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vercopaanir · 4 years

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You Did Well

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 23

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian faces his challenger, and you receive help with nursing his wounds.

Words: 6.1k

Ratings/Warnings: T-M for some pretty graphic injuries and violence.

Notes: Thank you all so much for being understanding with me! I really appreciate each and every one of you who sent me messages of encouragement. This chapter is dedicated to @cptnbvcks who has patiently waited for some of this action. I also want to give a sincere, humble thanks to @bunnyart-blog and @di-kut for creating some of the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen! Both of these ladies are incredibly talented writers and artists. Check them out!

AO3

“A duel of territory is until first blood is drawn,” the Armorer says, reaching out to grasp your arm when you sway dangerously backwards. She smells of heat and spices and citrus, and you breathe deeply through your nose to focus on her voice, her firm grip, and the buttery leather of her gloves rather than the rushing of blood in your ears. “To prove who is strong enough to take such responsibility of the clan being warred over.”

“I-I don’t-”

You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your own pulse pounding between your temples, beating like the gloved fists against beskar, the static crackling electrically in the air. A panic, fierce and clawing its way inside your chest threatens to overtake you, to choke you, and you can’t breathe. You desperately gasp for air, raggedly drinking in the heat of the bodies and the yelling and the hunger, but nothing can tame the burning in your chest. Suddenly the dust in the tunnels suffocate you, the cold burns your nose, and there are tears in your eyes that feel as if they’ve been born from a memory, one where your neck held the imprint of an owner, and you had no one to call your own.

Without considering the options, you shove yourself into the throng of warriors, slamming your shoulder into a pauldron and elbowing away a vambrace. They don’t even stumble in the wake of your insistence, but it doesn’t stop you from making space for yourself, pushing your way in. You have to use both hands to get around one Mandalorian, your injured hand flaring with heat that feels subdued beneath the surge of adrenaline pumping in your body until you practically hum with it.

When you get to the front, pressing between two female Mandalorians, you might as well be made of the stone that makes the walls of the covert, the floors, the ceilings. You feel like a piece of the architecture, just as useful and effective in stopping what happens in front of your eyes.

Kneeling in the center of the open berth of the crowd, Din’s entire body heaves with rattling air, dragging it through his helmet as if it takes every vestige of power he possesses. One of his vambraces has been torn from his arm, and the pauldron, too. His left arm hangs limply, cradled against his body with the other, and even with your impaired vision, you see the lopsided joint where it’s been dislocated. His head hangs forward as if-

As if he’s giving up.

The challenger circles with a proud, cocksure stride that turns your stomach. He is at least a head taller than Din with thick, robust muscles that move beneath midnight blue armor with the dullness of having seen battle. When he moves behind your Mandalorian, his deep, bellowing voice echoes from within his helmet more than through the vocoder.

“Still weak on your left side, Djarin?”

The warrior’s hand is huge, and it strikes out to grab the lip of Din’s helmet from the left. He jerks upward, and your heart drops when you realize he means to uncover his face.

“No!”

To throw yourself forward is a reflex, but the two iron strong hands that grab your upper arms haul you back against a strong, beskar chest plate. At the same time, Din’s helmet seems to rattle on his skull, waking him from a catatonic daze when he hears your voice, and he bucks against his challenger’s hold. The leather glove slips from his helmet, and they grapple with each other until the larger Mandalorian grabs Din by the back of his neck, lifting him high enough that his boots kick out, before slamming him down into the ground. The ring of steel against stone is ear-splitting, so visceral you feel it within your chest. It hurts .

Din doesn’t move immediately, but you can hear a low, rattling groan from beneath his armor. His gloved fingers curl against the ground, grasping for something unseen.

“Cuyir ibic te dala?” laughs the armored giant, pointing his finger towards you as you’re held by the strong arm of another. He prowls around the fallen warrior, inclining his helmet downward to watch his opponent struggle. When Din pushes himself up onto his good hand and his knees, the Mandalorian swings his heavy boot and lands it into Din’s side, much to the zealous shouts of the Tribe surrounding them. It’s nothing compared to the grating taunt of the deep bass the warrior throws at the man you love. “Cuyir ibic tion'ad gar kar’taylir?”

But you find quickly the fight is evenly matched, no matter the size difference. Din suddenly rolls to the side upon his useless arm, throwing his boot out to crack against the other warrior’s knee. The man buckles, falling heavily to the ground, and Din takes the opportunity to climb to his feet. His helmet turns on you, gleaming and scuffed, and he yells so loud his throat scratches, rasps with the gutteral sound of Mando’a. “Hiibir kaysh be'chaaj!”

The large, unrelenting hands on your arms suddenly lift you backwards, and you fight against the handling. “Let me go-!”

Rhalaz doesn’t even stumble from your pitiful attempts, shaking you gently. “You shouldn’t be here,” he yells over the noise, drawing you backward into the sea of armored bodies that close together like huge, overarching doors. He lifts you up from underneath your arms, swinging you towards the forge just as a terrible, ringing clash of metal echoes through the tunnel. It is followed by a roar of the warriors, and you stumble away as Rhalaz sets you down. The Armorer reaches a hand out to help steady you again, and you whirl around, desperate to see anything.

“Who is that? Who is he fighting?” You have to raise your voice to be heard, and you feel Rhalaz hover beside you with worry.

“Paz Vizla,” the Armorer answers, her mystical voice somehow not needing to project to be heard. The name means nothing to you, gives you no comfort or reassurance. “He is of a powerful house of Mandalore-”

“-and the strongest in the Tribe,” Rhalaz mutters, sounding like he wishes to spit.

“I-I don’t understand-!” When more shouting erupts, your hands fly to cradle your head. The vibrations between your temples threaten to drive you to tears. You feel yourself shaking with the reverberations, the overwhelming reality that everything you have found and come to know could be taken.

The Armorer grips your elbow and gives you a hard shake that knocks your teeth together, but it successfully yanks you back into the present. “If Vizla prevails, he will accept ownership of responsibility for your clan,” she says, her words firm, resolute. You blink into the golden sheen of her helmet, mouth opening and closing. “And Djarin’s loss results in relinquishing such rights.”

Over the yells of his brothers and sisters in arms, Paz Vizla’s mockery rings against the stone walls, bouncing off the beskar that is beaten in encouragement. “You’ve always been a coward, Djarin,” he growls, and it’s the gut-wrenching, rasping whimper that ignites you again. Rhalaz doesn’t have time to grab hold of you, and you slip beneath his arms faster than a deer, your hands landing on their target.

This time, when you shove your way to the front of the mob, you don’t hesitate, and you are given a wider berth when you step into the circle of warriors.

Din is on his back, the challenger’s boot pressing down on his injured shoulder. Paz Vizla inclines his helm upward, seeming to realize the cheers that drove him in his beating have died away. When the glass of his visor settles upon you, your hands steady the amban rifle, bracing the stock firmly against your shoulder as Briinx had shown you. The well oiled steel barely shakes, though you feel like you could drop it from how your injured hand pains you to grip the floor plate.

“Meg cuyir ibic?” Vizla asks, his voice holding mirth as he takes you in. “A big gun for a little girl.”

Din’s helmet scrapes against the stone where he’s pinned, angling his own visor backward to see you. His body shakes with every heaving breath. Paz bears his weight down, and you can hear the bones grinding together over Din yelling through gritted, bared teeth against the modulator.

Your fingers slide up the forestock and find the bolt switch, shoving it upward with your thumb. Immediately, violent, violet electricity sparks and crackles along the pronged barrel’s end, and every warrior in the covert draws backward from you as far as they can.

“D-Did you know that steel is an excellent conductor for electricity?” you ask, your voice trembling with fear, but fierce with your anger, too. You shoulder the rifle, stepping forward and feeling a rush of adrenaline when the hulking Mandalorian removes his boot from your lover’s shoulder, parrying by stepping backward. Slowly, he raises his own gloves upward in a sign of deference, and you squint along the rear sight of the barrel. “I wonder h-how well your beskar would hold up against it.”

The tunnel has grown so quiet that you think you can hear the wind blowing somewhere above ground. Your own breathing has your chest heaving, but you focus on the phantom touch of Din’s palm pressing against your abdomen. You slowly exhale through your lips, feeling a tiny trickle of perspiration down the back of your neck, over the hidden scar you keep to yourself.

“This is a fair and just fight,” Paz Vizla intones, his deep voice holding no petulance or grief but strong with conviction. He keeps his hands where you can see them, even with your weak sight. His words ring devoid of malicious intent, but they do no less to calm your wrath. “In the name of protecting you and your clan.”

With practiced swiftness, your injured hand screams and racks the rifle, charging the bolt of electricity so it sparks from the end of the prongs, and you bear your teeth. “Do I look like I need protecting?”

You think you can hear the conjoined, racing pulses of every fearless Mandalorian within the covert, and you don’t miss the way Paz Vizla’s fingers twitch within his gloves. He swallows audibly.

“You do not.”

“Then yield.”

The murmurs of surrounding warriors make the hairs on the back of your neck rise, but you don’t let your eyes wander from the Mandalorian in your sight, armored like a night sky. The warrior tilts his chin downward as if facing down the mudhorn you have heard so many tales of, and you worry, in part, that you will have to kill this man whose name you don’t know and face you’ve never seen. You don’t wish to spill blood, to hurt any creature, but you know that you will pull the trigger for the man you love and the children you call your own.

“You have the advantage, buir’ika,” Paz says, carefully taking a step away from Din as he struggles to roll onto his uninjured arm, heaving for air with a death rattling breath. “We agreed to bar weapons in this fight.”

“I didn’t make such an agreement.”

Perhaps it is the lack of hesitation in your voice, or the surge of courage that falls from you in waves, but Paz Vizla flexes his fingers once more, keeping his hands high and splayed in civility. He inclines his helmet, and your heart races, threatening to break the rattling cage of your body, until he slowly drops to both knees in submission.

There is a deafening uproar of the surrounding warriors, many of them shouting in dissent while others cheer with accord. Several warriors charge up to the Armorer for judgment, but you don’t hesitate, yanking the bolt switch shut to kill the electrical current before tossing the rifle over your shoulder by its strap. You run towards Din, who’s entire frame shakes with his breathing, with the effort to hold himself up, and you slip your arm beneath his good shoulder.

His voice is hoarse, cracking on your name so softly that it brings tears to your eyes, but you ignore him and push every ounce of strength you have into the stone beneath your feet to lift him. You stumble, your adrenaline only doing so much for your balance, but you’re both caught by the unshakable hold of Rhalaz once again. He nearly picks Din up just by one arm and grunts, “Show me where to take him.”

The three of you move through the crowd with resolution, and you wonder if the lack of resistance you are met with is because you still shoulder the amban rifle. Rhalaz is unflappable in the face of carrying Din’s weight, and you only stop once when Din cries out, his shoulder twisting unnaturally in your haste. You make out Rhalaz’s voice through his vocoder, but you don’t hear what exactly he says. Your mind is racing, your body moving without being told and thinking only of finding somewhere, someplace safe.

When you throw the curtain back, your heart stops at the sight of Corde and Venka playing with the baby on the floor, the three of them rolling the familiar shiny durasteel ball between them. They look up at your entrance, all of them scrambling forward with giggles and smiles. Their innocence of the violence and anger you’ve witnessed is mind numbing, and you have to grab the baby up, using your free arm to herd the two siblings backward so Rhalaz can bring Din inside.

Immediately, all three little ones go silent until Corde yanks against your hold, fighting you as fiercely as you fought Rhalaz. “W-What’s wrong with him!” she cries, beginning to hiccup.

“I need you to stay here,” you whisper, breathless and shaking as you force them to sit upon their cushioned pallet in the vestibule. All of you flinch when Din yells with pain, and Venka’s eyes well with tears. You pet his hair, kissing the baby’s furry head whose large inky eyes turn misty, his ears dropping in shared anguish. “It’s alright-he’s going to be alright, but you have to stay here and let us help him.”

Setting the baby between the two children, you lean the rifle against the wall and run to Din’s rucksack. Rhalaz is busy removing his comrade’s armor, and you grab every article of medical equipment Din brought with you, dumping it on the bed beside his hip. It’s woefully light, you think, kneeling next to him, your face pinching with the stress of how terrible his breathing sounds.

“Briinx has medkits in the armory,” Rhalaz says, removing the last of Din’s cuirass and laying it aside. “I’ll go get it, just keep him awake.”

You want to beg him to stay, to not leave the two of you alone when you’re both so weak, but you can’t find the air with which to speak. Din’s helmet sinks forward until it rests upon your shoulder, and you turn towards him, your own body beginning to tremble without your consent. “T-Tell me what t-to do,” you whisper, slipping your arm around his middle and cradling him against your body. “You have to tell me what to do.”

Without his beskar, save for his helmet, he looks like any other man. Firm in places, soft in others, and suddenly so vulnerable that you want to cry. But his glove grabs your knee with a firm hold, and you can feel the shaking determination all the way up his arm. “Get-Get a cloth, a sheet-something that won’t tear.”

It takes you a minute to register exactly what he says, but when you do, you’re on your feet, rushing through the quarters until you find several different things. You bring back a towel, a blanket, and a tunic you’d packed for yourself. “Will any of these do?”

He’s panting, leaning on his good arm to keep from falling over, and you’re worried he’ll pass out before he can tell you what to do next. He nods towards your hand that holds the dark orange silk of the tunic and you toss the other two articles aside. He shifts forward grunting with the pain of effort. “Loop it under my arm and hold the ends up with both hands.”

You comply, fumbling to keep hold of the silk. It crosses your mind that it’s made of the fabric he’d gifted you, and you almost feel angry at the thought. Angry that you should think of such a thing now when you should be focusing on keeping him coherent. “N-Now what?” you ask, holding the ends upward, unsure what he intends.

“Now you have to pull it up hard. Get the bone back in the socket.”

Horror washes over you, and bile stings the back of your throat. “I-I can’t do that!”

His helmet shines when it angles upward to look at you, and his voice is a wet huff when he chuckles. “I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do, cyar’ika.”

“I’ll hurt you, I-I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimper, staring down at his arm that hangs in such a horrible way. It’s too still.

“You won’t. Just do it-don’t hesitate. Quick and hard.”

Tears spill over the apples of your cheeks, and you close your eyes to breathe. It’s so difficult getting air in your lungs, so hard to know that the three children just a few feet away are crying with you, terrified of seeing something this gruesome befall their protector. A warm glove rests on your waist, and you look down to see his helmet once more tilting up into your face. “You can do this,” Din rasps, his voice roughened by pain.

He’s always been right so far.

Wrapping the edges of the silk around your hands, you nod and take a deep breath from your belly. He bows his head and breathes himself, and you count in your mind. One, two, three-

You use all the power from your legs and lift up with a hard, short pull. You can’t hear it, but you can feel the bone slip back into place. Din makes a noise unlike anything you’ve ever heard, a hoarse whimper bared through teeth, and his right fist slams against the cushion, the heels of his boots scraping against the floor.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cry, dropping the tunic and kneeling on the bed again. Din sobs through the vocoder, but he shakes his head, resting his good elbow on his knee and holding the brow of his helm. He’s heaving for breath, and you wish he would take his helmet off just so he could breathe better.

“Y-You did well, Cyare,” he whispers, and it’s all you can do not to fall against his side. “You did so well.”

You want to ask what to do next, but a hollow, metallic ringing comes from the door to your quarters. After several silent beats, the curtain is thrown back, and Paz Vizla steps through the threshold.

Having seen the Mandalorian dress and secure his weapons, you are well acquainted with where he keeps his weapons, and you know his vibroblade rests in the sheath of his boot. Fear disguised as boldness has you unsheathing it at the same time you stand up. You are not an intimidating force, you’re sure, hair falling from its place, dress wrinkled, crying, trembling too much to keep the knife steady.

Tilting his helmet to the side, Paz considers your form, but before you can do anything, he takes one large stride forward and grabs your wrist, the other hand yanking the knife out of your grip...before readjusting your hold on it.

“If you want to do damage to someone like me,” he says, his voice slow and deep like a thick, sugary syrup. “You should brace your arm like this. You could go for the neck, if you’re fast enough, but you’d do well to go for the hip. It’ll bleed just as well, and you’re shorter,” he chuckles.

Your ears ring at the sound of his laugh, a companionable, almost friendly song. It’s only then you realize he’s carrying a bag on one arm, and steps around you to take a knee beside your Mandalorian. He opens it and pulls out a long, folded cloth. “You’re getting old and slow, Djarin.”

Your confusion is amplified when Din huffs with vague amusement, and you only then lower the vibroblade. “W-What...I don’t understand,” you say, feeling dizzy.

Paz unfolds the cloth he’s retrieved and gestures with a tilt of his head. “Come here, buir’ika. He needs this wrapped around him. Pretty sure I broke a rib or two.”

“Or three,” Din wheezes, much to Paz’s continued amusement.

You approach with caution, kneeling back beside Din on the bed. Paz passes you the blanket, but all you can do is stare at him in wonder. He drops it into your lap before grabbing the hem of Din’s shirt and pulling it up without ceremony. It shocks you, seeing anyone handle the Mandalorian this way, but you’re already reeling so much that you don’t question it. His abdomen is splotched with red contusions, and you grimace at the sight, knowing they will soon fade to blue, to purple, to black.

“Come on,” Paz grunts at you, nodding his head. “Wrap it around him before he bleeds out.”

The words knock you from your stupor, and you unfold the cloth, slowly and carefully wrapping it around Din’s middle. It’s shorter than you realize, but it folds around him three times. Paz instructs you to secure it as tight as you can, and the fabric molds to itself without needing to be pinned. It feels almost warm, almost like water, the texture silky but thick.

“What is this?”

“A healing sheath,” Paz mutters, looking back into his bag while you gently lower Din’s tunic back down, tucking it with care. “It’ll keep his ribs from puncturing anything and help them mend.”

You stare at him for a long moment, and soon all of the adrenaline begins to seep from your system. You’re afraid you’ll fall over, pass out, faint, even, and you have to brace yourself with your hand on Din’s thigh to keep yourself steady.

“W-Why are you helping us?”

Paz goes still, looking up at you before his helmet tilts toward your Mandalorian’s visor. “You...didn’t tell her?” he asks, incredulous.

Din seems to be too focused on breathing to react suitably. It isn’t as shaky now, it doesn’t rattle the way it did, but his voice is thin from strain when he sighs, “I was going to.”

Your pale eyes flicker between the two warriors, resting a hand on your stomach that feels suddenly sour. You watch as Paz stands, an ungraceful lumber, and clenches his hands into fists at his sides before he takes a deep breath. “Then I’ll wait until you do.” He sounds...upset. Angry. His cobalt helm turns towards you, the glass of his visor not nearly as shiny as what you’re used to facing. “Rhalaz gave me these supplies to bring to you. He said there is enough to tend to him.” He bows his head, which makes your heart flip with an anxious confusion, before he turns and stomps out of the room, the curtain falling heavy behind him.

When you and Din are finally alone, you turn towards him, unsure of where to even begin. Questions race through your mind so quickly, piling up like the stones upon a grave to keep out ghosts, and you’re left feeling weary. You part your lips several times in an attempt to speak, to beg or plead or insist upon explanations, but you feel adrift in an ocean without having learned how to swim.

It’s the warm, liquor rich baritone that becomes an anchor for you.

“You don’t have to…” Din gestures to the bag of medical supplies, his breath hitching when he tries to shift forward.

Annoyance sprouts at the back of your throat, and you stand, picking up the rucksack. You frown, muttering, “You can hardly sit up. I’m not letting you try to stick yourself with needles or apply bacta.” You set it upon the table before turning to him, hands on your hips. “Can you lay down?”

He hesitates before shaking his helmet cautiously. Withholding a sigh, you nod and step close, supporting his back as you help him ease his body backward against the cushions as flat as possible. The healing sheath will keep his ribs from causing him pain, but you don’t think propping him up will help. Once he’s flat, you sit beside his hip, drawing the bag into your lap to sort through the contents.

You can feel him watching you, even if he doesn’t make it obvious. When he says your name, you have to close your eyes against the onslaught of emotion, of shock. Not Cyare, not Mesh’la. Your name.

“You are not obligated to do anything.” You turn your eyes upon his helmet, find his shiny visor gazing up at the ceiling. His breathing stutters, labors to stay controlled and even, and you think he doesn’t struggle with the words but with keeping them all from falling out together at the same time. “I do not deserve your help. I-I acted without honor.”

Once, you may have rushed to assure him otherwise, only wishing to cool tempers and soothe hurt feelings, but your tongue stays silent, eyes gazing upon the gleam of beskar in the lantern light. It would be disrespectful to both of you to not allow apologies, to refuse his regret.

