current employers, “Resign now and we won’t disclose the details of your last case” or “We can fire you, but we will have to disclose what went on in that last case.” You decided to resign… keeping your head low and out of the possible headlines of the newspapers.

You were a fairly new lawyer; you hadn’t been practicing long and this was the first firm you’d ever been a part of in your professional career.  You were distraught and unsure of where you were supposed to go from here. 

How were you supposed to explain to your parents who gladly paid for your education knowing that you would be successful in the end?  You’d managed to secure an entry-level position at one of the top firms in your area and now here you were desperately scrolling through the classifieds and applying anywhere you could to get some sort of income. 

Bills needed to be paid.  You’d barely had the Lexus for a year, and you just moved into a nice penthouse apartment located in downtown Roppongi.  If you didn’t find employment anytime soon, you were going to be giving back all the nice gifts you bought yourself for a job well done over the past year.

Fidgeting nervously with the black business card in your hand, you folded the laptop you were working on closed and stood up.  That card, that black card had "the" Ran Haitani’s name etched on it in white lettering accompanied with a fax number, a DSN, and what you assumed to be a cell phone number.

If by any chance you decide to change your mind, call me.  I’ll pick up at any time of the day for you.

And you did.  You actually called him because you were terrified of not being able to find another job.  Not at all because of the material items that you owned and didn’t want to lose, but the uncertainty of not being able to make a living plus the disappointment from your family felt as if it may be an impending doom for you.

Leaning back against the leather booth you sat in; you idly stirred the cup of ice water you had been drinking from. Ran was supposed to meet you here at this upscale Italian restaurant and you’d been sitting at the secluded table for the past 15 minutes. 

If you weren’t so desperate to see what he had to say, you would have been walking out of the door already.  When you entered the establishment, the hostess at the front escorted you back to an empty table. 

She informed you that Mr. Haitani was expecting you and offered to get you something off the menu.  You declined to order anything to eat but settled for a glass of iced water with a lemon wedge. 

Sighing in exasperation, you leaned forward to rest both of your elbows on the table.  The fact that he hadn’t shown up yet put you on edge.  Not only was this man supposedly a criminal, but he had also offered you a position to work for him doing only God knows what.

Since the restaurant happened to be upscale, you opted to dress in one of your better dresses.  It was simple enough a little black dress with thin straps paired with a pair of chain-link Giani Bini heels.  Rather than dressing like this was a business proposition, you dressed as if you were meeting your significant other for a date.

Swiping a stray curl behind your ear, you glanced at your watch visibly upset at how much time had passed by now.  Instead of the measly ten minutes, you’d been sitting here all dolled up for twenty minutes and that was enough for you.

Taking hold of your little black purse, you stood up adjusting the hem of your dress back down over your thighs.  This was a mistake.  You shouldn’t have come here at all.  You’d get a call for a position in no time, there was no need to be hasty. 

As soon as you stepped outside of the booth you were greeted by Ran Haitani towering over you with a satisfied grin slapped on his face.  He purposely blocked your path to prevent you from wandering any further while his eyes roamed over your attire appreciatively.

“Ms. Y/n, I apologize for my tardiness.  You look… amazing,”

Taking a tentative step away from him, you ignored his compliment gripping your bag tightly against your thigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, nervous and gnawing on your bottom lip.  “This was a mistake, sorry to waste your time,”

This time you stepped forward with the intent to go around him but instead, one of his hands shot out to grasp at your waist to keep you in place. 

Gasping in surprise, you stopped where you were and allowed him to guide you back toward the booth.  He purred almost seductively in your ear as he urged you to sit before turning to sit in the booth opposite of you.

“Oh c’mon, at least hear my offer before you try to run away from me,”

You sighed anxiously making eye contact with him and watched as he called the waiter over.  At least hear his offer?  For whatever reason you doubted he wanted you to hire a lawyer of any sort, he didn’t need a damn lawyer.  You were positive he could pay for one of the top lawyers in the city for any of his legal requirements, there was no way in hell he needed a fresh-faced lawyer like you in his arsenal.

This whole situation made you nervous and you wondered why and how something as stupid as what happened in court a few weeks before decided to descend on you.  Who did you piss off?

“So…?” you urged.  The waiter brought Ran something dark on ice and left the table immediately after.  He picked up the chilled glass and took a long drink, his Adams apple bobbing as it slithered down his throat.

“Did you want to order anything, y/n?” Ran flashed you his pearly whites and again you avoided the heat in his gaze, opting to stare off into the vacant restaurant instead.

“Mr. Haitani, please.” You were already growing irritated that he didn’t seem pressed to get to the point of why the two of you were here.  To discuss his “proposition”.

Ran lifted his glass tilting the rim towards himself as he watched the dark liquor swirl around the crystal glass, his lavender-tinted iris’ hyper-focusing on it as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.  Then suddenly he barked out a chuckle, staring into your pretty face before adjusting his tie.

“The job opportunity isn’t hiring you as a lawyer,”

You fucking knew it.

“I’m sure you already know that I don’t need to hire anyone for legal counsel.  I have that covered.”

Your throat tightened in suspense while you continued to observe his actions and the way those slender digits of his began to fumble with his tie loosening it so he could completely remove it. 

The action seemed sultry; it caused your breath to hitch in your throat the aggravation you already felt beginning to blossom into pure frustration with the handsome man across from you. 

“So, what do you want from me?” you snapped angrily.  Crossing both arms across your bosom, you glared at him agitated waiting for him to continue.  

“You can think of it as an assistant of sorts,” he began.  He lifted his glass once more to indulge in his drink before shaking it lightly in his grasp.  “I need help with a few things here and there and the pay is outstanding for what will be required of you.”

Staring at him in disbelief, you went over his words which were extremely vague.  It didn’t make sense… were you really going to put yourself into this position for what he was offering you? 

He could tell you were considering it, it made him smile even more to see how desperate you seemed.

“I’ll pay you a year’s salary upfront,” he mentioned it rather offhandedly, leaning back to throw an arm over the back of the booth.  “1 year of your assistance, and if you don’t want to continue after that you can seek employment elsewhere.”

He wasn’t serious, was he?  You didn’t know how much he was willing to shell out to have you as an assistant, but deep down in your gut, you knew that he would make it worth your while.  Your eyes avoided his for a third time tonight looking around as if there could be someone else listening to your conversation. 

Wringing your hands nervously within one another, you hesitated once more beginning to shake your head as if to decline.

“Mr. Haitani…”

“150,000 dollars, does that sound doable to you?” he asked nonchalantly.

You nearly stopped breathing staring at him, eyes wide in shock.  For him to just throw around numbers like that, he must have been loaded.

“It’s the least I can do for you since I kinda got you fired,”

You could feel a sudden rush of heat creeping up the back of your neck upon the reminder of what had you in your current dilemma.  How he accused you of seducing him so that you couldn’t represent your former client.

This was actually mortifying.  There was no fucking way that you were going to accept this, he was the reason you were in this predicament in the first place.

Ran must have seen the way your face began to contort, your embarrassment causing you to grit your teeth in frustration just before you had decided to stand up and storm out.

“Alright, 200,000 dollars,”

You were frozen once more in your seat while you watched him take out a checkbook from his pocket.  He began to calmly fill in his information, finally writing in the dollar amount of 200,000 dollars before ripping it out neatly and sliding it across the tabletop.

“I told you I’d make sure you were taken care of, right?”

And that’s how you found yourself working for Ran Haitani.  You had enough money in your bank account that you didn’t have to worry about anything for the time being. 

Working for Ran was easy.  The title of an assistant was… not what you would label yourself at all.  Ran was flexible, he never asked you to do anything strenuous or completely out there when it came to working.

But you were under the impression that instead of an assistant he wanted something more from you.  You didn’t mind him, he treated you nicely.  You never had to spend your own money on anything, and it seemed that you were more of a maid than an assistant.

He had an assistant for his office, but you? You were expected to do the most random tasks ever.  He asked you over in the mornings to help pick out his suits for the day and then he forced you to stay to have breakfast with him.

Sometimes you’d accompany him throughout the day when he wasn’t working to go shopping… visit the upscale salons he got groomed at and he’d often force you to receive services as well.  Any time he had an event to attend, he demanded that you were his plus one and he paid for everything, including your attire without so much as a complaint. 

Unlocking the front door to Ran’s penthouse, you pushed the door open before stepping aside to hold it open for him.  Once he entered you closed the door behind him and watched as he stumbled across the living room before collapsing onto the leather sofa in his living room.

He leaned back against the soft material letting out a relieved sigh and focusing his glossy eyes on you still standing with your hand still placed on the doorknob.

Ran had been drinking a lot tonight.  Even for him as an avid drinker, he was obviously tipsy.

Eyeing him wearily, you canted your head off to the side before tucking your bag under your arm.  You had a few drinks yourself, but he may have overdone it. 

“Ran, are you going to be alright?” you asked.

He gave you the dopiest smile, his face exceedingly flushed from the amount of alcohol he took in at the event tonight. 

He hummed thoughtfully at your question before he sat up and began to remove the suit jacket he’d still been wearing. 

“I don’t know, I think I’d like you to stay for a little while longer,” Shrugging his coat off his shoulders, he gave you a crooked grin tossing it over the arm of the sofa.  “Just in case,”

You almost rolled your eyes at the request, but this man had taken care of every aspect of your life over the past few months.  It just didn’t feel right to blow him off when he was obviously intoxicated.

Clearing your throat, you turned the lock on his front door and tested the handle just to be sure it was secure.  The heels of your stilettos clicked against the wooden floor as you crossed the room to sit beside him on the sofa.

Sitting your purse beside you, you leaned down and began to untie the strap to your shoes before slipping them off your feet with a sigh like the one Ran had done upon sitting.

Ran had been spoiling you.  Literally spoiling you, as if you were his girlfriend.  The sexual tension between the two of you was at an all-time high, but you were adamant about keeping it platonic.  This “situation” was already as awkward as it could have been, there was no need to throw sex into the mix to make it worse. 

Would it really be that bad though?

Mumbling under your breath, you kicked your shoes off before leaning against the sofa and dragging your feet up with you so that you were sitting on your heels.

“What do you need me to do while I’m here?” Pulling the black evening gown back over your thighs, you turned your head to meet Ran’s inquisitive gaze.

“Do you really want the answer to that?”

Kissing the back of your teeth, you blinked at him dumbly your eyes following his palm that had nestled itself along the exposed skin on your thigh.

“I know the answer already,” Pursing your lips together, an involuntary shiver wafted down your spine as his fingers began to trail themselves toward the apex of your thighs pausing to brush the backs of them against the front of your satin underwear.

Ran had a smug grin on his face while his fingers continued to tease your inner thigh, his eyes low and honed in on the exposed skin.

Swallowing the sudden dryness that began to plague your throat, your eyes met his again with him leaning toward you his other hand cusping along your jaw.  The pad of his thumb swiped across the plump flesh of your bottom lip as if to wipe away the faint gloss from the surface.

“Then you’re already aware of how much I want to see this cute little mouth stretched out around my cock, don’t you?”

You were suddenly overcome with a throbbing need between your thighs, confusion overpowering any and all logic that you may have possessed.  You wanted to cringe at his crass choice of words, you were supposed to be turned off… not willingly leaning into the warmth of his fingertips.

“So, you’re paying me for the semblance of being an assistant… but in reality, you just want to fuck me,” you breathed.

Ran hummed in response, his eyes half-mast and focusing solely on the plush of your lips.  He smiled gently, pushing his thumb into your mouth so the pad settled against your tongue.

“I know for a fact that I’m not the only one who wants to fuck the other,” He watched you tentatively, the way your own eyes became hooded, your lips fixing around his thumb gently suctioning the appendage.

What in the hell were you doing?

“Come on y/n, show me what you really want to do to me,” he pulled his thumb from your mouth, using the wetness to gloss your bottom lip.

The rough timbre in his voice sent an unsolicited shiver down your spine and without much more coaxing you sank onto the floor between his sturdy thighs.

Peering up at him through your lashes, your stomach began to flutter at the pleased expression on his face.  He was grinning almost lazily, the tip of his tongue visible at the corner of his lips while one of his hands worked to loosen the tie around his neck.

His light-colored eyes were intense and focused.  He held your gaze and patiently waited for you to continue your pursuit.  Exhaling a shaky breath, you reached for the waist of his dark slacks unfastening the metallic clasp and then forcing the zipper down.

He was wearing grey silk boxer briefs the outline of his dick straining against the material… along with a damp patch soiling the front of the expensive silk.  Your heart pounded harder against your ribcage, those familiar butterflies finding their place in the depths of your abdomen.

He was desperate for you, that much was obvious, and the knowledge of his desire made you feel near helpless and extremely needy.  Reaching into the silk hem of his boxer shorts, you grasped hold of the stiff, hot appendage that sat between his thighs. 

Pulling his cock free from the material, you palmed his length squeezing tentatively along the stiffening base.  You could hear his breath hitch above you, the low grumble of his voice coming a moment after.

“C’mon, don’t tease me, pretty girl,” Ran leaned forward down toward you, his palm cusping your cheek as if to inspire you further. 

You didn’t know why his words were having this effect on you, but your chest was all but bursting with determination upon seeing that handsomely chiseled face hovering above you.  Initially, you were against adding any sexual encounter into the mix here, but how could you deny this beautiful creature towering above you? 

Eyes glossy and shining over with unshed tears, you closed the short distance between the ruddy-colored tip of his dick before taking the appendage slowly into the warmth of your mouth.  Once the flat of your tongue made contact with him, his head fell back flat against the headrest of his seat, and that hand that had been holding your cheek almost lovely slid up and into your hair that was tightly bound at the nape of your neck.

His fingers slithered through your strands to hook a finger around the scrunchy that kept your hair pulled back and tidy to slip it out of place freeing your curls so that they were in their natural state haphazardly atop your head. 

Opening your mouth wider, you hummed around his girth, reveling in the feel of the soft skin skimming along your tongue.  You groaned appreciatively under your breath at the taste of him clean with just a hint of salt.  You dare to say that it was the taste of him was even delectable. 

By now his hand had woven itself in the roots of your hair, languidly guiding your mouth up and down his length the tip of him nudging at the back of your throat.

The movements were slow and more or less on the gentler side but you must have been doing something right so far.  Keeping your jaw slotted and agape your tongue slipped along the underside of his shaft before disappearing back into your mouth so that you could attempt to draw him deeper inside.

The hushed groans coming from overhead were causing a rush of serotonin to flood your veins, every single nerve ending on your body was now standing on end.  You never really “enjoyed” giving head, but it was something that was done out of necessity vs your own pleasure.

But baby… the way Ran was moaning.  His voice strained, breaths coming out in short pants, was bringing about a dense almost unbearable pulsing between your thighs. 

“That’s it, baby, keep going,” Moaning needily around his length, your fingers continued the diligent massage around the base of his thick cock before releasing him to pull free his balls that were still tucked away into the silk of his boxers.

You wanted him so bad.  The praising, his fingers tucked away into your hair scratching lightly at your scalp, all of it was setting your body on fire.  It felt as if you were melting from the inside out.

Those thighs of his became taut underneath your elbows and the all-time indicator that he was close to finishing.  Things were getting sloppy, one of your hands slipping effortlessly along his shaft, while the other hand enthusiastically massaged his balls. 

Holding your tongue flat along the underside of his cock you took him further into your mouth gagging at the mildly painful intrusion that bumped past your uvula.  You were going to make him cum, that was your goal.  You wanted to taste him, suck the soul out of him, so he would never look at you the same way again.

You were surprised when the hand in your hand tightened, and he pulled you off his dick with a loud pop.  Startled, you met his heated gaze, breathing heavily through your parted lips.  What kind of man didn’t want to finish from a blowjob?  You were baffled.

Swallowing the wad of spit that had been sitting on your tongue, you eyed him in confusion as he merely leered down at you still positioned between his legs.

“D-don’t you want to cum in my mouth?” You meant to ask that question internally, perhaps it was the heat of the moment that had given you the courage to ask so blatantly out loud.

Ran merely grunted, a faint chuckle falling from his lips.  Mewling breathily, your legs began to quiver at the sultry grin he was wearing.  The distance between you was vanishing and before he provided you with any kind of answer, he was angling your head back so that he could snake his tongue into the warmth of your mouth.

His hand slipped from your hair down to your nape to press your lips against his in a very greedy manner while his tongue fought yours for dominance in the sloppy kiss.

When he pulled away from you, you were out of breath, and your eyes although hazy were drawn to the thick string of saliva that snapped once he was hovering over you again.

“You want something to swallow that bad?” his voice was husky, eyes half-mast and seemingly holographic and glowing in the dim lighting of the living room.

A few quiet seconds ticked by without an audible response from you and that only prompted Ran to squeeze at your cheeks with his free hand so hard, that your lips had begun to pucker.  That at least got a slight groan out of you, your eyes beginning to water further.

“Open your mouth,” Ran all but growled, releasing your face so that you could comply.

Slowly parting your lips you did as he said whilst his other hand was still slapped firmly around the nape of your neck.  Your heart hammered against your chest, the almost unbearable heat of the tension between both you and Ran nearly smothering you.

You were mildly disgusted at what he was demanding from you and you already knew what was coming next, but you did it anyway, a feeble whimper crawling up your throat as you did.

Forcing your tongue out flat at wide, you curved the wet muscle awaiting what he had planned to give you. This man was a menace to your sanity, for whatever reason you just could not tell him no.

Whatever he was going to do to you, you were open and willingly going to accept it.  You watched him feverishly, the way he leaned over you further to part his lips.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.  His tongue inching out of his mouth to the thick dollop of spit that landed flat on the pallet of your tongue.  It startled you initially and Ran’s heated gaze boring into your eyes was telling you to swallow it, without even having to say so.

With a shaky breath, you did just that your tongue drawing itself back into its place before forcing this glob of spit down your throat.  You were fucking down bad, you had to be.  But it wasn’t as bad as you thought it’d be, it tasted of him with the lingering traces of liquor that he had been drinking earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised you, lips pulling back into a handsome grin before he fell back into place leaning back against the sofa.  One of his hands fisted his cock, dexterous digits massaging lightly over the damp bulbous head.  “Take that gown off for me,”

Your shoulders sank in relief upon hearing those words, that he seemed to be pleased with you.  Pushing up on your knees, you stood so that you were still slotted between his thighs.

Pushing the thin straps of your evening gown off your shoulders, you maintained eye contact with Ran, giving the fingers wrapped around his cock the occasional glance.  The dress went down over your bosom, exposing your tits, and then down over your hips pooling on the floor and leaving you standing in only a black lace thong.

Even though Ran had only seen you naked that one night the two of you were way past the point of being embarrassed.  You let him spit in your mouth for Christ’s sake.

“Come here,” his free hand curled into the elastic band of your underwear with the intent to draw you more near and you followed the motion, sinking a knee into the cushion of the couch between his thighs.

Impatiently, your hands went to unfastening the buttons on his shirt in a desperate attempt to strip him down.  Compared to you, he was fully dressed, and you wanted to feel him against you in any way possible.

You got his blouse undone; the dark silhouette of black ink artfully etched into his chest catching your eyes.  It was massive, much larger than you had originally anticipated, and it only covered one-half of his chest.  You weren’t afforded the opportunity to study the intricate design for more than a second or two before the feel of Ran’s fingertips ghosting themselves over your cloth-covered pussy brought you out of your own thoughts.

Sucking in a sharp breath, your legs nearly buckled while you leaned over him until you clasped onto his shoulders for some additional support.

“W-what do these tattoos mean?” you asked, the words were vacant, though you did have a slight interest. 

Ran’s fingers slipped into the crotch of your underwear, the pads of his fingers streaking the wetness of the arousal between your lower lips along your slit. He groaned, sinking one and then another finger into your slick. 

“Another time,” he panted hoarsely, fingers stroking slow and deep inside of you, eliciting the desperate and needy noises you were making for him.

“A-ah,” you mewled at the welcome friction, rolling your hips into the rhythm of his fingers.  Your lips found his once more while he continued to stroke his long slender digits in and out of you.

Compared to yours they were longer, thicker, and reached a lot further, and deeper than yours did.  The sound of him moaning into your mouth only made you wetter, your cunt clasping tightly around his fingers. 

The friction, the semblance of you being fucked silly was nice, but you wanted to feel him inside.  The way he was drawing this out was driving you mad. 

Breaking away from his mouth, you whined above him, eyes deliberately leering down into his own. 

“W-want your cock,” you sank down further onto his fingertips in an attempt to push them deeper, and Ran only hummed against your breast taking a perky nipple between his teeth.

“Now, now, I know for a fact that earlier tonight you were set on not fucking me, what’s changed?” the hand wrapped around his length migrated to your other breast, pinching the lonely nipple. 

You tossed your head back at the sharp pain, still managing to thrust your hips against his hand enthusiastically. 

“Mr. Haitani,” you cooed, the coil in your belly being pulled taut.  “Please don’t make me beg,”

You could hear him click his tongue in disapproval a hearty chuckle following after.  He knew what he was doing.  He was drawing this out for as long as possible.  The more he toyed with you, the more distraught you became. 

The next step came sooner than later, he had stripped himself down into nothing before alternating your positions.  You took his direction eagerly until he finally pushed into your gushing cunt, splitting you open from behind.

He felt bigger from this angle, an almost searing line of heat shooting up into your insides as he bottomed out inside you.  He takes on a slow, almost agonizing rhythm his fingers grasping tightly at the fat of your hips.  His hold is almost bruising fingertips dimpling the flesh as his hips met the fat of your ass over and over again.

You were breathless, babbling out incoherent whines as he rutted into you the occasional slap to your ass causing you to sing out in frustration from the pain.

“We are going to have to do this more often,” Ran breathed, leaning over you, his abdomen flexing while pressing into your back.  “I know I let you do all the work last time, but it’s nice to see your pretty face reduced to a whimpering mess,”

#conflict of interest part 2 #tokyo revengers smut #ran haitani x fem reader #ran haitani smut #ex-lawyer reader?

[thatgoblin]

141 Office Drabble 5 Part C

Y/N: *working late again, standing at the fax machine* Please go through. *whines as the machine spits their papers back out at them* Come on! *huffs and begins to try again*

Alex: *with Farah on the roof* Okay, thermal is set up along with infrared and the recording devices. We are good to go!

Farah: Good. We should have our ghosts captured and cornered in no time. *looks at the screens to observe* Once Price sees our evidence, he will have no choice but to accept that the office is haunted.

Y/N: *hears them walking on the roof and frowns* That's not wind. . . *leaves the fax machine to go to their desk, picking up their phone to call security when the power goes out* Fuck me.

Alex: Oh shit. *pulls out his flashlight and looks to Farah* All our gear is dead!

Farah: *has a headlamp, body light, and light on an airsoft gun* We need to get to the breaker before security realizes what's going on. Stay here, keep in contact with these. *hands Alex a Jurassic World walkie talkie* I'll be back. *flicks down night vision goggles then slides down the ladder from the roof*

Y/N: ThepowerwentoutatworkandIhearfootstepsontheroofandImfuckingterrifiedbecauseallthedoorsareunlockednowwhatdoIdo?

