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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Note

I *DEMAND* part 3 of shattered pearl. I repeat. I *DEMAND*.

Hahahahaha omg. Well, I decided to legitimately dig through the archives of my writing drafts and found chapter three of the Peeta-Wasn’t-Hijacked fic. It’s been given like 1,000 different names on different sites. I’ve never loved any of them. And I don’t really think this is my best writing ngl. But I also figure ... why be so stingy, ya know? If I have an incomplete draft, that I probably won’t finish, why not post a little bit? Especially since I literally left everyone and their brother who were reading this fic on a cliffy for over a year.

With that said.... I wrote this part like ... 15 months ago? 14 ? 13 ? Something like that. And I haven’t edited it since so ... yeah! Here’s a small chunk of chapter three! 🥳🥳🥳 Hope it’s better than I remember it being!

But it’s lacking something and it’s only then I realize, what I’m searching for inside Gale’s mouth, is the spark that only Peeta’s ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn’t manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn’t be attributed to lack of oxygen.

But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale’s demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.

I’m not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I’m hurting someone I deeply care for.

But how I feel upon seeing Gale’s face isn’t even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.

I yelled his name as he disappeared down the hall. I tried to rip out all the needles and wires connecting me to the machines and the stiff, sterilized bed but Gale used all his strength to push me down flat. I was overpowered and exhausted and my left side was screaming mercilessly, and I don’t even know what pain was the bruised lung and what pain was my hurt ribs and what pain was my heart violently smashing into the pit of my stomach.

All I know is that if I had been able to reach Peeta before he evaporated, I have no clue what I would have said to him.

What I could have said to make it alright.

Gale tried to talk to me again after that but I entirely tuned him out, no longer caring if I wounded his feelings, or anyone else's for that matter.

It seems like no matter what I do, no matter how careful or cautious or preemptive I try to be, someone still got hurt in the end.

I wish I could just shut out the world, like I did during those first few weeks in Thirteen. Hide inside closets when I had a flashback. Shove myself into a minuscule crawl space with every nightmare. Refuse to speak to anyone who wasn't Gale or my family. Only eat when my mother nearly forced me. Show no remorse for how rude or how clinically insane I came across.

But now there was an agreement in place, an agreement I made to protect the victors—namely the one who just disappeared down the hall on me—and the people who had no voice on their own. The people who’s only chance was a half-crazed, shell-shocked, battle worn seventeen year old girl, who was just gunned down on national television.

Even if I wanted to retreat to some safe haven inside my head—if such a thing even existed for me—like Annie Cresta, I knew it could never happen.

For me, that wasn’t an option. If I don’t fulfill my duties to Coin, Peeta, Johanna, Annie and probably countless more people will suffer. The districts would undoubtably suffer. Gale would suffer. My mother and Prim would suffer.

I was proven right when later that same night Plutarch came to visit me again. I'd been lying on my side to avoid having to see Gale, who was still soldered to my bedside. My good side was thankfully opposite his seat.

When the Gamemaker spoke I thought I would be forced back to work. Forced to head back to the rebels and engage in their plans.

And I was resigned to it, well aware all along that I wouldn't be given the luxury of time to grieve the hurt I just caused Peeta. Or even the pain I knew I was inflicting upon Gale. The constant seesaw my heart was bouncing up and down on.

I was endlessly thankful that I was still pumped with morphling when Plutarch said that I was needed in Coin's office, because it heavily suppressed any real emotion I had brewing deep inside.

Morphling can cause you to let down your guard sometimes, make you say or do things you wouldn't otherwise or allow things to happen you'd ordinarily have the sense to stop. But it also causes all your severe emotions, all your heightened feelings, to dull as well. And for that, in light of everything that had just transpired, I was eternally grateful for.

When the doctor had removed all the needles from my arm, and I had been given a robe to go over my hospital gown—which, shockingly, was even uglier and thinner and itchier than the gowns they gave in the Capitol hospitals—Gale escorts me down the halls, through the corridors and to President Coin’s office.

I don’t speak to him the entire time. Looking at him makes my stomach churn with remorse and regret, though I’m not even sure who those feelings are directed towards. I’m not even sure how to articulate the way I feel right now.

And, as much as I try to force him out of my mind—as much as I do my best to rip him out from wherever he crawled beneath my skin and flooded into my veins—I inexplicably miss Peeta.

In more ways than I even know how to decipher. Even inside my own head.