Truthfully, your argument seems so distant now, so minuscule and pitiful in the face of nearly losing everything, losing him. You sniffle, looking down at the batca patch, the shot of anesthetic, the gauze. “Is that why you were challenged by Paz Vizla?” you question softly, turning your eyes back towards him. His helmet is angled toward you now. “Is that why he dueled you?”

You can see the dip of his throat when he swallows. “No.” He rests his gloved hands on his abdomen, seeming to attempt to compose himself. “I challenged him.”

You didn’t think you could feel much beyond exhaustion, but the truth knocks the breath from you. Gripping the syringe nearly until the crystal barrel cracks, your eyes widen, staring at him with a pale, ashen face. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, a plea against your ringing ears. You hate how much you’ve said those words today.

For a moment, Din goes so still and so quiet you think he may have fallen unconscious. But he rolls his helmet to look at the ceiling again, and you see the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he still attempts to gain control of his breathing. “Last night, I asked you a question, and you agreed. Do you remember?”

A hot, humid flush warms your face, and you hesitate. Your memories of the night before in the very bed you sit upon are stronger now, recalling lips and hands, sweat and skin. You remember your nightmare, clutching your child to protect him from the unforgiving fall against slain warriors of Mandalore.

“I asked if you would stay here,” Din prompts with a gentle tone, so tender it breaks your heart. “If you would stay here in the covert with the children while I hunt down the bounty I gained from Greef Karga. You agreed, but...I think you fell asleep.”

Your ears are ringing, and you’re not sure why. You relax your fingers from around the syringe, laying the supplies carefully on the bed beside his hip. “I never would have agreed to that,” you tell him, firm with conviction and blinking salt from your eyes. “Not if I’d...been awake.”

His voice pitches just slightly, curious and wondering. “What did you think I asked?”

Ignoring the question by attempting to quell the aching pound of your heart beating against your breast, you look into the rucksack for more gauze. “I won’t be left behind,” you whisper, voice cracking with your insistence. “Not for any bounty, I-I won’t allow it.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to come with me,” he whispers, his voice so, so soft. Softer than the way he touched you or how he kissed you. Softer than his hair or the sound of him saying your name in pleasure.

“Then why take it!” Your own voice is hoarse when the exclamation breaks from your mouth, the bag falling out of your lap when you jerk to face him. You feel like you could hit the wall again, but the dull throbbing in your hand keeps you in your place. “If it is so dangerous, why are you risking yourself this way? Risking what we have?”

His next words steal your anger out from under you. “Because it will protect the child.” His helmet looks back at you, and you can see his breathing pick up. “Greef Karga has made a deal on my behalf. If I can capture and return this bounty, my sin of taking the child will be forgiven. The Empire will leave us alone.”

Your eyes fall closed against the swell of heartache threatening to overturn you completely. Once more, you both are pawns of bloodthirsty men, and you want to fall apart. You rest your hand against your brow, biting your lip to keep from crying. It’s easy to forget the threat of danger being so close, holding the children safe and feeling the Mandalorian’s protection guard you all while you sleep.

Din swallows hard, and you can hear it this time as if he wishes he didn’t have to continue. “There’s a chance...if I find him, I may not come back,” he mutters, his breath pulling when your hand reaches out to grip his glove. So tight you fear you may hurt him. He waits until you can’t hold on so tight, until the joints in your delicate hand creak as they loosen. “And I could not leave you alone, would not...not leave you unprotected.”

You realize, sluggishly, what his intentions are, and you open your watery eyes. “Paz Vizla.”

“He is the strongest warrior in the Tribe,” Din murmurs, sounding both bitterly begrudging and admiring. “He will protect you and the children with his life should I not come back. He’s sworn it.”

Your chin wobbles with keeping in everything, your lips sealed against the overwhelming desire to hit and kiss and yell and hold. You lean forward, resting your uninjured hand upon the pallet near his helmet, hovering over him. When one of your tears escapes, rolling across the shined steel beneath you, Din reaches up to brush the wetness from your cheek, simply watching you.

“I have made you cry beyond what I would allow,” he whispers, letting you grab his hand and tug his gloves off. You bring his hand to your cheek, turning your lips into his palm to kiss his leather scented skin. His voice lowers impossibly, until you have to strain your ears to hear him as he whispers, fervent and shaking, “I am sorry, ner cyare. I am, I-” His fingers curl, cupping your cheek while you let your tears fall in the silence, and you know he is in more pain now than he was before. “I should have never spoken that way to you, never...never taken out so much of my own pain on the one I trust.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper back, holding his hand against your flushed cheek and gazing down at his visor. You lean gently to the side, careful not to put pressure on his injuries. “Your...mother-” His fingers twitch against your cheek, but you hold his hand where it is. You both opened this door, and now you will walk through it. “Your parents? They died, and you were next.”

He is silent in the face of the truth, giving you a simple, slow nod. You hold your injured hand against the curve of beskar where his own cheek would be, the cool steel feeling forgiving against your hand, and you can’t keep the gentle smile from your lips. “Sacrifice is not abandonment, Din Djarin. There is only nobility in what they did for you,” you lean forward, shaking from the emotions that sweep through you in circles. Pain and relief, discord and absolution. You press your lips to his beskar brow and lean your own against his helmet. “I would have been honored to know them, just as I am you.”

His right arm slips around your waist, and several of the medical supplies clatter to the floor as you allow him to pull you down upon the bed in a tight embrace. You press your face into his neck, your own arms slipping carefully around his middle, saying nothing as he shakes and trembles in your arms. You have never seen a man cry before, never known what it is like, and there is something so humbling, so heartbreaking that he should break over your quiet words of forgiveness. Ever since you’ve come to know him, you have learned more of the man beneath the armor from what he does rather than what he says. You don’t know why this means so much more to you.

You rest your hand on the other side of his neck, allowing his tears to paint his face beneath his helmet without bringing light to it. Somehow, it would be rude, you think, and you wait until they slow to a stop. “I forgive you of your cruelty,” you whisper, slowly lifting yourself up on your elbow. “If you will forgive me for my foolishness.”

The noise he makes is a scoff that cracks, and he lays his hand over your waist. “You are no fool and I have been wrong to say it,” he mutters, voice full of self-loathing. “You are the only person I hold within myself.” His thumb trails upward to brush your cheek, and you turn your face to kiss his hand once more.

“Then do not leave me here. Don’t leave me without you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you know there will be more to speak of when you both have the strength for it. You don’t know if you can blame him for the way he feels now that you’ve held a man at gunpoint. You think you must understand the lengths someone will go to, now, for those they love, for you’d do it again and hesitate less.

It’s when the hand that touches the side of his neck comes away, wet with blood that you sit up suddenly, gasping, but he makes a quiet, assuring noise. “Split lip,” he mumbles, grunting as he shifts. “A few...cuts beneath the beskar.”

You look at your hand, the small smear of crimson burning under the golden lantern. “I thought the duel was until first blood was drawn?” you ask softly, glancing between your palm and his visor.

He rumbles, pressing his helmet back against the pillow to stretch a little. “Had to give Vizla a fight,” he grumbles, practically glaring up at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t...give you up easily.”

Reaching down, you find the gauze and bacta spray, your heart beating heavily. You hesitate as you look down at him. “Should I leave you to it?” you ask, uncertain and nervous, offering the supplies to tend his face. You did want to check on the children, sure they have fallen asleep by now, but something in the way his fingers flex across his chest makes you pause.

“No,” he breathes. “It’s your right to see.” He cups your wrist, more tender than you expect without the glove, and he leads your fingers to the lip of his helmet. “Go on.”

A blind fear begins to bubble in your chest, furious and fluttering, and you grip the steel with white knuckled fingers. “But-but you said only a wife could-”

“Yes. I did.” A quiet beat between you, and you are sure your hearts match in pace. “So, it is your right. This is the way.”

The silence between you is humid, humming and heated, and this is as much of a challenge as a duel between Mandalorians only with more at stake, more to fear, more to want. Inherently you know that this moment will twine your lives together beyond anything you could understand, beyond a promise or a ring or a kiss. You feel your heart beating like a drum for war when your other hand comes to balance the other side of the Mandalorian helm. But you think this time, this particular moment, you and your challenge are evenly matched.

And so, you remove his helmet.

Mando'a Translations:

Cuyir ibic te dala? - Is this the woman?

Cuyir ibic tion'ad gar kar’taylir? - Is this the one you love?

Hiibir kaysh be'chaaj! - Take her away!

Meg cuyir ibic? - What's this?

Buir’ika - Little mother

Cyar’ika - Sweetheart, darling

Cyare - Beloved

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Tag List: @lavenderl3mons @itzagoodthing @letaliabane @kateb013 @yodaswrinkles @catsnkooks @notawhitegirlblog @ihaveashield @sinnamon-bunn @just-a-dreammm @tiffdawg @lackofhonor @btillys @collectivefandom @kylolover96 @little-ms-fandom @earthtokace @blondecity @gaybroadwayloser @forever-rogue @lizajane3 @rzrcrst @themandjalorian @netflixandsnuggle @mrsparknuts @lonelystarship @adikaofmandalore @avoreahspromise @emilykjhgsj @fioccodineveautunnale @lokilover-39 @shesthelastjedi @yes-music-is-my-religion @rnlaing @peachdameron @theocatkov @mando-and-the-child @multifandom-fiasco @paryl @golden-mando @katialvi @toppaazzz @dragongirl642 @themilkface @menedraws @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @reallyfuckingangrylatina @literallytrashhhhhh @plipaya @kass-daily @ntlmundy @sikenurse @honestlystop @lukesrighthand @layla1974 @luosymekawa @bunnyart-blog @rika-cchi @chessurkitti @leo-moon @b0nchan @ladyjaye7 @benedrylcumbersnatch @ntlmundy @jerusomeeno @ezraslittlebirdie @frietiemeloen @luminarahan @firehoopinmama @b0nchan @ezraslittlebirdie

#The Lovely Moons #my writing #my fic #Din Djarin x You #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Star Wars Fanfiction #Mandalorian x You #Mandalorian x Reader #The Mandalorian x You #The Mandalorian x Reader

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

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So I had an idea for a DeanCas Pokemon AU that I never worked on because it was just too grand of a project, but after commissioning @gabester-sketch to draw this picture of Dean and a Sylveon (here) I’m thinking, even if I never get around to writing it, I still think it was great and am gonna share it.

So, basically, it would have been an AU set in the Kalos region (my favorite region), with Dean and Sam having grown up in Vaniville Town. When they were young, the town was beset by criminals and set aflame, the boys losing their mother in the fire. While Dean got Sam to safety in their neighbor Bobby’s arms, he then got seperated and ended up losing consciousness under a tree. He was mostly unharmed save for twin scars on his palms in the shape of ‘x’s (which he will hide with gloves), but because of the fire he ended up being traumatized of both fire and Pokemon. Fast forward many years, they have been raised by Bobby because, after the fire, John decided to recommit to being a Pokemon trainer and find the villains who set the fire. Sam wants to set out on his own journey, but has been held back by Dean’s worry longer than he should have - meaning all of his friends got to leave town when they were ten while Sam’s been there an extra 6+ years. Until one day, Sam leaves, telling Dean that he is going to start his journey and he hopes he forgives him.

Dean, naturally, chases after Sam - thinking he can catch him before he gets far.

Yet Dean, being Dean, gets lost quite easily in the surrounding grass and forest and his anxieties start rising. He gets cornered by some wild Pokemon and doesn’t know what to do, when suddenly an Espurr appears and battles away the Pokemon. A trainer arrives, too, with mussed dark hair and blue eyes hidden behind wide-rimmed frames, and he’s dressed dishevedly. He introduces himself as Cas and asks why Dean didn’t send out his own Pokemon. Dean says that he doesn’t have any. This begins a conversation that Dean quickly walks away from, stubborn, claiming that he doesn’t need any Pokemon.

He’s lost again, and mad that he didn’t ask Cas for directions. He’s sitting by a lake when he feels something brush up against his side, and it’s a little Eevee. Dean tries to make her go away, but she won’t, instead nestling into his lap. At first he’s so panicked, but the more Eevee cuddles and uses Baby-Doll Eyes at him, and as he pets her, Dean relaxes. Until some Team Flame members burst in, saying that they’re here for the Eevee. Dean doesn’t respond well and say that it’s not their Eevee. They battle, with Dean holding his own, but when it looks like they’re gonna be overpowered, Dean runs away with the Eevee and stumbles on Cas again, and together they send Team Flame running. Dean thanks Cas, while Cas observes that he’s seemed to have gotten himself a Pokemon. Gives Dean a Pokeball to catch the Eevee with. Together, they make it to the next town where Dean learns Sam’s already left for Lumiose. “Good thing you have a Pokemon,” Cas comments, “you’re gonna need her if you want to go to Lumiose.” Now Dean has been forced on his own Pokemon journey.

Along the way Dean will find his party growing, and he’ll be coming out of his shell with the more people he met. The Pokemon professor I had in mind was Chuck when I created this but I have changed my mind and it’s Missouri, with Charlie and Kevin as her assistants. Lumiouse City gym leader was Ash, little sister Jo and mom Ellen would also be introduced. The third gym leader would be Claire, who we also find out is Cas’s niece after Dean meets with Cas’s twin brother Jimmy - thinking he’s Cas. And the sixth gym leader was originally gonna be Jess, but because I am an Eileen-stan, Eileen would be the Fairy gym leader who also tells Dean she was very interested in his brother. And Dean’s party would grow to include a Togepi that he evolves into a Togekiss, a Feebas he helps grow into a Milotic, his Eevee evolves into a Sylveon, a Buneary bruiser that will evolve into a Lopunny, a Litleo that helps him overcome his fear of fire type Pokemon (saving her from a fire that Team Flare started in former Team Flare now Elite Four member Meg’s house) that will evolve into a Pyroar, and a Cubone who he keeps out of its Pokeball most the time (like Sylveon) that he picked up because we all know why.

And, during his journey, Dean becomes a great trainer in his own right, though he doesn’t battle for badges. He becomes great friends with his Pokemon. Pokemon have always naturally been drawn to him, which he’s now starting to see isn’t such a bad thing. He’s also meeting new friends, like Cas who he keeps running into and, you guessed it, develops a crush on him.

Finally Dean makes his way back to Lumiouse City for the Pokemon Tournament, and while out and about in the city finally runs into Sam. Sam is shocked to see Dean, especially Dean with Pokemon, while Dean just starts berating Sam for sneaking off like that. They mend fences pretty easily, Dean saying that if it weren’t for Sam leaving Dean might’ve been too afraid to leave home to go on his own journey. Sam would love to stay and chat, but he needs to register for the tournament. Dean lets him off, saying they should meet up for lunch (”a picnic”). Sam agrees. After running into Sam, Dean then runs into Cas, and Dean fills him in on the Sam stuff. He then invites Cas to their picnic. Cas agrees, but hasn’t shown up despite Dean and Sam and their Pokemon all already being there for half an hour. Cas does arrive, apologizing, being held up, and Dean is ready to tease him until he turns and sees Cas dressed much differently than before.

Cas is in a suit, his hair pushed back, no glasses, and wears a trench coat. Sam is agape, asking Dean why the Kalos Champion knows who he is.

That’s right! Cas is the Champion of Kalos! We finally meet his party, which includes a fully-evolved Meowstic.

It’s an enjoyable picnic and they’re all walking around the city when they see a Pokemon battle going on, check it out and - it’s John Winchester!

More reunions! John is proud of his sons for setting off on their journey, and asks to see their Pokemon. He approves of Sam’s but finds that Dean’s aren’t fit for battle. Dean is rubbed the wrong way by that but stays silent, but Sam goads them into a fight. Dean’s Sylveon vs. John’s Tyranitar. It’s a strong match-up, with both Pokemon getting good hits in. Sylveon falls, however. John, though, says that Dean trained her well and things are fixed there.

It’s time for the tournament and everyone is there. Including Chuck, the CEO of this corporation. Sam’s progressing well throughout the tournament, until he finally faces Nick, a mysterious competitor who’s been mowing down his challengers ruthlessly. Before the battle Dean, in a trance, rises from his seat. Sylveon worringly chases after him. Just as the battle is about to start, the stadium goes dark, and Team Flare make their reveal. They begin attacking, with those who are able to combatting this all. Sam is busy dealing with Nick, Cas tied up battling grunts but also worried about Dean. He goes to find him but only sees John, who explains Dean had to use the bathroom.

In actuallity, Dean is being kidnapped by Team Flare and their leader, Chuck. Cas and John make it to see Dean being squirreled away, Sylveon left behind.

Dean wakes up in the Team Flare headquarters, where it’s revealed Chuck wants to absorb the powers of life and death through their avatars - Xerneas and Yveltal. He’s already succeeded with Yveltal, but failed years ago during the Vaniville Assault. That’s right! Chuck caused the fire that killed Dean’s mom and scarred him. This is where we learn that Dean, while lost in the flames of the town and forest, stumbled upon Xerneas’s tree form. Dean died due to smoke inhalation, but was given new life through Xerneas’s interference. Because of this, his Pokemon’s fairy attacks were much stronger than normal, and it aided his charm. Bascially, Xerneas passed its energy into Dean, making him Xerneas. And Chuck wants to absorb it even if it kills Dean.

Cas, Sam, and John all decide to launch a rescue mission. They sneak into the underground compound and fight to free Dean. Meanwhile, Chuck moves to awaken Xerneas. He succeeds in doing this, Dean’s hair turning pink because of it. He doesn’t absorb Xerneas’s power, however, as the others cut in. Chuck disappears, deciding he’ll just go through with his plan without Xerneas then.

The group converge, freeing Dean. Except it isn’t Dean, it’s Xerneas. “I’ve always been Xerneas.” This doesn’t sit right with any of them, but before they can comment Xerneas teleports away, sensing Chuck. The others leave the compound, trying to get a sense of what’s going on.

Chuck’s real goal was to destroy the world by killing Zygarde, then start over using Xerneas’s power. Chuck has grown into a horrible amalgamation of man and Pokemon. Dean does the same to stop him, and they battle while the others go to wake Zygarde from his slumber. They succeed, and Zygarde comes and rips Yveltal free from Chuck, leaving him a regular man again.

Xerneas goes back to normal, Dean-sized again, and says that once he leaves Dean, Dean will surely die. Everyone starts to cry, including Dean’s Pokemon who all jump out of their balls to argue with the deer entity. Xerneas, troubled, searches their feelings, and understands. He converses with Zygarde and when Zygarde frees Xerneas, Dean is still able to wake up and is himself again (there was a way!) His hair is still pink, though. Everyone celebrates!

Epilogue - Sam wins the tournament and faces off against Cas, defeating him and becoming the new Kalos champion. Cas is glad, as he’s ready to retire and explore more that life has to offer. Dean asks what that might be, and Cas kisses him.

Back when I thought of this, I think around s9/s10, it was way out of my skill level. And now, I dont have the time lol. It seems like it’d be a 20+ chapter piece. But what a fic it would be...

#supernatural #spn #pokemon au #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #john winchester #destiel fanfic idea #this is probably as far as I'll be able to go with it #especially since most of my notes were lost in my dead computer lol

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dearest-bucky · 4 years

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I think I’m in love... just a little bit (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: An undercover mission brings to surface some underlying feelings.

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: mutual pining?

A/n: This fic is inspired by one scene of the movie “The man from U.N.C.L.E” that I saw a few days ago after Meg’s @searchingforbucky post on her blog. I really loved the movie and I wanted to write something similar. p.s Meg I’m sorry you’re getting a second notification for this. 🙈

Originally posted: August 12, 2020

"I hate this." He grumbled from the chair he was sitting, positioned behind the large window to keep an eye on the street below.

Y/n let out a sigh, but didn't say anything to him. What could she say really? Ever since they'd arrived in the hotel yesterday morning he'd been complaining the whole time, so Y/n just let him let it all out, let him whine as much as he wanted while she prepared for her part of the mission.

She was drawing her winged eyeliner in front of the mirror, carefully gliding the flat tip of the brush on her lid, then angling it a little upwards to draw the wing. The precision with which she moved her hand, the careful movement; Bucky glanced her way in wonder as he saw her put on make up. She was so invested in it. Truly, an art in itself.

Yet, he still couldn't help but be annoyed with the entire situation in general. "I'm not even a spy. I'm a fucking soldier." He said as she finished the eyeliner on the other eye, completely unbothered by him talking.

"I don't know why I agreed to this mission in the first place. I just think it would be better if- "

For the first time in the last hour, she finally decided to reply to him. Putting the eyeliner down and turning towards him, she spoke up, interrupting his rant. "Because T'Challa is your friend and he asked this as a favor from you. Now quit whining and start getting dressed. We'll have to make an appearance in less than an hour in the ballroom downstairs."

That shut him up effectively. He got up from the chair he was previously sitting, put the binoculars on the small table next to the chair and walked to the closet where his suit was hanging, fresh from the dry cleaners.