Y/N: It's okay, just find your phone. It has a light. You're okay. The doors are still locked- *hears all the electronic doors unlocking at once* FUUUUUCK! *finds their phone and calls Gaz because they don't know what to do*

Gaz: Hello?

Gaz: . . . Call Soap. *hangs up*

Y/N: *screams and hides under their desk as they call Soap*

Soap: 'lo?

Y/N: ThepowerwentoutatworkandIhearfootstepsontheroofandImfuckingterrifiedbecauseallthedoorsareunlockednowandIcalledGazbuthetoldmetocallyouwhatdoIdo?

Soap: . . . Call Ghost. *hangs up*

Y/N: *sobs under their desk and calls Ghost*

Ghost: Did Gaz and Soap tell you to call me?

Y/N: YES!

Ghost: Good, now call Price. *hangs up*

Y/N: *is having a mental breakdown in the dark, turning on their light and filming themself* If you find this and not my body, I fucking called Gaz then Soap then Ghost and I didn't bother with Price because he never fucking answers his phone! Ever!

Farah: *walks through the offices, pausing when she sees the light under Y/N's desk* I knew it! *charges in with her air softgun firing at Y/N*

Y/N: *was finally calling Price and just ad he answers, screams bloody murder as they're hit, the call disconnecting*

Masterlist

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie

[myshredda]

Don’t mind me, just thinking about how in the jobs Ep when yellow’s literally FUCKING DYING, Duck screams at Red to “DO SOMETHING!”, because he’s always been the one to save them. To “turn off the machine”, if you will. I think the reason why Duck is the most distressed by change is because he doesn’t have the power to fix it, which is why he’d rather stick to the script. It’s because Yellow and Red hold those cards, even if they don’t realize it. It may explain his disappointment in Red. -🍓🍷

Yes exactly!!! Because Red was the one who wandered into a position of power in that episode, so Duck and Yellow (floor workers) are completely powerless compared to him socially. The trusted him to make the right decision, and instead, he acts selfishly and only operated to save his (and the company) from being held accountable.

The jobs episode is one of my absolute favorites just because of the way they so easily weaved all of this social commentary into a silly puppet show with gratuitous gore! Red became the "Boss" by happenstance, he was in the right place at the right time, he has no idea what he's doing but everyone around him (the fax machine and the rubbish bin) are yes men, they constantly stroke his ego BECAUSE he's the boss, regardless of how well he's actually doing the job (which is badly, because he DOESNT WORK HERE) and in the end, when an employee has been injured due to the unsafe working conditions of the warehouse, he fires the employee instead of taking charge and helping the situation in anyway. It was self-preservation and saving face for the company.

Yellow, who had worked at the factory for 40 years at that point, is retiring. He's wasted his entire life at the factory, he's got no friends or family outside of this job, having met his "wife" simply because she's next to him on the line, and has re-modeled his entire personality into fitting into the workplace as seamlessly as possible. He's seriously injured as a senior, and instead of getting helped, he's fired. With no retirement, his medical bills would be ASTRONOMICAL and that's only if he survived the incident. He'd be mentally, emotionally, and physically scarred for the rest of his life, with no help from the place of employment that he poured his entire soul into.

Duck, the most outspoken of the three, is immediately fired for questioning the system, and is tossed into a pseudo-helpful therapy situation that's obviously supposed to be a critique of how even mental health resources have been co-opted by the capitalistic systems we're all trapped in. The therapy isn't to help Duck feel better, it's a bunch of buzzwords and empty platitudes and forced medication that would get him back to work as fast as possible, and when he refuses, a physical representation of the system (the care hound) LITREALLY chews him up and spits him out. Finally, he's back in the workforce, because the other alternative is virtually impossible to live in. It's been made into a hostile culture of either working until death, or being shunned by society and your peers, and most people choose the former for a sense of stability in an already unkind world.

TLDR:

Red represents those of us that are allowed to fall upward, either by change or due to random circumstance. Those that fall into a job and work it their entire lives, never once having to see the realities and hardships of life, and only work to further their own life, disreguarding the rest of us without a second thought.

Yellow represents most of society, who give their entire lives to a thankless job and are discarded once they're no longer useful in a capitalistic society. Left to suffer and die after working thanklessly for his entire youth.

Duck represents those who try to fight against the system, and are told there must be something wrong with them mentally. Pill and therapy forced onto those who feel disillusioned with life in a endless grind of work and when you're finally sick of it you're shunned, ostracized, and (eventually) reprogrammed.

After all, you must be mentally ill if you don't want to waste your entire life in a factory with no free time, lousy pay, eat the same bad food over and over again, and retire with only a 'thank you' card and shitty speech from a boss you rarely saw that does as little as possible and eats diamonds while you choke down cups of rancid oil.

#sorry for the rant I just love the commentary that was put in the jobs episode #dhmis theory #my askbox #strawberry wine anon

[itlivesproject]

Daily Anon Chronicals(idk lol)

Ok so this is way longer than it should be so all the beat and apologies to the person who reads jt

NOT NOAH OPENLY TALKING TO TALIA ABOUT MC AND AMALIA BEING MONSTER FOOD LMAOOOOOOOO

"I just don't feel bad for you." Damn Amalia, burn

Sorry bro, we got a girl to save, bye boy

(Not my brain playing taylor swift idk why😭)

I was tempted to choose the heart option but that's for another time. Anyways OOF SAD NOAH

HI CONNOR MY SWEETHEART GREEN

"Hm." Bruh. Ok well, it's Joss, so.

I'LL CALL HER JOSS IDC

STOP THE BICKERING Y'ALL THEY DIDN'T KNOW

Lmao Conner is still the sweetheart i see

AGAIN I NEED THE MC AND AMALIA FRIENDSHIP DYNAMIC

SHE'S NOT A GHOST HER NAME IS TALIA AND CONNOR AND HER LOVE EACH OTHER DON'T DO THAT MY BABY'S BEEN THRU ENOUGH

(The caps in this review lmao and it's already so long)

Ngl the eye during the intro scared me a lil bit

Fantastic Four lmao. Let's see. Noah's Ben Grimm, Joss is Susan Storm, Abel is Johnny Storm and Connor is Reed Richards. Idk why but i just did that.

Ngl the MC is right about the true friends thing

"So it's a long stick?" It's a staff, honey. Learn ur history. Would u see Harry Potter and say, "Oh they're using their little sticks!"

Idk why but the scene where Amalia just steps in and grabs the staff gives major vibes of that mud scene in Bridgerton s2. Amalia simps will be kinda happy to know this fact i think

Bruh i would be soooo stoked to have an ancient thing like that which prolly works like bruhhhhhhhhh, Amalia cheer up you'll have fun when u actually use that

Coz a vine monster just kidnapped a girl in front of us? Plus u killed the monsters and asked is that all u got so ur kinda a pro at the fighting thing. I feel like Joss and Amalia's friendship will be like Kate Bishop and Yelena's, Joss being Yelena ofc(IDK WHY I'M COMPARING ILW CHARACTERS TO MCU CHARACTERS)

Talia just spilling secrets out here noice

Heist demn nice. Abel is right tho, this guy's flat out rude. Umm. I feel like Abel simps were offended by the crusty old man comment.

Noah being calm at seeing the chaos unfolding is me with my life.

Ok I'm mad about Jessie but I'm madder abt the nerve loss😤

Talia spitting fax is the best thing abt this chapter

Oh shit I'm so sorry Noah oof that musta hurt so bad

Awwwww Linkyyyy, have u been worried abt meeee???? You're so sweet.

Lol him just showing up casually and stopping MC from killing everyone and just casually talking abt this stuff is funnier than it should be.

BEANIE BOY LMAO

Aww I like imagining soft Linky. The scene where everyone is talking about someone and that someone trying to get everyone's attention is always so hilarious.

FRIENDLY BANTER LESGOOOO

Yes Linky that is so now come inside the station answer my questions

Heehee, Linky was a troublemaker hmmmm?? I love his smile. Why would anyone give him a shoe lmao. I want MC to push further and back off at the same time😭

Wait that's the pilot from that christmas book with 10 chapters. Where Hot Boss Nick was.

Ayo Annie. Ghost Annie, but it's Annie.

This was a roller coaster to read aksnakks. I want another ride!

#mod eri #anon #ask #daily anon #i hope you find your Amalia and your Lincoln dear daily anon

[toastytoaster22]

Toasty u are so wise. I'm 20 and idek how to apply for a job or any self independent things really. I feel like I'm so behind and out of time how do you do things :((((

I almost just spit out applesauce. I think by "wise" you mean "Are 31 and have been through a lot of stupid life shit and acquired some know-how on the way". Also I had a leg up on most people by benefiting from:

-Parents who actually took the time to teach me about tax forms, government loans, cooking, and are still available to call if i have an issue. (Do you think at 31 I don't call my dad and go "My dishwasher is leaking, do i take it apart or call a plumber?" Bc i Do. All the freaking time. First time house owner here. Its a lovable nightmare of learning)

-I'm the younger sibling. I got to watch my older sister suffer for not knowing things and decided to learn them when she did so I wouldn't make the same mistakes.

BELIEVE ME. By the time you are 31, you too will have learned an astronomical amount about Life and Things and How to Do Stuff!

But until then!

Don't let feeling left behind or embarrassed stop you from ASKING and LEARNING. Don't know how to apply to a job? Call them and ask for instructions. Be polite. Let them know you have never done this before and are trying to ensure you do it thoroughly and properly. Or google it! Or ask a friend who just got a job!

WikiHow is incredible for around the house fixes! Don't be afraid to get down and dirty with a toilet that's being a pain! Toilets are USUALLY extremely simple to fix. They only have a few parts, and they are reasonably cheap and quick to replace. Always have more towels than you think you need.

Libraries are SO COOL. I just went into mine this year in my new town and was like "yo my printer broke can I use yours and scan and fax some documents? Except I don't know how to fax things (bc its fucking 2022) but i have the number here. Also I need a form notarized, how do I do that please?" and you know what???? The ladies held my hand and walked me through the whole process step by step and there are actually notaries on staff every day! the whole thing cost me 25 cents.

I have to go to work but I have more adult tidbits coming! Don't worry! You're going to make it!

#more to come #being an adult is whack #toasty answers

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝐒𝟏:𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒 | 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓: 𝘕𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

First days suck. All of them. None were better than the others and none were significantly worse, they just sucked.

That's probably why you were such a jittery mess when you entered the office this morning. You couldn't seem to keep a smile still on your face as you focused on looking confident to freaking out because you tripped. When you opened the double doors, you pulled the push doors and apologised. As if the situation wasn't embarrassing enough, an employee walked past you and pushed the door themself before giving you a snobbish look.

God.

Your first mission, was to find Nanami so he could give you a walk-through on your job, though your memory skills weren't top-notch this morning, meaning you had to ask the people at the reception. Usually, that wouldn't have been so bad, but seeming that you were blessed with bad luck you were scared that you would have a voice crack or spit all over them.

"Excuse me?" You ask, trying hard to keep your voice steady, "Do you know where Nanami's office is?" You ask them. A young woman with chin-length jet-black hair and highlighted curtain bangs smiles up at you.

"Yeah, you just have to go to the top floor and walk all the way to the end of the corridor-"

"Weren't you here yesterday?" A young man instead, asks. He has light green eyes and messy blonde hair with dark roots.

Crikey. What's going on with all the blondes here?

"Y-Yea I was, for an interview."

"So you got the job?" he asks, only to get replied to sassily by his coworker.

"Of course she did dimwit, why else would she be here?" the man rolls his eyes and huffs before the woman looks back up at you. "Don't mind him, he's Darios." You nod, slightly overwhelmed by all of the additional information.

Darios mumbles, "I can introduce myself you know?" The woman rolls her eyes yet again.

"I'm Annalise." she introduces.

"Y/N."

"You know-"

Before Annalise can even finish her sentence Darios interrupts her, "You know she has to go to Nanami's office for an important, urgent reason, She doesn't have time for your chit-chat." Annalise opens her mouth to argue back but instead sighs.

"Sorry about that I'll let you go Y/N." Annalise sighs turning to face you as you laugh at her joke.

"Thank you and bye." You say before walking towards the elevator. Once you reached the top floor, you vaguely recognize the nerve-wracking corridor except this time the lights were on. Remembering Annalise's words you walk to the end of the corridor and are once again face to face with the obscured glass door and knock. After a couple of seconds of silence, you hear faint footsteps getting louder as the person gets closer. The door swings open, revealing your new boss; Kento Nanami. up, but your eyes don't meet his as he walks away from the door an iPad in his hand which he seems to be intensely staring at.

"Good morning." You greet, in hopes of starting up a conversation of some sort, but Nanami just nods motioning for you to enter your room.

Geez.

You let yourself shut the door behind you before taking a good look at the ridiculously spacious office. All the walls are standard white, with no texture or decoration. A tall window wall with golden framing. A large white printer and fax machine in a corner, humming away, filling the silence. You turn around and notice a plain clock also white gold lining. To your left, you see three doors, one with another obscured glass window door and gold lining, and the other two are plain white doors.

Wonder what could be in there?

You remember yourself, that there is someone else in the room with you and look back at your boss, who simultaneously looks up at you.

"Morning Y/N, you're awfully early should we get going?" He asks setting his iPad down on a corner of the business table, you open your mouth to say something but shut it instead. Nanami sees your coat and scarf folded up in your arms and your purse tangled in between your fingers. Nanami realizes that he hasn't really said much to you and just left you alone for a good 10 minutes. " Oh I'm sorry for making you wait so long, here let me take your stuff."

"Oh no, It's fine really, I can just put it down myself." Nanami stops walking towards you and stops in his tracks.

"In that case, place it on that coat rack over there." You briskly walk over to the coat rack as you neatly arrange your coat, and scarf and place your purse on your shoulder instead of your hand.

"Let's go."

As you walk out of the office, your boss explains, "As my personal assistant you're going to have to memorise my rough routine, schedule meetings, take notes, answer calls, send emails on my behalf as well as organizing events too .In summary, you'll always have a lot to do but I am sure you're capable of handling it." Nanami hands you a clipboard, which has a few sheets of paper attached to it, you flick through the papers skimming the information as you try to catch up with Nanami's brisk pace. Soon you feel the cold wind hit you and the papers in your hand, you look up and see a large garage that stretches out.

"Why are we here?" You ask him, looking at all of the reserved car parking signs.

"I need to take you through my day before you can memorise it. Don't I?" He stops in front of a car so luxurious and expensive-looking that you couldn't believe it was right in front of you. You couldn't believe you were seeing it. Nanami reaches into his pocket a pulls out a slick car key which unlocks the car in front of you.

At this point, you had to restrict your screams of complete shock to not freak out your boss. You had so many questions like-

"Yes this is my car, and you get to sit in it." Nanami says, nonchalantly answering your question whilst opening your door for you, and although you didn't say anything the look of pure excitement was still plastered all over your face Everything about this car was so perfect, it looked too good to be true, you were kinda scared to put on your seat belt in case you broke something.

Exiting the freeway, you find yourself amidst a labyrinth of streets. Tall buildings loom overhead, casting shadows on the road. Billboards and neon signs compete for your attention, advertising everything from the latest technology to local businesses. Pedestrians hustle along the sidewalks, immersed in their own worlds, while cyclists weave through traffic in dedicated bike lanes. Cafes spill out onto the sidewalk, and people are sipping coffee, chatting, or browsing in quaint shops.

You look back at him only to see him already looking at you telling you that you arrived at your first of many destinations. 

Today was going to be a long day.

#jujutsu kaisen nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk #smut #ao3 #wattpad #fanfiction #kento x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #personal assistant

[angelinasway]

Regaining Hope

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Sexual Assault Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever. Authors Notes: Thank you all so much for being so very supportive. You guys have been absolutely wonderful. Seriously I couldn't ask for a better group of readers. I need to warn you all that this chapter has quite the graphic and gruesome scene in it, so if that's not your thing I highly recommend skipping the part where Clark starts to watch the video. Some major questions answered here. Hope you all enjoy, and keep the reviews coming. Special thanks to my ever amazing beta Hipkarma. She always helps and inspires me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Chapter Eight

 Dawn smirked as she saw the caller ID flash. So, Buffy had talked to Wes. That was good. She really didn’t want to have to break into the Watchers Council just because she was nosy and worried for her sister. Buffy hadn’t told her much when they talked yesterday, just that there was some sort of prophecy about her and this Clark guy, which just raised all sorts of red flags for her. Dawn had insisted on seeing a copy of the prophecy and her hackles raised even more when she found out how quiet Wes and Willow were trying to keep this. Looks like big sis came through however, and now it was time to give the man on the other line hell for keeping something this important from her.

 “Xand, honey, can you take Abby? Wes is on the phone and it’s time for her nap anyway.” Dawn said, reaching for the phone.

 “No!” Her one and a half your old screeched at the top of her lungs, making Dawn cringe. When they coined the phrase, ‘children are your parents secret revenge,’ they weren’t lying. Abigail was just like her too, even in looks.

 Xander came out of their shared office, a crooked and amused smile on his lips. “You should know by now not to say that word in front of her,” He said, kissing Dawn on the forehead before reaching out and swooping up their toddler. “Come on Abby,” he said as Dawn answered her call. “Daddy will read you your favorite story.”

 “Try to get Joyce down too,” She added, before saying into the phone, “Hello Wes, so good of you to finally call me.”

 She heard the groan on the other end of the line and smiled. “How much do you know?”

 “That there’s a prophecy about my sister and some uber-powerful guy she’s been spending time with, on your instruction I might add.” Dawn said in a mockingly sweet voice.

 She heard him sigh. “Yes, that is all true. Look Dawn, I’m going to send you a copy of the prophecy through your secure fax now. We’ve been able to translate some of it, but there are certain areas where…I don’t think the language is of this world. It’s nothing like we’ve ever seen in any human or demon writings before.”

 Dawn got up and walked into the office, a frown on her face. “You mean like interdimensional, there’s gotta be a reference somewhere Wes.”

 There was silence over the line and for a second and she thought Wes had hung up. She’d just opened her mouth to see if he was still there, when he finally said, “No Dawn, that’s not what I meant at all.”

 Her frown deepened as the first page spat out of the machine. She slid it off the rack and looked at the prophecy. There were several different languages written on the copy, Etruscan, Ancient Sumerian, Ancient Greek, and Latin. At the top were strange symbols unlike anything she’d ever seen before, almost flowing together like cursive. The next page that came out was Wesley and Willow’s translation of that page. She bit her lip, walking over to her desk and went to work making sure what they had translated so far was correct.

 “So,” she began casually, “what I’m getting from the first page is that this guy is much farther from home than just another dimension.” She paused, huffing in annoyance as she snootily added,” It was Sun God by the way, not Star God.” She sighed. “Who are you using anyway, Basile?”

 “Vonten,” He answered and Dawn rolled her eyes. Of course, he was using that moron’s guide.

 “Vonten is an arrogant prick Wes, that book confuses people more than it helps. Burn it, it’s better as kindling. Bachman is the best at Etruscan and Ancient Sumerian, and you already know Ancient Greek and Latin enough not to need a reference.” She said, before frowning as she came to the part about the soulbond. “Wes, what the hell is a soulbond, and why is this referencing my sister and Mr. E.T. having one?”

 As Wesley began to explain what they knew so far, Dawn's face began to pale. Oh, this was not of the good. Buffy was gonna wig to the nth degree when she found out.

 "Does she know any of this?" Dawn asked, turning around and grabbing more of the pages that were still spitting out of her printer.

 "She knows about the bond. I told her this morning." He answered.

 "And what, you’re waiting until she gets pregnant before you tell her the rest?" Dawn asked angrily. "You know this is gonna freak her out..."

 "Which is why I decided not to tell her." Wes interrupted.

 "If you'd let me finish," Dawn snapped, slamming her hand on the desk. "I was going to say this is gonna freak her out, but it would be better if you tell her now." She huffed in frustration. "This just proves how little you guys know my sister. She absolutely will freak and she'll probably fight it at first. Just the idea of her own children having to live the life she has, is not gonna be a happy, joyous moment for her. She's already worried that Joyce or Abby, or maybe even both will be called one day.” Dawn said, before emphasizing her next words, "However, my sister is not stupid, and when push comes to shove, she'll make the right decision like she always does. I get that you’re worried about the Slayer line Wes, we all are, but keeping this from her is not the right way to go about it.”

 She heard Wes’s sigh, “I realize that Dawn, but with the bond itself needing to be fulfilled, I thought that was more than enough for both of them to handle at this time.”

 Dawn looked at the pages covered in the strange flowing script, similar to the symbols on the first page. Wes was right, it was a language. "We need to find a way to translate this. Do you think this is Clark's language from his home world?"

The line was silent for a moment, before he said in annoyance, “Yes, that’s what I meant when I said I don’t think the language is of this world.”

 “Do you think Clark knows how to read it?” Dawn asked.

 A sigh came over the line, “I honestly don’t know. I believe he just discovered where he came from, so I don’t see how he could.” He paused in thought and then murmured to himself, “But even if he can’t, perhaps the ship has a historical archive or maybe there is some form of AI technology that could translate it for us.”

 Dawn frowned, “What ship?”

 As Wesley explained how Buffy and Clark met and the danger Buffy had recklessly put herself in, Dawn found her ire sparking at Buffy’s stupidity. “I’m gonna kill her!” Dawn growled. “She hasn’t done something that reckless since Joyce was born. God fucking dammit, she promised me!”

 Wesley sighed. “In her defense, it could have very well been her fate that made her act so rashly.” He paused before saying, “In any case, Clark was there and according to Buffy, he saved her and watched over her after she went into a healing sleep.”

 Dawn was quiet as she processed that information. So, she didn’t die, which meant Buffy actively tried to stop it from happening. That was good, she was still getting smacked when Dawn saw her, but at least she hadn’t completely broken her promise from three and a half years ago. It was also good to see that this godlike Champion the prophecy spoke of wasn’t just a creature with a penchant for destruction playing at being a white hat because of a curse. That was a nice change.

 “What else do you know about him?” Dawn asked. “I’m assuming you started trying to find him as soon as you started translating this.”

 “Well,” Wesley began, “We first caught wind of a possible candidate about a year ago. We’d been monitoring airwave chatter for possible beings with superhuman strength when we caught a lead. A distress call came in about an oil rig off the coast of Canada in flames and about to explode. In that communication there was talk of a man rescuing the crew members aboard the rig and preventing the tower from collapsing on the rescue helicopter with his bare hands.” He paused for a moment, before saying. “We managed to find a few other incidents of him saving people, one that happened when he was thirteen. According to the incident report, his school bus went off a bridge and into the river. Three witnesses stated that a young Clark Kent managed to push the bus out of the water and rescue his classmate.”

 Dawn whistled, “So this guy really is the real deal white knight, huh?”

 “It would appear so.” He sighed.

 “Wes we’re gonna need to access that ship.” Dawn said, looking over a small section of Sumerian that talked about a trial of choice. The rest of the page was in the alien script however, so any clue as to what that meant was beyond her.

 “I know,” Wesley agreed.

 “Which means, we’re gonna have to tell Buffy and Clark everything.” Dawn reiterated.