In just a few minutes he was dressed and his hair slicked back, gathered in a low man bun at the nape of his neck. He cleaned up nice, if he dared say so himself.

Y/n on the other hand, had moved to the adjacent bathroom to change into her gown for the night, a floor length navy blue dress that hugged her curves beautifully. She walked back in the room, holding the front of her dress with her hand. "Can you please help me zip this up?"

He picked his head up to look at her, mouth going dry in an instant. She looked so beautiful. No, the word beautiful didn't do her any justice. Bucky thought there was no word in the English language - or in any of the other languages he spoke - that could truly describe the way she looked, standing there in front of him.

After a short moment, he broke out of his stupor and moved to her. "Yeah, sure." He mumbled as he positioned himself behind her, flesh hand reaching for her zipper and the metal one resting lightly on her hip. He could feel her shiver in front of him as he slowly glided the zipper up. "You're shivering." He spoke and she turned her head slightly to the side, their eyes meeting for the briefest second.

"Just nervous about the mission."

He finished with the zipper and placed his flesh hand on her other hip, holding her in place, his warm breath hitting the skin of her neck. "Don't be. I'll be with you the entire time." It was supposed to be a reassurance and it worked, but as he kept her close to his body, she started shivering for a whole different reason. She simply nodded her head and moved away from his touch, suddenly too overwhelmed to be in his presence. The tension in the room were palpable. The unspoken feelings kept secret inside their chests.

"Are you ready to head out?"

Another nod and she looped her arm to his and they walked out of their shared room, entering the elevator in the corridor and moving down to the ballroom where a party was being held in honor of a politician neither of them couldn't care less about.

However, in the same place was secretly happening the illegal sale of some stolen piece of Wakandan vibranium. One of the acquaintances of the aforementioned politician was to do business with some weapons dealers from Middle East and apparently the business would take place during the party where everyone's inhibitions were low because of the flowing alcohol and they'd be unsuspecting of what was really going on.

That was about to be ruined though, because king T'Challa knew all about the plans of that thief so he'd send Bucky and Y/n to put an end to the whole thing.

They walked slowly in the ballroom, discreetly looking around to take note to all the exit points, scanning the place around for any unexpected but still possible threats. To the untrained eye, they were just another fancy couple attending the party, both dressed to the nines, enjoying the expensive party.

They made their way to the bar, Bucky ordering both of their drinks. She sipped a small sip from hers, hoping the alcohol would help her relax a bit. It wasn't her first undercover mission, however it was the first one where she was alone with Bucky and she wanted to succeed, to prove to him that she was as good of a spy as Natasha. Not that he doubted her abilities, but still.

They'd been there for at least an hour when his eyes fixed on something behind her head. As they were looking around the place, Bucky caught one of the weapons dealers walking to the exit. "Stay here, I'll be right back." He whispered to Y/n in a rush and pecked her cheek, trying to keep their cover.

She wanted to ask him where he was going, but Bucky was already gone, leaving her alone at the bar. She turned to the bar counter and picked up her glass, taking another small sip, enough to wet her red lips.

She was playing with the seam of her glass, tracing its outline with her finger in circular motion when she felt another presence behind her.

"It's truly a shame to leave such a stunning lady as yourself alone at a party." The voice said and she turned her head to look at the new man who was now at her side. She gave him a tight smile, seeming uninterested and turned her head towards the party, ignoring the man.

This wasn't part of the plan, but seeing that the man came to her like the lamb in the slaughter, she wasn't stupid to pass this golden opportunity.

"Allow me to buy you a drink." The man spoke up again after a short moment of silence and she wanted to scoff at how bad he was at this, picking up women.

Her mission required her to be serious and collected, so she acted exactly that. "No, thank you." She replied curtly, knowing that her refusal would only spur him to insist more with her.

Just like she thought, the man wouldn't give up, and after a few minutes of acting totally indifferent and uninterested, she knew she had to change tactics if she wanted to win him over. She felt disgusted with herself, but it had to be done. The things she had to do for a mission!

"I would love it if you'd be able to accompany me tomorrow for a business lunch." He said over a glass of expensive whiskey that was so strong even its smell was enough to get Y/n drunk. "Then after that we could go anywhere you'd like. I'm sure there are many interesting things to do in this city." His hand that wasn't holding the glass moved to touch her bare arm and she wanted to crawl in her skin just to not feel his touch but she had to act flattered and interested for the sake of the mission. She knew what the 'business lunch' was and if this man was dumb enough to invite a total stranger to his illegal deals she wasn't going to complain. He probably thought she was a brainless bimbo who only lived by her looks and that's exactly what she wanted him to keep thinking.

A smile made its way to her face and just as she was about to reply and accept his offer, Bucky returned again, his eyes darkening when he saw the man's hand on her arm, looking at her as if she were a piece of meat and he, the hungry wolf. He hated that look and he did his best to not break the man's fingers, opting to just loop his arm around Y/n's waist rather possessively and throwing daggers with his eyes to the man. "Sorry I was away for too long baby." His words were spoken sweetly and directed to Y/n, but his eyes that were still on the man said another story. "I'm afraid we have to cut this night short."

This was confusing. They weren't supposed to leave. She gave a questioning look to Bucky but couldn't read him at all. Damn Winter Soldier. His hand around her waist just tightened a bit, squeezing her hip lightly and she didn't question him anymore.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, mr. Teller." She spoke to the man on her other side rather sweetly, trying to keep the cover intact. "I'm afraid I have to leave now."

The man was left a little confused too by the presence of Bucky, but he didn't comment on it. He just put his hand in his pocket and fished out a business card, handing it to Y/n. "My number, so we can talk about tomorrow."

When she stretched her hand to grab the piece of paper he swiped it and kissed the back of her hand in a chivalrous manner, slightly bowing in front of her. "And believe me, the pleasure has been all mine, my dear."

Bucky couldn't wait to get away from him. He didn't know how he controlled himself to not punch the man right then and there, but he was glad he did, otherwise they'd fail in their mission. And the last thing he wanted was to let T'Challa down.

They moved quickly to the exit, walking across the long lobby of the hotel towards the elevator again. When the doors of the elevator finally closed, that's when Y/n voiced her questions. "What happened? Why did we leave? I was about to gain access to their meeting tomorrow, their deal would take place in that lunch."

He only released his bowtie, not answering her questions, so she kept asking. "Do you understand that I had him? You almost cost us this mission, and for what? For what Bucky?" She didn't realize she'd been raising her voice with each question she asked.

He finally picked his head up to look at her, his eyes had returned to their usual soft blue but his face was set in a scowl. "You don't know that."

She only scoffed at his words. The doors of the elevator opened to the floor their room was located and while they walked through the corridor to their room, none of them said a word, not wanting to be heard from the wrong people.

Bucky opened the door and entered the room first, Y/n following him and closing the door behind her back, locking it just in case. Just as the lock clicked she spoke up again.

"I'm going to that lunch tomorrow."

"Not happening."

She sighed in frustration, suddenly feeling as if she was speaking to the wall. "Look, all I know is that Teller being all over me would help us with the mission more than we can imagine."

"What help can he be? He's a thief. He's up to no good." Bucky threw the jacket of his suit on the bed, the bowtie following too.

"If by up to no good you mean he's trying to steal me away from my 'fiancé' then yes, he's up to no good."

"Exactly, a thief!" He exclaimed and Y/n scoffed in annoyance at his reaction.

"I don't know why you're so upset about it. You're not my real fiancé Buck."

At that, he turned to face her again, nostrils flaring in anger, but he controlled himself before he said something he could regret later. He drew in a short breath, calming himself relatively before replying to her. "As far as he is concerned, I am. And for the purpose of the mission, I am. So like I said, not happening."

She wanted to punch him in his beautiful face, she was so mad at him she couldn't even look at him anymore, but the mission was more important than their fight, so she willed herself to calm down too and ask him again, albeit a little harshly. "Okay then, my dear fiancé, how do you suggest we do this?"

"We don't." He replied shortly and Y/n could only stare at him, dumbfounded by his answer, but she waited for him to continue speaking and explain what was happening.

"When I left earlier I followed one of the dealers Teller was going to sell the vibranium to and I found out the place of the exchange of the vibranium. The lunch tomorrow is only a formality, a way to close the deal in papers. The real exchange will happen somewhere else."

She processed his words for a while and then she asked. "Where do we have to go then?"

"Us? Nowhere. I spoke to T'Challa and gave him the location of the exchange, he and Okoye will take care of it. Our mission is over now." He explained.

"Oh." Was the only thing she said. If she was being honest with herself, she'd been looking forward to a little real action with those bastards, but apparently T'Challa had other plans, so she couldn't do anything about it. "Okay then."

By now Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed, having unbuttoned the two upper buttons of his white dress shirt. "Tomorrow we can head back home." He said to her and she only nodded in response.

She walked to the bathroom silently to remove the make up and get out of the dress she was wearing, changing into a mismatched pajama that consisted in a large shirt she had borrowed from Steve? Or was it Sam? and a pair of cotton shorts.

When she returned to the room she saw Bucky had changed too, instead of the suit he was now wearing grey sweats and a tank top. "Do you want me to order you anything for dinner? I'm calling the room service."

"No thanks. I'm just gonna hit the sack."

He picked up the phone and ordered something to eat for himself, while Y/n got in her bed, fluffing the pillow before laying down on her side, facing Bucky.

There were two single beds in the room, so at least she didn't have to worry about sharing with him for the night. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to fall asleep, but the thoughts in her head were too much. She still couldn't make sense of Bucky's earlier outburst about Teller but despite the fact that she was dying to know what was he really thinking, she knew better than to poke the bear.

Soon enough, exhaustion took over and she was out like a light.

Bucky could tell from the very first second she fell asleep. Her breathing evened out and her heartbeat slowed down considerably.

After he had his dinner, he tried to read for a while before bed, but after a while closed the book, not wanting to bother Y/n with the light that came strong from the bedside lamp. He laid down and closed his eyes with a silent exhale, thinking back to everything that happened earlier.

He guessed he had overreacted, but he couldn't help himself but see red when he noticed that bastard touch Y/n as if she were his. Y/n was no one's but her own and Bucky knew that, despite his reasons for getting mad at the other man being totally selfish.

He didn't have the courage to come clean to Y/n about his feelings for her so he used the mission as reason for his outburst. Truth is, Bucky had the hugest crush on Y/n since the first time he saw her but another truth is that Bucky is a coward when it comes to his happiness, so he never said anything to her, never even tried to give her any hint about it.

Now as he laid down, facing her from the small distance that separated their beds, he felt like the biggest idiot in the world. He acted like a jerk with her.

Sleep didn't come to him for most of the night, thoughts plaguing his mind incessantly. However, the last thought that went through his head before he fell asleep, was Y/n and how much he wanted to tell her how he felt about her. If only he could find the courage to do so.

Maybe one day he would do that. Maybe.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

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bidoldaccount · 3 years

Text

Erase All The Downsides - One

Intro

Word Count: 3,042

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden (Temporary)

notes: cigarette use; anxiety; pining; singer Dean; No Ben

"Which one should I wear tonight?" Dean looked away from the mirror and looked at Lisa thoughtfully. The two dresses she was holding up were so vastly different from one another. In her right hand was a floor length red dress, covered completely in sequins. He could tell it would show off a lot of her cleavage, the dip in the chest would go to her sternum. In her left hand was a navy blue color, with lace sleeves, that puffed out on the bottom.

"I like the red," he said, smiling softly at her.

"Hm, me too," she kissed his cheek as she passed him in the bathroom. He returned his gaze to the mirror, putting the finishing touches on his hair. His hair was already fine, and Charlie would tease at it later, so this process was pointless, but he needed something to do so he wouldn't fray his nerves thinking about all of the people that would be at tonight's event. A few of the strands that he had carefully teased fell out of place as Lisa threw her top at him, smiling playfully at him in the mirror. He turned with a lazy smile, leaning against the bathroom counter and watching as she undressed. Her body was slim and her short height made her look smaller than he already was. Her hip bones jutted and her stomach was completely flat, the tightness of the dress showed this off, a thin line from top to bottom. Dean kissed her cheek when she was done dressing, leading the way out of the bathroom.

A cab was waiting for them outside when they walked out. Charlie, Dean's unofficial publicist, Benny, Dean's official manager, and Sam and Jess were already waiting for them at the venue. Paparazzi were swarming outside, buzzing and flashing, talking at them as they walked in. Dean kept his hand on Lisa's lower back, smiling politely, raising his hand in greeting at some. Lisa smiled as brilliantly as she always does, not shying away from the flashing cameras. She was a lifeline in social situations, her beauty and amenable personality life a safety blanket. She steered conversations as easy as breathing, and Dean's social anxiety always relied on that.

Meg Masters had started singing in 2013 and she skyrocketed to fame in the early months of 2015. Dean had met her around 2014 and they got together occasionally to write music together. He had his hands all over her second album and, likewise, she wrote half of his third. Dean genuinely liked her personality, so it wasn't a shock to him that he was invited to a charity event she was hosting. Everyone was dressed in their best, floor length evening gowns and pressed suits. Dean fiddled with the button on his jacket as they were directed to their table.

"Aren't you guys going to Florida this weekend?" Charlie asked, drawing Dean's attention away from all of the strangers surrounding them. The question was directed at Sam, who was sipping casually from a glass of champagne. Dean's not sure where he got it or when.

"Yeah, we're visiting Jess's sister, she had her baby so we're going down to meet it," he said.

"It?" Dean questioned with a laugh, "Sam, it's a baby, not an it," he said.

"Yeah, don't do that in front of my sister," Jess said with a soft laugh. Sam rolled his eyes and gesticulated.

"You know what I mean, I forget what it was," he defended.

"It's a girl, you dork," Jess said with an amused roll of her eyes.

"I sincerely hope you two wait a few more years to have kids, I'm surprised Sam has kept Bones alive this long," Benny said.

"Okay, says the guy who fed his dog chocolate yesterday," Sam said.

"It was an accident!" Dean relaxed in his chair a bit as they fell into an easy rotation of banter and light conversation. Meg took the stage twenty minutes into their arrival and began talking about tonight's purpose. She was raising money for the local LGBTQIA community, specifically geared towards mental health resources. She looked very passionate as she spoke, and Dean clapped when she finished. There were a number of people lined up to speak, half advocates and the other half teens from the community itself.

Dean got a glass of wine thirty minutes in, and it eased the tension in his throat. He kept his hand on Lisa's leg, trying to ground himself in the feel of her, trying not to squeeze too hard even though it was getting harder to anchor himself to her and all he wanted to do was squeeze harder. She gave him a look when his third glass of wine arrived, not judgemental, but definitely warning. Sam was talking about some new book Charlie loaned him, dissecting it with her, and Benny was talking to Lisa about the last speaker that was just on stage. Dean couldn't hear a word of it. He was sinking into his skin, and he was a second away from surrendering to it.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he whispered in Lisa's ear as he stood. She gave him a slight nod before returning her attention to Benny. Dean clenched his jaw and blinked a few times as he walked to the bathroom. Maybe he could sneak out for a smoke before the next speaker came on.

The bathroom was sparsely in use when he walked in. He ducked into the first stall he saw open and took a second to just breathe. He couldn't unclench his jaw, but his body felt a little more secure. He was still floating somewhere outside of it, but it wasn't as bad in this smaller space where he could press his back against the stall door and dig his feet into the ground.

He did his business and washed his hands with minimal anxiety, but his breath started to catch as he walked out. He stood still just outside of the door, looking across the room at their table. His friends and his girlfriend were all conversing without a care, he knew all of them had their own set of discomfort and anxieties, but he also knew they flourished in social situations. Benny was the only one who suffered like he did, but he was distracted by Charlie and Lisa. Dean knew he was fine, so he ducked over to the kitchen area. He was directed to the back door by one of the waiters and instructed to prop it open. When he pushed through, the air hit him hard. He sucked in a lungful as he propped the door open with a brick.

He gulped down the air with needy satisfaction, walking a few steps away from the door and settling with his back to the wall. His pack of cigarettes was a bit crumpled coming out of the pocket of his slacks, but he saw that none of the sticks were damaged when he pulled one out. He smacked his pockets in search of the lighter, sticking the cigarette between his teeth to free up his hand. He dug into his pants pockets, finding nothing but flimsy, expensive cotton. He grunted in panic as he searched his jacket pockets, almost ripping the inside in his haste to find the lighter that he obviously left at home.

"Need a light?" His breath hitched before he even looked up. Her eyes were soft and dim in the faint light of the alley.

There were times when Dean got that itch under his skin, that need to not be the one in control, where would think about this moment. The moment he was under the weight of her gaze again. After the first few months, when the panic attacks and the excessive crying calmed down, after he could breathe normal again, he thought the effect had worn off. Like a detox from a drug he didn't know he was taking. He thought the temptation would disappear. Obviously that is not the case, because here he is, sighing into the warm evening air, already feeling utterly intoxicated in her presence.

She looks almost the same. Four years later and she is just as beautiful. Her black hair fell down to her shoulder blades, pinned back because she hates it in her face, naturally wavy with a little product. Her eyes still make his heart stutter, worsened tonight but the shock and the guilt. They peer into him, reading his every thought, understanding his every emotion before he even feels them. He can't bring himself to look away, all he can do is hope that he doesn't look as shocked as he feels.

"I'll trade ya," her voice was just as he remembered it, if not a little deeper, she had probably been drinking, her voice dropped a little when she drank champagne. It took him a second to realize that Castiel was gesturing at the pack of cigarettes sticking out of his pants pocket. He probably looked like such a mess, with his clothes ruffled from searching them, his button up slightly yanked out of the waist of his slacks. He shut his mouth and swallowed hard as he pulled the pack out and offered them to her. Cas took them with a soft smile, taking one stick and handing it back. He didn't dare touch her, even though he wanted to. There was a guilty feeling creeping up his spine with how badly he wanted to touch. She lit hers first then offered him the lighter. The smoke seeped past her lips in smooth clouds, twisting and disappearing in the air above her. The lighter was warm from her purse, and he would bet anything that it smelled like Peach gum.

"Thanks," he muttered before lighting his own cigarette. Castiel smiled at him without responding verbally. The color of her lipstick stuck to the cigarette as she pulled it out of her mouth, her chest rising as she inhaled, then sinking as she pushed the smoke out.

"You doin' okay? You looked pretty far gone when you came out," she asked, holding her cigarette as she always has, her wrist bent with her palm up, the cigarette a slight flick away from falling from her middle and pointer fingers, elbow resting at her hip.

"Just, um, having a rough time with anxiety. Too many people, too much noise, I was feeling a bit out of body," he explained, unable to look away from her. He was afraid to look anywhere other than her eyes but he couldn't help looking down at her dress. It was a silk, a deep emerald green, reaching down to the floor. There was a slit at the right side, draped open around one leg. He had to look away when he got there, that guilt twisting in his gut again. She was watching him still, and his cheeks flared up under the attention. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here," he said, trying not to flat out ask 'what the hell are you doing here?'.

"Yeah, I run a shelter for teens, specifically for lgbtq+ teens who need a safe space. We have on campus counselors who work pro bono," she explained. He remembers her talking about that. It's been a few years but that passion is still in her voice. "I'm speaking later so I guess I'm glad I ran into you now. I'm sorry if I blindsided you, I know it's been awhile since we've seen each other," she said.

"Yeah," his collar got tighter as he glanced down at the ground, unable to hold her stare and not buckle beneath it.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? I can leave you alone, I would pass on the speech if it wasn't something so important," Cas took a step back, putting more space between them. Dean tried not to let his breath hitch again.

"No, no, I'm just," he blinked hard a few times, trying to clear the fog of shock and anxiety from his brain. "You're not..." he paused, swallowing on a dry throat. She waited patiently as he took a slow drag of his cigarette before finding his voice again. "You're not making me uncomfortable," he said.

"Okay," she took a step forward, still a respectable amount of space between them, maybe an arms length away, but that arm's length felt like an anchor, bringing him back into his own body. He's startled that she still has this much of an effect on him. "How have you been? You look like you haven't slept much," she looked away from him with that thoughtful tilt of her head, then added, "I'm sorry, I'm talking like I still know you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, it's just surprising how well I can read you still."

It's surprising him too, though it really shouldn't. She has taken him apart piece by piece then carefully reassembled him, adding pieces of herself to make him whole.

"No, you're right. I haven't been sleeping too much recently. We're making plans for a new album and I'm anxious to start performing again. Isolation will do that to you, I guess," he shrugged.

"I understand, you've been on a break for about a year, right?" She asked. He looked up again, his cigarette pausing halfway to his lips.

"How'd you know?" He asked.

"I check in, see how you're doing," she shrugged one shoulder. The thought of it almost makes him fold in on himself. The thought of her pulling up articles of posts about him and his career, all of the things he's done without her. He shakes that thought away, the guilt squeezing.

"Yeah, about a year," he nods in response.

"So, what is it? Stage fright? You've been offstage for over a year, there are bound to be some kinks while you find your rhythm again," she said.

"Yeah, that's what everyone else is saying too," he took another drag, trying desperately not to look her in the eyes again, in fear that he won't be able to look away.

"Meaning that's not what you're afraid of. So what is it?" There it is again. She's too good at reading him. He sighed softly, flicking the ash burning tip of the cigarette.

"The last time we went on the road, I started doing bad shit, I was playing my best onstage because I was doing my worst offstage. I'm afraid that I'll fall back into it once we start up again," the confession rolls off of his tongue easily as soon as he makes eye contact again.

"Do they know?" She asked.

"Just Benny, I've been too ashamed to tell anyone else besides him. I didn't even really mean to, I just got too drunk one night and it all came pouring out," he said.

"You don't have to be ashamed of falling into a rough patch. People make mistakes and people do bad things, especially when it messes with the chemicals in their brains. If anyone tries to make you feel ashamed for having a hard time, then those aren't the people you want in your corner. I'm glad you told Benny, because now when you go back on the road, you'll have someone looking out for you, who I'm sure won't judge you if you stumble a bit. But, you have to tell him if you get that urge again, if you start falling again," her voice was so soft but so sure and firm.

"Yeah, I don't want to go through that again," he whispered.

"That's good, Dean. I'm proud of you." A shiver ran up his spine as those words left her lips. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he couldn't help the little shake that shot through his knees. The guilt was rising. "I should go get ready for my speech, but," Cas paused as she looked at him, something hesitant in her eyes. He could only imagine what expression he had on his face. "It was really good to see you, Dean." She tossed her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her heel as she reached into her purse. It was a bittersweet feeling that ran through him when she pulled out two sticks of Peach flavored gum. She offered him one and he took it because he is weak. She didn't say anything else as she walked away, back towards the door where he had set the brick.

When Cas was gone, Dean fell back against the wall with a soft exhale, allowing the air in his lungs to rush out. His face fell with the closing of his eyes and he didn't realize how boneless he felt until he almost slid down the wall. He caught himself with a stutter, steadying his body on shaky legs. He brought the gum up to his nose and inhaled the artificially sweet scent. The smell of it sent a shiver through him, he felt utterly disgraceful shivering at the smell of a piece of gum, but he didn't have it in him to care. He slipped the stick into his pocket, beside his slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes.

With a deep inhale, he straightened out his suit jacket and started tucking his button up back into his slacks. His hips stuttered when he realized he was half hard, his eyes shutting as he stilled. He finished tucking his shirt back in, he ran his fingers through his hair, and stamped out his cigarette before walking back inside.

"You were gone awhile," Sam remarked when he sat back down at the table. Dean sank into his seat, pressing his hands lightly to his thighs, feeling the soft material of his slacks.

"Yeah, the noise was getting to me, I ducked out for a cigarette," he said with a nod of his head.

"Damn, I should have gone with you before the next speaker," Charlie said, her nose scrunching.

"Too late," Lisa gestured to the stage with a small smile. Dean looked over and steeled his expression as Castiel went waltzing on, effortless in her demand for everyone's eyes. He's absolutely positive that she doesn't realize the power she has over any room she walks into. Dean's view of her is obscured by Lisa moving her head and the guilt in his stomach makes him turn his head towards the table.

"Is that?" Benny's question goes unanswered as she starts speaking.

Yes, yes it is.

"Good evening, everyone, my name is Castiel,"

#Destiel #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Castiel #Sub Dean #Dom Castiel #Female Castiel #Dom/Sub #Pining #Lisa Braeden #dean x castiel

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chifrany · 3 years

Text

Children of the Entity

Chapter One

It always hurts for a few moments after the Entity claims you. Perhaps he was taking a bit longer to heal than usual cause he felt like he was floating for hours till he finally felt the sinking feeling of returning down. Knowing that meant he would return to consciousness soon. Sighing and expecting to wake up among friends, Dwight opened one hesitant eye.

The familiar crackle of the fire however didn't exist. Frowning, he opened both eyes up before sitting up more properly. The campfire was gone and wherever he was he had never been before. Did the Entity respawn him in the middle of another trial? Something like that hadn't happened since earlier in his 'career' here. When there wasn't as many survivors to work with.

Getting to his feet, he figured he better find the generators around and help his team. However walking into the buildings and along the outside of the map. He didn't find anything out of the ordinary. But most of all no generators. A bit weirded out, he paused next to a stream that ran by close to the buildings. Dipping his hand in the running water, amazed at the feel of it.

It had felt like centuries since he last touched water like this. The cold feels shocking and invigorating. Making him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time. Seeing no one else around he decided to do something he hadn't done in a long time. So stripping down he hopped into the river as he bathed.

Only getting out when his body couldn't handle the cold anymore. He roughly threw his clothes in as well. Most of his clothes were covered in dirt and blood, with a new outfit appearing every so often giving him a break from the grimy feel of others. Now at least he could get some of the dirt off. He just wished this stream had some bars of soap around.

With the clothes as clean as he could get, he decided just to pull them on, wet and all. Not wanting to risk being butt naked just in case there was something else here. Walking back to the buildings, he was surprised when he noticed the sun in the sky was starting to lower. Looking back at the building he remembered all the beds and even blankets that was within it. Deciding to go to the pink house, he explored each of the different rooms. Finally stopping at the rather large one in the attic.

He'd always had an apartment style room and this one was immaculate compared to what he was used to. Grinning softly to himself he turned towards the door pleased when he saw it also had a lock. Locking the door behind him, he decided to take off the wet clothes now that he had some security. Hanging them up to dry before crawling into the bed.

The softness immediately melting him and making him sigh. He wasn't sure where he was but it sure beat the trials.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next day was spent exploring after he woke up. One thing he was starting to notice was the familiar return of hunger and thirst. Drinking from the stream helped with the one part but he wasn't the smartest when it came to perhaps catching food. He did see animals around but even if he caught one, he wasn't sure how to cook or eat it.

He stumbled across some berries and was about to eat it when he remembered Claudette warning him about all the poisonous berries. Nervous now, he decided to just sleep hungry. He would risk it when he was more desperate.

The next afternoon however, things changed as fog appeared once more. He watched in awe as four sleeping forms appeared right in the middle of the road similar to him. Except these bodies he recognized. "Jake! Meg! Nea! Claudette!" He yelled out. Not afraid of attracting something at this point. He had explored and saw no evidence of killers.

His four friends were slowly waking even before he called their names but upon hearing it they seemed to look over at him in surprise. "Dwight?" Meg was the first to speak and grinning she leaped to her feet before pulling him into a hug. "Where the hell have you been?" She demanded.

He grinned however as slowly the other three got to his feet. "I don't know but I've been here for about two days." Dwight explained. Before having to also explain how the sun rises and sets here as well. His excitement to not be alone also caused him to show them around.

"Theres animals, berries, a creek over there where you can wash. The rooms inside also have a large bath that you can use. I think we might even be able to boil some water to get it working." He explained.

"How far into the woods have you gone?" Nea asked this question. Dwight however looked deep into the woods before shaking his head.

"Not far. Here seemed safe and I didn't want to get lost." He admitted.

Jake narrowed his eyes, "Are we still in the Entities Realm?" He questioned.

"I think so, look over here." Dwight explained. Showing them all the temple put in place for the Entity. They recognized the symbol on the rock as one that they see in their dreams.

"So still in the realms but no trials." Claudette spoke before seeming to smile. "Maybe, this is it? We've done enough so it's letting us live in comfort." She figured.

"I haven't seen any killers." Dwight agreed. The other three didn't seem as convinced although Meg seemed to soften a little.

"It will be nice to not die daily." She said softly. With that they decided to attempt to settle as they all chose a room. Dwight immediately saying he's fine with giving up the big room. He only took it cause he thought he was alone. They didn't care and surprisingly they all decided to stay in the same house. With Jake and Meg taking rooms on the bottom floor, Claudette in the middle and Nea the floor right before Dwight's.

As the day started drawing to a close Claudette showed which berries were safe and they had a pretty vegan supper. Although Jake had planted some makeshift traps for prey.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the two day mark after the four arrived was when more people showed up. This time being David, Quentin and Laurie. David decided to take the big room in the blue house. Laurie and Quentin also decided to be the blue house although they both took a room on the second floor.

Dwight was starting to consider a pattern however. Wondering if after two more days more would show up. And upon the next two days when Ace and Bill appeared. He figured that theory was sound. Both Ace and Bill were a bit special upon their arrival. Seeming a bit younger then they were before.

Bill being the most noticeable, back wearing his army sweats. Ace decided to take a room in the pink house while Bill decided on the blue.

The next two days after that though caused a big disturbance. Once more going out to see who was grabbed next. Dwight was shocked when he recognized the cloaked figure of the Wraith. The man's weapon even lay down next to him.

Things were tense as they stared at his prone form. As he started to calm too Dwight grew alarmed however David immediately stepped into view. Glaring at the cloaked figure. For his part the Wraith seemed almost confused as he stared back at David.

Seeing him here now, he almost looked more human. And not the horrific monster they had learned to fear. As he moved to stand, he just seemed wary as he looked first at David then at Bill who also was moving in closer. "Where am I?" He questioned. Dwight's eyes widened, he didn't even think the Wraith could speak.

"You're in trouble if you even think of trying anything." Bill shot back. The Wraith just turned to look at him taking a step back as he stared at the closest 'threats'.

Looking down at his weapon, he paused for a moment before dropping it on the ground and taking another step away from it. "I don't want to hurt you." He promised.

"Yeah, right." David responded back.

"Believe me or don't it's the truth. I understand why you hate me though." The Wraith responded. Sighing before lifting up the familiar bell. The familiar ringing sound as he disappeared in front of them.

After that it definitely seemed like he was hiding. With them not seeing him for the rest of the day. As it started to approach nighttime, Dwight walked over to Claudette seeing her stare outside. "You think he meant it?" She asked softly.

"Meant what?" He responded.

"That he didn't mean it. Mean to kill us all that is." She clarified.

"I don't know." Dwight admitted before remembering something he read in a journal once. "Baker said that a lot of the killers were tortured and forced into this just like us." He explained. Knowing she would know who Benedict Baker was. After all, she was the one who found the first journal entry.

"You never told me about that one." She accused.

Dwight looked guilty but for his part he just shrugged, "They were killing us either way. Didn't think it was that important in the grand scheme of things." He admitted. She seemed to accept that explanation before sighing.

"I wonder if more will show up." She fretted.

Dwight was wondering the same. After all, if one showed up, what was stopping more?

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

That question was answered the next round as, now, a bit more wary. They watched as the first killer himself formed. At least the first killer to most here. The metal and glass that usually plagued his body was gone though leaving behind large, white scars. Unlike Wraith however it seemed like the intimidation feat had no effect on Trapper.

Especially since he still had his machete. Just like Wraith however he didn't openly go to attack. Instead he just looked around, confused and angry. "What now?" He grumbled.

Ignoring David as he started to walk around. Call him cowardly but Dwight just watched him. He seemed to not be the only one as they all seemed to be following him but staying a safe distance away. All except David that is. "Oi! Don't ignore me mate, think y' can just ignore me, huh? Yeah well let's see how tough y' are outside of the trials, yeah!" David threatened.

"So we aren't in a trial?" Evan suddenly said, turning and focusing his full attention on David. David for his part seemed a bit startled but recovered quickly as he crossed his arms.

"No, no we aren't." David actually responded. Evans's complete disinterest perhaps caused him pause. The fact that he had his machete in his hand might have also been a key factor.

At the response, Evan turned away from him once more as he started to explore the buildings. Dwight using this opportunity to move closer to David. "Be careful." He warned. David and him always had an off and on relationship between David sometimes liking him and sometimes being downright hostile to him.

It seemed that he took Dwight's genuine concern though as just that. Not getting angry although shaking his head, "He isn't going to push me around anym're. Or any of y'." He said that part more loudly. Actually looking at Dwight when he said it.

Dwight however just shook his head, "I don't want to see you getting hurt." He admitted. "Not anymore, this place… is safe. It can be safe." He said nervously but repeating it he felt more sure.

"Yeah, I'll make sure it stays safe mate." David responded.

It was at this moment that Trapper seemed to return. Spotting the mini gathering of survivors before snorting, "Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." He said.

David immediately seemed angry at this however Dwight took this moment to step forward. Forcing himself to be brave, "Don't hurt any of us. This place seems like a home away from the pain of the trials. I would prefer to keep it that way." He explained.

"It's alive here. You can feel it in the air." Trapper responded back. Before nodding, "No more killing." He assured before looking off at their skinned animals. "Unless we need food. I'll set up some traps. Try not to step on them." And with that he walked away. Heading straight into the woods.

"Well, at least he seems to want to get us food." Ace cut in.

"Just don't step in his traps." Quentin mumbled.

The next day was even more surprising as walking in, Evan threw down a doe in the centre of their area. So far they had only caught a few rabbits. This would easily feed them all with possible leftovers.

Nobody said anything when Evan claimed a room in the blue house. Or when the Wraith seemed to reappear and choose his own room in that house as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dwight was a bit disappointed when the next ones that arrived were not one but four other killers. The smaller forms of the Legion appeared as they all took forms looking around warily. Unlike Trapper however once they settled they didn't seem as willing to stay on their own side.

Often coming over and seeing what everyone else was doing. Dwight had almost tripped down the steps when the girl with the pink hair suddenly said hi behind him. That wasn't the only thing about them though. No, what bothered him more was when who he seemed to be the leader came up to him and asked him this.

"So.. what do you want us to do? I've never skinned anything before but we could check the traps." He had said. Dwight had just stared in alarm because this Male, as he had learned, was Frank. Was asking him what he wanted him to do. He looked completely serious too, if a bit awkward.

"Uh actually, we need to fill some buckets with water if you could do that an-"

"Done!" And with that he just walked away. Returning to his Legion as Dwight watched them all run and grab a bucket. Shaking his head and trying to ignore how disturbing Dwight found it. He went back to work on his own project.

~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully the next ones to arrive were three more survivors which was a relief to Dwight as they worked to get them settled. At this point the blue house had become the killer's house while the survivors decided to stay in the pink one.

With more mouths to feed however it seemed like the Killers, at least Trapper was a bit more useful as one of the only ones that could bring in big prey. So they did attempt to try to work together with them. The first step was not separating their eating times.

Although the first dinner with the killer's presence was definitely awkward. With everyone tense and on edge. "So… Do you play music?" Joey, one of the Legion, suddenly asked attention focused on Kate.

"I.. know a few songs." Kate responded.

"Oh! Like what I bet it's all country." Susie cut in laughing before growing awkward as others didn't join in.

Dwight stared at those two although noticed that Frank's gaze was locked on Jeff. Jeff for his part seemed to be ignoring his gaze as he just ate slowly. "You know. I'm not that hungry going to go for a walk." Frank suddenly said loudly. Getting to his feet before turning and walking out.

It was no surprise to Dwight when the rest of the Legion seemed to collectively take their leave as well. "About time." David muttered next to Dwight. Dwight looked at the scrapper curiously but he didn't explain himself.

Sighing, Dwight went back to his meal.

The next ones to arrive were Jane and Zarina but what was even more exciting than their arrival was everyone's clothes. Dwight never thought he would be that excited to see his stupid elf costume again but wearing the same thing all the time wasn't the best feeling. Although most of his clothes would definitely need to be washed of all the blood and sweat. It was still great to see them again.

As Jill, Chris, Leon and Claire arrived a few days later did Dwight find himself stuck in a conversation with Zarina. "There's fifty." She said out loud.

"What?" Dwight asked, glancing over at her.

"There are fifty rooms and every two days more survivors or killers survive. So… I think eventually there are going to be fifty of us." She explained.

Dwight blinked in surprise before looking off at the two buildings. "Wonder what's going to happen when we reach fifty." He fretted.

"Think we will figure out why we are here." Zarina said simply. "Although there is another thing I realized. I think eventually some of us will have to live with the killers she admitted."

"What?" Dwight questioned.

Zarina shrugged, "I have a feeling there is going to be more of us than them." She just said calmly. "And I think we should decide sooner, rather than later, who is going to move over."

The next ones to arrive were Steve, Nancy and Jonathon which generally made Dwight worry about Zarinas words. He figured she had a point though and after a moment decided to organize a meeting. Explaining Zarinas fears with all survivors present. Finishing off that nobody would be forced but it was something to consider.

It was no real surprise that after admitting that out loud a few volunteered to move over to the killer side. Those being Chris, Jill, Leon, Bill, and surprisingly Nea. After that it was just them moving over to the other rooms.

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

The next ones to arrive seemed to be more killers. Who quickly settled into the blue building. It seemed after these ones however that there seemed to be a break from groups arriving at once as only the Pig arrived next time. He hoped the next arrivals would be more survivors.

As it came the time to expect more arrivals though he suddenly felt the urge to head off to the temple. Upon arriving there he found he wasn't the only one. And seeing a bunch of passed out sleeping faces slowly start to awaken, Dwight had a bad feeling about all of this.

He surprisingly stayed mostly calm throughout the Observers announcement. Love? This is what this place was? He seemed to not be the only one in a level of disbelief. As the minute the Observer disappeared everyone's voices started up at once. Varying degrees of alarm, confusion and even paranoia.

"Enough." He mumbled out loud. The panic around him makes him anxious. With no response he grew frustrated before saying it even louder, "QUIET!" He yelled out. Surprised when it actually worked and people turned to look at him.

"Panicking isn't going to solve anything. Just, help those that are new get settled. Then we'll figure out… that." Dwight said. There were a few that seemed annoyed at his order but at least some agreed. He was even relieved when he noticed a few killers moving to help the newer killers who just arrived as well.

As everyone started going their separate ways. Dwight actually went to find his own corner. A year? To find love? It seemed unreal but he didn't doubt it was the truth in this case.

Still, "This is not going to be easy." He muttered.

#dwight fairfield #dead by daylight #children of the Entity

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haphazardlyparked · 3 years

Text

cousin Billy

lol i have spent two days doing literally none of the things i need to be doing, but meg did suddenly get a cousin. :)))

----------

“Hey, favorite cousin,” Meg said when I opened the door. “I need a favor.”

I opened it enough to get a good look at her. She was wearing some kind of crude brown coverall-trousers and a rough, threadbare shirt, totally filthy hair (and the Meg I saw off wore a gorgeous dark braid, and now all that thick woven glory was a short frizzy cut that had leaves in it, not even dead leaves, golden and red and orange).

She wasn’t even alone; her entourage included a square-faced man larping as a dirty knight, a tall sallow woman with subtly mis-matched eyes that I absolutely did not notice, holding a small blue dragon statue that did not close one eyelid and curl its tail a bit in. It didn’t, because that would have been insane, or worse, in the realm of fantasy, and that’s one place I generally prefer not to go.

I closed my eyes and shut the door.

Meg immediately started banging on it. “Don’t be like that, cuz, open up, please,” I could hear her say, very clearly, followed by the dirty knight who said, “Lady Meg, should we go somewhere else?”

And the tall woman asked, “What is a cuz?”

“Cuz, cousin, my mother’s sister’s daughter,” Meg explained, exasperated yet very thorough in her reply. Just for the record, she hadn’t stopped banging on my door either.

Then the tall woman, sounding very different and perhaps a bit taller than the first tall woman, which I also decided not to think about very hard, murmured, “You have family?”

There was just enough absurdity in that to make me pause. It was not the loneliness that got me, or the the wistful surprise, like the tall woman had only just remembered family was a thing people could have.

I opened the door and sidestepped Meg’s falling hand. “What in God’s name are you bringing down on me, cuz?” I demanded.

I’ve found that holy curses, the kind my grandparents use, are always safest. That took some trial and error, and a lot of hiding under my covers.

Meg beamed and pulled her arm back the second she realized I’d caved and opened the door. “Billy, these are my, uh, friends, Cal, Arina Firedancer, and—“

“Do you call me that in your own thoughts,” the (second) tall woman wondered, but more in statement form; cool and cutting, with none of that breakable loneliness now.

“Shut up, Arina Firedancer, what else am I supposed to call you?” Meg hissed, introductions derailed. But she paused before she took them up again, glanced at the dragon statue, and then decided to keep mum. If the dragon statue snorted, it might have meant that was exactly this Arina Firedancer’s purpose, but I didn’t see the dragon move at all.

“This is fun, Meg, really,” I told my wayward cousin in a way that emphatically declared the opposite. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes on her very normal, dirt-streaked face. “Disappear for a few years and show up on my doorstep like you haven’t bathed in any of that time, and you have leaves in your hair, by the way.”