 She heard Wesley groan, but he conceded nonetheless. “Alright fine, Willow needs to bring them some pendants to stave off the worst of the compulsion the bond is creating. I’ll have her stop by and get you on her way, unless you want me to tell Buffy myself, that is.”

 Dawn shook her head, “No, no. I think it will be safer for everyone if I’m the one to do it.” Then she bit her lip in thought, “And don’t bother with Willow, just call me when she gets back. I think I need to do this one on my own.”

 “Very well,” Wes agreed. “Willow should be finished within the next few hours. I’ll call you as soon as I know she’s returned.”

 “Alright, in the meantime I’m gonna go over this and make sure all the parts I can read are translated correctly.” Dawn said, adding, "Talk in a few," before hanging up.

 She sighed, rubbing her fingers along her forehead. "Well fuck," she muttered to herself.

 "Everything alright?" Xander asked, coming into the office. 

 "No, not really," she answered handing him the translated first page of the prophecy.

 She watched his eye scan the words before he blew out a breath. "So, this guys an alien?"

 "Looks like." She answered.

 Xander snorted, "Man the Buffster really knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she?"

 Dawn mock glared, before she couldn't contain her amusement at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, you know Buffy. She doesn't do anything by halves."

 ****<S>**<S>****

 As Clark followed Buffy down the hallway, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. He knew she had been trying to reassure him, but her words only had the opposite effect. Were they only feeling any of what they were because of the prophecy and furthermore, given the choice, would she even choose him? She had basically confessed to falling in love with her best friend. The history they had both shared, as disturbing as it was, was an important one to her. She had cared very deeply for this man. How could he ever live up to the memory of a man who had essentially changed a piece of himself for her? Part of him wanted to erase Spike’s memory from her mind, to do whatever he could to drive this man, this demon from her past and another part of him just felt wholly lost. He didn’t want to be anyone’s second best and he certainly didn’t want her to want him only because some guy thousands of years ago decided they were destined. God, he wished his dad was still alive. This would definitely be the type of thing his dad could help him through.

 She stopped at a large set of double doors and turned, catching his expression before he had time to school it into a much more neutral one. She blinked in surprise, "Clark...what’s wrong?"

 He shook his head, “It’s nothing Buffy.”

 Her frown deepened, “Oh no, you definitely have something face. Talk to me. I promise whatever it is, I’ll try to understand.”

 Clark shifted uncomfortably, before finally admitting, “I’m just feeling a little unsure about all this.”

 Her eyes widened slightly, “Because of Spike?”

 Clark sighed, “Well I mean think about it Buffy. You basically told me that you fell in love with your best friend and were willing to marry him for eternity, but the only reason you didn’t is because you were too scared. Would you even look twice at me if he was here now? Are the feelings I’m having for you even real, or is this just destiny trying to force us together?”

 Realization flooded her expression, and she quickly shook her head. “I can’t speak for what-ifs, because I would be lying if I answered that either way…” She swallowed, “As for how you’re feeling, I’ve been under love spells before and granted you usually don’t know you’re under one when you are, but if the feeling’s part was being fabricated, we…we wouldn’t be able to fight this like we are. We would have probably already slept together.” She blushed, looking down. “Fabricated feelings they’re false obviously, but they’re very strong…strong enough to make people dangerous. If what we were feeling was a manifestation, you wouldn’t have these doubts Clark, you wouldn’t even realize there was doubts to be had.” She met his eyes then, her expression serious and stoic. “And as for the fear part, I didn’t want to get into it because…” She sighed again. “You remember how I told you that Angelus showed up right when I was starting to get my life back together?”

 Clark nodded, “I remember.”

 “Well, what I didn’t say is that I was planning on retiring.” She rolled her eyes, “I had this grand plan of going back to school and getting a degree in Art History and moving to Hawaii to open a gallery.” She shook her head, “It was stupid, I know.”

 He immediately shook his head, “That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”  

 Buffy blushed. “I just mean it was stupid that I ever thought it could happen.” She shook her head, “Anyway, I started training a girl named Rayanne when we were first getting the new Watchers Council on its feet. She was bright, witty, resourceful and she already had the makings of someone who could be an excellent leader.” She looked at her feet, her hands clenching. “Me and Giles had agreed, in three-years-time, when Ray was eighteen, she would step in and fill my shoes. Faith didn’t want the position and the only other possible candidate that actually did, I flat out refused due to her inability to get along with just about anyone but Willow. I mentored Ray for over a year and she became…well, like a little sister to me. After the whole General Voll fiasco, I was ready to promote her to Senior Slayer status. She had been on it more than any other girl at the compound, helpful and demanding when need be. She’d fought through a horde of zombies and we came out of it with zero losses. The attack was completely unexpected and if she hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.” She met his eyes, “I was so proud of her.” Buffy sighed, “A few months later is when the first girl, Alicia went missing, and by the time Ray disappeared, there were already six that seemed to have just dropped off the planet.” She swallowed, “Angelus revealed himself and killed Giles a few weeks later, and almost three weeks after is when we found Alicia. She was the first and youngest to go missing and she was the first he dropped on our doorstep.” Buffy shook her head squeezing her eyes shut, “I knew what he was doing to Rayanne then, and that she would probably get the worst of it because of her association with me. Alicia was just a taste of what Angelus was capable of.” She opened her eyes, meeting his. “I wanted to have Spike claim me so we would be strong enough to save her and the rest of them, and I was scared because I knew I’d be asking for the wrong reasons. I was afraid Spike would know it too and I would only hurt him by asking. Does that make sense?”

 It was Clark’s turn to avert his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly.

 She pulled out her phone and began to scroll through it, “Well just in case you have any doubts…” She swallowed, “I don’t even know why I kept this. Angelus loved tormenting me and we didn’t know it at the time but there were several Watchers from the old regime who were very unhappy with the way we were running things. Some of them made deals with Angelus, gave out my email and phone number and my location.” She looked at him, her lips pursed in anger. “One of them would even take video or pictures, documenting my pain for him when he couldn’t be there hiding in the shadows to see it.” She handed him her phone, “I’ve never watched this one, it’s the morning I found Rayanne, he saved her for last. I don’t need to see it, I lived it.” She nodded at her phone, “When he sent it, I didn’t even open it. I just dropped it in an archive and it’s been there ever since.” She shook her head, “I highly recommend only opening the third video file, the one that says, ‘Are you broken yet?’ She met his eyes then, “The first two will be what he did to her. So, unless you feel like throwing up, I would skip those.” She gestured with her chin at the double doors. “I’ll be in there beating on a bag, meet me when you’re done.”

 She turned without another word and went through the double doors not looking back. Clark looked down at the phone swallowing heavily, before opening the file. The video began with the image of the front of a house, not unlike the one they were in now, except there was a large tree in front and something very obviously dangling from it. It looked to be sometime in the middle of the night or perhaps early morning, but he couldn't tell either way due to the lights on the house illuminating everything.

 The person carrying the camera ran towards the house and a refined British voice in distress yelled, "Ms. Summers, come quickly. I think it may be Miss Stevenson."

 The front door flew open and there she was, except she looked nothing like she did now, her eyes were wild, feral even, and she was so pale and sucked up. She looked hollow, worn-down, nothing like the girl he’d spent the last couple of days getting to know. The scream that tore from her lips and the look on her face when she saw what was hanging from the tree, tore through him like a tidal wave of emotion. Clark felt himself growing angry at the Watcher, who was obviously playing both sides. Another man with bleached hair and nothing on but a pair of black jeans came flying through the door next, his eyes wild and worried. 

 The camera panned and followed Buffy as she ran out to the tree, falling to her knees and screaming again. Clark saw what was in the tree then and his stomach almost rebelled right then and there. It was a young girl, no older than sixteen and the only skin left on her body was on her beautiful face and near her pelvic region. The girl’s expression was frozen in a horrified scream that no one who cared ever had the chance to hear. A large white sheet wrapped itself tightly around the girl’s wrists and tied over the lowest branch, the excess linen draping behind the dead girl as some sort of sick backdrop silhouette for the body hanging lifelessly from the tree. There was hardly any blood to speak of, just a pinkish residue from where the body had touched the clean white linen, which told Clark she had been dead for more than a few hours. It wouldn’t be visible to a human through the recording, but because of his enhanced vision Clark could even see puncture wounds in places and deep gashes from where the girl had been restrained.

 The blond man came into the picture then and the Watcher came towards them, circling around so he could see Buffy’s expression, or at least that’s what he assumed the person with the camera was doing. Buffy's mouth was open in silent gulping sobs, giant tears dripping down her cheeks.

 “Love,” The blond man whispered in an apparent British accent not nearly as refined as the Watchers Clark had heard so far. The man fell to his knees behind her looking up at the tree. He shuddered as tears sprang to his electric blue eyes. “Don’t look Buffy…please kitten, please go back in the house.”

 The man placed his hand on her shoulder, and Buffy turned at the gesture and Clark could no longer see her face as she flung herself into the man’s arms and began to sob harder. “It’s Ray,” she howled. “Oh god, it’s Ray.”

 “Shh,” The blond man hushed, rubbing hands along her back in a comforting gesture. “I know,” He choked. “I know, love.”

 “We…we can’t leave her like that.” She sobbed. “I-I have to get her down.”

 Clark watched the blond man close his eyes and shake his head, “I’ll do it. Go back in the house, please Slayer.”

 “No,” Buffy shook her head as Clark caught the silhouette of another man flying from the house and over to them. The sound of retching could be heard, and it took Clark a second to realize the sound came from whomever had just come from the house and seen the body. “It has to be me. Don’t you see, don’t you get it? I knew,” she sobbed. “I knew what he was doing to her and I didn’t do anything.”

 “Oh, sweet girl, you’ve been trying to find her. We all have. This isn’t your fault.” The man choked.

 “It’s not good enough,” She screamed, shoving away from him and falling on her rear, “And it is my fault, all of it! They were called because of me, because I was too chicken shit to just except the power that was offered to me!”

 A sob broke from her lips, and she turned looking directly at the cameraman a sudden realization dawning in her hollow eyes. “You!” She snarled, her eyes flashing. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She started marching towards the cameraman.

 “Ms.…Ms. Summers,” Whomever was holding the camera stuttered and then she was there, a well-aimed kick flying towards the camera before Clark saw sky for a few seconds.

 “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” She screamed suddenly hovering over the man, the wild fury in her eyes telling Clark that she had every intention of killing this man, and part of Clark couldn’t agree more. “No one else but an Angelus minion would have called me out here for Rayanne! Everyone else would know better!”

 Clark watched as she threw a punch, the sickening sound of cartilage breaking ringing through the speaker as the guy howled in pain. The way her arms were angled next and the gurgling sound through the phone told him she was choking the man before three sets of arms suddenly grabbed her, pulling her off. Clark could hear the man wheeze as he tried to catch his breath while Buffy screamed and fought the three people who had pulled her away. Faith was one of them, and then the blond man, which Clark was pretty sure by now was Spike, and another man, tall, brunet, with an eyepatch. He saw Willow in the distance coming towards them and when she reached them, she touched Buffy’s shoulder before she could react and muttered a few words that sounded like Latin. Buffy suddenly collapsed and Clark realized Willow had put her to sleep. All eyes then turned towards the cameraman.

 “Get her in the house, Xander.” Spike growled.

 “Uh, Spike–” Xander started to say when Spike turned on him.

 “Get her in the bloody fucking house, now!” He snarled, a sound like grinding bone emanating from the man as his voice altered to something more sinister. “I’m not going to kill him.” He said turning back towards the camera as two glowing amber eyes stared at Clark.

 “Speak for yourself,” Faith said marching towards the man. “I’ve been getting those fucking emails too.”

 “So have I,” Willow said, her eyes black as she stared the camera down.

 “We won’t have to kill him,” Spike clarified as he fell in step with Faith. “Angelus will do that for us.”

 “How you figure?” Faith asked, her eyes just as enraged as Buffy’s had been.

 Spike suddenly sprung forward, his arm reaching out and a ripping sound emanated as the man screamed. His hand came back with what looked like a wad of hair. “This enough Red?”

 “Plenty,” Willow said, sudden realization dawning in her black eyes.

 “Now,” Spike said, a sinister grin stretching his fanged mouth, to the whimpering man. “The way I figure it, you got three options. The first being, you can go back to Angelus and give him this tape, at which point he finds out we now have a way to track you, and oh trust me Marcus, he will most definitely kill you for that.” Clark heard the man begin to sob, and part of him wanted to turn off the video at that point but couldn’t look away at the furious amber eyes that stared back at the camera. “Option number two, you can destroy the tape and run, which if we’re being honest would be the preferable of the three, but I’m sure you are well aware of the kind of wrath he would bring down on you if he didn’t get to see his almost masterpiece complete, so I’m sure you won’t.” Spike’s hand suddenly flew forward and the man screamed in pain, “Or option three,” He growled, “Where you run like a coward and keep the tape for leverage, hoping that your usefulness hasn’t run its course.”

 He suddenly had the camera in his hands, staring directly into the screen his eyes burning into the lens. “Looks like your mole got ousted. This is your last one, Angelus. We’re coming for you and when we’re done there won’t be anything left.” The screen suddenly went black as the video cut off.

 Clark let out a trembling breath looking around him and realizing he had slid to the floor at some point, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand until that moment. That poor girl, no wonder Buffy was desperate. How many girls did she find like that before this one was left for her? How many videos did she force herself to endure before this one was sent, even Faith and Willow had said this wasn’t the first one? Clark squeezed his eyes shut, she had told him, so had Gunn but to see it. She was driven half-crazy by what that vampire had done and he could not blame her for that. What would he do if it was his mother in that position? God, he could only imagine.

 He shakily got to his feet, listening as he heard the sound of a fist hitting leather, he walked to the doors and threw them open, not stopping when she paused to look at him. He had to reassure himself that she was okay, that she wasn’t that angry creature that he saw in the video. He went straight to her, his arms coming around her in a crushing embrace before his lips met hers. God, she was so strong, he didn’t realize how much until that moment. Buffy immediately melted into him, her lips parting for him as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She was such a small woman, everything about her was deceptively tiny, except her strength and fortitude both physically and emotionally. To go through what she had and still be able to function on a normal level was just short of a miracle.

 He pulled away and looked down into her green eyes, haunted by her past but not dead and hateful like in the video. He bent down and laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I…” He started, “I didn’t…I’m so sorry Buffy.” He whispered, and he could still feel himself trembling. “I didn’t… You hear words like torture, rape, and murder but–”

 “They’re not real until you see it for yourself.” She finished in understanding.

 Clark sighed, hugging her closely, her head resting against his chest. “I get it now, not…but I understand how desperate you must have been to try and save the girls from that.”

 He heard her sniffle, “I didn’t know what else to do. I watched all the others you know, even…even what he did to them. It was my fault, you see; those girls lost their lives because they had a connection to me.” She shook her head, “If they hadn’t been called, they would still be alive today.”

 Clark pulled away and used his hand to raise her chin so he could see her eyes, “You blame yourself for every one of them that dies no matter how it happens, don’t you?”

 She closed her eyes a shuddering breath hissing through her lips, before she opened them, meeting his gaze head on. “How can I not?”

 He sighed, hugging her close again and shook his head. He had no response to that; he didn’t think she should. He didn’t think it was healthy, but he didn’t want to get in an argument about it with her right now either.

 They stayed like that for a little while before she whispered, “You’re shaking.”

 Clark nodded. “I know, the video…I’m still upset.”

 She pulled away, meeting his eyes again. “Do you want me to show you how to throw a punch properly? The heavy bags have been warded well, we can start there.” She looked down, “It will…it will help relieve some of what you’re feeling at least.”

 “Yeah,” He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, okay.”

 ****<S>**<S>****

 To say Clark was a fast learner when it came to training would have been the understatement of the year. He was an absolute natural. He moved with precision and grace, sometimes striking so fast she almost didn't see him move. 

 As of now she was simply holding the bag for him as he got comfortable with the rhythm of landing punches and even with the wards on the bag, she could feel the impact of his strikes. At this rate she would need her suit within a few days to let him get the feel of fighting a moving target. At some point she might even bring him back to Cleveland to put him up against multiple fighters and see how he did.

 "Remember to move your feet,” She reminded. "A moving target is harder to hit."

 He nodded, bounced on the balls of his feet and struck, the impact of the punch making her bones rattle. "Whoa, nice one Clark." She laughed, "Felt that one in my toes."

 He grinned, striking the bag again harder. "You were right," he said casually in between punches. "This does help."

 She grinned, "Nothing like getting your aggression out with a bit of violence." And then she blushed, smirking, "Well almost nothing." 

 He chuckled as he threw a few more punches in quick succession, his own smirk forming on his lips. He had a mischievous look in his eyes and had just opened his mouth to comment when Buffy’s phone rang.

 Buffy sighed, releasing the bag. "That will either be Wes or Willow."

 It was now around three in the afternoon; Clark had told her he had to pick his mom up at six and it was an hour drive to Smallville from where they were. So, she was grateful that they were going to be able to get this taken care of before meeting his mom.

 Buffy walked over to her phone and answered. "Hey Wes," she said in greeting. "What's the haps?"

 He was silent for a moment and she could almost hear him roll his eyes at her butchering of the English language. "Willow," He began, "should be there shortly. Dawn would also like to see you. I told her I would call her once Willow was done securing the pendants."

 Buffy frowned, “What? Why?”

 “Dawn and I have come to the conclusion that one of the languages in the prophecy that I have been unable to identify, is most likely written in the script of Clark’s home world.” He paused, “We are going to need access to the ship, unless of course Clark can read it.”

 Buffy looked at Clark and raised an eyebrow, but he quickly shook his head. “Only a few words,” He confirmed. “I think the computer on the ship might be able to translate it though.”

 “That’s a negative, Wes,” Buffy answered, beginning to pace. “But he agrees that the computer on the ship should be able to do the job.”

 “Very well, I’ll inform Dawn to dress accordingly. The ship is still in the same location I presume?” He asked.

 “Whoa,” Buffy said halting her steps, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want us to go tonight? Clark has to pick up his mom from work, Wes.”

 “I think it would be for the best. The sooner we get this prophecy translated, the better.” He paused. “Lorne told me I needed to send out more Slayers to India, Kansas, and Metropolis within the next two weeks and I would very much like to know if I should be sending two or a few hundred. If this prophecy gives any indication of what’s to come, I would very much like to know what it is.”

 Buffy and Clark exchanged worried looks. “He only told me something was coming for Clark, and we’re gonna need all hands-on deck when it does.”

 Buffy watched Clark swallow nervously. “He told me my time for hiding was almost up, but he said it was in the coming month.” His eyes widened in realization. “We need to translate that prophecy.”

 Buffy nodded in agreement, “And I need to train you harder than just beating on a bag, which means it’s gonna be eight-hour days from here on out.” Clark opened his mouth to argue and she held up her hand, “We’ll get as much as we need to do in the mornings done, but if for whatever reason we can’t, I would loan you the money before I would let you lose your home.”

 Clark frowned, “Buffy–”

 “Take it from someone who knows what those kinda money troubles feel like,” She interrupted again. “I think in the scheme of things saving the world is a little more important than pride, don’t you?”

 His frown deepened. “You think it’s going to be that big?”

 “Lorne said all hands-on deck and it’s you. Someone coming after you has got to be as powerful, if not more.” She watched his face fall and reached out her hand out running it down his arm, “You’ll be ready, and now that we have a general idea of where this stuff might take place, we’ll all be even more prepared.”

 “Wes,” she said, addressing the Watcher once more. “Were gonna need Willow to keep close, and I would call Illyria back from Cairo.”

 “I agree,” Wesley said, just as a portal opened up and Willow walked through. Her smile melting away at the look on both Buffy and Clark’s faces.

 “Uh-oh,” Willow said nervously. “I know that face.”

 “Is that Willow?” Wesley asked over the line.

 “Yeah,” Buffy said.

 “Let me speak with her, please.”

 Buffy held out the phone to Willow, who frowned but took it anyway. “Hey Wes,” Willow said in greeting as Buffy walked over to where Clark was standing looking more than a little worried.

 “Hey,” she said quietly.

 He attempted to smile but he couldn’t pull it off. “Hey, yourself.”

 She bit her lip watching him, seeing the turmoil play across his face of having an unknown enemy out there that could be responsible for hurting others when they decided to rear their ugly heads. She didn’t blame him, if she needed to pull out her big guns as Lorne hinted then it could definitely get bad. She was optimistic however, because of what she’d had to face in her past. Clark didn’t have that same luxury.

 “I-I know you’re not exactly used to going up against big bads, or having to fight gods,” she started. “But I promise you Clark, no matter what it is we’ll deal with it together. Tonight, I’ll have my sister meet us at your place and we’ll go to the ship and find out what this prophecy says. Whatever’s coming, we’ll deal. I promise you; we won’t lose.”

 “How do you know?” He asked, a bit of hope showing in his eyes.

 She stared at him seriously, “Because I don’t lose when it’s the world.”

 His lips quirked slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something when Willow walked up to them. “Wes wants me to fit you for a suit,” She said to Clark, handing Buffy her phone before saying, “And, he wants to talk to you.”

 As Buffy reached for the phone Clark said, “I already have a suit and it’s Kryptonian.”

 Both Buffy and Willow blinked in surprise at his words, their voices ringing out in unison. “You do?”

 He nodded, “Yeah, it’s on the ship still, but I have one.”

 Willow smiled, “Well then, that’s gonna make this quicker. Can you bring it to me? I can enhance it with magic, add some safety features and protect you against the mystical.”

 “Will that still work, even if the material isn’t of Earth?” He asked.

 “Yeah Wes,” Buffy finally said into her phone, pulling herself away from the conversation. So, Clark already had a suit, she wondered what it looked like.

 “So, for the time being I’m going to send fifty Slayers to each location, but keep the others on standby incase things go pear-shaped.” He said, already planning ahead. “I’ll also be moving quite a few closer to all three locations, that way all the girls have backup nearby. I think Willow should stay there at the safehouse that way she’s not far from either of you.”

 “And Dawn, Xander, and the kids? They live in Metropolis after all.” Buffy asked.

 “Perhaps you should explain the situation to her when she gets there. Staying there at the safe house with Willow might also be a wise move for them.” Wes said, adding, “As well as a few Slayers. I know Faith’s been itching to get out of Cleveland for a mission, maybe she and a few of the other girls should accompany her.”

 “Just as long as it’s not Tanya, that girl’s a liability and she doesn’t listen to anyone.” Buffy said.

 “I concur,” Wesley agreed. “Only the girls who are focused and dedicated will be allowed to participate in this mission. I would like as little casualties as possible.”

 “I agree,” Buffy nodded, “What about the mystics, how many of those can we tap?”

 “I have sixty-eight on file, I’ll start making phone calls now.”  He sighed. “I’m just glad we have this much to go on.”

 “Me too,” Buffy agreed. “I’ll call Dawn when Willow gets done here and tell her where to meet us and to put on her suit and a warm hat.”

 “Very well,” he said. “Call me when you know more and I’ll begin the preparations.”

 Buffy hung up, walking back over to Willow and Clark as they spoke to each other a bit awkwardly. “So, let’s get this over with Wills.”