“Billy, stop pretending you don’t know exactly where I went, please let us in, and no I don’t.” Meg was trying to smile at me when she said it, only she did not sound nearly as foolhardy and blithely optimistic as the last time I saw her.

Well, that wasn’t my problem. But she was family.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, and then I stepped aside and let everyone come in. Meg knew it the minute my security went down, and she barged through the door with a cry of relief and went running for the bathroom.

Typical.

“Alright, dirty knight, tall woman, very inanimate dragon statue—please do not sit on or touch anything until you’ve washed. Actually, just stay here for a minute. Meg will show you the bathroom when she comes back out. Anyone want a glass of water?”

“Yes,” the dragon statue said.

“Anyone?” I repeated, pointedly, and then the dirty knight, who I presumed was Cal, said, “If you would be so kind,” and Arina Firedancer repeated him, word for word and inflection for inflection, neither cutting nor wistful now. She managed Cal’s earnestly obliging politeness so convincingly, I decided immediately not to trust her.

I retreated to get them two glasses of water to sort out amongst themselves. When I returned, they stood huddled together by my door, Cal positioning himself closest towards me, hand not quite on his sword, while Arina Firedancer watched me with her strange, intent stare. The dragon statue drank water.

At the very least, they were good about not touching anything, though I’d long since moved most things from the small entrance hall. There was a coatrack, in the corner opposite two closed doors that filled one side of the hall, all its walls now bare of the photos that used to be there. The hall itself opened up into the living room behind me, with the kitchen hidden off to one side. My bedroom was one of the doors by the entrance, which you’d think was extremely unlucky and maybe unsafe, but then I’d say, let’s think about where my potentially unwanted visitors might be coming from.

The open living room, and the kitchen for that matter, had very big, spacious window-doors that led out onto a little terrace in the backyard. So sometimes it was better to be near the front door. And my bedroom does have two (locked) exits, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t also hedging my bets. If you were me, you’d be this paranoid too.

It wasn’t long before Meg came out of the bathroom and reappeared in the living room, shaking her hands out to dry, and before she could sit on anything I called out, “Same rules apply to you! No touching anything until you’ve showered.”

Meg jerked up from the beige chair she was about to plant her dirty pants all over, caught, and then straightened with a huff. “Okay, fine.”

“And even if I do let you shower, that doesn’t mean I’m helping you.”

“We only need a door, Billy,” Meg said immediately, abandoning the chair to rejoin us out in the little hall, which was starting to feel crowded. There was a strange purpose to her, no longer smiling to lighten the mood.

“You already know how to get back to your”—I waved vaguely in the direction of Meg’s friends, and didn’t look to see what the dragon statue was up to now—“place.”

Meg tried another smile. It seemed off, for some reason, like there really was something desperate to her. I guess a couple of years living in some weird fantasy land commune--yes, that is the story I'm going with--can do that to a person.

“Not back,” she corrected me, and this time her wheedling grin was just as obnoxious as ever. “Somewhere else. Somewhere like… Fairy?”

“Oh are we talking about that now?” someone said, and then gulped down another sip of water. “Can I talk now? Crouching to be this small is extremely stifling. ”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted back from ten. I didn’t care how stupid it made me look.

When I calmed down, I opened my eyes and breathed out. “Meg, you are hands-down my least favorite cousin."

She beamed at me. She knew what I sounded like when I gave in.

••• ••• •••

You might ask why I am still with the thief who doomed me and her knight and their dragon. I could give you a very long and complicated answer about how she also saved me, in her own time, and how the knight and dragon have shown me kindness, and how these are debts that must be repaid. It would be believable. I know how to be believable.

But I record this to be honest. So instead I will think about that space between them, all the things they say, which outline its shape, enough that I can guess at the things they don’t say. They circle each other, some nearly-tangible connection between them, and it’s that thing that I need to see.

It reminds me what it is like to be human, and while I am being honest, I am doing my best to want that again.

Lady Meg’s cousin is… extremely human. Perhaps something humans can become only without the fear of fairy, I suppose, though this one has really been employing the human power of belief to maintain a strange atmosphere in her home. It feels strangely clean. Empty.

She reaches out to Lady Meg and starts plucking leaves out of her hair. I had thought I'd seen them, but they shimmer fully into view when Lady Meg's cousin draws them out, and Meg frowns, washing away the last light of her triumphant, relieved smiles.

"I don't even want to know how long those have been there."

The cousin Billy sniffs. "Me either. You can use the bathroom off my bedroom, and your friends can share the guest one.”

"And you--"

"Yes, yes," cousin Billy says, and her fistful of orange, red and yellow rustles. "I think these might help seeing as they're native to... your destination."

That makes Lord Cal look worried, and Lady Meg rolls her eyes, because that seems to frequently reassure him. Well, it did before the unicorn.

"Let me show you the wash room," Lady Meg announces, while her cousin unhappily examines the fairy leaves. She ushers us through to the next open room. Through there we turn a corner, where there is a door to one side and another room before us, one with high counters, many cabinets and a deep sink. Lady Meg opens the side door to reveal the bathroom.

It is an odd affair, like something between fairy and home. Lady Meg shows us how the taps work in the standing bath and the white chamberpot, and stresses that it's not magic but merely plumbing. She points to the towels folded on a rack, and I cede the first turn to Lord Cal.

Out the door together, we move to the kitchen, the room with the sink where Lady Meg refills the dragon's glass cup. I set the dragon on one of the counters.

"Hey," Lady Meg says, voice lowered in her version of polite. "Am I not supposed to call you Arina Firedancer?"

I look at her for a moment too long before I remember to blink and look away. I know why she’s asking. I shouldn’t be surprised by it anymore, by that directness. “You may call me what you want," I assure her. "I was just surprised… It is very kind of you. " I hadn't expected her to be so courteous.

"Why is..." Lady Meg trails off, then mutters, "Names. Is it that? I'll never understand them."

I shrug. I don't know that any human can, but it feels right to me, honorable, that we don't think in first names, showing how we don't presume to each other's true names. Is that a fairy or human kind of honesty?

When I don't say anything, Lady Meg recognizes my silence and says, "Alright. I'm going to get some clean clothes for you guys, then shower myself."

I wait until she's back with two piles of folded clothes to ask, "And then?"

"Then Billy will find us a door to fairy. Or something. She's really good at that stuff, once you get her to take the blinders off.”

“I didn’t hear that!” cousin Billy’s voice calls from some other room, loud and indignant and very, very human.

The miniature blue dragon's scales rippled. "Your cousin seems very bad at observation," she commented dubiously.

Lady Meg snorted.

#stress what is stress #writing #cal & meg #cousin billy #and arina firedancer #self indulgent 2021

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girlofmanyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

#forbidden spicy gatorade

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

Text

The Viking King and the Pancakes (Ivar x reader)

A/N: Modern AU but not exactly Modern!Ivar, you’ll see.

This is not the second part of Pancakes in Bed again? But if you haven't read it, it would be better to read it first. Here

Thanks to @inforapound, without whom I couldn’t do anything 💖 And thanks to @ivaraddict for this precious gif 💖

Summary: the reader wakes up and finds out that she is not alone in bed. When she realizes who is lying next to her, the shock is even greater.

Warnings: None besides my wacky ideas ; shaggy dog story. Ah yes, swearings too.

Words: 2136

Lazily opening your eyes, you startle when the sound of snoring wakes you completely.

Snoring?? How could this be?? You have been sleeping alone for… for… weeks? Months? So long that you actually aren’t sure… It could even be years…

Immediately you are wide awake and screaming as you realize that a man is lying next to you. In your bed! Under your sheets! A wave of panic hits you. What did you do last night? Had you been drinking? Eating mushrooms?

Where did he come from? How did he get there? And more importantly, who is he?? And… did you have…? Oh, no, no, no, no! Looking under the sheets, you see that you are still wearing your pajamas. Phew!!

Releasing a loud sigh of relief, you hear the stranger growl as he shifts in the bed. Looking at him carefully, you are frightened – there's a man you don't know anything about in your bed! – and also fascinated – from what you can see, his muscles are… impressive…

It's highly inappropriate, but you are drooling.

Move a little more so I can see your face, you urge him silently.

It worked! Rolling onto his side, the man slowly faces you and…

FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

"By the gods, who are you?"

From his thick accent you know he's not fluent in English. But you still understand. Which is good, as your knowledge of Old Norse is limited to "Du kan ikke drepe meg!" Although, thinking about it, telling him he can't kill you might not be totally stupid.

"I..I.." You pathetically babble. Fuck. Fuck! You must be dreaming, right? You pinch your arm, bite the inside of your cheek and end up slapping yourself in front of a dumbfounded Iv… No! It can't be him! It can? Noooo! Fuck, even after five slaps, he's still there.

"I'm Y/N," you finally say and are rewarded with a puzzled look.

"Strange name."

A man of few words, no doubt about it. Rolling your eyes, you sigh. Maybe you like it better when he doesn't say anything.

"And you?" Your question is somehow rhetorical as you already know who he is. But you need to hear it, clearly, from him.

"Ivar the Boneless, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and Aslaug Sigurdsdottir, king of Kattegat and leader of the great heathen army."

It sounds like he's reciting his service record.

Wow, wow, wow! The guy is slightly showing off, isn't he? You'd like to put him down and hesitate to remind him that unless you're mistaken, Bjorn overthrew him and he's not really king anymore. But it doesn't seem particularly wise, so you choose to keep quiet.

Not him.

"Are you my new slave? A gift from Ubbe, my silly brother, as a sign of his repentance and total allegiance?"

A slave??? You are in my fucking house, man!! And in my bed!!!

Six months later

You hurry up, eager to get home, looking forward to finding your man, Ivar the Boneless; the ruthless king. The bloodthirsty, fierce, cruel Viking. Your lover. Your Ivar.

Pushing back the door with your foot, you hastily lock it behind.

"Ivar?"

Not getting an answer, you put down your bag and take off your shoes before walking through the apartment. Putting your phone on the kitchen table, you inhale deeply, enjoying the delicious smell of a lamb stew that has certainly been simmering for hours.

Eventually, you find your great warrior asleep on the couch, the old wheelchair you unearthed in a second-hand shop right next to him. Smiling, you take your time, admiring his features. His facial structure, so perfect. He's astonishing, breathtaking. Painfully handsome.

He belongs perfectly in your living room and simultaneously seems completely out of place. You can't help but smile seeing the contrast of his hairstyle – "Never without my braids, woman!" – and his outfit, sweatpants and white T-shirt.

"Hi, my love!" Blinking, he almost purrs as you kiss his forehead.

Using his powerful arms to draw you close, he flashes you a broad grin as you carefully straddle him. With modern drugs working wonders, you taught him to rate his pain on a scale of one to ten and he's rarely over two. Yet, you haven't found a way to prevent him from breaking a bone at the drop of a hat.

"My queen!"

Your laughter fills the room. No matter how much you tell him you are not the queen of anything, he seems hell-bent on it so you let him, amused and surely flattered to be loved by a real king.

"Dinner is almost ready." You shiver as he kisses your temple, your cheek and eventually your neck. "And then…,” his voice is suddenly hoarse, "… you and I will make love."

Six months earlier

"Tell me again??"

The frightening Viking glares at you, threateningly, driving your heart rate crazy. Fortunately, you confirmed he came unarmed in your bed and then you took care, before inviting him to sit at the kitchen table, to lock up all the knives and sharp or pointed tools.

"I say…,” ashamed, you know you're blushing, "… that I have called the gods, yours as well as the Christian god."

"And for what purpose?" His piercing blue eyes are scanning you, his features harsh.

"I….” Your voice is shaky. "I have already told you."

Before you realize what's going on, his hand is on your throat, and he's squeezing. The little bastard!

"I said," he roars, "For. What. Purpose?"

Freaking out, it's hard for you to breathe and you can hardly speak, your face red, your eyes bulging and begging him for air.

His eyes demanding an answer, he barely releases his grip. You're sure he won't hesitate to strangle you if you don't say anything.

"I have… I begged the gods because I wanted… I wanted you in… my bed… Well, not you…" Suddenly your words are rushing out. "I wanted the other Ivar, the Ivar of the TV show, this TV show that you don't know but in which you play the lead role. And yes, I'm aware that you don't know what a TV show is, I'll explain later, but that's it, it's you I wanted, that's why I called the gods and I don't know why but apparently it seems they heard me."

Ivar's hand doesn't move but he doesn't squeeze anymore, allowing you to breathe freely. You can see a slight change in his eyes, and his face softens.

"You… You wanted me in your bed? …..Why?"

Suddenly, there's no longer a frightening warrior in front of you but the terrified little boy from the eleventh episode of season four. His huge, wide eyes screaming all his insecurities. You are dying to tell him that Margrethe is nothing more than a stupid girl who did everything wrong. After all, you'd only be telling the truth!

But because he's unpredictable and because you don't know him well, you choose to say something more simple. "Because you are extremely attractive.”

Pleased by your words, he puffs his chest, flashing you a cocky grin. "And what did you want to do in bed with me?"

His rapid mood swings are fascinating, even more impressive in real life than on TV. Weighing the pros and cons, you eventually decide to be honest. "I wanted to have sex with you.”

Six months later

"I'll take care of everything, just go chill."

Nodding gratefully, you watch Ivar, who's setting the table while stirring the stew and keeping an eye on the cooking pasta. Smiling, you can't help but assess the progress made.

In six months, Ivar had become a perfect househusband.

Neither you nor he were able to explain by what miracle, sorry, by what magic, the word miracle made your proud pagan throw up, had him get there. But you didn't complain.

Neither did he – he who confessed that the last thing he remembered was fleeing Kattegat, alone, abandoned by all, hiding in the back of a stinking cattle cart.

Of course, you had to teach him everything and at first, it hadn't been easy. But he quickly got his bearings, at least in your apartment. Outside was harder. He was afraid of everything. Too much noise, too many colors, too many stimuli all the time.

That's why he spent most of his time inside. Running errands was terribly worrisome for him. Eating out too. At most, you forced him to go out sometimes late at night to get fresh air, and three weeks ago you managed to take him to the mountains. He loved it.

On a daily basis, you two didn't get out much, but you didn't mind. In your home, your cocoon, you were able to forget more and more that Ivar was more than a thousand years old. Forget that he was a character from history books as well as one of your favorite TV show. And the fucking fictive guy you've been fantasizing about for months!

He had adapted quickly enough to modern technologies, had discovered running water with delight and had been fascinated, almost mesmerized, by the Internet. It was so he could use it, he asked you to teach him how to read.

Learning in record time, you realized that the show had some truth: Ivar was certainly a brilliant and intelligent person.

Since he could read, he'd devoured every book he could find. He read all your books, even burning one that described the point of view of a Saxon monk during the Lindisfarne raid. The best thing about this interest was that he was always looking for new recipes on the web. "Helga would have been crazy with such a tool!", he told you after explaining that it was Floki's wife who had secretly taught him how to cook.

"Take your seat, my queen.”

Wheeling towards you, Ivar hands you a glass of wine. "For you." You thank him and then you both raise your glasses before clinking them. "Enjoy your meal!"

Bringing your fork to your mouth – Ivar, your stubborn Viking, still eats everything with a spoon – your eyes shoot wide as you let the flavors spread through your mouth. Once again, his meal is excellent, a true feast for the palate.

"Ivar!" Talking with a full mouth, you're slightly ashamed but know he won't hold it against you. "It's simply a pure wonder! Exquisite and perfect!"

Smiling proudly, your Viking king is sincerely happy. He doesn't need much. What he told to that bitch Freydis was the truth: all he wanted was to be loved. And in truth, he doesn't care about being king. For the first time in his life, he can be himself. With you. And that's enough for him.

"I'm glad you like it." Waving his spoon in front of you, he furrows his brows. "Are you working tomorrow?"

You can't hide the small smile curling the corner of your mouth up. Ivar still has trouble with some concepts. "No, my love, tomorrow is Sunday. I never work on Sundays." Seeing that his face lights up, you know he has an idea in mind. "Why?"

"Nothing… I was just thinking… I could try to prepare… pancakes. And we could eat them in bed."

You are sure you've never mentioned pancakes and wonder when he heard about them. But whatever, you're in. "That's a great idea! I'm sure you'll do well."

Now, Ivar's biting his lower lip suggestively and you wonder what he’s up to.

Putting his spoon on the edge of his plate, he wheels towards you. "I'll prepare toast, eggs, and bacon too."

You can't help but feel aroused by his hoarse voice, even if it's ridiculous. Who would have thought that breakfast could be a turn on?

Wait. Wait. Fucking wait. Pancakes. Toast. Eggs. Bacon. Seriously???

"Why?!" You startle, slightly distressed. "I mean, what are you talking about? Why are you talking about that? Why do… Why do you want to eat that tomorrow? I mean, exactly that?" You know you're pathetic, but Ivar only smiles at you lovingly.

"Because I want to.” Stroking your breast, he leans forward and his mouth meet yours, giving you shivers. "And once I've eaten all this…,” backing up just enough to look you in the eye, his hand brushes your crotch, making you shutter, "… I'll enjoy my dessert."

Standing, you take a few steps back, panic setting in while you try to put the puzzle together. Your heartbeat becomes frantic when you eventually understand what it means. What he means.

"Ivar… You…?" Blushing, a lump forms in your throat, you can’t speak anymore.

Nodding at you, again and again, a broad smile on his face and his gaze almost naughty, he’s obviously having fun. Fucking pompous asshole!

"Yes, my queen. I found your Tumblr blog. And I read your fanfictions."

OH!! FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

🛡⚔️🛡

@waiting4inspiration @saldelys @lisinfleur @honestsycrets @gearhead66

#vikings #vikings imagine #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar vikings #ivar imagine #ivar x reader #modern au

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter 16; Escape

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

t's not the shade we should be cast in It's the light and it's the obstacle that casts it It's the heat that drives the light It's the fire it ignites It's not the wakin', it's the risin' - Nina Cried Power, Hozier I don’t know why, but something about this song spoke to me writing this chapter 🖤❣️ Along with “Running Away” by Maverick Sabre. One of my favourite artists of all time - go and check him out, he’s simply awesome.

Waiting was her greatest nuisance. She was on tenterhooks all day.

As if expecting someone to burst in and proclaim the true circumstance of her guilt. She’s peeking around corners and dreading every moment of cursed silence. Every lapse in conversation is a dagger in her side. She keeps expecting to be caught out.

By the time the evening draws in, she’s nearly apoplectic. She’s sat in the parlour watching the sky darken. And with every second of it blackening her excitement grows in her chest. Gestating bigger and bigger with every second she hears tick by on the mantel clock.

She hardly spoke through dinner. Just listened to her sisters usual fussing and Mama disapproving of yet someone else of their acquaintance. Iris won’t miss that.

She nearly leaps out her skin when Meg bursts in the clattering dining room door without warning, with a note to hand her father. A missive from the farmhand.

Her heartbeat slows to its normal thud. She’s unaware that her father watches her from down the table with a casting silent eye and a look of concern. Mama and the girls were none the wiser.

Then they sit in the parlour as night is heavy and steely blue-black at the window like a velvet drape. Fire and candlelight cloaks them all as the girls embroider. Mama reads a novel, and father sits behind the spread wall of his paper.

Iris takes a moment to look around at them.

She catches her fathers eye as he turns the page over in his papers. He gives her a fleeting smile that passes the time of day. She watches the way the ochre of the flames in the half blade off the lense of his reading glasses. He returns to his pages.

She’ll miss his silent sympathy. His calm presence was a balm she doesn’t know how she can be without.

She looks across at her vain, silly simpering sisters. She’s astonished to find that she will miss them too.

She’ll miss their gossiping and - amazingly - the screeching matches that erupt over who gets to wear their new bonnet or who gets the silk slippers. Or Iris’s pretty pieces of jewellery. Apart from two very adored beloved pieces she’s taking, she’s leaving the rest for them to scrap over. She smiles thinking on it.

It’s odd to think she’ll be in Bavaria. Living in a castle as a Lady to Lord Ren. And she’ll think of home, and she’ll grin, wondering if her vapid sisters will be fighting tooth and claw - having a tug of war - over her earrings or her pearl clasp bracelet.

She’ll miss Flora’s fiery head. In both temper and colouring. How bravely she defends her poor choices in various men of the militia. Then loves a completely different one the next day. She’ll miss how she always puts a pouch of dried flowers on Iris’s pillow when she picks too many - she always picks too many.

And Posy. Posy and her dreadful sweet tooth. How she always gave Iris heaps of her favourite pudding even though mama insisted she didn’t want her eldest getting too plump. Posy scraped it all onto Iris’s plate when her head was turned. Even if it was her sisters favourite.

And even though the way she borrows her books and dog ears the pages makes iris grit her teeth - she’s going to miss that dreadfully. She’ll see some plain unspoiled page corner in a book and her heart will pang and ring, sobbing, and longing for home.

Such longing.

Yearning for her squabbling siblings. For the sight and scent of her father’s study. For her tribe, where she has belonged for all these three and twenty years of her life. She’s sad that she can’t seem to belong here anymore. That’s one thing that causes her grief her about this arrangement. She must be apart from the three people she loves most.

She isn’t sorry to be leaving. Running away and absconding like a thief in the night. She can’t deny that this is her golden chance to escape. Flee from the life that drowned her.

This is her chance to share in a soul shaking love. One that’s seared her devotion to Kylo right down into the marrow of her bones. Scored his name on her heart in bleeding letters. She’s forever devoted. In a way none of them can yet - or will ever - understand.

She hopes in time, they will forgive her. That their leniency will outweigh the scandal and betrayal of her actions.

She casts a glance across to her mother where she silently reads her novel. No affection springs to mind.

Perhaps if she’d loved her daughter more, Iris could hate her less. If she’d even been affectionate instead of plotting. As it stands selling her eldest like a broodmare to matrimony, didn’t encourage anything for Iris beyond resentment. She was in a loveless unhappy marriage and she has no qualms about seeing her eldest shoehorned into something exactly the same. That is unforgivable in Iris’s mind. To experience the trials of such a match for years - and to then glean no lessons from it. It’s cruel.

And all for her want of connection-

Iris refocuses on her embroidery hoop. Stabbing thread harshly through the muslin and looping it through. She works diligently until the fire starts to die down. Father retires to bed. Watching his eldest with sparkling green eyes as he quits the room. Iris is preoccupied looking into her lap at her sewing.

She too heads for bed. Feigning tiredness even though she’s never been more wired. Never been so wide awake. And she was trying not to do anything out of the ordinary as per her usual routine.

She walks past her mothers and her sisters with a lump in her throat. Committing the last few scraps of moments of them to memory. “Goodnight Flora, Posy. Goodnight Mama.” She says simply as she crosses the room.

They call affable words her way. Mother opts for a single word in passing. “Night.”

Iris wonders if she’ll realise one day that would be the last words she ever spoke to her.

She opens the parlour door and slips out. The fire in the foyer hearth crackles. She sees father is in his study. Judging by the slithering glow of candlelight under the door.

She so badly wants to rush in and sob her goodbyes into his chest. Cry that she doesn’t understand how he could’ve sat there and watches Mama push and shove and pummel her around. She’ll never understand - but all the same, that doesn’t stop her from loving him dearly.

She thinks better of it. Climbs the stairs for bed. Confines herself in her dark bedroom. And then comes the true test of her bravery. She has to wait.

And wait and wait. And listen. Hearing as the whole house slowly drifts to dark. To sleep. For everyone to take to their beds.

She can’t read a novel. She can barely stand sitting still. She sits by the fire. Watching the door. Her bag was packed hours ago. Her meagre clutch of possessions. Some loved items and a couple of her favourite dresses and chemises.

She had penned a note for her family explaining every detail of her reasons for leaving. She left a separate letter for a Hux. Though he’ll probably cast it in the fire when he hears the news.

She’ll be leaving the heirloom engagement ring sat on top of it. Leaving the two ruinous sheets of paper on the end of her bed. Waiting for tomorrow. When it’s discovered she is gone.

Her bag sits by her feet. Along with her coat. She sits in the dark like a lonely widow and lets the amber glow of the fire die.

She’s already laced into her new wool lined boots. She wore two sets of stockings and her heaviest chemise.

She’s in a thick ruby wool dress that will be adequate for travelling. It’s rather a plain gown but it’s warm - he had said to dress warm.

She puts her hair into a free loose bun at the nape of her neck. Tied back with a snip of gold muslin. Her skirts will wrinkle in the coach but she doesn’t care about such a thing. She probably looks dishevelled and not at all pretty. But she cares not-

Everything is ready. Now there is only noiselessness. And anticipation

She hears her sisters dainty thumping treads. And then mothers stern steps. And then Meg and Julia gabbing about something, a man most likely, as they extinguish the candles on the landing and all over the walls and hallways. Putting the whole house into thick dull silence and darkness. Putting the day to rest.

She listens to their footsteps creak and creep up the attic stairs. The door closing in their wake.

Iris crosses to her door and opens it a crack. Peering out she can see nothing but the dull moonlight striping from the far landing window, across the floorboards. Silver streaks chase up to her door in the fluttering moonlight swaying in drips off the tree being fussed in the wind outside. Snow is starting to flake down onto the windowpane.

She shuts the door again. It was nearly midnight and her hour is approaching. She prays her bravery rises to meet it.

Father hasn’t come up yet. He was still in his study most like - she can get out the house without disturbing him. She’s certain. He’s dozed off in his armchair or got his head in his business letters and ledgers for the farm.

She puts her coat and slips her gloves on, she has second thoughts about her scarf and shoves it in her bag.

It contained her life, this travel bag, yet it seemed laughably light. And it carried everything she cherished. There’s something a little tragic about that, she decides.

She seized her bag in one hand, and her modest bonnet in the other. To disguise her hair. Should anyone catch a glimpse of her, out unchaperoned, at this time of night. If they recognised her. She can’t be too careful.

She steps to her door, bonnet and bag in hand. Coat on her back, and she stands there, glancing around at what’s left. She spied the two innocent squares of paper sat on her neatly made bed.

Such small things. And yet the words inked within those pages will alter lives. It seems an odd sort of cruel madness.

She silently steps out into the hall. Shuts the door on her room for good. Shuts the door on all this kind of life had offered her. She edges slowly along the floorboards. Listening to the clock in the foyer tinkle the chimes of the half hour before approaching midnight.

She wished she could give her siblings proper goodbyes. She thinks this as she tiptoed past their door. Her shoe creaks the whining boards and she freezes. Heart thudding up to choke in her mouth.

She feels horrified and sick, until her ears strain for noise and all she can hear is night drawing on around the stone walls outside.

She relaxed and crept further along the landing. The tips of her new shoes avoiding the truly noisy spots. She makes it to the top of the stairs and edges down inch by hushed inch. Glove skimming along the banister in a scraping soft hiss as she goes. When she gets to the foyer she creeps toward the door to the kitchens.

A figure awaits her in the armchair. By a dwindling fire.

Iris gasps and almost drops her bag. Her fear bubbled up and made her lip tremble terribly. She’d been caught out. Oh god no. She opens her mouth to speak but no defence comes.

Her father turns his head from where he’s sat fireside in his dressing gown, in his slippers breeches and shirt. Persian house slippers on his feet. His glasses were folded in his hands and there is a pensive weight on his greying brow.

“Papa...” She squeaks in a horrified whisper.

He eyes the bag and her coat. He is not a senseless man. He’s already well assessed what this means.

He swallows and rises to his feet. Lumbering up to his full, tall height. Pushing himself up off the chair by the arms. Like an aged old oak standing proud.

When he turns into the path of the moonlight flooded window behind him, it’s then that she sees the tears in his eyes. And ones that already stained down his cheeks. Her mouth gapes.

“Forgive me. I didn’t intend you to see me in this state...” He glances at her with red rimmed eyes. Raw and stark against the hazel bottle green of his pupils.

Iris is saddened for him. Turns out she wasn’t the only being in this house to cry alone.

“You are... leaving. So I see.” He comments offhand.

“I can’t marry him. Papa.” She blurts out in a hush.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ll want to stop me. That I’m ruining the family with reckless abandon. To convince me to stay. But you can’t. I cannot do it. I can’t walk into a life I will be leading falsely...” She tries summoning and explanation.

Her father cuts through her speech. Coming closer and clasping her hand in his. “Iris. Iris my dear-“ He soothes. He draws both her hands into his.

“I know.” He answers.

“I have no intention of stopping you. I only wished to detain you for a moment, to give you my blessing.” He offers.

She could be taken down with a tiny waft of a feather.

“Don’t mistake me. Please do not think me blind to your happiness, like your mother is.” He begins.

She’s aghast.

“I have watched you for these past few weeks. Grinding your teeth and holding that tongue of yours back when that entitled boy makes a remark you don’t agree with. I have watched him belittle and ignore you. And pass you over. To treat you as no more than a fertile vessel or commodity to be won. I want more life for you, than his meagre offering.” He holds firm.

“He dulls you. My dear. And you are too sharp and curious and intelligent to marry such a mulish man, who would never appreciate what a strong, kind and capable wife he has.”

Iris cries.

“He already sets your jaw on edge, even now. I can see it. And I cannot, will not, suffer the pain of seeing you trapped unto a marriage where your partner can never love nor respect you.” He tells her. “I know the pain well. It is not palatable.” He sighs.

He drops his eyes in shame. “I have not been a decent father to you. I have let my influence and opinion be set aside in favour of your being governed and bullied by your mother.” He bites out. His eyes fill with more tears. Voice strained.

“I am a coward. Iris-“ He begins.

She shakes her head. But he’s resolute to continue.

“No. I am. I am. And I’ve been weak. And what’s worse still is that I was a silent coward. I didn’t even speak up for the joy of my own daughter. I will never live that... dishonour...down. So long as I breathe. And for that, I am so very sorry. And you have all of my penitence for such a crime.” He says to her. Wringing her hands in his desperately.

“Oh, papa.” She cries. Voice no more than a croak. She throws herself in his arms and he sobs as he clutches her. Sways her into a hug and buried his mouth in her hair. Holding her close. He sniffs and sobs. She feels his chest bob with his cries.

“There is nothing you need apologise for.” She assures him.

Mr Ashton smiles. She was the sweetest soul under this roof. And he’ll miss her with every passing minute.

He pulls back and cups her hands. He doesn’t hide his tears. He doesn’t hide any of it and Iris aches with love for him.

“There is a great deal I must be sorry for, My sweet. I will live out the guilt of it eventually. So long as I’m contented that you are safe and happy.” He says gently. “That can be my saving grace.”

“Lord Ren is a very decent man by all accounts. I’m sorry I can’t claim to know him better than I do.” He counsels.

“I love him.” Iris says freely.

The first time she’s admitted it aloud and it makes more tears come. Father gives her his kerchief and tells her to keep it for the journey awaiting ahead of her.

“Then he is the most worthy and decent man living. Because you are every good thing embodied. And he couldn’t be lacking of those virtues either, or he simply wouldn’t be deserving of you.” He comments truthfully.

He sighs a deep breath. “Get out of this cursed god-forsaken village Iris.” He squeezes her hands tighter. Shaking his head.

Be free.

“Get out of this rotten bloody place and go to him. Marry the man your heart wants. I never did wed for true love, and it’s haunted me, my entire life long.” He promises.

She was the only decent thing his marriage has ever brought to him.

She hugs him again. “I’ll miss you most sorely.” She pledges.

“And I, you.” He strokes her back. Shuts his eyes and savours his daughter before she’s lost to him for who knows how long.

She pulls away he strokes hair off her cheek. Blinking in the sight of her face in the moonlight. For the last few seconds of her in actuality. Committing her to memory. For that’s all he’ll have of her soon.

“With you gone, I sincerely doubt I shall hear anything sensible cross your relatives tongues for quite some time.” He japes.

“Remark upon me in my poor state, once in a while, won’t you. And pray for my dear fraying sanity.” He sweeps more tears away. She blots them onto the back of her gloves.

“I’ll pray daily.” She smiles weakly. Bag in hand. Aswell as her bonnet. If that didn’t educate on the silliness of her sisters - nothing would.

He pauses to retrieve something from the mantel. She sees he clasps a little curved silver item. No bigger than a matchbox. Swirled with ornate silver gilding. He takes it and pressed it into her palm. It strikes a sudden zing of cold at her palm. She knows this ornament. It is the music box. The small Fabergé one that sat on the shelf in his office. His grandfather had imported it from Paris on his travels for her grandmother.

“I would like you to have this. So you have a piece of Ashton heirloom in your pocket as you go away to a brave new world.” He insists.

Iris opens the lid and the little while nightingale pops up, springing free to sing it’s call. She clasps it gently.

“I couldn’t-” She sobs. She remembers her sisters admiring it too. It seemed unfair he should gift it to her.

“No tears. My dear. No tears, I beg you. It’s yours and I’m bestowing it to you. I want you to see it and remark on those here at home, who still and have always loved you. Even if we didn’t show it as we ought.” He insists. Taking his hands from her.

She looks across at him. She’d been mistaken to think herself unloved by her parents. He did love her. He could just never bring himself to say so. Iris is awfully glad he’s taken this moment before all is lost.

“Go now. Make haste. Don’t linger too long bidding me farewell.” He offers. Walking with her across to the hallway leading to the kitchen. She tucks the music box safely in her bag. It chimes and chirps as she nestled it into her clothes. She reaches for him once more.

Iris squeezes his hand. “You have all my love. I’ll write when I can. Not for her.” She shakes her head, biting the word crossly. “But for you-“ She pledges.

“Send it to Mr. Grayson at the farm. He’ll see it reaches me safe.” He urges. She smiles. Nodding. Tears sparkling down her face.

“I’m sorry to say I will have shrouded this house in shame and gossip come the morning.” She frets.

He shakes his head with a fond smile. “We are tougher than we look. Never more so than when we are tested.” He assures. Such confidence in his Apple green and red raw eyes. She instantly believes him.

She throws herself into a hug. Fists a hand in his dressing gown shoulder and takes a deep breath of him one last time. Old leather musk of books and the sting of peppermint. “I love you.” She gasps with sad finality.

He nods. Swallowing a lump of stony sadness down in his throat.

“I wish you all the luck in the world, my dear dear girl.” He smiles. Eyes wet again. He cups her face and admires her for a second.

She clasps his hand tight at her cheek. And then she lets go-

He doesn’t have the strength to watch her leave. It’s too sad. Too hard.

He looks away and doesn’t return his eyes until the latch on the kitchen door softly clicks back into place in its frame.

The air hums with the absence of her. He prays to any god listening to convey her safely into Lord Ren’s arms.

He’d accompany her himself if it wouldn’t be so ruinous to explain come the morning. Why he was out of bed and out of doors at such an hour should anyone wish to seek after him. And she’ll move quicker without his old legs slowing her down.

He turns his eyes up to the snowy swirled heavens. And wills for her to have a better life than the one he could offer her here. He hopes he can see her again one day. When all this has passed. The hope for her is his salvation.

She scarpers across the moonlit lawn. Grass cold and crunching with frost under her feet. Snow is beading gently out the sky.

The clear moon of earlier has been replaced by chowder thick clouds. The cold wraps around her in a harsh biting embrace. Stinging at her exposed skin and making her hurry along all the more.

She takes the back lane to the woods. She didn’t wish to risk walking out in full view of the front of the house, down the drive. The road is pale with ice and dusted with snow. Icing sugar powder of it spills over her shoes.

The woods are already thick with it. Black trunks loom thin and warped; born out the white blanket of the ground. The tips of the trees blaze with flakes caught between them. Flecking the leaves.

She crunches her way along the lane. Her stride was something between a skip and scurry. Breath ghosting up in the air and her heart rattling in her ears. Her lungs sting and burn dry with cold as her breath drags into her body.

She cuts through the woods. Afraid her interlude with her father has made her late, and now Kylo would be worried she’d snubbed him.

She runs quick through the trees. Snapping slushing and scuffing twigs, frost and snow underfoot. Cold sneaks up her skirts where she holds them up to run but she doesn’t care- doesn’t even notice.

The trees are so gathered, that the branches rip at her skin as she sprints through them. Tears at her hair and her clothes. Snags are her and her cheeks sting. She bats away the grabbing things. They were like hands trying to tug her back. Trying to keep her tamed. To root her to this place. She’s having none of it.

Her hair got tangled in the snatching trees too. Pulls and only when she feels loose strands lap at her neck does she realise that the muslin had been torn and ripped right out. She presses onwards.

Her face stings and her eyes stream with cold. She comes up the lane that leads her to the church. Gnarled and slanted stubby shapes of the mossy gravestones are fog grey against the snow and the dark. Broken teeth of them rearing like lumpy beasts up out the snow. She throws the church gate open. Doesn’t care that it creaks. She runs up the worn grass path shoes scuffing at the pristine falling snow.

She comes out into the code of woods the other side of the church. The thing emerged out the snow with shimmering silver stone and the slate of its roof is edged with white where flakes settle. Oozing between the cold stony cracks.

The stained glass windows look dead and dull. The colours murkier in the dark. Smoky black and bleeding crimson staining the glass. The whites of the painted saints eyes seem to be arcing and watching over her in derisory disappointment.

She doesn’t glance back. She makes for the woods where she knows he’ll be waiting. She holds her skirts and she laughs as she runs. Her lungs puffed dry and freezing. But she’s so giddy she feels like her sides will split. Her cheeks ache from smiling. Not far to tread now. The cyclops of the moon hiding behind murky clouds watches her too. Silently keeping her secret.

She clears the worst of the trees and her heart soars when she sees a stark black shape of a coach up ahead. With an equally as tall dark haired man. His back to her as he stands in the snow. Head bowed down in his hands. Hair ruffled and dotted with flecks of it.

She presses a hand to her tummy where she suspects she now has a stitch. Because it simply feels so stupid - the amount of love and bliss thats coursing through her blood.

Kylo is outside the coach, of course he is. He’s much the same as her. He can’t sit still.

The gigantic elegant thing that will convey them to the Highlands set by the edge of the snowy muddy road. He’s pacing on it. Horses stamping in the cold. A shivering driver bundled up in pelts and thick coats.

He’s on the painful knifes edge of fretting. She’s not here yet. And it’s well past midnight. He’s worn circles in the snowy road. His coat heavily lapping and catching at his calves. The cold doesn’t bother him. Doesn’t touch him. He’s wearing a white shirt with the collar left undressed and pulled open.

It spills down his marble carved chest. Revealing him to the dark bitter woods and the snow.

He keeps bringing his silver pocket watch to hand - she’s ten minutes delayed. He watches the eleventh minute tick over.

His mind runs with the possibilities. She could’ve fallen and broken something in her haste.

She might’ve been discovered sneaking out and her mother tied her down, locked her in her bedchamber and threw away the key for good measure. His brain bubbles with mania and panic at the possibilities that could keep her from him.

He turns another circle and scans the horizon again. Sharp eyes not missing a thing. A cold breeze shudders across him from up the road. He stops dead in his tracks. That scent.

That was her. She was here.

He whips around, hands falling by his sides. Just in time to see her emerge quickly from the misty white of the woods.

Clad in her blue coat and a red dress. Her bag in hand. Her hair loose, curling and spilling over her shoulders. Cheeks are red and icy cold. Stung by the wind.

She’s never looked more lovely. So wild and free. And all his.

Her smile grows so great. As does his. She slows to a stop. Panting for breath that she’ll never catch. Not now. Not with him stood there looking all dashing.

Iris hikes her skirts and coat up, and runs straight to him and she’s no shame about it either.

She drops her bag on her way to him, uncaring for its contents. He meets her halfway. Their bodies clash in such a tempest of love.

She throws herself into his chest and he hauls her up so her feet don’t touch the ground. His strength was always so vastly great and he shows it in the way he lifts her so easily. Cradles the precious small weight of her in his big arms.

They collapse into glad sighs and she strokes her hand over his hair. Smiling out in bliss as she holds the back of his head. He clutched her back and her hair and buried his face in the crook of her cold neck. It delights and thrills her and she can’t conceive she can deserve so much happiness-

He sighs into her neck. Smiling into her skin. He draws back and looks right at her beautiful cold-kissed complexion. “Ready for this adventure? Lady Ren...” He asks. Cupping her cheek and most of her jaw.

“Wholeheartedly.” She answers.

He plucks a soft lingering kiss at her cheek and sets her down. Scoops up her bag and her hand and leads her through the crunching snow into the coach.

He opens the door for her and she clambers in. Erland snorts and shifts and stamps at her even from up the front of the carriage. Determined to have his share - he was such a diva he could never be left out.

“She’s coming with us, you great big fool.” Kylo comments to his horse. Iris laughs at their exchange as she settles herself in the plush velvet lined carriage.

Scarlet draping over every inch of it. A watery patch of moonlight slanted and cast down from the windows in the doors. She scoots across the bench for Kylo to sit next to her. He then commands his driver to set off.

Pelts and blankets and garnet silk brocade bolster-cushions line the seat opposite. He’s stuffed it with comforts for her. There’s a basket hamper of food and bottles of drink and a stack of leather bound books. She requires rest and sustenance. He seldom does. Not more than a handful of hours per night. But he’ll enjoy slumbering next to her.

Kylo shuts the door after himself. A gust of snow blooms with the force of it. Puffing into the velvet space. They are quite alone. And the carriage lurches off into that snowy dark midnight. Their new life together begins.

He greets her properly. Makes sure she’s snug in pelts and blankets and tips her face up to his by the chin to kiss her again. Her face pulls into an expression of agonised bliss. Tugs her closer closer closer.