 Willow quickly nodded opening a small bag she brought with her. “So,” she said quickly. “These were a bit difficult to make since from what we’ve read the compulsion itself seems to be based purely on hormones as well as a need to unite your souls.” She looked at them both, “It took me a little while to find what I needed and even longer to put the spell together.” She sighed, “The pendants themselves will be made out of several crystals used to block compulsion, amethyst, ametrine, chrysocolla, and ruby.”

 Willow pulled out two small corked vials filled with multicolored stones and handed them to both Buffy and Clark. “Now, hold out your hands and link your free ones together.”

 Buffy and Clark did as she asked, holding their hands out palm up. Willow placed a vial in each of their hands and then covered them with her own hands, closing her eyes and beginning to chant. Buffy immediately began to feel her hand heat up and for a second it almost became unbearable and Buffy even watched Clark wince from the heat. It was gone just as quickly however and in its place were two hard looking marble like multicolored stones with a dark metallic chain that would hang from each of their necks. Buffy heard Willow mutter one more spell that she recognized to be a ward against breaking.

 “Well go on.” Willow said smiling happily at her work. “Try them on, see if it worked.”

 Buffy quickly slipped the necklace over her head and a sigh of relief left her lips. The sexual tension that had never fully abated her all day finally easing enough to where she wasn’t thinking about sex every few seconds.

 Clark had a similar reaction, his face seeming to ease slightly, but Buffy was surprised when he turned to Willow and asked, “You said the compulsion is only based on hormones, does that mean any feeling we have that aren’t sexual are real?”

 Willow nodded, “Of course, real love is something that can only be based off of free will. Its why love spells don’t ever work. You can’t force someone to love you.”

 Buffy watched amused as Clark seemed to sigh in relief, and then quickly blushed when he noticed her watching him. “Come on stud,” she said hooking her arm through his and dragging him towards the door of the training room. “Let me go grab my stuff before we go get your mom,” a grin creeping over her face as she turned and wished Willow a good night and a promise to catch up tomorrow. “And for the record”, she added quietly as they walked out of the training room. “I still want to jump you, that hasn’t changed even with the necklace on.”

 He quickly reached out to grab her arm, but she easily dodged him and took off down the hallway, a blush and a giggle leaving her lips.

 Clark was suddenly there in front of her, a crooked and devilish smile on his lips. “Is that so?” And then his lips were on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth as she squealed in surprise.

#man of steel #superman #henry cavill #superman fanfiction #man of steel fanfiction #man of steel edit #man of steel crossover #superman crossover #superman fanedit #buffy #btvs crossover #btvs #btvs fanfiction #btvsedit #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy summers #buffy crossover #buffy x clark #clark kent #buffy summers x clark kent #Kal El #buffy x superman #this is totally self indulgent #sarah michelle gellar

[rexisnotyourwriter]

by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming​

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​

Chapter 1: The Restless Summer Air

The girl watched the toast pop up from the mint green Burlington toaster mere seconds after emitting the smell of the now charred breakfast. The toaster almost perfectly matched the vinyl covering on the kitchen chairs and the geometric pattern on the off-white linoleum flooring. The whole house, in fact, looked like it came straight out of a magazine, which, in all honesty, it had. Her mother had dog-eared the pages of the latest styles before they even bought the house. The kitchen, as noted, was mint and off-white themed. Clean and crisp. The living room, which flowed out from the kitchen, featured wood flooring adorned with a large ornate rug with a velvet baby pink couch and loveseat. The one piece that didn’t quite match the room was her father’s green-ish recliner. It was the sore thumb of the room that he refused to part with. The fireplace was surrounded by a brick mantle, on top of which was a wooden clock that ticked loudly. It was very nearly time for her to be on her way to school.

She sat in her usual seat at one end of the table watching her mother, who looked at the slightly charred toast with little regard and tossed it onto a plate. She watched as her mother haphazardly slathered it with strawberry jam. She was doing it wrong, again. 

Across from the girl’s place at the kitchen table was a full breakfast plate - two fried eggs, two pieces of (unburnt) toast, buttered, and three sausage links - next to a cup of coffee. The sun shining in from the living room illuminated the steam willowing out from the top of the mug like smoke from a chimney. It curved and swirled upwards, slithering almost, until it disappeared.

“Ed!” her mother called, for the fourth time, more shrill than the previous three. 

She plopped the plate of toast in front of her daughter before grabbing her “secret” pack of cigarettes from the kitchen drawer. When the girl heard the back door open and the strike of a match, she got up from her seat to grab the jar of jam and knife that were still on the counter. She dipped the knife gingerly into the jar and spread jam into the forgotten corners of the toast, but not so near the crust that her fingers would get sticky when she ate it. Then, she cut the toast diagonally. 

“Morning,” her father smiled at his daughter as he entered the kitchen. She smiled back, but her mouth was too full of toast to return his greeting. He was in one of his nicer suits today, the dark blue one, with a silk paisley tie. His coat was already swung over his arm, his hand clutching his briefcase beneath it. He blew quickly and gently on his coffee a few times before gulping some down, wincing. Still too hot. He gave up on it, and turned to leave. The girl’s smile dropped.

“What are you doing?” her mother’s voice came from behind her.

“Going to work, dear, like I do every morning,” he replied cheekily. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He paused, annoyed by the delay. His eye spied the full plate of food at his spot. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time to eat.”

He moved to leave.

“You’re supposed to bring her to school today.”

“Hun, I’ve got a meeting first thing. I really gotta go.”

“I have a hair appointment-”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Kat-”

“Ed, you promised that you-”

“I hardly think your hair is-”

“That’s not the point-”

“Don’t forget who pays for your hair to look like that.”

“Here we go.”

“I’m not doing this now, end of discussion.”

He grabbed a piece of toast from his plate and shoved it into his mouth before leaving out the front door. 

Her mother slammed the back door shut. She hastily untied her apron and threw it on the counter, then rushed off to the powder room to fix her hair and put on some make up. 

The girl finished her toast in almost complete silence, but for the steady ticking of the clock.

--------------------------------------------------------

The Academy basement was almost always dark when Gregg got in. Today was no exception. He enjoyed being the first one there. The more work he got done sooner, the better change he had of making it home for dinner. Granted, he didn’t always make it, but he made the effort, and that was enough for his wife. Plus, the mornings were quiet. He could get settled, organized. It was a different kind of quiet from the late nights. The morning quiet felt promising, hopeful in a way. The evening quiet was a slow drag, your thoughts muddled with too much information that had accumulated over the course of the day into a tangled ball of yarn. 

They had a coffee maker now, and an electric kettle. Some of the perks of the increased funding and attention the Behavioral Science Unit had received. Gregg would make a strong pot, stronger than he liked it. He was the odd one out in the team who preferred weaker coffee, so he would make it strong for their sake and add hot water to his mug until it was tempered to his liking. 

On this particular morning, Wendy was the next to arrive. She and Gregg exchanged silent greetings as she hung up her coat before retiring to her office. A stack of files was waiting for her on her desk, but it was only a partial set. The remaining files were in her briefcase, having been read the night before. She took them out and placed them in their own pile on her already busy desk. The “done” pile. Though not “done” as in finished with; “done” as in read and flagged with numerous Post-it Notes. 

The interviews had been behind ever since the Atlanta case, even though that was closed over a month ago. The phone had been ringing almost constantly with police from every county thinking every slightly disturbing murder was the work of a deranged psychopath. Poor Gregg was getting the brunt of the phone duty, which sucked up his time on more important work. They did get an answering machine, but between checking the tapes and the stacks of unsolicited faxes that would come through, it was becoming a full time job to sift through it all.

Wendy heard the main door open and wondered if it was Bill. She got up from her desk to check. She needed coffee, anyways. 

It was Holden. A few weeks ago, he would’ve asked her if Bill was in yet, but his late arrival was a regular occurrence by now. They exchanged their usual good morning head nod as Wendy exited to obtain her caffeine fix. 

Some papers floated off the edge of the fax machine tray, which was still spitting out pages.

“How long has this been going on?”

Gregg, fully immersed in a recording, didn’t hear Holden.

“Gregg,” he said louder.

Gregg paused the tape and removed his headphones.

“When did this start?” Holden asked, picking up the pages from the floor and stacking them, along with the rest, next to the fax machine.

“I’m not sure. It was empty when I got in this morning.”

Holden sighed as he gave a few of the pages a cursory glance. Nothing excited him.

Wendy returned armed with two cups of coffee. She gave the coat rack a scan for Bill’s coat, but it was still absent.  

“Hey,” Holden said, making his way over to Wendy. “Do you think we should’ve told him yesterday?”

“He had already gone home.”

Holden looked at the second coffee cup in Wendy’s hand, waiting for her to offer it to him. 

“Yeah, I know. But should we have called him?”

Wendy shook her head.

“He doesn’t need to be dealing with work when he’s at home.”

The hypocrisy of her advice isn’t lost on either of them. Holden’s not exactly innocent either. 

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“There’s not much we can do.”

Holden looked at the coffee again. This time Wendy noticed. 

They’re interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the hall. Moments later, Bill walked in, without a coat, looking slightly worse for wear than usual, with a manic glint in his eye.

“Morning, Bill,” Wendy said.

“Morning,” he responded reactively, not bothering to look in her direction. 

He stood at the coat rack for a moment before realizing he didn’t need to be there, then headed to his office. 

Holden and Wendy shared a look. She’s got this. Wendy followed Bill, both cups of coffee still in her hand, leaving Holden to fend for himself. 

Wendy leaned against the doorway of Bill’s office while he settled himself. She half expected the inside of his briefcase to be a slough of loose files, but he pulled out a single tidy, albeit thick, folder. 

Wendy said nothing. 

Bill sighed and finally looked up at her.

“Look, I appreciate the concern.”

“Bill-”

“I do. But what I really need right now is to not be treated like I’m a…a bird with a broken wing, or a child.”

He paused. 

“Or some other helpless thing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I know I look like shit.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

He almost smiled. 

“While Holden and I share some…concerns,” she continued. “That’s not entirely why I’m here.”

Wendy stepped inside his office, closing the door behind her, and took a seat, placing one of the coffee cups in front of Bill.

“Gunn came down here yesterday, after you left-”

“Shit.”

“He knows there’s something going on, more than whatever it is you’re telling him.”

Bill leaned his forehead into this hand, rubbing his temples. 

“He really likes playing us off each other, doesn’t he.”

“It’s actually rather smart, if you think about it,” Wendy responded wryly. “He knows by now that we talk to each other about this kind of stuff, and that Holden and I have a better chance of getting through to you than he does.”

Bill finally took note of the coffee in front of him and gulped some down. 

“What did you tell Gunn?” he asked.

“Nothing. I said I wasn’t specifically sure what was going on outside of work and assured him that we were catching up from time lost during the Atlanta case.”

“Is that true?”

“Marginally.”

He scoffed.

“But that’s not your fault,” she added.

They sat in the silence of a mutual understanding that nothing either of them could say would change the reality of the situation. 

Wendy shifted in her seat, about to stand up, when Bill interrupted her.

“Brian answered the phone this morning.”

She opened her mouth, but no words formed.

Every day since Nancy left with Brian, Bill had been calling her parents in Connecticut. There was nowhere else she could’ve gone to. She had no siblings, and had too much pride to confide in any of their friends. 

“I called this morning, expecting to leave another voice-mail, but after two rings it stops. I hear breathing. Background noise from the kitchen. Bacon sizzling.”

Each word is harder for Bill to say out loud, but he keeps his composure. Wendy can feel it, though. 

“And then I hear Nancy freak out, telling Brian to hang up the phone. Then…”

He imitated a dial-tone.

“I don’t know what to do, Wendy.”

She exhaled softly. She wasn’t sure either. 

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

That was her cue to leave. She paused in the doorway, and turned back around.

“You don’t have to tell Gunn everything. Just, something with a grain of truth. Enough that he feels you’re being honest with him and will give you some leeway.”

“I will.”

“Sooner rather than later.”

Bill nodded.

“He’s out today, yeah?” She nodded back. “I’ll tell him next week. Promise.”

Wendy left him with a sympathetic smile. 

Holden was finally settled at his desk when Gregg interrupted him.

“I’ve got an Arthur Osborn on the line. Alaska State Trooper. He’s got a case that I think it worth looking into.”

Don’t they all.

“And he asked for me specifically?”

“You or Bill, but I figured…”

“Yeah, sure, put him through.”

A moment later, Holden’s phone rang.

“Special Agent Holden Ford.”

“Agent Ford, thanks for taking my call.” Osborn’s voice was deep and had a midwest lilt. Definitely not a native Alaskan. 

“How can I help?”

“We’ve had four young women found dead in less than two years. All of them under 21. The youngest,” his voice cracked, “was eleven.”

Holden waited for him to compose himself.

“They were noted as missing before the bodies were found,” Osborn continued. “Two months ago, Lori King, 18, was reported missing. We think it was the same guy. We want to find him before she ends up like the others.”

“Of course. What condition were the bodies in when they were found?”

Osborn took a deep breath. “There was significant decomp by the time we found them.”

“Anything notable in how they were staged?”

“Staged?”

“Yes. Positioned. When you found them, were they sitting up, lying down, what were their arms and legs doing…”

“Nothing particular, really, I don’t think. We have photos.”

“Good. It’s possible this is the same unsub, but I’ll need to look at everything you’ve got on it.”

“Yes, Agent Ford.”

“Did you already fax us the files?” Holden was already dreading having to dig the related pages out of the stacks.

“What? No, no. We thought we better call first.”

“Good thinking. Send them through when you get a chance. We’ll take a look.”

“Thank you.”

Less than thirty minutes later, the fax machine started printing.

Later that afternoon, Holden gathered the rest of the team in the war room to review the Fairbanks case files. It turned out Osborn was right in his suspicion that this could be the work of the same unsub.

“Our first victim is Glinda Sodemann, 19. Newly wed and a new mother. She went missing from her home in North Pole on August 29, 1979.” 

Holden pinned a photo of Glinda onto the board.

“Her husband came home to the baby asleep in the crib and Glinda gone. There were no signs of foul play, and no indication that she would have had a reason to run away. Two months later, her decomposing body was found near Moose Creek, just over twenty miles south of Fairbanks, in a gravel pit near the highway.”

Next to the smiling black and white yearbook photo of Glinda, Holden pinned the photo from the dump site. 

“She was shot in the face with a .38 caliber. The pistol cartridge was found next to the body. There were no signs of sexual assault.”

“Did they look into the husband,” Bill interjected.

Holden nodded.

“He was their prime suspect for a while. Even failed a polygraph. But there was no evidence.”

The next photo Holden put up was of an even younger girl.

“Almost a year after Glinda disappeared, 11-year-old Doris Oehring goes missing from North Pole. Her and her older brother were riding their bikes on June 11. She had ridden ahead of him, and when he caught up to her he saw her talking to a man with a blue car. The hood was popped open as if he had engine trouble. As soon as her brother got closer, the man slammed the hood, got back in his car, and sped off. Two days later, Doris disappeared.”

“Were they able to get a description from the brother?” Gregg asked.

“They got a rough sketch,” Holden answered, adding said sketch to the board. “The brother said he thought the man was wearing a blue shirt that looked like a uniform.”

“Military?” Wendy suggested.

“Air Force.” 

“There’s a base in Fairbanks,” Bill added.

“They found Doris’ bike hidden in the bushes near her home. A witness said they saw a blue car near that area around the time of her disappearance. The driver appeared to be struggling with someone or something in the seat next to him.”

“Fuck,” Bill muttered under his breath.

“They also said it looked like he had a military haircut. Now, based on all of the descriptions of the perpetrator, the state troopers got a list of every single blue car that was registered to drive on the Eielson Air Base. Anyone want to guess how many names are on that list?”

They looked around at one another.

“One hundred?” Gregg suggested.

“550,” Holden responded. “They questioned Glinda’s husband again. This time the polygraph was inconclusive.”

The team collectively rolled their eyes at that cursed word.

“They brought a polygraph expert in after that to question him again. They said that he had an irregular heartbeat that made it impossible for him to pass a polygraph. It would always show either as failed or inconclusive. Due to lack of alternative evidence, they had to remove him as a suspect, at least for Doris’ disappearance.”

They fell silent, processing the implications of this information. How many people failed a polygraph because of a heart condition?

“The third disappearance happened January 31,” Holden continued. “Marlene Peters, the oldest victim so far at age 20. She was last seen hitchhiking from Fairbanks to Anchorage to visit her sick father. Now, initially, there wasn’t enough reason to think that her disappearance was connected to the others. Five weeks later, Wendy Wilson, 16, goes missing. She was also last seen hitchhiking, and a witness saw her get into a white pickup in Moose Creek. They found her body three days later, over thirty miles south of Fairbanks. She had been strangled and then shot in the face. Two months later, Marlene’s body was found in similar condition, not far from where Wendy’s had been. Which also happened to be very close to -”

“Eielson Air Base,” Bill finished.

“Bingo. The latest disappearance occurred a couple days after they found Marlene’s body. Lori King, 19.” Holden puts Lori’s photo on the board. “She was last seen walking alone in Fairbanks.”

“Did they ever find Doris Oehring?” Wendy asked.

“No. They’ve searched near the air base and all the areas where the other bodies were found, but no sign of Doris, or Lori.”

Holden took a step away from the board, indicating his descent into theorizing.

“He’s single. Lives alone. Definitely has issues with women.” The team all nodded in agreement. “Probably has a hard time holding a job. He has a history with the military, but I don’t think he’s part of the Air Base.” 

“Even though it’s close to the dump site of the victims,” Gregg inquired.

“It’s more notable that the bodies were dumped off the highway. It doesn’t feel like it’s about the proximity to the Air Base,” Holden replied. “So, why does he shoot them in the face?”

“To hide their identity?” Gregg suggested.

Wendy shook her head.

“It’s more than that,” she said. “It’s a relatively tight knit community. People know that these women are missing, and identifying them wouldn’t be that difficult, even after their faces had been shot. It’s more about substitution. He’s taking them and killing them in place of the person - woman - that his aggression is actually directed at. Once they’re dead, he sees that they didn’t fulfill the fantasy in the way that he wanted, so he disfigures their face to erase their identity in order to satisfy his illusion.”

Gregg nodded.

“I disagree about the military aspect, however,” she continued. “I think it’s highly likely he does work at the Air Base in some capacity.”

“Because of the haircut and the blue car?” Holden responded.

“And the uniform. The location of the bodies. The evidence we’ve accumulated from other cases. He likely has disciplinary issues, maybe even a history of abusive behavior towards women.”

“Okay.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he also had a history of institutionalization,” Bill added. “He feels tangibly unhinged.”

“Okay,” Holden repeated. “I think we’ve got a good basis for a profile.”

Holden faced the team, hands on his hips.

“Hey, we should grab a drink later. It’s been a while.”

“I got to get home to the family,” Gregg replied.

Holden gave him an understanding smile as Gregg grabbed his notebook and left the war room. He turned and looked expectantly at Bill and Wendy, his real targets.

“Come on, it’s a Friday. We’ll go to The Fern.”

“I don’t think so, Holden,” Wendy declined.

“Yeah, I’m not really feeling it tonight,” Bill added.

Holden shot Wendy a look. For Bill’s sake.

She contemplated, and gave in.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Come on, Bill. I’ll go if you do.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“My other condition,” Wendy added, “is that we find a new place.”

“What happened? I thought you liked going to The Fern?” 

She shrugged.

“It wasn’t as great as I thought it was.”

Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May” was playing upon their arrival at The Velvet Arrow. It was not as full, or as dive-y, as The Fern, but it was certainly more bizarre in its decor. The walls were covered in a mix of Native American art and 1950s advertisements. The bar stools, true to the name, were covered in red velvet (and stains) that reminded one of movie theater seats. Thankfully, the booths where they chose to sit were vinyl.

“I’ve got the first round,” Holden offered. “Bill?”

“Bourbon.”

Holden turned to Wendy.

“White wine. Thanks.”

When Holden was safely out of earshot, Wendy leaned in towards Bill.

“Did you tell him about this morning?”

Bill shook his head.

“Okay.”

It was understood that the phone call with Brian stayed between them. They both agreed that Holden needs to know enough of what’s going on to not be a dick, but not so much that he gets too involved. 

“It really feels like we’re his parents sometimes,” Wendy noted.

Bill exhaled loudly through his nose.

“That kid, I tell ya.”

They shared a small laugh as Holden returned with their drinks.

“What’s so funny?”

“Wendy just told a great joke,” Bill replied.

She cut him a glare, tempered with a smirk. 

“Wendy told a joke?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” she replied, more defensively than intended.

“No, I mean -” Holden flustered. “You’re…funny.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why do I feel like I was the joke,” he added.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Bill grinned.

Wendy sipped her wine. At least it was better than whatever they had at The Fern, not that The Velvet Arrow’s was in any way exceptional. She scanned the rest of the bar. It was mostly men, military looking men at that. A few of them were here with what appear to be girlfriends, or at least hopefuls. 

Her heart stopped. A woman at the bar, a customer, back turned. Her slight frame and long straight brown hair were familiar. No. It couldn’t be. 

She gulped down more of her wine, unable to turn her eyes away, just in case the woman turned her head to get confirmation or denial. 

“How about it, Wendy?” Holden asked.

She turned to look at him.

“What?”

“Darts. Wanna play?”

“Um...”

“Come on,” Bill coaxed.

“Fine.”

While the men got up, Wendy stole a glance back at the woman. Her profile was in full view now, and it was a face she didn’t recognize. She let out a small sigh of relief.

“You coming?” Holden asked.

“Hmm? Yes.”

She anticipated how poorly she’d do. Bill and Holden assuredly had low expectations.

“Ladies first,” Bill said, handing Wendy a dart. 

She slowly shook her head at him, a slight smile on her face, and took the dart. It was heavier than she expected. It was just like archery, right? She did that once, at a summer camp. Poorly. 

Wendy stared down the dartboard. 

Square up. Shoulders to the pins.

Kay’s voice came into her head. She positioned herself.

Now, put your weight on your left foot.

She did.

Take a deep breath and just do it.

Wendy fired the dart.

It stuck two inches from the center.

Bill and Holden didn't bother to hide their surprise, nor their delight.

“40 points,” Holden exclaimed.

“Nicely done, Dr. Carr,” Bill beamed.

“Looks like we’ve got to step it up, Bill,” Holden added.

The game ended with Bill winning both rounds; Wendy and Holden earned a second and a third place ranking each. The trio walked out to the parking lot in the warm summer air. It still smelled like smoke, but it was fresher than inside the bar at least.

“See you Monday, then,” Holden said.

They waved their goodbyes and entered their respective vehicles. Wendy was about to pull out when she heard an engine struggling. 

It was Holden’s. 

She looked around and saw that Bill had already driven off. Holden looked at Wendy from across the parking lot. Their eyes met. There was no escaping now.

She got out of her car and walked over.

“Need a jump?”

Holden sighed. “I think so. Bill’s gone already?” She nodded. “Do you have cables?”

“I can check.”

Wendy looked in the back of her car and the trunk, but no luck. She returned to Holden empty handed.