Wraps his fingers around the back of one hip. Slithered his fingers between her coat and her dress.

He nudges her jaw out his way with a cheeky smile and shoved his nose into her hair to push it aside, nips and nibbles sucking teasing kisses down her neck that makes her shiver. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. You’ve no idea how long I’ve been dying to kiss your soft neck.” He grumbles.

He sucks an open mouthed kiss over her pulse and she moans and pants his name. Fingers trapping into the blankets as she says his name like she’s chiding him. They can both feel the desire marching over every vertebrae of her spine.

She shivers. God that felt good. Made her weak. Made her eyes roll back.

“Oh kylo.” She moans. Her toes curl with the sheer raw power of his seductive kisses.

He finds her left hand on her lap and strokes the empty space on her fourth finger.

“Now. I think I had better make this elopement of ours authentic. Had I not?” He smirks. Reaching for his coat pocket.

Then he’s drawing something small out the shadow coloured wool. Her lips part in a smile when he snaps open a small blue velvet box. She’s blinded by diamonds and sapphires.

A cluster of them all crowning a gold band which is set with more gems. Two sapphires surround a large round diamond. Rounded and sparkling gems.

He’s watching her carefully - with a smug expression taking over him as he plucks the ring out its silken nest and slips off her glove slowly, then slots it up onto her finger. It glides on and sits perfectly. He lets her admire for a second. Before lifting the back of her hand to his lips.

“It’s too beautiful.” She comments. Amazed at it. He reaches for the curtain at the window and draws it back. Let’s the moonlight shimmer off the cluster of stones. Fractured light drips everywhere.

“Now that looks a worthy decoration to sit on that pretty kind hand.” He smiles. Before he frowns and turns her head towards him. A curl of copper and iron drifts into his nose.

“Dove. You’re bleeding...” He remarks. When he turns her face there’s paper thin red scratches swiped across her cheeks. She raises her hand to her skin and brings away a dribble of blood.

“I ran through the trees. I must have hurt my cheeks and not realised.”

“How could you not realise?” He asks her as he brings her finger to his mouth and naughtily, suavely puts that fingertip on his tongue and sucks off the blood. Curls his tongue around her taste to savour the way most men would appreciate a fine burgundy wine.

It makes something throb between her legs when he gets his lips on her. His eyes look like they could cut her with a look.

Her blood coating his tongue is too sweet for words. Sweet sweet bouquet. An agonising temptation that he only wants more of.

“I was smiling too much to notice.” She admits in a blush. Chewing on the inside of her lower lip.

He kisses at that blushing sore cheek. Pressing his lips to the barely bleeding cut. It should help soothe and close it. “That makes me insatiably glad to hear.” He smiles.

She searches for his hand and holds it. “I’m sorry I was late to meet you. I ran into my father as I was leaving.” She explains as he leans in to kiss her jaw again.

He pulls back and his face turns rather serious and stern. “He didn’t try and stop you?” He seeks.

“He could not stand to see me wed to such a loveless man as Hux. He gave me his blessing to wed you. I didn’t think I’d be walking away with that.” She tells.

He suspected there was a reason to Mr. Ashton’s silence. And now he knew; it was guilt. He’s glad to see she is loved from her fathers quarter. It soothes him.

“I’m glad you were able to make your peace with him.” He confesses. Holding her dear sweet little hand in his own massive grasp.

She looks up at him. At that handsome earnest face that is watching her so intently. So full of love and desire.

“As am I. But for now. Can I be terribly audacious and ask you to kiss me again?” She seeks with a grin.

She squealed nearly as Kylo tugs her tight into his lap. Folds her thighs over his. One hand covering her ribs under her dress. Fingers teasing under the swell of her breast. His smirking lips kiss and nibble under her jaw and she gasps in bliss.

“Thought you’d never ask...” He smirks and growls into the scorching heat of her neck. It tumbled right through her and she knows more desire is to come.

”And if you hadn’t? I’d have had to taste those pretty lips without your permission.” He sighs cheekily.

He swoops up and takes her mouth and she truly things she might burst into flames.

His silky tongue falls like cream running along her lower lip. She shivers at the sheer erotic desire of it. And this is only the start-

He’ll need to be careful. Or he’ll have kissed her lips raw by the time they reach Scotland.

#between wolves & doves #vampire!kylo #kylo ren x oc #adam driver #Regency era #slow burn

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captcas · 3 years

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Screwed (Destiel AU)

Screwed by capthamm (Part 3 of 3) Dean inherits the old family inn and has to move home to fix it up for selling. When the work proves to be too much, he enlists in the town’s only contractor’s help– his neighbor, Castiel. Dean is short on time, stuck in a hometown riddled with old flames, and falling for the man who lives next door. He’s screwed. notes: My first ever attempt in the Supernatural/Destiel fanfiction world… and into smut. please be kind. Thank to my lovely beta, Luke <3 (@bawley_bug) and to Meg on her help with the smutty portion read on ao3

In the weeks following going public , not much changes— the little touches and flirtatious glances were apparently always part of their routine no matter how blind Dean may have been to their significance— but the line between what’s his and what’s Cas’s is slowly but surely beginning to blur.

And Dean can kiss Cas whenever he wants.

Besides that, they move on with their days a lot like they always did. Saying goodnight lasts a bit longer and sometimes Cas spends the night. They wake up and make coffee and toast and talk about their renovations for the day and get to work.

It’s domestic, it’s nice, and Dean is pretty sure he’s never been more in love.

Dean is also dying for something more than PG-13.

Cas’s confession the night they kissed rings in Dean’s head every time things get a little more hot and heavy. He’s a bit more… experienced… and wants Cas to be ready.

But fuck if he hasn’t needed to carve out time for his own release each day. He’s positive Cas has noticed so he tries to keep his distance when riled up.

It’s nearly impossible and today in particular is proving to be excruciating. Cas is weeding the garden while Dean puts in new edging. Everytime he looks over he can’t help but notice the way the sweat trails down Cas’s features before disappearing below the hem of his shirt. Every once and awhile he uses his toned forearm to wipe the sweat away and Dean feels his resolve weakening.

Then Cas stretches– the bottom of his shirt rising enough to reveal his perfectly toned skin and a line of hair that disappears beneath the button of his jeans.

Fuck.

Frustrated beyond belief with his dick’s inability to keep to itself, Dean tells Cas he’s going to grab something from the garage. Cas hums in acknowledgement and gives him a small, naive smile as he walks away.

Dean can’t help but melt at the smile Cas reserves for him.

But then again he’s hot and bothered and needs some time away from his infuriatingly attractive boyfriend who won’t seem to let him in his pants.

Dean knows it’s not anything personal, Cas and him have talked about labels in the dark of the evening and Cas explained that while he’s definitely gay, he actually feels more at home on the ace spectrum. He’ll be honest and say he stayed up long past Cas that night researching demisexuality.

It just made him fall even harder for the man asleep beside him.

Dean busies himself with some unimportant organization in the garage in order to calm down before walking into the house to grab some water for the two of them. He closes the fridge and looks out the sliding glass door, dropping the water bottle at what he sees.

Apparently , the heat was too much for Cas who is now very shirtless while continuing to pull the weeds. Dean can’t help but watch him work. The way his muscles move with each pull and the sweat dripping down his back and off his brow is just too much.

Dean remembers what he learned about demisexuality and while they haven’t said the “L word”, he knows his feelings for Cas are anything but one-sided.

Fuck it.

Dean opens the sliding glass door and Cas turns around at the sound. He smiles brightly before he realizes just how determined Dean is to cross the lawn. At first he looks concerned, but then his gaze flickers down and Dean watches his boyfriend’s eyes go dark.

Cas meets him halfway.

This kiss is unlike any that they’ve shared before. The heat of the day mixed with the pent up sexual tension is surging through every inch of their touch. Cas’s hands explore Dean in ways Dean only dreamed about before. Not wanting to break apart, Dean feels the tightness in his chest from the lack of airflow. Cas pulls away first, breathing in the small amount of air between their lips. Dean gasps.

“Inside.” Cas whispers, but with his deep voice it sounds like a command and if Dean isn’t careful he’ll come right here in the backyard. He’s positive he looks totally wrecked when he nods in response before allowing Cas to grab his hand and lead him into the downstairs bedroom.

As soon as they’re indoors, clothing flies off. Dean isn’t sure who is removing what but it’s only a matter of seconds before they’re both down to their boxers and he’s pushing Cas backwards towards the bed.

The look in Cas’s eyes is one he hopes never to forget.

Then he’s on top of him and their lips are connecting before Cas trails down his neck and bites hard . Dean ruts his hips in response and Cas gasps.

It’s the most beautiful sound Dean has ever heard.

He searches blindly for Cas’s lips in the tangle of their bodies and when they connect again Dean is positive it creates a bolt of lightning down his spine.

Lost in his thoughts the kissing slows. Cas rests his forehead on Dean’s and they each open their eyes. Dean pauses to lose himself in the blown out blue of Cas’s eyes and only catches the end of Cas’s question, “...you?”

He can’t speak, not really, so he grunts in response and Cas chuckles against his lips, “I’d like to blow you.” It wasn’t a question this time. Dean can’t believe this is about to happen but he’s torn between wanting to feel Cas’s lips around him and wanting to do the same for Cas.

His brain only allows him to articulate one word of that, “You?”

Cas smiles softly before leaning in for another kiss. “Later, Dean.” Dean can’t begin to argue with the sound of his name mixed with Cas’s intense want so he nods.

Cas trails kisses down Dean’s chest before tracing a finger underneath the band of his boxers. He’s careful to help Dean remove them completely and his eyes light up when Dean’s hard-on springs from beneath the fabric.

This must be heaven.

“Are you…?” Dean knows what Cas is asking before he gets the words out. “All clean… I– uh– got tested... after our first date.” Dean diverts his gaze, but still sees the smile and blush that creep along Cas’s features.

Dean is surprised when Cas descends immediately once given the all clear. His tongue rakes the length of Dean’s cock before the warmth of his mouth envelopes the whole of it. Cas starts slow, moving up and down in a steady motion and Dean knows he won’t last long.

What Cas lacks in experience he is certainly making up for with enthusiasm.

As he glances down towards Cas, he is struck with how stunning he looks in this position. Every time he’s gotten head it’s been dirty and quick and secretive…but with Cas, he wants to take his time but knows the beauty and anticipation of it all won’t let him.

Someday he’ll draw this out so he can watch Cas work for as long as he wants.

Once he finds his rhythm, Cas speeds up and at the same time takes Dean’s balls in hand and begins massaging. Dean reaches for the top of Cas’s head, combing his hand through the dark locks and tugging gently. Cas gags a bit before coming up for air– Dean was quick to forget Cas’s inexperience. Cas rests his head against Dean’s thigh wordlessly and Dean wishes he could take a picture. Instead, he reaches forward, massaging the length of Cas’s jaw gently to help ease the soft pain he’s sure Cas is feeling. After a minute or so, Cas kisses the palm of Dean’s hand and looks up at him readily.

It doesn’t take long before Cas finds himself again and is moaning into Dean’s cock. Dean just about loses it when Cas’s cheeks hollow out. He whispers, “That’s it, Cas. Right– there–”

Dean thrusts hard. One– two– three times before he feels himself about to explode. “Cas, I’m close… I–” He feels his partner shift and suddenly Cas’s calloused hand is wrapped along the full length of Dean and he knows it’ll be any second now.

“Cas…” His moan comes out like a plea and a promise all wrapped into one and he feels himself come.

He swears he sees the cosmos as Cas brings him over the finish line and into the cooldown, the whole time whispering to Dean. “You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. I’ve wanted this for so long. Thank you.”

Dean opens his eyes and the world feels like it’s in hyper-saturation. Every nerve is on end and his soul feels like it’s on fire. He turns to Cas and immediately goes in for a kiss. Cas smiles into the movement and Dean grasps the back of his neck in an attempt to never let go of this moment.

Suddenly something feral courses through him and his hand moves quickly down to Cas’s boxers, he palms the length of his boyfriend and looks deep into his eyes, “Your turn.”

Cas’s dick twitches at the sound of Dean’s voice and if he hadn’t just been put on empty he could’ve come just from that movement. He starts to move down, ready to give Cas the same treatment he just got but Cas grabs his shoulder to stop him. Dean panics for a moment, worried they’ve gone too far and Cas is regretting the moment they connected in the garden but then he speaks.

“I want to kiss you when I come.”

Dean gulps, sex never being something intimate for him. A simple scratch of an itch, not something that means much of anything. But with Cas it does. He nods and begins adjusting their positions so they are laying side by side and facing one another. Cas shimmies out of his boxers before grabbing Dean’s hand and bringing it to his cock.

Dean stops him, pulling his hand back up to his mouth and licking his palm, all while keeping close eye contact with Cas– it makes them both shudder.

Cas hisses when Dean’s hand finally wraps itself around him and Dean wishes he could record that sound to listen to over and over again. Slowly, Dean starts to pump his fist. Cas’s eyes close, pleasure washing over his features in a look Dean could never have created in his mind. Soon they’re leaning in for a kiss. Cas urges it deepers, tongues moving in unison and teeth clacking together. It’s messy and perfect all in one. They smile into the kiss and share the same breath and all the while Cas is thrusting into Dean’s hand like it was always meant to be there.

And with that thought Dean hears the final gasp and feels the undeniable drip of come down his hands. He eases Cas through the aftershocks, reiterating everything Cas said to Dean during his come down. Dean almost doesn’t realize when he says it, but it comes out all the same. “I love you, Castiel.”

It settles in and Dean’s eyes shoot open. He searches to see any sort of acknowledgement in Cas but his eyes are closed in pleasure. Dean sighs in relief, assuming he’s dodged the bullet of scaring a man off by saying “I love you” the first time they sleep together.

He’s not a teenager.

But then Cas is speaking and Dean, once again absorbed in his own thoughts, catches the end, “... and I love you, too, Dean.”

He waits for the fear but it never comes. He doesn’t want to run or leave town and he certainly doesn’t think about just how mortified his homophobic father would be. He’s just is. Happiness and satisfaction coursing through him in a way he didn’t realize was real.

His past is filled with a lot of sex with a lot of people, but this… this must be what people mean by making love.

. . .

“Just ask him, Dean.” Sam sounds frustrated on their third phone call today. Dean has been pacing back and forth in the kitchen all day. They finished the inn a week ago and have essentially been playing house, neither of them making the move to either sell it or live there permanently. He knows Cas would live here if he asked, but he wasn’t sure how the financials all worked out. So he called Sam who assured him that if he kept the inn an actual operating inn he would be more than ok.

So why is he so damn nervous?

Up until now every “big decision” in the relationship he’s been able to pawn off on Cas– inadvertently or otherwise. Cas called himself Dean’s boyfriend, Cas met him halfway on the lawn, Cas was the first one to bring up lube…

It’s Dean’s turn to take a step.

And he wants to so it shouldn’t be this damn hard. He knows Cas is waiting for the conversation, but he also feels zero pressure from his partner. Cas has always been good at letting Dean do things on his terms, even if he’s seven steps behind and wasting their time (Cas was right about the dark blue siding from the start and won’t let it go).

He doesn’t want to waste another minute.

Dean realizes he’s been silent for too long. It’s the sound of Sam unloading the dishwasher on the other end of the phone which reminds him to speak, “You’re sure?” Dean hesitates and he knows he’s shucking the decision making off on someone else yet again, but this time it’s genuine. This inn is all they’ve got left of their dad. As shitty as he was at times, he was still family.

“I’m sure. Dad’s probably rolling in his grave knowing he practically set you two up, but he’d want you to be happy Dean. Whoever that’s with.”

Dean fights back tears. Sam may be the younger brother but he’s always been better when it comes to this emotional crap. That’s why they always made a good team.

“Thanks, Sammy.” His voice cracks at the nickname. He misses his brother, but fuck if he ain’t proud of him.

“Of course. And now Jess, the kids, and I have somewhere to stay when we visit.” Dean smiles widely at the thought of the inn full of excitement and family and kids around the holidays or during the summer. He pictures it so clearly... and in every moment Cas is there, too.

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Hanging up the phone, he heads downstairs to the living room where Cas is curled up on the couch watching some documentary on the History channel. His blue eyes find Dean’s at the sound of the steps creaking and he smiles that smile again.

Dean’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He crosses the living room and sits down next to Cas who has turned his attention back to the tv. Dean instinctively reaches for the back of Cas’s neck, playing with the small tuft of hair at the nape. Pondering the show for a moment, Dean waits for a commercial to speak. He likes when they do this, the comfort of the silence is new to him. There are a million ways to ask what he’s about to and he’s running through them all in his head when a commercial for some medication blasts on the screen and Cas closes his eyes to lean into Dean’s touch.

He wants this. Forever.

“Move in with me. Here.”

Cas’s eyes open and Dean can tell he’s trying to hide a smile. Dean feigns interest in the commercial while the knowledge of Cas studying the side of his face burns blush into his cheeks.

“Did I forget to do that?”

Dean laughs and all the nerves he felt disappear. He never thought something like this was in the cards for him– secretly always wanting for the comfort and ease that comes so naturally with Cas.

It’s better than he could’ve wished for.

Cas turns his head to kiss Dean’s wrist (now resting on the couch) and Dean smiles. They’ve got a lot to work out– Dean doesn’t know the first thing about running an inn– but the nervous fear that would usually accompany Dean on a step like this is nowhere to be found.

All there is is Cas and Dean couldn’t ask for more.

#destiel ff #destiel #destiel au #castiel #dean winchester #captcas

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writings-in-ebony · 4 years

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Extended Vacation

Summary: Steve decides to go on a cross-country trip to visit various VA hospitals. But his plans get altered when Tony decides he needs a personal assistant to help him on his journey: you. Steve reluctantly agrees and you both embark on your journey. But as you both travel, you decide to show Steve the beauties of the modern world and teach him that it is okay to let loose sometimes. However, what will happen when you guide Steve into more intimate territory and the lines of professionalism start to blur?

Author’s note: Hello everyone! A prompt was created by @sugarthicc and she gave me permission to write this. I hope it reads well! Thanks again!

Prompt: Have reader have a personality like Meg the Stallion.

Additions include Steve is a hero and Reader is a personal assistant. And eventually Steve must get pegged (with help from @plussizeappreciationfics and @ctrlszn) LOL

Word Count: 2442

Warnings: Bad language

Chapter 1

Ever since the new Avengers training facility was announced, new and potential heroes have flocked to train and hone their skills and abilities. However, as the facility was filled with heroes, there was also a call for more staff and administration positions. To accommodate the need of positions, Tony ended up hiring a hundred more non-powered individuals to handle the backbone of the company. So, it didn’t come to a shock when Steve was walking to the mess hall and came in contact with a large group of about twenty individuals who were being given a tour of the facility.

Pepper, who was giving the tour, spotted Steve and gave him a professional smile which he quickly returned. But even though he wanted to ease around the group and not disturb their tour, he was halted as one of the students caught sight of him and gasped, “Captain! It’s Captain America!” The rest of the students turned and cried out in varying degrees of excitement. Some even whipped out their phones and aimed it at him, already taking pictures before the man could sneak in a word. Pepper tried to calm them down, but he knew it was pointless. Most of them have seen their hero and it would take only Steve giving them what they want, for them to back down.

“Hello everyone,” he began, waving awkwardly. “I know this is a surprise, but I just want to congratulate you all on getting this position.” Their smiles brightened as if a compliment from Captain America was worth its weight in gold.

“However, I just want you to know that this position comes with a large amount of privacy and class. Most of the heroes here are not used to the limelight yet and will not appreciate being treated like an exhibit. So please, ask before you go taking photos of everyone otherwise, you’ll be receiving a not too nice call from our vast legal team.”

Steve hated to be such a “dad”, as Clint and Tony loved to call him, but he honestly was trying to protect the mental health of Bucky and Wanda, who were so sensitive about being in the public eye. Both were made out to be willing killers and were unfairly castrated by the press and the public. They did not need some new employees all in their business, following them like they were on a reality show.

Even though some of the new people nodded and agreed by putting up their phones, a scoff was heard towards the back of the group. Everyone’s eyes turned towards the source and they saw it was a dark-haired man donning a white shirt and a crooked black tie. He was rolling his green eyes and crossed his lean arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect to get a lecture when I got here,” he scoffed. Captain felt his stare harden and he was about to set the boy straight, but he was interrupted by another person in the back.

“You know, Donny, for a man who can’t even fix his tie, you have a lot of nerve talking to someone as badass as Steve Rogers that way.” Heads turned again and revealed a woman who Steve would describe as beautiful in every sense of the word. She wore a form-fitting royal blue dress, its collar sloping down to reveal her ample cleavage. Her height was amplified by golden heels and Steve didn’t want to admit that his eyes were drawn over every curve she possessed. He didn’t know why he was transfixed. Maybe it was her rich chocolate skin or the sensual but neutral application of her makeup. He didn’t know, but his staring almost prevented him from listening to the exchange continue.