“I’ll call a tow truck,” he concluded.

“At this hour?”

Holden shrugged.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” she offered. “You can deal with it in the morning.”

Holden willingly agreed.

Wendy turned on the radio, hoping it would keep Holden’s small talk at bay.

“So how do you think Bill’s doing? Like, really?” he asked.

She thought about it.

“I think he’s handling it as well as he knows how. I mean, how is someone even supposed to cope with your wife leaving with your child while you’re gone, with no contact whatsoever?”

“I offered him one of my Valiums the other day,” Holden said casually.

“You did what?”

“You know, just to maybe help take the edge off.” Wendy shook her head. “He declined, by the way.”

“You really shouldn’t be offering prescription drugs to people.” As if it needed saying.

“Well, when you phrase it like that,” he smirked. “Left up here, then I’m on the right.”

Wendy turned and pulled up to Holden’s building. He took off his seatbelt, but didn’t get out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride, Wendy.”

She smiled politely. He smiled back, still not making any move to leave.

“Do you want to come in?” he offered. “For a cup of coffee, or something?”

“Uh, no. Thank you.”

Holden wasn’t phased by the rejection, which only made Wendy more convinced he would keep trying.

“Okay.” He opened the door to leave. “Drive safe.”

She nodded. He closed the car door behind him.

Wendy saw him in her mirror standing outside, watching her drive away, before disappearing inside.

#op* #mindhunter #mindhunteredit #mindhunter fic #a tide in a city #wendy carr #bill tench #holden ford #gregg smith #ted gunn #it has been 84 years since i posted a fic

[unstoppableforcce]

dark side

CHAPTER FIVE: accuse

pairing: Javier Peña x reader (narcos)

previous part | next part | masterlist

a/n: the end scene of this one was what I had such a hard time writing, it went through a few different interations and thats why it took so long so sorry for the wait !! please let me know what you feel or you think is going on!

5 in the morning was too early for a drink but he wanted one.

He settled for a shower instead.

But no matter how long he stood under the rushing water, he couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Do you know the CIA is listening or do you just think—”

“We know.”

Fiestl’s answer was too quick, too confident. They had something, real proof of their accusations and they couldn’t tell him any of it, not until he was face to face with them in Cali. And until he could get on that plane, until he could get his boots on the ground and get the information first hand, this guilt settling in his chest wasn’t going to go away.

The bloodied phantom hand was right on top of his as he washed through his hair, rougher than it was a few hours ago when it held you against his chest.

Maybe you didn’t know about the wiretaps.

The CIA practically kicked you to the curb when they assigned you to spy on him. It was a base-level assignment and you were too smart for it, far too smart for it. The human and weapons trafficking, the guy you mentioned, that was what your focus was on, you made that clear and he trusted you when you said it.

Maybe you didn’t know. Maybe Stechner was purposefully keeping you out of this, maybe he thought the two of you were together, maybe you didn’t know about whatever the CIA was doing.

Or maybe you did.

He hit the shower wall, not with the full force his arm could muster but just enough for a pretty decent thud before reaching up to rub over his face again.

Was he wrong to trust you? Was this whole ‘we don’t talk about work’ thing something you used to keep this from him?

Did you even think you owed him honesty in this respect? The two of you were sleeping together, maybe it was more than sleeping together, but it wasn’t a real relationship, or at least, he could tell himself that. Maybe you were telling yourself the same. Maybe that was how you were keeping it from him…

But he trusted you. He trusted you now.

“You’re not coming back to bed?”

He was so caught up with himself, he didn’t even hear you walk your way into the bathroom. But now that he had, you were all he could hear.

He could hear your toothbrush clank against his in the cup as your pulled it out, he could hear his medicine cabinet open with practiced precision, he could hear you sitting back against the sink as you brushed. He swore he could even hear your head turn back to the shower when he didn’t give you an answer.

“I’ve got to fly to Cali.” He sighed, brushing his hair back again, finally washing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and stepping back to let the water hit his chest.

You spit into the sink before turning back to him, “It’s early.”

“I know.”

A few more seconds passed in silence, and he just waited for you to say something.

The curtain to the shower pulled back and you stepped in behind him, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his back as you held him.

This was real. What he felt for you was real.

That’s all he could focus on for now.

“How bad is it?” You hummed against his skin, pressing a kiss to his spine, your body pressing up behind his.

“I don’t know yet, that’s why I have to go.”

You left another kiss, hot against his skin. “Is there anything I can do?”

He trusted you. If you were using him, it wouldn’t feel like this. Or maybe it would, maybe he was just being naïve to it all.

Turning around in your grip, he placed both his hands around your face and pulled your lips up to his. Yours eagerly met him there, your hands holding him at his sides as he back you up to the wall. The phantom hand was gone if he buried it into your hair and that had to be enough for now.

You tasted like the mint of his toothpaste...

You wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as he hoisted you up around his hips, his hot breath landing on your neck as you pulled away and laid your head back against the tile. But as he moved to lay kisses along your skin, you stopped him, holding him still with your hand at the back of his neck.

“What?” He panted out against your cheek as you brought your head back forward.

“Whatever is happening in Cali… You have to be back by tomorrow night you know…” Your breath was just as ragged as you locked your eyes back with his. “The Ambassador’s thing?”

His head fell forward onto your shoulder, “Fuck.”

“Oh, someone forgot?” You taunted as he drew his lips back to yours, but in leaning your head back, you left his lips your chin instead as you kept talking. “It’s okay, just tell the Ambassador you can’t make it, I’ll wear my pretty dress for you another day…”

The Ambassador did these things every so often, parties with drinks and diplomats, something about securing relationships with the government and such. It meant drinking and socializing, playing nice and dressing up. And as DEA attaché, he had to be there.

He was so stupid, he had actually been looking forward to it. To having an excuse to being around you, playing nice and drinking.

But he had to be in Cali first. He had to figure out this CIA shit…

He kissed your cheek, “I can be back by then.”

“What’s going on in Cali?” You asked, grabbing his chin to level his eyes with yours again.

But he just shook his head, shaking it out of your grip gently, “I’m sorry, querida, you know I can’t…”

“It’s nothing I can help with?” Rubbing your hand over his shoulders, filled to the brim with tension and none of it releasing as you held him close.

“No.”

You let your lips land on his again, deeper this time, pulling him in closer as he kept you pressed against the wall.

“It’s a nice dress, so you better be back in time…” You hummed with a chuckle as his lips moved to your neck.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

He took the first flight to Cali.

And that was when his agents put the cold, hard proof in his hands and his stomach sank even further than before. There was no shower, no drinks, no nothing that could get him out of this.

It wasn’t just the one phantom hand, there were two of them, holding over his hands as he read through the files again and again, looking for some other explanation, some way out of this that didn’t implicate you. But he read them again and again…

They were CIA files.

Stacks of CIA files. Transcripts of private phone conversations, records of Stechner ordering the wiretapping on embassy phones and their personal home numbers, documents and… there were at least a hundred pages here.

“73.” Van Ness muttered, “It’s 73 pages.”

“Where the hell did the two of you get 73 pages of classified CIA documents?” He couldn’t even believe the words as they came out of his mouth, he couldn’t believe the papers he was reading, he couldn’t believe any of it and he knew why.

The two of them sat on the couch across from him didn’t, but he knew why.

“They were faxed to us…” Fiestl answered..

“By who?”

“It’s whom…” Fiestl corrected but bit his tongue when Javier shot him the meanest look he could muster, “We don’t know.”

Javi blew out a breath, a heavy breath before dropping the papers in his hand to the coffee table between them, “So, the two of you are in the possession of 73 pages of stolen, classified CIA documents and you don’t know who sent them?”

“They’re files which prove the CIA has been illegally tapping our phones, embassy phones—”

He scoffed, moving for a cigarette, “Which were sent to you illegally—"

“I think we should be more focused on what the CIA is doing, Peña,”

They couldn’t exactly see into his head, but that was exactly what he was focused on.

These records had everything, every phone conversation they overheard, even Fiestl’s conversations with his kid… But none from his home phone line. None from the phone he used to call you and that didn’t seem like a coincidence.

Was it because you knew about the wiretaps and had his home phone excluded so you wouldn’t get caught? Was it because you sent the files to his agents and wanted to keep your private phone records out of it once you found out? Or was he jumping to conclusion? Did you not know at all?

“What do we do?” Van Ness postured, breaking him out of his thoughts as he brought the cigarette back to his lips.

“We need to figure out why the two of you were sent these, who sent them…”

“No, what do we do about the CIA?” Van Ness reiterated but Javi just shook his head.

“Well, we stop using our phones, but we don’t know why these were sent to us… we don’t know what the person who sent these wants from us. Maybe they’re looking to catch the two of you with stolen files, or trying to bring down the CIA…” He inhaled another breath of smoke, “We can’t play into their hand.”

“What about that the agent in your office, would she…?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, “I don’t know what anyone would do at this point…”

—

They reviewed the files about a thousand more times, looking for any clue as to who would send them the files or why would they send them the files… But nothing came up. Eventually, he had to head back to Bogota and get ready for the Ambassador’s party.

“You call me on the sat phones only.” He reiterated as he left with a promise to do more investigating on his own back at the embassy. And once he got off the plane, he went back to his apartment, got ready and headed towards the hell that would be the Ambassador’s party.

Because you were going to be there. And he was going to have to talk to you.

He was going to have to ask you some of the questions that were burning in his mind.

Did you know? Did you send the files? Did he trust you?

It would have all been easier if you weren’t wearing that goddamn dress.

Perched on the Ambassador’s desk, your legs crossed at the ankle , one heel over the other, and a drink in your hand, the dress only fell second to the plastered smile on your face as you entertained the officials around you. It was just a black cocktail dress, but it fit you perfectly, it made you a goddamn beauty right there in the middle of the room, catching his attention and taking his breath away immediately.

How the hell was he supposed to ask you if you either knew about the CIA’s illegal wiretapping or if you illegally smuggled documents to his agents…

“Agent Peña, I’m glad you made it.” The Ambassador quickly intercepted him before he could make his way to you though. “How was Cali?”

“It was fine, sir.”

“Get yourself a drink, socialize will you? People love to meet a hero.” He shook his shoulder slightly to shake the message through just in case it wasn’t clear why he was invited. He couldn’t help but laugh at it even as he walked further into the party.

He was there to be the hero, surely you were there to be smart and look good, just like Stechner used the two of out in the jungle. And while he was planning to head straight to the drink table, you seemed to be playing your role expertly, your legs and collar bones on display while you spoke animatedly to the officials around you.

That was, until you caught sight of him across the room, quickly finished your drink and excused yourself for another, making it to the drink table as he did.

“Welcome back, Agent Pena.” You cooed almost tauntingly as you sidled up to him at the table, a smirk painting your lips, one he wished he could mirror.

He wished he could play this game with you, he loved playing this game with you… It was getting you coffee and dropping it at your desk like it was nothing, it was following you into the file room to steal a few kisses, it was being fully immersed in an office romance and calling it anything but while trying to be casual.

But he didn’t have the heart for it as Fiestl’s words and the taunting lines of the files he just spent the past hours reading over and over again flowed through his head, taking over every thought.

He wanted to trust you, but he couldn’t do it blindly. He needed to talk to you, and if that risked everything… he needed to. He couldn’t have this with you without answers. He needed to know he could trust you.

“Is everything okay?” Your smirk fell away as he froze in thought, but even as he recovered and began making his drink with a nod, you certainly didn’t seem to believe him. You nudged him again, as best you could while staying casual around so many prying eyes before whispering, “Javi…”

“I need to talk to you.”

Those were some of the words he hated hearing in a relationship, he couldn’t even believe he was the one saying them. But you didn’t flinch from them as he always would. You just nodded and continued fixing your own drink.

“Okay, we can slip away—”

“Aw, look at my two favorite agents.” Because why would the two of you be able to escape Stechner for just two fucking seconds— “Is this for me?”

The balding CIA station chief wrapped his arm around your waist possessively as he reached for the fresh drink in your hand and Javi couldn’t help the sickness that rose in his stomach, he couldn’t even quench it by taking a hefty sip of his own drink.

“Agent Peña, do you mind if I steal my agent for a minute.”

He hated that he even asked, this man only spoke in condescension, it was disgusting. Like you were just a tool at his disposal, a weapon to keep strapped to his hip to use as he pleased. Javi hated it. It wasn’t even about the CIA wiretaps, it was just about you now.

“Why don’t you ask her?” He scoffed into his glass but Stechner just laughed.

“Well if I asked her, she’d have to say yes, she works for me…” He chuckled, turning his face to whisper something into your ear and you nodded. “Excuse us.”

You gave him a nod carefully, assuring him everything was okay as you were pulled away and he gave you one back. He’d just have to catch you when you came back.

That was if you came back.

He tooled around for at least an hour, talking to diplomats and soldiers he was hoping to avoid all together. He played nice though, while he waited. He sipped on his drink and smiled, he told brief Escobar stories and even laughed when he felt the Ambassador’s eyes on him, just waiting for you to come back.

And checking his watch as you walked back in, he knew you had been gone for an hour and a half before you stalked directly for him and excused him from his conversation.

“Let’s go home.”

He didn’t even have time to let his heart flutter around the idea of you calling going back to his apartment going home. You left his side and began saying your goodbyes before slipping out on his own, and left him no choice but to do the same a few minutes later, shaking the Ambassador’s hand and meeting you by his car.

That sly smirk you had at the drink cart was gone. Your whole natural disposition when the two of you were alone together was gone.

Whatever Stechner had said had set you off in some way, so the last thing he wanted to do was spark this for you before you were in private, before he had you back at home. But the second he got you back, opening the door to the apartment and letting you in first as he always did, you moved straight for his liquor cabinet.

“Querida, what did—”

“You said you needed to talk to me about something?” You didn’t let his question even finish, you just asked yours back and filled up a glass with more than a couple of fingers of whiskey before downing a heavy sip.

Now he wasn’t so sure if he did.

“Is it about what happened in Cali?’ You hummed the question the downed another sip, finally turning back to him and beginning to strip your heels off.

“Yeah, it is…”

“So?”

He took a step forward and inhaled a deep breath, with your eyes on him like this, he couldn’t hold off anymore. He needed to know he could trust you, he had to ask…

“My Cali team was faxed 73 classified CIA documents…” He shifted his gaze to his feet, he just couldn’t look at you and that dress, not if he wanted to get out all the points he needed to. “We don’t know who sent them, but they show the CIA has been illegally wiretapping the DEA embassy and personal phones…”

He watched you down the rest of your glass with a throw of your head back then place the glass back on the table. But you didn’t say anything, not right away, not until he moved to ask the question, enough time passing for you to finally process his words.

“What the hell are you accusing me of, Javi…”

“I’m not—”

Your scoff cut him off, bringing his stare back to your body as you turned to lean over the drink cart. “You’re telling me this morning in the shower, ‘we don’t talk about work’, but now we are, and you think you’re not accusing me of something? Why the hell else would you bring this up?”

“Because I need to ask what you know—”

“Oh, fuck you Javier.”

He had never heard your voice take that tone, not with him. He had heard it on the phone a few times but never directed to him, it wasn’t a sound he ever wanted to hear again. And as his face fell, his hand gripping the edge of his kitchen counter tight enough to nearly make his hand numb, he watched you take another step closer to him, the drinks left behind.

“Go ahead, ask me, see if you can do it without accusing me of either illegally spying on you or illegally faxing files to your agents, betraying my agency.” You fought, folding your hands over your chest almost defensively as he brought his hands to settle on his hips, chin raising to the challenge.

“Betraying your agency?” He scoffed, regretting it as it flowed from his lips, but he was too deep into I now. “You mean betraying the condescending man who treats you like a piece of meat that he owns, who undermines your ability and your assignments—”

“Yeah, he’s the condescending one…” you met his scoff with one of your own.

He tried to tell himself that it was the drinks that were fueling you and your smart mouth but that didn’t little to ease the slowly boiling heat in his chest.

“You think I am?” He fought defensively, his mustache twitching as his lips formed around the words.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Javier.” You shook your head, the exasperated words falling from your lips before you cared to stop them,“god, you’re accusing me of betraying my agency for what? For you? For this?”

For this? What even was this? He knew how he felt about you and he thought he knew how you felt about him but he was too blind in the moment to care about any of it. The heat in his vision paled in comparison to the heat of your body pressed against his, yet he kept shouting, hoping he’d feel less cold.

“It’s either that or you’ve been helping the CIA spy on my agents—”

Your chuckle was drenched in the same tone, “Which is a crime, you’re accusing me of a crime.”

“You work for the CIA and I’m not, I’m just asking because I don’t know—”

The hit at your agency might have been a low blow but was he wrong?

“And you have no proof—”

“I do have proof. Of the CIA, of you…” He took another step forward as your face twisted into confusion. “Of all the files sent over, Fiestl’s call with his kid, Van Ness and his mother… my phone calls weren’t there and I only ever call the office or you…”

You took an extra second to process that accusation, not a long one, but just one long enough to let you both catch your breath, to stop the interruptions and shouting.

Just long enough until you could only produce one word.

“Wow.”

Somehow that one hurt most of all.

His whole tone shifted, but yours merely hardened, “Querida, I don’t want to—”

“No, clearly you have it all figured out. 73 documents and it’s what you don’t have which caught me so clearly red-handed—” You couldn’t force more sarcasm into your tone if you tried but he wasn’t laying down just yet.

“I wanted to offer you a chance to tell me otherwise, I wanted to hear your side of the story—”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! God, I’m so stupid.” You brushed your hair back and scoffed, holding your hands atop your head. “When you trust someone, you don’t accuse them of crimes against their country, Javier. And clearly I was stupid to trust you—”

“I do trust you, but if you had what I had, you’d be asking me the same thing—”

“No, Javier, I wouldn’t. Because I’m the idiot who wore this dress for you.”

You could’ve worn any dress in your closet, hell, you could’ve gotten away with the pant suit you wore to work. But you knew he’d like this one, you wanted him to like you in this one...

“Querida—”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“The CIA is spying on my agency, I have proof of that, and I’m sleeping with a CIA agent. I have a responsibility to my agency to figure out what they know, what they’re using it for, and to exhaust every possible avenue to figure that out—”

He sounded like the DEA handbook and he didn’t like it, but the words just fell out, or more so, we’re pushed out by the heat still bubbling over in his chest.

“Oh boo hoo, Javi. You’re under stress? This is fucking Colombia.” You scoffed, reaching down for your heels and purse, “Stechner pulled me aside tonight to tell me he’s diverting funds from my human trafficking tracking program to focus on Cali and your stupid fucking drugs, and the man I’m just ‘sleeping with’ just accused me of a couple of crimes. But yeah, clearly you’re under stress, that makes this okay.”

“I didn’t accuse you of—” He thought about lifting his hand in a show of surrender but the anger within him wouldn’t even allow it, even if the alternative was to watch you walk away.

“I’m such an idiot…” You blew past him, knocking shoulders with him but he turned around quickly to grab your wrist, only to have you rip it away, “Goodnight, Javier.”

His hand held out where it last touched yours, embodied by the haunting grip now. It wasn’t foreign, it was him, and it just pushed the woman he loved right out the door.

As the door slammed shut behind you and he walked straight to the drink table and picked your empty glass up. He filled it once, downed it, filled it again, downed it, then took the empty glass and threw it as hard as he could into the wall, shattering the glass around his apartment.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t the stress. He did it. He could call it stress or the drinking or the fact that he’s never felt as alone as he did when his agents showed him files which implicated you... he didn’t want to believe it but it made sense. All signs pointed to you.

Except one. His gut.

His gut which screamed you wouldn’t, that he trusted you and you wouldn’t do either of the things he accused you of.

You wouldn’t betray your agency and you would have warned him if you knew about the wiretaps. He knew that, he trusted you.

What the fuck did he just do...

—

tags:

@the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @leo-moon @tiffdawg @readsalot73 @way-too-addicted-to-anime @keeper0fthestars @adikaofmandalore @opheliaelysia @magneticbucky @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @larakasser @littlevodika @mandoren @mistermiraclee (open)

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal

[thepeacetea]

Broken Angels Ch. 4

Hi everyone! It’s me again. I’m really glad that you guys like the last chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you again to everyone who liked, commented and reblogged! I couldn’t have done it without your guy’s encouragement. If i missed you in the tags, let me know and I will get you the next time. Again, if you have any questions, comments, or suggestions please let me know! Anyway, hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

The Gotham City Police Department was always busy. Gordon could not, in all his years of service, remember a single, quiet day at the office. Today proved to be no different. Ever since the first video of the ‘crash’ was uploaded, the station had been flooded with calls and visitors. From reporters wanting statements to just people wanting to know what was going on. Needless to say, the station had turned into a mad house.

The girl, Marinette, had adamantly refused to be taken to the hospital to be thoroughly examined. Gordon hadn’t pushed the issue. The girl was already on edge enough as it was and she didn’t need another reason to panic. So they managed to compromise. Between Gordon and Spencer, they had convinced Marinette to allow a doctor come to the station. ‘Just to be safe.’ She was currently in one of the back offices, as far away from the chaos as Gordon could get her. Spencer and one of the female personal were staying with her. Spencer’s main job was to keep her distracted and try, discreetly, to get some information from her. But Marinette hadn’t spoken since she had arrived at the station. All she did was listen to whatever Spencer was going on about. She had started to doodle after an hour and currently had an impressive stack of drawings beside her.

The doctor had arrived around an hour ago and was currently examining her.

“Hill, tell me we got something on her teacher. We need to contact her stat, and Marinette’s not saying anything.” Gordon shouted over the clamour of the office. “And get those reporters out of the lobby! The GCPD does not have any comments.”

“Airport security is faxing everything over, it’ll be here in a few minutes. Jackson, you heard the chief, get those reporters out of here.”

“Once it comes through, I want you to find out where they’re staying and get in contact with that teacher. I don’t care if you have to call every damn hotel in the city, just get it done. We need to find out what happened and why she was alone.” Gordon ordered, his voice straining slightly.

Collapsing onto his desk, Gordon raked his hands through his hair, a frustrated groan making its way out. He could understand why the girl wasn’t talking. Anyone in her place was likely to do the same. While it was making things slightly harder on their end, Gordon couldn’t bring himself to blame her. The poor girl was terrified by just letting a doctor look at her. Heck, she wouldn’t even let Gordon leave. They had to bribe her with a giant bowl of skittles they had stolen from Jackson, and if he had an issue with his candy being stolen, he never should have left it in the breakroom.

“Commissioner?”

Glancing up, he found Dr. Allen, one of the doctors the GCPD had a contract with, standing by his desk, waiting to give Gordon her report on Marinette.

“How is she?” He asked, offering the her a chair. Dr. Allen all but fell into the offered seat, a long, drawn out sigh escaping as she did so. This caused Gordon to tense. He had known Dr. Allen for years, and she only ever did this if something was seriously wrong.

“As far I can tell, nothing’s broken. But I can’t be sure until I do an x-ray, and . . .”

“ . . . And she refuses to go to the hospital.”