“You’re telling me, you want to listen to this fossil scold us for taking a few pictures? I mean, they are heroes. They should be used to the spotlight and they signed up for this life,” Donny growled back.

“Firstly, that fossil can simultaneously kick your ass and steal your girl faster than you can blink, so I would stop insulting him if I were you. And secondly, these people might be heroes, but they go through so much traumatic shit that will literally make someone as weak-minded as you are, discharge because your mental state will be shot. So, you take that and add the constant opinions from judgmental assholes like you. It’ll drive anyone up the wall. This is their safe place, man. They come here to be around people like them. Not satisfy your need to take a picture of them taking a shit.” She spoke with such confidence, her voice calm, yet cool. Obviously, she and Donny have clashed before and Steve wondered what their history was.

Some people nodded and agreed, causing Donny to huff and admit his defeat for the time being. Pepper, who was watching the exchange with a sly expression of amusement, clapped her hands twice and told the group it was time to continue their tour. The group turned from Steve and proceeded to walk down the hallway. When Steve caught sight of the woman who had basically defended him, she had turned and aimed a wink in his direction.

Later that day, Steve was in his office. He honestly didn’t know why he had the thing since he was never in there. It was too big, with its eleven-foot-tall ceilings and wall of windows which overlooked the lake. At first, the office was designed to Tony’s taste. Equipped with white seating, a glass and iron desk, and random pieces of art dotting the walls. But after much complaining, he exchanged the white seating with deep brown leather sofas. They were very comfortable, and he decided to put them beside the large bookcase he had found. The bookcase wasn’t actually filled with random books either. He had read almost all of them and was continuing to build his collection. On the floor between the couches, he had placed a nice, thick tan rug there. Just to make the space even more homely. Tony had mentioned an electric fireplace, but he was still looking into that. His desk was replaced with a large, wooden one. It was grand with its beautiful carved out edges and dark mahogany coloring. On the side where he sat, there were six drawers and two secret compartments. He has yet to use the secret compartments for anything, but Tony joked that he could store his old Playboy magazines in there. That earned a dry laugh since Steve didn’t own such magazines. And if he did, he wouldn’t store it in his desk. He’d store them in the safe in his room’s closet.

And lastly, he had kindly asked Pepper to take away some of the artwork that was in the room. It was too modern, full of useless colorings and dots. Every time he glanced at one, it made him realize he wasn’t from this time. So, he replaced them with his own drawings and pictures of his family and friends. Yes, he had pictures of the Avengers up there, but he also had drawings of his old Brooklyn home and the Howling Commandos. It made him sad, yes, but he enjoyed looking at what he had versus where he was now.

After redecorating his entire office, Steve still didn’t spend a lot of time here. Mostly he came for the quiet, reading time or to fill out the large stack of paperwork that seemed to crop up after every mission. The latter being why he was in here now. He signed yet another incident account, this time from Sam’s perspective, and laid it over in his completion pile. He was moving onto Tony’s when he got a knock at his door.

“Come in!” he called, not looking up as he continued reading.

“Hey Steve!” It was Tony.

“You came at the right time. You know in your incident report, you didn’t have to write, ‘Ivan Vanko, aka Whiplash, should worry more about fixing his teeth and getting laid, than trying to get back at me for something that happened fifty years ago.’ Really?” Steve finally looked up, aiming a look of disbelief at Tony. What he didn’t expect to see was the girl from before, standing there trying to hide her giggle by biting her lips.

Tony let out a chuckle and shrugged. “What? Am I wrong?”

“I have to sign off on these and send them to Fury,” Steve glared.

“I mean, he’ll know who wrote it anyway. It’ll be fine!” Tony tried to reassure him, but Steve let out an exasperated sigh anyway. “But let’s get away from that and get onto the surprise I have for you!”

“Surprise?” He looked between Tony and the woman.

“Yes! I decided to hire you a personal assistant!” He aimed his hands at the woman, and she gave a small welcoming smile to Steve. Steve’s mouth opened slightly, taken aback by the declaration. What did he need a personal assistant for?

“Before you say anything, I know you’re wondering why you need a personal assistant? Well, Fury told me that you’re going to be taking some time to go around the country and do a few public relations things and I was like, by himself? Well, it’s hard to do a cross country tour and then think about hotels, restaurants, and if you have time to take a break to pee. So, having a personal assistant will alleviate that stress!” Steve could feel his frustration rising. For one thing, he told Fury to keep his leaving to himself as he wanted to drop the news to the team on his own. And secondly, he was only going to go to a few VA hospitals and then dedicate his time to seeing the sights. Which he couldn’t do if he had another person trailing behind him like a baby duck.

“While I appreciate the offer, Tony. I have to refuse.” Tony’s happy expression deflated, and Steve hated that he had to shut his friend down like that.

“But Steve! You just can’t hop on a bike and go around willy nilly! What if something happens to you? Not everyone in the country looks up to the mighty Captain America,” Tony argued.

“You don’t think I know that? That’s why I’ve been growing out my beard and limiting my public appearances. I want to go into this with a clean slate. And I have done research, thank you!” Before Tony could shoot back, the young woman raised her hand.

“May I say something?” Both men aimed looks at her. “Mr. Rogers, I know you are used to handling your way around things with a big stick and instincts, which is not bad in most cases, but you are a national icon going around the country without any knowledge of what to expect. Now, I know you might think Tony is pushing me onto you, which you might see me as a hinderance to your freedom and time off, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to make sure you are not caught in any dire situations and that you are prepared for anything that might spring up.” Steve was about to argue, but she raised a hand to shut him up. “And I know you don’t want to have me following you around and asking constant questions, which is why, if you will approve, I won’t be traveling alongside you. Instead, I’ll make sure to loosely follow you and only accompany you during your VA visits.” Steve’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean,” Tony asked, crossing his arms.

“I will follow Mr. Rogers a few miles back as we travel to our destinations. As for room accommodations, I’ll make sure to book the hotel rooms the day before we are set to arrive and send the new address to Mr. Rogers as soon as he wakes up so that when he is ready to leave, he can immediately go to the new location. On days where we are visiting the VA, I’ll ensure he gets up in a timely manner, eats, and we arrive there on time.” She was very thorough, Steve had to admit. And he grew a little irritated by the smug look she aimed at him. Yeah, she had won this time.

“Fine,” he spat, slapping his pen down. He looked down at the stack of papers to keep from looking at the looks the woman and Tony were probably exchanging. “I’ll do it, but if you overcrowd me, you’ll be sent back here faster than you can say ‘Golly’.”

“Who says golly?” she shot back. Tony let out a hearty laugh.

“I love this woman. This is going to be too good. Well, I gotta leave and prepare your desk and computer,” Tony told the woman as he scurried off towards who knows where.

This left Steve and his newfound personal assistant alone and he would be lying if he said the atmosphere wasn’t awkward. But as the woman took her chance to look around the room, Steve decided to continue looking over the reports. She made her way over to his bookshelf and took in the titles, letting out small sounds of both curiosity and satisfaction. What did she think of his collection? Probably that he was an old-fashioned grump. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he was reminded of the exchange earlier. So, he stopped writing and cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to uh, let you know I appreciate what you said earlier. You are understanding of how we don’t like to be seen as…as…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He tried to finish, but he couldn’t.

“I understand,” came her voice. She was smiling at him, knowing what he was trying to say, and he was thankful again for it.

“I also didn’t catch your name,” he added. She gave it to him, and he knew he’d never forget it. “Thank you. And you can call me Steve. If you’re going to be around me for this next month and a half, you don’t have to call me Mr. Rogers.”

“Alright, Steve,” she purred and turned back towards the bookshelf. Steve tried to go back to finishing his reports, but it was fruitless. He couldn’t get over the way her lips curved and purred out his name, and he was fearful of it. This woman, who he barely knew, was doing something to him and he had to deal with it, alone, as they crossed the country. He felt like he was royally fucked.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x poc!reader #marvel fanfiction #extended vacation #black!reader

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little-shiny-sharpies · 3 years

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2, 5 and 12 with blitzwing 👀 and 7 for mccree! (@robotlover)

@selfshippinglover

Ok I'm gonna make a separate post for Mccree later bc theres a lot and I'm just gonna do a few with him. Thank y'all for waiting on this!

1) what’s a Hot Take you have about your f/o?

Blitzwing would absolutely hesitate to love someone because he has self esteem issues and everyone always throws that out the window when writing him in a romantic scenario. Only when he's the character that's gotta be uwu depressed and romanticizing it is anyone noticing that. This bot has gone through a horror show and he would feel like a burden to whoever he has feelings for because he's just the crazy triple changer that no one respects or likes.

2) on what do you disagree with other fans of your f/o?

Ok this is a bit lemony for my blog but Blitzwing isn't a sex crazed power top and y'all need to get that through your minds, he's Ace or Demi. Yes I'm projecting but I'm still right bc giant alien robots canon don't have that "equipment" boo me all you want I'm still right.

3) did you used to ship your f/o with anyone before realizing you wanted to ship them with yourself?

No actually! I have honestly never actually like.. shipped characters that weren't cannon. I've rarely liked romance in media. I have faint memories of shipping Fluttercord though..

4) do you feel like you have to defend your f/o all the time?

I feel like most folks project so much onto him theres nothing left but on the other end there's folks who just made the stupidest things of how he's an uwu feral boi and I wanna yell underwater. There are a few things I agree with fanon about but those are very few things.

5) what’s the dumbest thing you’ve heard about your f/o, either on the internet or irl?

The dumbest thing I've seen in canon and fannon is that he's an idiot. That just doesn't make sense?? He's shown to be a really smart guy in his first episodes even getting Ratchet into a chokehold forcing the autobots into a standstill until Megs calls him off. (Idiot move there boi)

6) what are some tropes that fan art of your f/o tends to follow?

That his "personalities" have separate bodies and bicker with each other. Which.. doesn't really make sense. If anything he'd be happy to have someone who understands him.

7) did your f/o deserve better?

He got used in an experiment that caused him severe psychological trauma and we don't even know if he was a willing patient. He was a deadly opponent in the first season that got nerfed into a henchman buffoon and shit talked anytime someone brought him up. My man was treated as a trophy in his final scenes to further the political career of an authoritarian xenophobic jerkwad. My mans deserved so much better..

8) do you even like the source your f/o comes from or do you only watch it for them & nothing else?

Oh I absolutely love Transformers animated!! It has such a unique personality compared to other iterations and it has the smartest megatron. Its also the show that got me into transformers (other than the first bay movies which I like much less)

9) do you distance yourself from other fans of your f/o or their source?

In the beginning? No. I was completely fine with all the weird fannon interpretation and ships (and we'll fucking get to that) but I didn't think about it. Nowadays I stay away from anybody that draws blitzwing because if I go to their blog to see more, it turns out they've got 20 other posts tagged as bli***ee or interact with those who do or don't bother tagging ns//fw things

10) how did you feel when you realized “oh of course i had to like That Character”?

(Ok so I didn't really understand this one so I kinda gave 2 answers)

It was when I realized that he had the same emotional issues as me. Having BPD and living with folks with BPD is quite a rollercoaster but I saw so much of me in blitzwing I just wanted to be his friend at first and chill and then the emotions got so much deeper and now I've made fankids and we're happily married ksjdaksj.

But when I realized that he had the traits of the 3 main tumblr sexymen I had a "oh no, people are gonna be weird about him aren't they?.." moment but my heart was set anyway.

11) do you think it’s better to have a copious amount of content for your f/o, even with the risk of finding a lot of ship art, or better to have a lot less?

Oh god this is a tricky one because either 1 when the art isn't a ship and just him he's looking sad or bored or he's insane and never a nice wholesome happy or 2 its ship art. So uh ima say quality over quantity.

12) aren’t you tired of being nice? this is an excuse to rant.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO!! Listen. LISTEN. I get loving Blitzwing. I fully get it. I also understand having a childhood crush on Bumblebee. Because I had that, as a *child*. Because Bumblebee behaved like a child. Because as a child. I enjoyed his antics. See where I'm going here? It's not that I don't like seeing Blitzwing shipped with other characters! Its really not! It squicks me a bit but it's totally ok! It's the fact that it's with a character who's supposed to be a little brother to the bots and the same age as Sari! Really any ship with Bumblebee or Sari feels very fucking *Yikes*. Not to mention the fact that it's always painted Blitzwing as someone to be fixed, someone who needs to change who they are to fit the wants of someone who showed them the slightest iota of kindness that he's so desperate for and that said person is an irresponsible child that could rival Blue from Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends, or it treats him like a beast that should be controlled by said child. It feels so ableist at best and pedophilia at worst and I'm so upset that more folks don't see it.

(Also want to add that the person who popularized the ship is known to draw porn of underage characters. Ya'll really love rose glasses to hide those red flags for the sake of "good" art huh?)

#shiny speaks #blitzwing #rant #self shipping #self ship #self insert #W O W ok that took so long #let me know if you need something tagged bc i know there's some serious stuff here #dont wanna squick anyone

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years

Text

Rebel Without A Cause-Ch 3

A/N: This is a day late because I was so busy at work yesterday I let it slip my mind. But, hey now you don’t have to wait so long. LOL Next update will be Friday as previously scheduled. For now enjoy……and don’t forget to leave feedback. :)

“Shopping!” Jo announces, answering Maggie’s question of how she was going to be transformed into a rock music groupie. “New clothes, new make-up, whole new hairstyle,” she continued, counting off things on her fingers. “Give me 3 days and I’ll have you looking the part!”

“I-I don’t know,” the shy girl stammers. "I've…”

“Margaret,” Jo interrupts, placing a hand on her new friend’s shoulder. “You gotta just have faith.”

“Please call me Maggie,” she tells her coworker. “Margaret is such an old woman’s name.”

“Well Maggie, then we need to get you to quit dressing like a Margaret and start dressing more like a Maggie. ‘Tis a cool name though. I like it.” Jo says with a smile.

“You really think you can make me look like I belong in the crowd at a rock concert?”

“Sure I do!” Jo exclaims. “Let me ask you this, how against dying your hair are you?”

In the end, Jo convinces her to meet up at the mall first thing the next morning, a Saturday. “The earlier the better, since the families who usually crowd the mall will still be at home”, Jo declares. Maggie is still hesitant about the change of hair color but agrees to at least get a trim. Her rust-colored hair falls halfway down her back when she loosens the clip holding it up.

'Wow! You’ve got to tell me your secret. Other than some dead ends, your hair is beautiful!“

"Good morning!” Jo chirps as she passes a styrofoam cup toward Maggie the next morning. She had been standing just outside the entrance to the mall when Maggie walked up. “Ready to be revamped?”

Maggie smiles at the blonde as she takes a sip of the steaming liquid. The coffee is sweet nectar to Maggie since she hadn’t had a chance to brew any herself in the rush to meet Jo at the appointed time. Somehow, Jo had known that and had provided exactly what she needed. Maggie wondered if this was a sign that the woman in front of her would actually be able to help her get what she needed; a behind the scenes look into the nuances of the Winchester Sex Bombs.

After work the evening before, Maggie had spent hours scouring the web and all articles related to the band. The group was made up of five childhood friends, two of them brothers. The lead singer, Dean, was the older brother to the bass player, Sam; the keyboardist (Seriously? A keyboardist in a rock band?) Meg Novak was married to the guitarist Clarence, or Cas as most know him as; the loner was Benny, the drummer. He was an unattached drifter that probably saw quite a lot from his view on stage; Maggie speculated if that could be an angle she could use for her piece? She wanted to keep a low profile with the band, not wanting to draw the lead singer’s attention at all.

The five of them hailed from a small town in Kansas, Lawrence. They all went to high school together, forming the band in the senior year of four of them. Sam was a few years younger than the others, the baby of the group. He had joined when the original bassist had moved away to go to college. Maggie briefly wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The band he left behind was finally making a name for themselves, traveling the continental US to play in a different city every couple of days, but was also leaving behind carnage and unflattering reports in their wake.

After finishing off their beverages, Jo and Maggie head into the mall.

“Okay, first things first. The outfit!” Jo announces as she claps her hand together. “New shirts, new pants, shoes….oh, you definitely need boots, at least. The higher the better!”

“Jo, I can’t walk in heels,” Maggie informs. “I’ll break my ankle and neck. Aren’t I supposed to be able to dance and….mosh?”

“Look at you!” Jo chuckles, putting an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “You’re already learning the lingo. But no, these boots have flat to minuscule heels. I meant they have to at least be knee-high and zip up. Easier to get off when you want to get busy, ya know”

Maggie couldn’t help but blush. The only kind of 'getting busy’ she was doing was typing up her story at the end of this assignment. The last thing on her mind was getting laid…but after some thought, it had been a while. It’s been six months since her ex-boyfriend Luke left her for Sabrina and probably twice that long since she and he had been intimate. 'Has it really been almost a year since I’ve had sex?’ Maggie ponders as they head for the Shoe Plaza.

“Here. Go try these on,” Jo demands, shoving a pair of jeans in Maggie’s direction. “And I wanna see, so come out here and model for me.”

In the dressing room, Maggie removes her slacks and holds up the garment Jo had given her. The material is a dark blue with a few places looking worn, the fabric frayed. The left knee has a patched hole on it. As she studies them, she realizes she is going to have to practically pour herself into them. She glances at the tag, thinking Jo had picked up the wrong size but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Pulling the material over her hips, Maggie is astonished at how comfortable the jeans were. They aren’t as hard to button as she assumed either. Turning left then right, she eyes herself in the mirror. Maggie hadn’t worn anything this form-fitting in years, if ever. The fabric hugs her curves perfectly. Taking a breath, she opens the door and steps out.

“Oh my god!” Jo exclaims. “I was right. Look at you! Look at that ass! Those jeans make it pop,” she announces, making sure to snap her lips on the 'p’ “I swear if I wasn’t confident in my sexuality, I’d turn lesbian for you. Girl, you are hot!”

After leaving J.C. Penney’s with a few pairs of jeans, the two women head to what Jo calls the 'ideal rockstar outlet’, Hot Topic. Maggie balks at the site of the store. The lights inside are dimmed, making the place look ominous. There are floor-to-ceiling displays of numerous different styles of band t-shirts and apparel. In the back, there is a glass counter with glowing jewelry and ornaments. The place is empty as they enter, Maggie looking back and forth taking it all in. Some of the outfits she wouldn’t be caught dead in! Like the leather full bodysuit with zippered pockets throughout or leggings that were so thin, they were practically see-through. “Do people actually wear this stuff?” she whispers to Jo. A chuckle from behind causes both of them to turn to see a younger woman standing there. She has the goth look down. Thick black winged eyeliner, a nose piercing, and her hair is jet black and lays in waves down over her shoulders. “Nah, those are mostly for aesthetic. Although, those-” she says pointing toward the transparent leggings, “-they really work if you’re trying to turn your man on. They come crotchless too,’ she continues with a wink.

"Oh my god! Why would anyone…”

“Easy access”, both Jo and the girl, Francesca by her nametag, declare with a laugh.

“How can I help you two today?” Francesca asks.

“My friend here is going to her first rock concert next week. She needs to look the part,” Jo explains with a nudge to Maggie’s side.

“Oooo, which band?”

“Um, Win-Winchester Sex Bombs,” Maggie stutters out.

“Ah, yes. They’re coming to the River, aren’t they? Music’s pretty good but I don’t think that’s what’s making them such a hot commodity. It’s that lead singer, Dean. He and his dreamy green eyes. And those thighs! Damn, the things I could do on those.” Francesca proclaims, Jo nodding her agreement. “Could you imagine the power of his thrusts!”

Maggie blushes at the girl’s lack of a filter. She and Jo keep talking about their fantasies if they were ever to get a night with the man as Maggie steps away, not wanting to have those images in her head as she interviewed the band. As she perused the array of clothing she picks out a couple of shirts with sayings on them that were funny and one with a picture of her parent’s favorite group, The Beatles.

Jo eventually joins her, with an armful of clothes. “Here, this is what you’re wearing with those jeans and the gray suede boots.”

Hanging on a hanger is an ivory-colored lace top with sheer fabric underneath. Maggie knows that the top would definitely show her underclothes and shakes her head. She couldn’t wear that! No way.

@pink1031 @spnbaby-67 @winecatsandpizza @joseyrw @kricketc28 @tftumblin @markofdean79

#dean winchester #SUPERNATURAL AU #dean winchester au #rockstar!dean #reporter!reader #rockstar!dean x reporter!reader #Dean x OFC #lil bit of angst #lil bit of fluff #whole lotta smut #smutapalooza #e'erybody be fucking

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