“Exactly. Now as I said, there doesn’t appear to be anything broken. The swelling on her cheek will go down, but she will have severe bruising for weeks. She also has severe subconjunctival hemorrhaging in her right eye. It should heal fine, but I would suggest that she goes to see an eye specialist to make sure.”

“Subconjunctival hemorrhaging?”

“Broken blood vessels in the eye. Like I said, it should heal fine, but a good precaution would be to go seen an eye doctor.”

A beat of silence stretched  between the two. Dr. Allen ran a hand through her hair, unconsciously biting her lip, a habit she had when she was contemplating what to say. Gordon just waited. Whatever she had to say was important enough for her to hesitate. When she finally spoke, she chose her words carefully.

“Physically, the girl’s going to recover fine. But mentally? Emotionally? Gordon, I’m gonna be frank, something’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s an environment or a relationship or something else, but something is wrong. Gordon, I’m scared for her. Something is going on and she needs help.”

As Dr. Allen spoke, her face revealed so much concern that it was almost palatable, leaving a sour taste in Gordon’s mouth. He didn’t even bother to mask his sigh. He agreed with her observations. He knew something was wrong, but unless they had solid evidence or if she told them what was going on, there was very little they could do. She wasn’t American. They couldn’t just send social services to investigate. They needed to have something solid in order to intervein. If they didn’t, they could have a very messy international affair on their hands.

“Listen Gordon, I have to get back to the hospital. But keep me informed, ok? Do some digging. Try to get more information on her.”

“What do you think I have my department doing?” Gordon said, a small, teasing smile making it’s way onto his face

“Just keep me informed.” With those final instructions, she gave Gordon on last smile before leaving.

For minutes after the departure of Dr. Allen, Gordon just sat at his desk. The buzzing of the office faded into the back round as he thought about what Dr. Allen said. While he had been sometimes known to misjudge something, she had never been wrong in an assumption. That alone worried him. If she noticed and brought it up to him personally, something was really, very, very wrong.

A stack of files slammed onto Gordon’s desk, knocking him back to the present. The bang caused everyone within a three desks radius to jump. Glancing up, Gordon found himself looking into the  triumph face of Detective Jessica Hoffman.

Detective Hoffman was new to the force. She had only been in service for six month. She was cocky, irritating, hardly ever listened to instructions if it involved her cases, but she was a good detective.

“Got something! And trust me chief, your gonna wanna see this.” Her voice nearly radiated with excitement.

“What is it?” Gordon asked, picking up the files.

“So I looked into the kid, you know, to verify that she is who she says she is.”

“We already did that, Hoffman. Airport security already confirmed. Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, from Paris, France.” Gordan said, putting the file down. He didn’t have time for this.

“Ah, but that’s not her real name.”

That caught his attention. Looking up at her, Gordon tried to see if Hoffman was serous.

“What?”

“Dupain-Cheng is her adopted name. Her parents, Tom and Sabine, adopted her when she was nine. Before that, Marinette was in multiple foster homes. I mean a ridiculous amount. In the sixteen months she was in the system, that girl was in fifty-six different foster homes. That’s more homes there are weeks in year. Anyway, according to the paperwork, Tom and Sabine couldn’t have kids, and they adopted Marinette because she looked like their niece, who had died in a car accident. And get this, she’s not French. Not by birth. It was an international adoption. And guess where she’s originally from?”

“Where?”

“America.”

“Then couldn’t she speak English, Hoffman?”

“Think about chief, she was living in France for like seven years. She wouldn’t have had anyone to speak English with and she would’ve needed to learn French. It was the only language she was hearing and speaking for nearly eight years, it must have become her default.” Hoffman said, her hands moving as she explained. “But that’s not all chief, guess from where in America she’s from.”

“Hoffman,” Gordon growled. “I don’t have time for guessing games. If you have something to tell me, spit it out!”

By now, nearly the entire department was listening. Gordon didn’t get angry often, but this new detective was getting on his last nerves on an already stressful day.

“Chief, she’s one of ours.”

“. . .What?”

“She’s Gotham’s kid.”

 @mystery-5-5 @particularlygeeky @captainmac6 @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @mochinek0 @sonif50 @zalladane @thebananathatwrites @schrodingers25 @kuroko26 @miraculousbelladonna @souleaterlicestein @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @ijustwannabecanadian @ellerahs @ranger-paladinikoe @xxmadamjinxx @derpingrainbow @sassy-spocko @vixen-uchiha @mjisntme @iggy-of-fans @violentbisexualprophecywriter @valeks-princess @crazylittlemunchkin @redscarlet95 @alexzandria-747 @ayuchan07 @whomthefyck @rhub4rb @constancetruggle @rikku052 @kurogaya913 @shizukiryuu @spicybelladonna @zazzlejazzle @luciferge @mewwitch @emotionalsupportginger @grunklestantheman @my-name-is-michell @northernbluetongue @chez-pezeater @shamefullove @goggles-mcgee  @gingerdaile @zebrabaker @tinybrie @bluefiredemon @tbehartoo @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @shyestofhearts @darkthunder1589 @fridayfirefly @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @yazi-ing @lunar-wolf-warrior @ladylb @vivilakitty @ghostcryptid @casual-darkness @bluerosette23 

#maribat #daminette #batfam #marinette #damian wayne #jason todd #jim gordon #big brother jason #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #marinettes class #ml salt #angst with a happy ending #fanfic

[soldierswar]

Ghosts in the Wind

Dad!Bucky X Reader Fluff/Angst

TW: Mild suicidal ideation/death. 

Plot: You and Bucky have the perfect life. A beautiful home, a beautiful daughter. There is no fathomable way that you could ever be happier, or more content with your life. 

...But life isn’t always as it seems.

                                    --------------------------------------- 

You walked through the doorway smelling the smell of fresh pasta and cheese being broiled in the oven. “Well that was quick,” said a voice from the kitchen that was none other than your husbands.   “Uggh,” You groaned, throwing you bag on the floor. “One piece of paperwork. One. And I had to go all the way to mid-town for that bullshit.” “They couldn’t fax?” he replied, mildly amused by your past dilemma. “No. They needed like 3 different witnesses or something while I signed it. Do you know how weird it is signing something while 3 old men who are going through their mid-life crises attempt to stare at the paper, and not your ass? You think you’re nervous writing you signature for your driver’s license? Try that.” He gave you a sympathetic, lighthearted frown and walked over to embrace you with his long, strong arms, and kissed the top of your head resulting in an automatically smile that brought back all warmth to your cheeks like a little school-girl with a crush. 

“Hey, where’s—”   “Mommy!” yelled your three-year-old as she ran towards you and jumped into your arms. “There’s my little monkey!” “Did you miss me?” You asked, squeezing her cheeks which made her smile that inevitably morphed into a duck face. She nodded enthusiastically. “I missed you thiiiiiis much!” she exclaimed, raising her little arms and spreading them as far apart as she could possibly reach. The little liar. You were barely gone an hour, and she loved daddy time. “Yeah, of course you did,” You said before planting a million little kisses onto her red cheeks as she giggled and squealed. 

She was the biggest daddy’s girl. She always climbed on him, cuddled him while you both watched tv with her, and ran straight to him when she fell and hurt herself. One would think you could be jealous of that, but you really weren’t. You had your own special bond with her since the moment you found out she existed; and there was nothing that could take that away from you. Especially not Bucky. You both loved that little girl to death.

And watching Bucky be such a doting father did nothing but warm your heart beyond measure. Everybody said that she was the spitting image of you, the exact same way that you were your mother’s doppelgänger. And to an extent, they were correct. But she had a perfect mixture of your green eyes, and her dad’s striking grey eyes. She was shy around new people, so when she nervously laid her head on either of your chests (depending on who was holding her) for comfort, they couldn’t see that she had the exact same smile as her dad; or even a lot of his mannerisms. When she even talked like him sometimes. She was just as much him, as she was you. “James...” “What?” “Have I finally gone crazy? Or can I smell cheese on the verge of burning?” “No—” You handed your daughter over to him, and she happily obliged as you walked over to open the oven. It wasn’t quite burnt. In fact, it was going to be pretty good, but it was on that line. As you pulled it out of the oven, you gave him the ‘I told you so,’ look. Your daughter laughed knowing that ‘daddy was almost in biiig trouble’ expression on your face all too well. “What would I do without you?” “Burn all of the pasta,” You chuckled while rolling your eyes. Once again, your little girl burst out into giggles. He put her down at the same time as you set the dish on the stove. “I love you smart-ass,” he chuckled. “I love you too, asshole,” you replied before he planted a soft kiss onto your lips. One would think that you would have gotten used to it; but every time he kissed you, it felt like the first time in a long time. Like it could be the last time. Nothing could spoil it, even when you could hear a high-pitched ‘ewwwwww’ in the background. But it was just further validation that she knew that her parents not only loved her, but loved each other very, very, very much as he would say. He looked deep into your eyes, which made your cheeks blush once again. Hell, that look was what got you pregnant. “I’m sorry,” he whispered seriously. “Oh relax, there was no actual damage,” you lightheartedly scoffed. “You know what I mean.” You gave him a confused frown. “I’m going to miss you,” he whispered sadly before wrapping his arms around you tightly, and rested his face atop your head, planting a soft kiss. “But I’m not going anywhere,” you said against his chest trying to comfort him, still absolutely confused as to what was happening. Suddenly, the little one frantically wrapped her arms around your legs as fervently as Bucky was. “Don’t go, mommy!” she cried. “What is going on?” “I love you,” he said one last time against your lips. … You jolted awake as though you had been pressed underwater for 5 minutes. As you frantically looked around the dark room and became more and more aware of your surroundings, it didn’t get much better. You still couldn’t breathe. Your chest felt so tight that it felt as though it were about to cave in and break all of your ribs. Your hands trembled. In fact, you felt the trembling traveling throughout your whole body like an infection. “Y/N?” A soft, sleepy voice asked next to you on the bed. You jumped, and turned to your best friend Wanda who was there. She wasn’t Bucky. She wasn’t Bucky. Where was Bucky? “Hey, hey, hey,” she whispered, lightly and cautiously resting her hands on my shoulders. Her soft, warm hands began to ground you to some extent. She wasn’t James. She was never going to be James. There was never going to be another James again. She sat there patiently, and brushed her thumbs against your shoulders. It eventually helped to stop the shaking, and breathe at steadier rate to some extent. It felt as though you were on the verge of passing out from the influx of oxygen that bombarded your lungs. Maybe you wanted to pass out. When the initial shock finally subsided, and you realized where you were, and who you were with a whole other wave of emotions came up. After what had happened…After Bucky had died a week ago, she stayed with you at all times to make sure that you wouldn’t hurt yourself, or do something equally as erratic. “Was it—” You immediately began to sob uncontrollably. You sobbed so hard that it felt like you were choking on your sobs. You didn’t move. She helped you lay back down and wrapped and arm around you holding you close from behind as the sobs continued to wrack your whole body. She whispered soft hushes, but probably knew that you were helpless at the moment. You had had many nightmares since the incident happened. Ones of pure terror. But if you had to be honest, this had to have been the worst one you could imagine. Imagining a happy life. The happy life with him that you had had with him a little over a week ago. A happy life with the child that didn’t exist in real life, but the one you both dreamed to have in the near future. A child that was exactly the way you imagined she would be like. It made you want to die. You wanted to go back. Oh God, why couldn’t you just go back? “She didn’t have a name,” you sobbed. “Who?” she whispered, holding your hand no matter how hard you gripped onto it. But it was all you could say. Your baby. The little girl who in your last moments of seeing the manifestation of that child moments ago who you didn’t even comfort within your last moments with her, even if she never really existed. If only you had known that you would be leaving her…The both of them in that dream. You would have held on tightly. You would have held on longer. You would have held on as long as you possibly could. She didn’t even have a name. And that was all you could say. It was the only thing you said. It was all you repeated for God knows how long. But your best friend in the whole world didn’t stop you. She didn’t question your senseless murmurs. She didn’t even ask you to stop crying. She just held on as much as she could, because he knew that it was all he could do. Maybe if you could leave this world…You could go back to that sweet, sweet dream and hold on to those two very people you wanted to see most. But she wouldn’t let you. So you were stuck here. 

Locked out of heaven, silently screaming for those ghosts in the wind.

#Buckyxreader #buckybarnesxreader #Bucky barnes fanfic #Bucky X Reader #Bucky X Reader Angst #Bucky X Reader fluff #winter soldier fanfic #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier X Reader Angst #Winter Soldier X Reader Fluff #wanda maximoff #Fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #Dad!Bucky #Dad!Bucky X Reader

[himjopper]

the flea & the acrobat (jim hopper fic)

pairing: hopper x reader, stranger things chapter: 1/? chapter rating: teen, 18+ (mention of violence, fear, mild swearing, mention of sexual intentions) summary: you’re an FBI agent from the behavioral analysis unit, living in the big city and enjoying the hustle and bustle of the 80’s crime scene. you’ve worked your ass off to get respect around a male dominated field, earning yourself a promotion as the head of your department after you helped solve a missing persons case that swept the nation just short of a year ago. the case closed, but something happening in a small town in Hawkins, Indiana is making your bones chill with its similarities to your closed case. a young girl, barbara holland, is missing and you’ve got a hunch on how to bring her home. little do you know, Hawkins isn’t exactly textbook and you need the locals’s help. a/n: helloooo!! so I actually only got back into writing literally from just reading all the drabbles and fics on here about hop and I was deserperate to get in there myself. this started as a one shot and bc I have a difficult time uhh shutting up, it became a full fic. pls enjoy and feel free to msg me with ideas and inspiration it helps a ton!! special thanks to @chiefharbour for existing and getting me out of a writers block that had actual cobwebs <3 gif credit: @hawkinslibrary​

You loved the city.

You loved the traffic and the sound of cars honking, the occasional couple arguing, the screech of tires and never ending hustle. You loved the constant rain and the way it ruined your hair every morning at 8:07AM when you’d leave your apartment to get your double espresso before you stepped into the office just to be greeted with missing persons case after missing persons case. These were all things you told yourself, every day, every morning, and every night.

On cue, the pager on your hip beeps wildly. An involuntary groan comes from your throat while you try to preview the message and head into the building.

“Scotch, I need to talk to you about the Snake Hole Case-“

Your eyes look up to address the older gentleman in front of you who reeks of too much cologne and cheap cigars; he’s just a detective and he’s never been very confident in your abilities even though you’ve been the lead profiler in your division for the last two years and you have 36 solved cases under your belt.

Regardless, you give him your distracted attention as you both stride hurriedly down the hall leading to the conference room you should’ve been in ten minutes ago. The office is bustling and there’s a fax machine ringing in the distance but your rushed heeled steps are louder even on carpet.

“This better be worth my time, Hayes, I’m late for a meeting as is and I have a phone call with Seattle’s Chamber in fourteen minutes in counting.”

The shorter man quickens his step in attempt to catch up to you. “Snake Hole, the original killer was-“

You cut off his excitement with your bluntness as usual, “Gene Schwartzman, white male, 43-years-old, small town stores clerk, no children, never married, alcoholic, absolute low life...”

Hayes snorts, “Right, but he had a pattern, an obsession with younger women with a specific and detailed description, mirroring his own mother, and that’s why he would retaliate-“

Your heels come to a halt as you step in front of the older detective. His lips are chapped, his bottom teeth have ridges from obsessive grinding, the normally groomed hair is parted in every which way, there’s an ink stain on his dress shirt’s pocket. It’s not like him to be so out of sorts. He was obnoxious, sure, but not messy.

“That case was closed a year ago. What are you trying to tell me, Hayes?”

Nervously, his tongue darts out to lick his lips before he speaks. His voice remains low so only the two of you can hear.

“I think... I think we’re seeing an admirer of Schwartzmen mirroring his case. He never got to finish his pattern-“

“We were able to catch him before the final murder. We solved his puzzle first-“

“Someone in Indiana is trying to finish the job, Scotch. I think you need to see this.”

He holds your gaze for a moment as you’re replaying the details of the Snake Hole case in your memory. His hand grips the manilla folder that he extends out to you.

There’s suddenly an impatient call for you to go into the room just down the hall to join that meeting. You’re already twelve minutes late now and before you can respond, there’s another louder call of your name.

You take the folder from the detective and return his low volume, “Get one of the assistants to cancel the phone meeting I have with the Chamber, you and I need to talk. I want to know what’s going on in Indiana. Get me in contact with the local PD, as soon as possible.”

                           · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Everyone could tell you were distracted the whole meeting. Every second you weren’t looking at the file tucked under your half-assed notes was a second wasted. Your behavior was fidgety and as you clicked at your pen the whole half an hour, you couldn’t stop thinking about the secret admirer Schwartzmen has in Indiana of all places. The original murders took place a year ago in Alabama, made nationwide headlines for weeks and there was even a public memorial for the victims and their families. Schwartzmen confessed on tape and immediately thrown in prison to rot. Everything felt so final. What was the connection to Indiana? You finally got to read over the file on your lunch break with your third coffee before 1PM. Red nails drumming on the wood of your desk, frustrated. There’s a Missing poster of a younger girl, she’s sixteen, decorated with freckles across her face. Round cheeks, even rounder glasses, red hair and seemingly innocent. You hated that the bitter but smart detective Dennis Hayes of all people was going to be right. Unfortunately, Miss Barbara Holland of Hawkins, Indiana fit the description too well. She might even be closest in resemblance to Schwartzmen’s actual mother and it made the acid from your stomach rise up to the back of your tongue.

A knock at your door finally makes your eyes look away from the young girl’s school photo.

“Scotch?”

It’s Hayes and he’s holding two styrofoam cups, hopefully full of caffeine.

“Come in, please, sit.” You wave a manicured hand towards the chair in front of your desk and he takes a seat as he carefully places one of the cups next to your current (and nearly empty) mug.

“I’ll make this short,” Hayes begins. “I know your hands are full with other cases where they’re asking you to profile who kidnapped a dog from a park and robbed a granny at the mom and pop shop at noon-“

You roll your eyes at his brief condescending comment towards your line of work as if he could make his arrests without your insight.

“But you gotta admit, Scotch... the resemblance here is uncanny.”

And it was. Uncomfortably so. She was nearly a spitting image of Schwartzmen’s mother, down to the same yearbook photo we plastered on the screens of every television in America mirrored this young Barbara Holland’s. Schwartzmen was an orphan until the age of 12, he had grown up in his adolescence without a mother and resented the nameless redhead who left him at a church’s doorstep to be found. Angry and feeling abandoned, he grieved the loss of what he never had by murdering young women who resembled the only photo he had of his biological mother: her yearbook photo. The same yearbook photo you cleared with the media to be broadcast to America during the investigation a year ago.

A part of you feels responsible for a split second and there’s a tinge of guilt in your stomach thinking you put her at risk when you let the media have the photo of Schwartzmen’s mother, the very inspiration for all his heinous murders. Did someone see this young girl in Indiana and think she was an opportunity that couldn’t be missed? Was sixteen year old Barbara Holland just an innocent and unfortunate puzzle piece? You’re both staring at the file with some local news from Hawkins along with some notes from the Snake Hole case. It was more frustrating how little Hawkins had on Barbara’s disappearance. It was as simple as one minute was there, the next minute, she wasn’t. Good girl, good grades, good friends, what happened?

You break the thick and focused silence first.

“Did you get me the number for the state police?”

“Indiana State Police don’t have much on it, it’s mainly the Hawkins PD that seems to have more information. It’s a small town. They had two missing kids in the same month-“

Your brow furrowed together, “Two?”

Hayes leans back further in the chair, arms crossed over his chest nonchalantly.

“Young boy, no older than twelve, he turned up alive after some searches, seems unrelated to this case. There’s still no body found for the sixteen year old, goes by Barb. I think we need to get involved.”

This almost makes a snort leave your body.

“We? Hayes, no, I’m going alone.” He opens his mouth to protest but you continue with your voice stern, “I know the Schwartzmen case, I worked on it first hand, I’m going to Indiana. This is just another disorganized killer and the fact it’s only one girl missing gives me some hope. Some sad sack in the Midwest trying to get a shot of fame by comparing himself to Schwartzmen, recreating the profile, maybe make the public wonder if he’s still locked up, whatever. She’s a missing girl, but it doesn’t mean she’s dead. If this is mirroring Schwartzmen and the Hawkins PD hasn’t caught up to that, it’s my responsibility to involve myself to help them be a step ahead.”

Detective Hayes stands up from the chair then with a proud smirk on his face.

“You’re welcome, you know. You can say it.”

You scrunch your nose at him then.

“I could, but I don’t feel like it.”

Hayes chuckles as he turns on his heel to leave your office. “Well, enjoy Indiana, Scotch.”

You grunt in response behind the coffee cup, your lipstick leaving a print on the white foam.

As you’re about to hear the click of your office door closing signaling his exit, Hayes peeps his head back in. “Oh, you’ll have fun talking to that chief of police, by the way. Goes by Hopper, or somethin’ like that. Hung up on me twice and told me to go fuck myself on the third attempt. Seems like a hard ass, so. Maybe flirt a little, show a little leg when you touch down in Hawkins.”

His wink and sneering grin made you sick. Just when you thought this detective was useful. You draw in a patient sigh before looking back at him.

“Detective?” Your hands folded under your chin to appear sweeter.

Hayes steps more into the doorway to listen, he’s already eyed your crossed legs and heeled shoes. Pervert.

“The only time I’m going to show a little leg is before I kick your ass.”

The smile dropped from his face and it was followed by the slight slam of your office door. You smirk to yourself and prepare the arrangements to fly to Indiana to meet with Hawkins PD and hopefully bring Barbara Holland home.

#aaaaaHHHH IDK WHAT I AM DOING BUT I AM PROUD OF THIS??? #jim hopper #chief jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x reader #hopper x reader #jim hopper fic #jim hopper fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #crime fiction #fic #flea and the acrobat #chapter 1 #ch1 #fanfiction

[winchesterbrotherstan]

SPN- The Usual Suspects (2.07)

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: A case goes side-ways, Dean is left cornered, and it’s up to Sam and Olive to get him out of the mess. Olive falls fatally ill, and Sam must team up with a law enforcement officer.

Warnings: lots of coughing, blood, mentions of drug use, gun threats, uh ghosts and like... the usual??

Word Count: 8547

Baltimore, Maryland

Outside a motel room, a SWAT team gears up. It’s dark, and the few people outside have scattered. Someone stays closeby, but only their face is hidden. They’ve got their hood pulled up, one hand is in their pocket, and their other arm is in a makeshift sling. They’ve got a dog on a leash, and they do their best to stay in the shadows.

In a police station across the city, a sheriff enters an interrogation room and sits down.

“Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one…” he looks over the file with a sigh, “puzzled me. Grave desecration. But still, these are a long way from murder. Then we get a fax from St. Louis. Where you’re suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. However, no one could prove anything, of course, because you died there. But I gotta tell you something. You look pretty healthy to me.”

The detective moves, sits on the table. “Now we know. Karen Giles isn’t the first person you’ve killed. But I guarantee you she’s the last.”

At the motel, the SWAT team stands outside a second floor room, ready. They knock the door down with a battering ram, and the person inside immediately puts their hands up. One of the detectives steps forward, keeping her gun on the person.

“Going somewhere, Sam?” She asks.

There’s a rifle ready to shoot the middle Winchester through the heart, and he swallows hard, eyes set in disgust as he looks at the woman.

In the police station, the detective shoots the prisoner a dirty look before getting up and walking out. The prisoner is Dean.

The person standing in the motel parking lot pulls their hood back, watching as Sam is dragged from the room. It’s Olive. She pulls the hood back up, turns on her heel, and walks off.

                                                               ***

The detective that cornered Sam enters his interrogation room. She places a coffee cup on the table, and Sam glances over, but continues to pace by the window.

“Thought you might be thirsty.”

“Okay, so you’re the good cop.” Sam assesses. “Where’s the bad cop?”

“Oh, he’s with your brother.”

“Okay. And you’re holding us why?”

“Well he’s being held on suspicion of murder.” The woman adjusts her sleeves and a look of shock washes over Sam’s face. “And you? Well, we’ll see.”

“Murder?” Sam repeats, leaning onto the table.

“You sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good of an actor?” The woman smiles.

“Who is he supposed to have murdered?” Sam squints.

“We’ll get around to that.”

“Well, you can’t just hold us here without formal charges!” Sam is growing more and more upset.

“Well, actually, we can. For forty eight hours, but you, being a pre-law student, would know that. You see, I know all about you, Sam.” She picks up a file folder and opens it. “You’re twenty three years old. No job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father’s whereabouts are unknown. And then there’s the case of your brother, Dean. Whose demise was, well, just a bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like.”

Sam leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest.

“Shy?” She teases. “No problem. I’ll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride.”

Sam says nothing. They haven’t mentioned Olive, and he’s not sure whether he should be relieved or worried. His mind spins. There’s got to be a record of her somewhere out there. Sure, she wasn’t born in a hospital, and she almost never went to the doctor, and she went to school under fake names, but there’s gotta be something.

The woman closes the file. “Then about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything.”

Sam says nothing, but he looks up through his eyelashes. “I needed some time off. To deal. So I’m taking a road trip with my brother.”

“And your little sister.”

Sam’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t think we forgot about little old Olive.” She smiles. “Such a strange name.”

His nose twitches in anger. He picked that name. She smiles again, wider this time.

“Where is she? We didn’t find her in the motel room. The bathroom window was open, but she couldn’t have jumped. Two stories is too high, don’t you agree?”

Sam says nothing.

“Where is she, Sam?”

He leans further into the wall.

“How’s that road trip going for you guys?”

“Great.” Sam shrugs softly, then takes the chance to derail her. “I mean…” A smile grows on his face. “We saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US. It was awesome.” He pulls up a chair and straddles it.

“We ran Dean’s fingerprints through AFIS.” The detective comes to the end of the table.

“Okay.”

“Got over a dozen possible hits.”

“Possible hits.” Sam repeats. “Which makes them worthless.”

“But it makes you wonder. What are we gonna find when we run your prints?”

“Well.” Sam smiles and pounds his fist on the table, every movement dripping with sarcasm. “You be sure to let me know.” He points at the cup. “May I?”

She nods. “Please.”

“Great.” He takes the cup, smells it, and then takes a sip.

She leans over him, eyes intent.

“Sam. You seem like a good kid. It’s not your fault Dean’s your brother. We can’t pick our family. Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They’re trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death.”

There’s a scream from outside, and against all common sense, on instinct, Sam’s head snaps up. It’s Olive’s scream.

“Get off of me!” She screams, squirming.

She’s dropped Jinx off at a safe place. The Richmonds will pick her up and take care of her until this is over. Olive is being dragged through the police station, kicking and screaming. She’s managed to nail two men in the crotch, and has sent a mug full of pens to the floor.

Back in the interrogation room, Sam’s face is pale. The detective turns back to him with a smile.

“Is that baby sister Olive?”

He glares.

“She’s sixteen, isn’t she? Has been for a little less than a month now. She can be tried as an adult. Look, Dean’s a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn’t have to be, and neither does Olive’s.”

Sam turns with a glare. “You want us to turn against our own brother?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’ve already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces.”

“Why would I do that?” Olive spits from her seat in a third interrogation room.

They’ve cuffed her down, and she knows she could break them, but that would lead to another issue they couldn’t solve without making an even bigger mess.

“Because we can talk to the DA for you, kid.” The detective who had talked to Dean sits across from her. “Dean’s gone. You don’t have to be.”

She grits her teeth, composes herself, and then spits in his face.

“Go to hell.”

The man wipes the spit from his face angrily and stands.

“Fine. Just remember, I tried to help you.”

Sam begins to talk, voice quiet. “My dad and Tony Giles were old friends. They were in the service together. We’ve known him since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death.”

Cafe, Before

“Here.” Sam placed three coffee cups down and slid into his chair.

Dean handed him the newspaper he had been reading. “Anthony Giles.”

“Who’s Anthony Giles?” Sam squinted.

“Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out.” Olive pointed at the article she and Dean found.

Sam scanned over it, mumbling out loud. “Throat slit, room was clean. Huh. No DNA, no prints.”

“Keep reading.” Olive grinned. “It gets better.”

“Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant.” He scoffed.

“So we’re thinking either somebody messed with the tapes-”

“Or we’ve got an invisible killer on our hands.”

“My favorite kind.” Dean smiles. “What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?”

Sam scoffed, and Olive snorted.

“I’m not Scully, you’re Scully.”

“No, I’m Mulder.” Dean fought back. “You’re a red-headed woman.”

“Hey!” Olive whined. “Can I be Scully? I’m a girl.”

Dean and Sam shared a look, and each broke out into a smile. Dean patted her head and Sam gave her hand a squeeze.

“You’re too little to be either, bug.”

She rolled her eyes with a huff. “Fine, fine. Let’s go check this out.”

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Would’ve been kind of hard for Dean to kill Tony, considering we weren’t in town at the time.” Sam is still straddling the chair, hands in his lap.

“So tell me what happened next.”

“Okay, uh, that when we went to see Karen.” Sam sighs. “She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her. You know?”

Giles House, Before

Karen sat on the couch, on the verge of tears. She flipped through the forms the siblings had handed her and sighed shakily.

“Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance.”

“We’ve very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand.” Sam smiled sympathetically.

“Sure.” Karen nodded, pushing her glasses back up.

“Okay. Um, if you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died.”

“Um… Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles, and that… that he had to work late.” She sniffled again. “That was it.”

“Do you have any idea who could’ve done this to him?” Olive’s voice was sympathetic.

“No.” Karen shook her head. “No, it’s like I told the police, I… I have no idea.”

“Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?” Dean asked.

“Unusual…” Karen trailed off.

“Yeah, like strange.”

“Strange?” She repeated.

“You know, weird. Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?”

Sam cleared his throat and glared at Dean, and Olive sent him a similar look.

Could you be any less subtle?

Karen turned to glance at Sam and Olive, who immediately switched back to the looks of concern and pity. She looked down again, and the two younger siblings shot him a look again.

“He had a nightmare the day before he died.” Karen shrugged.

“What kind of nightmare?”

“Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed. He blinked and she was gone, I mean… it was just a nightmare.”

“Did he say what she looked like?”

“What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?” Karen spat.

Dean squirmed, and Olive leaned forward, voice gentle.

“Our company is just very thorough. I understand this is an upsetting process, but we just need to ask a few more questions, and we’ll be on our way.”

Karen nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry. He said she was pale, and that she… she had dark red eyes.”

The siblings nodded as they each made a note.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“So I gave Karen a hug, told her to call me if she needed anything, and that was it… end of story.” Sam shrugs.

“Sam, I am trying to help you here.” The detective hisses. “But you have got to be honest with me. Now, we have an eyewitness. Someone who saw two men and a young woman fitting you and your siblings’s descriptions breaking into Gile’s office.”

“Okay.” Sam sighs. “Look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony’s office. But the police weren’t letting her in. Like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!” Sam puts his hands up in protest.

Giles’ Office, Before

Dean picked the lock, and he ducked in first. Olive followed, and Sam went last, shutting the door behind themselves. Each ducked under the police tape with ease. Sam shone his flashlight on a pool of blood on the floor.

“Hey. Giles’ body was found right about here.”

He rummaged through his jacket pockets and pulled out the newspaper from earlier. “Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “What do you guys think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?” He emphasized.

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, he did see that woman at the foot of his bed.”

Dean picked a paper off the desk. “Look at this.”

Olive took the paper and held it where Sam could see it too. danashulps was written all over it, in small print.

“Dana Shulps. Name?” Sam suggested.

Dean picked another paper off the desk. “I dunno, but it’s all over the place.” A grin broke out on his face. “Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Sam shone his flashlight over the glass table and paused. Olive looked up at him.

“What is it, Sams?”

“Do me a favor, breathe onto the table.”

She eyed him, but did as he asked, pulling away when she realized that danashulps was written all over it.

“What the fuck?”

“Well, I’d say we’ve officially crossed over into weird.

“Maybe Giles knew her.” Dean suggested.

“Or!” Olive perked up. “Maybe it’s the name of our pale, red-eyed mystery girl.”

“Alright, let’s just see what we can find.”

                                                              ***

Dean let out a loud groan, and Olive sighed from her spot on the couch. Sam was at the desktop computer, typing away.

“There’s not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There’s not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of fucking Shulps.” Dean complained.

“Great.” Olive huffed. “I can’t find anything either. Sams, what about you?”

“Nothing. No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least.”

“So what now?”

“Well, I think I’m pretty close to cracking Giles’ password. Maybe there’s something in his personal files, you know?”

“By close, you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

Dean glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Awesome, so I guess I just get to uh… hang out.” He sighed, then grumbled something under his breath.

Olive got up from the couch and sat in the other red chair, watching as Sam worked. Dean began to click his tongue, and both younger siblings turned with similar looks of annoyance.

He paused, and once they both looked away, he started to make fart noises with his mouth. Olive stifled a giggle, and Sam sighed.

“Dude, seriously!”

“Alright, I’m gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?”

“Great.” Sam huffed.

“Be careful.” Olive smiled at Dean as he stood.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead, then shone his flashlight at Sam. “Keep going, Sparky.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Then Dean went back to Karen’s place to check up on her. I mean, you know, she had obviously been upset earlier.” Olive huffs.

“So why didn’t you and Sam go with him?” The one from before, who Olive’s figured out is named Sheridan, asks.

Olive half shrugs. “I had to take care of some lady things. Sam came with me to the motel.” She pauses. “How did you know he was there, by the way?”

“We found the motel matchbook on Dean when he arrested him. Now-”

“How’d you know where to find me?” She questions.

“Let’s quit dicking around. Now you two were with Dean the whole time you were in Baltimore. Why separate now? Because your brother left you. To go kill Karen.”

“He didn’t kill anyone!” Olive shouts.

The anxiety is ramping, and it’s making her fractured arm hurt.

“I heard the 911 call!” Sheridan slams his fist on the table. “Karen was terrified! She said someone was in the house!”

Giles House, Before

Karen was on the couch in her pajamas, crying. The TV was on, but low. She wasn’t watching. She blew her nose, and heard something as she did. She took her glasses off to rub her eyes before quickly putting them back on. She noticed a figure in the mirror across the room.

She let out a frightened yelp and stood, turning the lights on. There was nobody there, but she turned into the bedroom and shut the door. She dialed 911 and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, emergency services.”

“Hello? I think I saw someone in my house.”

“What’s your address?”

“It’s 421 Clinton Avenue. Please, can you-”

A click, and the call was disconnected.

“Hello?”

The printer on her desk flicked on and began to rapid-print sheets with the same thing from Tony’s office.

danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps

Karen fumbled around for a flashlight, and finally turned. She turned to be face-to-face with the ghost. She screamed.

                                                              ***

Giles House, Before

Dean knocked on the door. “Karen, you in there?”

He got no answer. He looked around before bending to pick the lock. He opened the door and tried the light in the entryway. It didn’t work. He shut the door behind himself and ventured further into the house. He went up the stairs and turned into the bedroom. He pushed the door open to see Karen lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He turned and noticed the printer pages.

“Seriously, what the hell?” He grumbled.

He knelt by Karen’s body, noticing bruises on her wrists. He slowly picked up one of her hands.

“Freeze.”

Dean cursed to himself. Behind him, two cops had their guns trained on his head.

“Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!”

He complied.

First Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sheridan sits in an observation room, where he can see Dean, who is handcuffed to a table. The detective that had been with Sam, Ballard, enters.

“You getting anywhere with him?”

“No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks.” He grumbles.

“What about the girl?”

Sheridan rolls his eyes. “Nothing. Her story matches his down to the last detail. You?”

“Same with Sam’s.”

“Hmm. Yeah, well, these guys are good. I’ll give them that.” Sheridan crosses his arms over his chest.

Ballard sighs. “If we don’t get Sam or Olive to flip, we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

“Hey. We’ve got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands. And we caught Olive trying to steal a car. Juries have convicted for less.”

“Yeah, but…” Ballard sighs. “I mean, where’s the murder weapon? What’s the motive? You talk about reasonable doubt.”

“Diana.” Sheridan leans in and touches her face. “Do you have reasonable doubt? We keep leaning on these three, one of them will tumble. And don’t forget about St. Louis. I’m telling you. This Dean guy is our guy.”

Ballard sighs. “I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah.” Sheridan nods. “He was, he was a good friend.”

“Look, and I know you just want to clean this mess up quick, but some on. Tony knew a lot of criminal types, I mean… maybe we’re just-”

“Criminal types?” Sheridan cuts her off with a snarl. “He was a defense lawyer, for fuck’s sake. Of course he knew criminal types.”

“Alright.” Ballard sighs. “Let’s get back at them.”

“No, you know what? Let em stew in their juices for a bit.” Sheridan glances around to make sure nobody is nearby. “Come here.”

He pulls her into a kiss.

In the interrogation room, Dean huffs.

“Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps. Dana- Dana Shulps.” He mumbles to himself, eyes closed.

He’s stiff cuffed to the table, and he’s got his hands laced together as he thinks.

Sam, hands free, pulls a pad of paper and a pen to himself. He writes Dana Shulps in print, frowning as he thinks.

Olive is still cuffed to the table in her interrogation room. Her wrists are beginning to hurt, and her leg is bouncing up and down, shaking the entire table. She mutters curses as she looks around, in thought.

“It’s not a name, it’s not a name, it’s not a name.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

Sam huffed as he got to work. “Anagram, maybe?”

Dean continues to mumble to himself, looking up when there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Winchester?” A middle aged man pokes his head in.

“Yeah.” Dean grumbles.

“Hi, I’m Jeffrey Kraus.” The man walks in. “I’m with the public defender’s office. I’m your lawyer.”

Dean deadpans. “Oh. Thank god. I’m saved.”

Kraus sits, and Dean leans forward. “Hey, could I uh, steal a pen from you? Maybe some paper?”

“Sure.” Kraus hands the items over to Dean, who goes to town. “Uh, well, the police haven’t found a weapon yet. So that’s good. But uh, they got your prints. And well,” the man chuckles, “literally blood on your hands. And with your police record, uh…” he trails off when he notices that Dean isn’t paying attention.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s an anagram.” Dean grunts.

“A what?”

“Same letters, different words.” Dean explains as he continues to scribble.

The paper now reads:

dna shulps

dan shulpas

land pushas

supash land

push landas

plush danas

He pushes it over to Kraus. “Uh, do me a favor? See if you recognize any of these words. You know, local names, places, anything like that?”

“Do you understand how serious these charges are?”

“I’m handcuffed to a table.” Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look.”

Kraus sighs and pulls the pad of paper over to him. “Well, I don’t know about s-u-p, but Ashland is a street name. Not far from here.”

“A street.” Dean repeats.

He takes the pad back, tears the paper off, and begins to scribble again.

“Let’s start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died.”

“Can you get in to see my brother and sister?” Dean looks up quickly.

“Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here.”

“Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock. But, if you wanna help me.” Dean holds up the two scraps of paper he’s written on. “I need you to see my brother and sister.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

Olive unfurls the note and snorts.

Lil,

Ashland Street

Call richies if you’re alone

-Phil

“I hope that means something. He was adamant I get that to you.” Kraus sits across from her.

Olive rolls her neck. “Yeah, thanks. How far exactly is Ashland Street from here?” She crumbles up the note and looks up, expectantly.

“Uh, maybe a ten minute drive. Miss Winchester, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to-”

“No.” Olive shakes her head. “I don’t need a lawyer to talk me through this. They think Dean’s a killer, they found me stealing a car, and they’re gonna pin Sam and I as accessories. They’re gonna bring up everything we’ve ever done, gonna bring up the fact that our dad is gone, gonna say Dean had blood on his hands, and that’s gonna be the end of it.”

Kraus sighs. “You’re sixteen-”

“They’re gonna try me as an adult, I know.” She nods again. “Look, Matlock, why don’t you go talk to Sam? He’s prelaw, full ride to Stanford. I’m sure he can help you work out a strategy for us.” She smiles a sickly sweet smile, but it’s full of anger and poison.

Krau sighs a third time before getting up and exiting the room.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sam reads over the note Dean sent.

Hilts-

It’s a street

Ashland

-McQueen

Kraus sighs. “I hope that’s meaningful. But I’d like to discuss your case now.”

Sam gestures to the chair in front of him. “Sure thing, Matlock.”

Kraus sighs again. “You three really are siblings, aren’t you?” He sits. “Now, as you know, the DA might be interested in-”

A knock on the door, and then Ballard barges in.

“We need you.” She looks at Kraus. “With the other one.”

Sam stares at the door after they close it. He huffs. Several people have crowded outside Dean’s interrogation room, watching as the digital camera is set up across from him.

“Counselor?” Sheridan grins. “Your boy decided to confess.”

“Mr. Winchester?” Kraus warns. “I’d strongly advise against that.”

“Talk directly into the camera, first stating your name for the record.”

Dean clears his throat and sits up. He leans forward and looks into the camera. “My name is Dean Michael Winchester. I’m an Aquarius.” A smile begins to creep onto his face. He knows that if Sam and Olive were to see this, they would roll their eyes and break into a cackle, respectively. “I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone.” His smile drops. “But I know who did. Or rather, what, did. Of course, it can’t be for sure because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?” Ballard spits.

“You know,” Dean shrugs. “Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?”

People in the observation room begin to laugh.

“Tony Giles saw it. I’ll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it’s trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain’t easy.” Dean shakes his head. “You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember redrum. Same concept. You know, it’s uh, word fragments, sometimes it’s anagrams. See, at first we thought it was a name. Dana Shulps. But now we think it’s a street. Ashland. Whatever’s going on, I’ll bet you it started there.”

Dean spreads his hands and smiles. His part is done.

“You arrogant bastard!” Sheridan shouts. “Tony and Karen were good people, and you’re making jokes!”

“I’m not joking, Ponch.” Dean’s lip curls up.

“You murdered them in cold blood! Just like that girl in St. Louis!”

“Oh, yeah…” Dean sucks in air through his teeth. “That wasn’t me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me.”

He smiles at the camera again, and Sheridan snaps. He picks Dean up by the collar, which is no easy task, as he’s 6’ 2” and about 170 pounds. He slams him against the wall, and although Dean is uncomfortable, he doesn’t flinch. He keeps his cold front.

“Pete, that is enough!” Ballard pulls him off.

“You asked for the truth.” Dean speaks calmly.

“Lock his ass up.” Sheridan spits, dropping Dean to his feet.

Another cop takes over and shoves Dean face-first against the wall, cuffing him. Dean grunts, but a sense of calm washes over him. He did what needed to be done. Sam and Olive would fix it from here.

Sheridan storms into Olive’s interrogation room, only to find her gone. He lets out a frustrated scream and throws a chair across the room. A breeze blows through the window, and he sticks his head out. It’s a five story drop, and the fire escape is at least six feet away. There’s no way she could’ve reached it.

“Where is she!” He shouts.

Ballard comes running. “Sam’s gone!”

She blinks, noticing that Sheridan is the only one in the room. “What?”

“What did they do? The fire escapes way over there! For both of them!”

“These fuckers.” Ballard hisses, showing Sheridan the note left on Sam’s table.

“Hilts and McQueen? Lil and Phil?” Sheridan spits.

“Hilts is Steve McQueen’s character in the Great Escape.” Ballard sighs. “And Lil and Phil are from the Rugrats.”

Sheridan lets out another scream.

                                                              ***

Dean is cuffed once more, in a smaller room. Ballard enters, looking around, nervous. Dean huffs.

“Can we make this quick? I’m a little tired, it’s been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all.”

“I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier.”

Dean hums. “Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up.”

She circles around to stand in front of him. “Let’s pretend, for the moment, you’re not entirely insane.”

Dean hums again. “What would one of these things be doing here?”

“A vengeful spirit?”

Ballard nods, and Dean pouts as he thinks.

“Well, they’re created by violet deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt em.”

“And, uh, these things… they’re capable of killing people?” She asks, rubbing her neck.

Dean smiles, lining up his next smart-ass response, when he notices deep, dark bruises on her wrists, the same he had seen on Karen’s.

“Where’d you get those?”

Ballard sighs and pulls up her sleeves, seeing the bruises for the first time.

“I don’t know. It… it wasn’t there before.”

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? The spirit?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cause Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I’m willing to bet that if you look at Giles’ autopsy photos, he’s got em too. It’s got something to do with this spirit, I… I just don’t know what.”

Ballard turns away, looking into the mirror.

“I know. You think you’re going crazy. But let’s skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? Died, pretty soon after. You hear me?”

She turns back to him, face drained of color. “You think I’m going to die.”

Dean sighs. “You need to go to Sam and Olive. They’ll help.”

Ballard’s shoulders fall. “You’re giving them up.”

Dean sighs again, looking away. “Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford and Angel Martin. It’s how we find each other when we’re all separated. Now, you can arrest them if you want.” He looks up at her. “Or you can let them save your life.”

Motel Room, Present Day

Sam sits at a desk, rifling through files. Somebody knows on the door, and his head perks up. The person knocks again, and this time Sam gets up. He tucks a handgun into the back of his jeans and looks through the peephole.

He throws the door open with a sigh of relief. Olive tumbles into his arms, shaking. He holds her, then realizes that her legs have given out, and she’s relying entirely on him. He picks her up by the waist and puts her down on the bed, kicking the door shut.

“Bug, what happened?”

She coughs, and a few specks of blood fly out. “I had to jump. I wasn’t gonna make it to the fire escape, so I just went straight down.” She groans. “I landed in a dumpster, my leg broke, and my lungs hurt. I’m mostly healed now, but… it still hurts.” She leans back onto the wall with a heavy sigh.

“Fuck.” Sam mumbles under his breath.

He sees the fear in Olive’s eyes and sits next to her, pulling her to rest in his lap. “Okay. Once we get all of this fixed, I promise we’ll go straight to Bobby. Okay?” He runs a hand through her hair.

She coughs again. “We’ve gotta get Dean.”

The door opens, and Sam whips the gun out, his other hand holding Olive protectively. It’s Ballard. She eyes the gun, and Sam hesitates. She gives a soft smile, and Sam puts the gun down. Olive doesn’t move. She’s scared she’ll cough up a lung, and she’s barely breathing as is. Sam notices Ballard’s eyes on her.

“You’ll have to sit here.” He gestures to the bed.

She does so. “I saw it.”

“What?” Olive speaks, then coughs again, ending with a groan.

Ballard eyes Olive again, then shows Sam her wrists. He takes her hands in his and winces as he looks over the pink skin.

“These showed up after you saw it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ballard sighs.

“Alright. You’re gonna have to tell me exactly what you saw.”

Ballard hesitates. “You know, I must be losing my mind. You’re both fugitives. I should be arresting you.”

“You can arrest us later.” Olive rasps. “After we get through this.”

“She’s right.” Sam sighs. “Right now you’ve gotta talk to me.”

Ballard nods.

“Okay. The spirit, what did it look like?”

“She was… um, really pale. Her throat was cut, and her eyes… they were like, this deep dark red. It appeared like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn’t. It was just… a lot of blood.”

“Okay. There.” Sam points to the desk, and she rises, going to it. “I’ve been researching every girl that’s ever died or gone missing from Ashland street.”

“How’d you get these?” Ballard flips through the photos. “These are from crime scenes, and booking photos.”

“You have your job, we have ours. Look through them, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

She sits down and begins to look through papers. Sam turns back to Olive and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Okay, bug?”

Olive mumbles an agreement and lets Sam move her out of his lap. He goes to the bathroom, wets a towel, and brings it back, placing it on her forehead. He’s seen her sick like this before, but it’s never been this bad. Panic begins to grow in his chest as he fills a glass with water. He doesn’t know what to do. He needs Dean.

“This is her. I’m sure of it.”

Sam places the cup of water down on the nightstand and goes to stand at the desk with Ballard.

“Claire Becker. Twenty eight years old, disappeared about nine months ago.”

“But I don’t even know her. I mean, why would she come after me?” Ballard’s growing exasperated.

“Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin. You ever work narcotics?” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, Pete and I did. Before homicide.”

“You ever bust her?”

Ballard shakes her head. “Not that I remember.”

“It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn’t find anything. Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.”

“What?” Ballard squints.

“Salt and burn em. It’s the only way to put her spirit to rest.” Olive speaks, eyes closed and voice thin and scratchy.

The panic flares in Sam’s chest once more. He needs Dean. She needs Dean.

Ballard sighs. “Of course it is.”

“Sammy, I wanna come with you. I wanna help.” She starts to sit up.

“No, no, no, Ollie. I can’t let you.” Sam rushes to her side, pushing her back down. “No, baby girl. You’re too weak, you’ve gotta stay here.”

“But I wanna help save Dean.” She whines.

“I know, babes, I know. But I need you safe, and that means you have to stay here.”

“She should be in a hospital right now.” Ballard states.

“No!” Olive jumps, then proceeds to cough, spitting blood into the crook of her elbow.

Sam rubs her back and shakes his head. “No hospitals. She can’t do hospitals.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Family issue.”

Olive groans, then rolls onto her side, looking up at Sam with puppy eyes. He sighs again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” She whispers.

Healing large injuries drains her more than turning itself does. A broken leg is no small feat, and she’s definitely injured her lungs. But she had to get out of there, so she forced herself to begin to heal. Once she’s started, she can’t turn the healing process back off. It’s killing her.

She doesn’t want to be alone when she dies.

They both know it.

He helps her sit up, and they both ignore the grunt of pain that escapes her lips. He holds her tightly, but gently.

“Okay.”

2911 Ashland Street, Present Day

Sam leads them down into a creepy warehouse. Olive has her finger hooked in his belt loop, and her feet are dragging. She’s getting worse by the minute, but she refuses to let her mind slip away, not until she sees Dean.

“So what exactly are we looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when we find it.” Sam whispers.

They split up. Sam and Olive start up a flight of stairs as Ballard continues on the lower level. She turns around a corner, and sees Claire, standing by a window. She gasps, and Claire moves towards her, trying to speak.

“Sam? Sam!”

Sam and Olive share a look. Olive lets go of his belt loop and nods, and he runs back down the stairs, toward Ballard. Claire disappears.

“Hey! Hey, I’m here. What is it, what happened?” Sam looks her up and down, noticing that she’s unscatched.

“Claire…”

“Where?” Olive croaks, making her way down the stairs.

“Here. She was here.”

“Did she attack you?” Sam asks.

Ballard shakes her head. “No,” she hesitates, “No, she was just like… reaching out to me. She was over there by the window.” She points.

Sam and Olive share a look before Sam moves the shelves away from the window. Olive squints as the words printed on the glass become clear.

Ashland Supplies

She snorts. “That’s the word.”

“Well, yeah, now the extra letters make sense.” Sam fishes an EMF reader from his pocket and slowly makes his way to the wall, where the words are perfectly shadowed.

“What is that?”

Olive stumbles to follow her brother as she clears her throat. “Spirits and certain remains give off electromagnetic frequencies.”

“So, if Clarie’s body were here, it would tell you?”

“Yeah, that’s the theory.” Sam mumbles.

The EMF meter begins to purr, and Sam turns back around to a brick wall. He sighs and looks around. Olive spots a rusted crowbar and drags it behind her as she follows Sam. He plucks it from her hand and begins to break through the wall. Olive coughs as dust and debris fly through the air. She slumps down against the staircase, coughing every so often. Her head falls back when she’s not struggling to breathe, and her eyes are beginning to roll into the back of her head.

“There’s definitely something in there.” Sam grunts as he continues to break through the wall. “You know? This is bothering me.”

“Well, you are digging up a corpse.” Ballard shrugs.

“No, no, uh…” Sam chuckles. “That’s pretty par for the course, actually.”

“Then what?”

“I mean, it’s just… no vengeful spirit we’ve ever dealt with wanted to be wasted… so why the hell would Claire lead us to her own remains?”

Olive lets out another cough, this one sounding loud and wet. Sam pauses and stares at her. Her head is back against the wall, her mouth is open and bloody, and her eyes are closed. She’s pale, sweaty, and barely breathing.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Ballard shakes her head, snapping Sam back into reality.

He shakes his head, again glancing over his shoulder at the teenager sprawled on the ground.

“Here, gimme a hand.”

Together, they pull out a body that is wrapped in shrouds of cloth, and place it on the ground. Sam fishes out a pocket knife and cuts the ropes off, revealing the body. He sighs, looking back at Olive. Her eyes are shut, and her head is falling off to the side. Her chest heaves with each breath, and Sam can hear her wheezing. Ballard puts her wrists out, above Claire’s.

“Her wrists, yeah.” Sam turns back. “They’d be bruised just like yours.”

Ballard reaches out with a shaky hand, cautiously touching a necklace on the body. Sam perks up.

“That necklace mean anything to you?”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s rare. It was custom made over on Carson street.” Ballard’s hand goes back to her own neck. “I have one just like it.” She looks up at Sam. “Pete gave it to me.”

He huffs. “Now this makes sense.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s a death omen, not a vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Claire’s not killing people.” Sam sighs. “She’s trying to warn them. You see, sometimes, spirits, they don't want revenge. They want justice.” He nods to himself. “Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is.” He pauses, and it clicks in his head. “Detective, how much do you know about your partner?”

“Oh my god.” Ballards face falls.

“About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop. We never found out who did it, but whoever it was would need someone to fence their product.”

Sam snorts. “Someone like a heroin dealer. Somebody like Claire.”

Olive stumbles to her feet. Her lips are dry and her skin is devoid of color. Her fangs are peeking out of her mouth, and her eyes are watery.

“Dean’s in danger.”

Armored Van on a Highway, Present Day

“So I’m being extradited to St. Louis, huh?”

Dean gets no answer, so he tries again.

“And you just decided to transfer me yourself, eight hundred miles at two in the morning?”

Again, nothing. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck begin to rise.

“This can’t be good.”

Baltimore, Present Day

“Okay. Thanks.” Ballard snaps her phone shut.

“What is it?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

He’s in the backseat with Olive. She’s in and out of it, and she looks worse every time they pass under a street light.

“Pete just left the precinct. With Dean.”

“What?” Olive forces her eyes open as she sits up, grunting.

“He said the prisoner had to be transfered, and he just took him. Dispatch has been calling but he won’t answer the radio.”

“Radio?” Sam repeats. “He took a county vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then they should have a lo-jack. We’ve just gotta get it turned on.”

Empty stretch of road, Present Day

The van pulls off onto the side of the road. Dean pushes the rising anxiety and leans forward.

“Pee break? So soon?” He taunts. “Might wanna get your prostate checked.”

Sheridan says nothing before he gets out. Dean listens as the footsteps circle around to the back of the van.

“Son of a bitch.” He groans to himself.

Sheridan yanks the backdoors open, and Dean inches away.

“Hey, man. I’m cool in the van. You go do what you gotta do.”

Sheridan grabs him by the jacket and hauls him out of the van, throwing him onto the wet ground. Dean lands with a grunt, squirming to sit up.

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.” Sheridan spits. “You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that shit you’re peddling?”

Dean makes it to his knees and pants, staring at Sheridan.

“Here’s the thing. You’re not gonna make it to St. Louis. You’re gonna die trying to escape.”

Dean blinks, and Sheridan’s gun is out, pointed between his eyes.

“Wait!” Dean pleads. “Wait, let’s talk about this. I mean, you don’t wanna do something that you’re gonna regret later.”

Sheridan only cocks the gun.

“Or maybe you do.”

Olive growls from low in her throat, holding back a cough and the load of blood in her mouth. Sheridan turns at the noise, and Ballard puts her gun up. Sam tucks Olive into his side, shielding her from the gun. She’s shaking, and Dean’s eyes are glued to her.

His stomach drops. She’s dying. He knows it.

“Pete! Put the gun down.”

“Diana? How’d you find me?” The gun goes back to Dean’s head, and Olive feels bile rise in her throat.

Sam hugs her tighter.

“I know about Claire.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sheridan shakes his head, gun still up.

“Put the gun down!” She shouts.

Sheridan drops the act, and a smirk grows on his face. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re fast. I’m pretty sure I’m faster.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I didn’t do anything, Diana.” Sheridan shakes his head.

“It’s a little late for that.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” Sheridan scoots closer to Dean, and another growl rips through Olive’s throat.

She swallows what she can and spits blood onto the grass.

“Claire was trying to turn me in! I had no choice.”

“And Tony? Karen?”

Sheridan shakes his head again. “Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I’m sure he told Karen everything.”

Dean’s eyes go back to his younger siblings. Sam’s holding the entirety of Olive’s weight, and he’s looking at Dean with big eyes. Dean shakes his head, and Sam looks about ready to cry. Olive lets out a weak cough.

“It was a mess. I had to clean it up. I just panicked.” Sheridan shook his head.

“How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?”

“There’s a way out.” Sheridan looks back at Dean. “This Dean kid’s a freaking gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just… just one more dead scumbag.”

“Hey.” Dean fronts.

Sheridan puts the gun closer, and Dean backs off, shoulders falling.

“No one will question it. Diana, please.” Sheridan begs. “I still love you.”

Ballard puts the gun down with a sigh. Dean’s eyes fill with tears as Sheridan’s gun connects with his head. A loud growl tears through the trees, and Sheridan is tackled to the ground. Dean rolls out of the way, and Sam pulls him up. Ballard tries to get a shot, but she can’t.

There’s another loud growl, and the tangle of limbs stops moving. Sheridan is down, and Olive falls to her knees, coughing loudly and violently. Blood sprays everywhere, and the second she stops coughing she begins to throw up. Sam rushes over, holding her hair back. Diana unlocks Dean’s handcuffs, and he joins his brother, watching as Olive fights to breathe.

Blood continues to drip from her mouth as she wheezes, chest heaving. Dean pulls her into his chest, and she begins to shake.

“So now what, officer?” Dean asks, cradling Olive like a baby.

“Pete did confess to me. He screwed up all your cases. Royally. I’d say there’s a good chance that we could get them dismissed.”

“You’d take care of that for us?” Sam looks up.

“Yeah. But the St. Louis murder charges? That’s another story. I can’t help you. Unless…” Ballard sighs. “I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, she’s sure, Sam.” Dean hissed.

“No, it’s just… I mean, you could lose your job over something like that.”

She shakes her head. “Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I’ll sleep better at night.”

Olive lets out another strangled cough, and Dean pushes her hair from her face.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Ballard asks.

“I don’t know.” Sam whispers, in shock.

“Where’s my car?” Dean calls.

“It’s at the impound yard down on Robertson.”

Dean groans, shooting Sam a look. “We need Dad’s journal, it could have answers.”

Ballard shakes her head. “Don’t even think about taking the car. You guys have to get out of here. I have to radio this in.”

The boys nod and Dean hoists Olive up. Coughs continue to rack her body, and she’s spitting blood everywhere. Sam takes her from him and they start down the muddy road.

“Dean, what do we do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Dean hisses back.

“We’re miles away from Dad’s journal. We’ll never make it in time.”

Olive wheezes, then coughs again, choking on her blood and spit. Dean stops, panting. He shakes his head at Sam, who is staring back with wide eyes.

“Sam, we can’t do anything.”

Olive’s stomach heaves again, and blood is the only thing to come out. Sam sighs as he stops. The brothers kneel down, and Sam places Olive between them.

She stares between the two with tears in her eyes.

I’m sorry.

Dean pushes her hair out of her face with a soft smile. “We love you.”

Sam is trembling, enraged. He picks her back up and shakes his head. Dean follows, shouting Sam’s name.

“We have to be able to do something, Dean. I’m not gonna watch her die.”

“We don’t have Dad’s journal!”

“Then we call Bobby!”

“Sam, we don’t even know if Bobby knows.”

“We have to try!”

Dean swallows the bad taste in his mouth as he yanks out his phone and dial’s Bobby’s number. Olive coughs.

He puts it on speaker. “Hello.”

“Bobby!” Sam shouts.

“What’s wrong, kids?”

“Olive’s dying, we don’t know what to do!”

“What?”

“Bobby, we’ve gotta tell you something important.”

“You sister’s part Okami. I know. What happened?”

The boys blink at each other, but a groan from Olive snaps them back into reality.

“The healing process is killing her. What do we do?”

There’s a long sigh, and Dean watches the little color left in Olive’s face drain. Her chest heaves once more, and then she stops breathing. He drops the phone, snatching Olive from Sam’s hold.

“Olive!”

“Bobby!” Sam grabs the phone, in tears.

“Blood.”

“What?”

“She needs blood. Once a day, every day. It’ll make her stronger, she won’t get sick again.”

“Bobby, we’re not-”

“Gimme your knife.” Dean interrupts.

“What?” Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Give me your fucking knife!”

Sam doesn’t move, and Dean forces Olive’s mouth open. He slices his palm against her fang and groans as blood trickles out.

It falls in droplets, staining her teeth and her tongue. The phone call is long forgotten, and Sam is on his knees by their side. Olive’s eyes begin to twitch behind her eyelids, and Dean gasps. He squeezes his hand, bleeding harder.

A second passes, and Sam stares at Dean. Dean doesn’t look up from Olive.

Her fangs begin to recede, and Dean watches, shaking. A small cough moves her body, and then she begins to wheeze. Sam drops his head to her chest. He hears her heart and he lets out a loud sigh, resting his head against her.

“Boys?”

Her voice is soft and unharmed. She sounds like she just woke up from a nap. Dean pulls her up and hugs her. She sniffs, reaching up to rub her eyes.

“How?”

Sam lets out a weak laugh and brushes her hair back. “Dean saved you.”

She leans into her oldest brother and looks up with a soft smile.

“Thanks, De.”

He laughs and kisses the top of her head before pulling her back into a second hug. “Anything for you, baby girl. Anything for you.”

Previous Ep: No Exit (2.06)

Next Ep: Crossroad Blues (2.08)

taglist:

@i67​

#supernatural season two #supernatural oc #supernatural sister #supernatural fic #winchester!oc #winchester!reader #bobby singer #supernatural cast #the usual suspects #supernatural #olive winchester #my posts #dean and sam #sam and dean #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #sam x sister!oc #sam winchester x sister!oc #dean x sister!oc #dean winchester x sister!oc #john winchester #john winchester x daughter!reader #john winchester x daughter!oc #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #jeffery dean morgan #winchester sister #micwrites

[platypanthewriter]

The Hobbiton Show

Five times Detective Inspector Thorin misunderstood his conversation with a puppet, and one time he realized he was being asked out on a date by a human being

“Thorin,” Dis’ eyebrows were nearly at her hairline. “There’s a fax here from The Hobbiton Show .”

He nodded, kicking his chair a bit closer without looking up from his keyboard, and holding a hand out.

She scooted out of reach. “They want you. On the show , Thorin.”

He went still, frown deepening, and waved his hand for the paper. “No.”

“Yes!” She sidled away, but flipped it to point out the text. “They’ve cordially invited you. For...puppet tea, Thorin. They want you to have tea with puppets . Thorin,” she narrowed her eyes, dodging his swipes for the paper and trotting around to drop into the chair at her own desk. “Have you been... associating with puppets on a children’s show?”

“I faxed them a list of safety suggestions,” he held his hand out again. “For kids.”

“That’s a really good idea,” she clonked her boots onto her desk, settling in to inspect the invitation. “I didn’t know the fax machine still worked. It roared to into action like a zombie punching forth from a grave and spat this out on my foot. I bet you sent them all in a flurry trying to figure out how to communicate with this cave troll who still used a fax machine .”

He paused, turning his frown on the machine. “I use the fax machine.”

“You are the only one. You’re its only friend, like an owner defending its ugly pet from laughing neighbours.”

“The fax machine works perfectly--”

“They want you to talk about the case, Thorin,” she frowned up, and he held his hand out, again, for the paper.

“I can’t tell children about the case.”

“Obviously. For one, you’d have to talk to children. Two, you’d have to talk. Three, you’d have to give them gruesome details of child dismemberment--”

“I talk to your children,” Thorin snapped. “And their friends. They’re much easier to deal with than their parents.”

“About murder? Because that may explain why Kili’s having night terrors--”

“Is he? I could--”

“He’s fine, Thorin, he needs to stop watching Alien through the railing after I’ve sent him to bed.” She pursed her lips, then snickered, reading the invitation for at least the third time.

“Dis,” he snapped his fingers, leaning across.

“I need copies of this. It’s so chipper. It uses the phrase ‘a spot of tea.’ Thorin. I think this was actually written by someone speaking in character as a puppet. Do, do go over and spill details of murder and mayhem over a ‘spot of tea’--”

“Dis,” he growled, slumping into his chair in resignation. “Obviously they got their paperwork mixed up.”

“I don’t think so,” she held it out, pointing at a section, then snatched it back from his fingers. “It says ‘We were particularly charmed by your suggestion of a skit about a puppet who is afraid of getting lost receiving this advice from a child.’ Thorin. I must see it. You wrote a skit.”

“I did not,” he placed his feet securely on the floor, pretended to search through his paperclips, and then snatched at the paper, but she kicked off the desk, spinning off in her office chair into the next desk. “I suggested the idea, that is all.”

“Apparently the little girl you found is a fan of the show,” she watched his face. “Your much-photographed rescue.”

“That’s how I thought of writing to them,” he sighed. “She--”

“She also wrote to them, and wants to tell everyone what you told her--Thorin, you syrupy old bear.”

“I told her absolutely nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, stiff, and walked over to yank the paper out of her hand.

The Hobbiton set was charming, naturally, tiny fragile flowers growing up arbours and out of window boxes, all undoubtedly actually styrofoam and eagerly awaiting the opportunity to crumble under Thorin’s hands. He shuffled in place, tucking his hair behind his ears. The puppet seated on the bench by the little door waved, and he waved back, examining the path. “Is this safe for Big People,” he asked, hunching his shoulders slightly at a squeak of muffled laughter over by the lights.

“Do you really think I’d invite a guest, and then let him fall through to--” the puppet leaned around the tea table to peer at the path. “--wherever do you suppose? The Underworld? Australia? Certainly not.”

“Oh,” Thorin nodded, stepping up carefully, and edged his way up to the low chair they’d placed next to the Hobbit’s bench. When Thorin had first seen it, he’d thought it was a dig at his height, but it was barely short enough to sit at the puppet-sized table.

“Thank you for visiting us, Detective Chief Inspector,” the puppet--the Hobbit, he corrected himself--held a hand out, and Thorin shook it politely.

“Call me Thorin.”

“And I’m Bilbo,” the puppet shook his hand in both its soft fluffy appendages. “Would you like some tea?”

“Oh,” Thorin hadn’t really noticed the little tea service, but he reached over and grabbed the teapot. “I’ll play mother, then.”

“You’ll what,” the puppet looked from him to the cameras.

“I’ll pour,” Thorin frowned. “Your hands are soft, isn’t it hard for you to hold?”

“I can manage,” the puppet prodded three pieces of shortbread onto a very small plate, which Thorin traded for a full cup of tea.

“These are very nice biscuits,” Thorin acknowledged, taking Dis’ advice, and trying not to act like a badger who’d been interrupted trying to watch the World Cup.

“Family recipe,” Bilbo-the-puppet said, and Thorin wondered whether he’d need to watch more of the show to see whether Bilbo regularly baked, or whether one of the puppeteers had broken role. “I do hope the tea isn’t cold.”

“It could use a zap,” Thorin shrugged, then paused. “Oh, you probably don’t have microwaves in Hobbiton. They’re like magical flameless ovens,” he sat his tea aside to hold his hands shoulder-width apart. “About so big. You put your tea in--”

Bilbo looked from him to the camera, then down at his puppet-self. “Your oven...is the size of a person.” he leaned away.

Thorin snorted, coughing, and waved his hands. “No--”

The puppet poked his hand. “Is your person-oven in...a gingerbread house?”

“No!” Thorin felt his neck reddening, and couldn’t suppress a grin. “It has to be big enough for pie, is all!”

“He microwaves pie,” Bilbo told the camera, and Thorin tried to defend himself. By the break in filming, his cheeks hurt from smiling.

The coffee the pump thermos spit out somehow missed Thorin’s cup entirely, and he was rapidly building a tiny canal of napkins to redirect it away from the scones when his elbow bumped someone. He glanced up, frowning at someone trying to shake his hand when he was obviously busy with flood recovery.

“Bilbo Baggins,” said the familiar voice, deeper and a bit more sarcastic than he’d sounded as a puppet, and Thorin set his shoulders. “I was going to say,” Bilbo slid the waste bin over with his foot, and Thorin grabbed a handful of napkins and nudged the lake he’d created off the edge and into it, before realizing with the disaster relief handled, he’d be expected to chat. “--there’s a tea shop across the street. Better behaved pastries. I thought maybe--”

“These are fine,” Thorin grabbed randomly for a napkin and something flaky, and stomped off. It was soggy at the edge with stale coffee, and tasted irredeemably of a gas station pastry cabinet, but he shoved it in his face, holding Bilbo’s gaze from across the room.

Bilbo blinked first, nodding slowly, and retreated to the room with the On Air sign over the door.

#the hobbit #thorin x bilbo #5+1 #platypan #platypan fic #Bilbo is an actor #Surely he's just being nice #Bilbo is trying very hard to hit on the nice Detective Inspector #Thorin is confused #Why does the muppet keep calling #Is it a publicity stunt