I thought that feeling of longing would have ebbed away once he was rescued from Snow and his twisted mansion, but even knowing he’s safe here in Thirteen, I still crave his presence next to me.

I still want him next to me almost all the time.

It’s at least partially attributable to the fact that for so long, it was me and Peeta against the world. He has been my partner in this whirlwind rollercoaster since the first games and, even when I feel like every single aspect that could potentially go wrong has, sometimes it seems like I couldn’t have gotten luckier with who was chosen that fateful reaping to stand by my side the entire horrific ride.

I wipe my eyes as inconspicuously as I can but Gale sees and almost instinctively puts his hand on my shoulder. And proves he knows me better than I give him credit for. “I’ll talk to him, Katniss.”

“Don’t,” I immediately hiss. “You’ll just make it worse, Gale. He-he,” I struggle with explaining what I want to say and I curse my best friend for even addressing my moment of weakness because now I have to go talk to Coin, looking like an unstable mess—with a near bullet wound—and I blurt out the very first thing I can think of. “He doesn’t even know you, okay? You’ll just-“

There’s no malice in Gale’s voice as he softly replies, “Well, he was fine when I went and saw him before you woke up.”

I stop now, dead in my tracks. “You saw him? After I was shot?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I felt like should check on him. I know...” He pauses and looks upwards and I recognize, once again, this whole thing isn’t easy for him either. “I know he means a lot to you. And I heard what happened when he saw you go down. So I went and checked in on him...” He stops again before shrugging nonchalantly. “He was calmer by the time I saw him. He was nice. He’s always been nice.” At that Gale rolls his eyes. “Too nice. Probably why Snow wanted to hurt him.”

I start walking again, moving ahead of him a few paces. “You’re not helping,” I state, my voice a monotone.

“I’ll talk to him,” Gale offers again, running to catch up.

“Please don’t, okay? Just let it be. I don’t even know if he’ll speak to me, I don’t want to have to worry about what you’ll say to him.”

I vigorously shake off his hand on my shoulder when he tries to comfort me again, and feel him root into place as I make the rest of the way to Coin’s office.

And I wonder if I hurt him now too.

I wonder if I managed to completely annihilate them both from me in one night.

Much to my surprise and, to be completely honest, my utter disappointment, Coin doesn’t want me to head back out and fight for the rebellion. She doesn’t want me to even film more propos.

Plutarch does, but his ideas now are pretty frivolous and have more to do with him being still stuck in the fantasy of putting on a good show and less to do with fighting for the good of the country.

Coin simply says, “You did your job, Miss Everdeen. You united the districts,” in her calm, disingenuous—completely unsettling—tone.

And argument I put up is met with a simple shake of the head and a pursing of her lips. All indisputable rejections, her cold, blank eyes telling me wordlessly that in no way could I sway her once her mind was made up.

Still doesn’t stop me from trying though.

“I want to help the rebels,” I plead, looking to Boggs behind Coin’s chair, his face still stoic but his eyes giving me a look that isn’t altogether dismissive.

That was something. It was more than I was getting from either Coin or Plutarch.

Coin though brushes off my words and cuts me down infuriatingly quick with a single sentence. “Plutarch wanted to see Peeta earlier, talk about some propos. But when he sent for him, one of the doctors working with Peeta said he wasn’t having a good day.”

Her tone is smooth and pleasant enough but there was an undercurrent to her words that she knew I would hear. “Do you know how Peeta is? I would have thought with your waking up this morning, he’d be in better shape than he was but if you two aren’t getting-“

“Me and Peeta are fine,” I snap, not liking whatever she’s implying.

She nods, slowly at me, choosing her next sentiment carefully. “Well, let’s hope so. We need both of you now to remain the faces of this revolution. And I wouldn’t want you to do anything rash because of... problems between you and your... between you and Peeta.”

I’m shaking my head, feigning certainty, before she even finishes. “That’s not why I want to help the rebels,” I insist firmly.

“Irregardless, Miss Everdeen, we don’t have a job for you. You aren’t qualified to go into the fight and we no longer need your propos to unite the districts. Your job is done. Thank you for your help.”

And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’m being definitively dismissed now. Indefinitely.

I don’t make any effort to keep my cool, instead choosing to storm out of the room, slamming the door cacophonously behind me and wonder why I let that woman get to me so much. Why her words and implications slice me open like a knife.

Why no matter how much I try, I just can’t like her.

Something about her rubs me the wrong way and, once again, I wish Peeta was here with me in the room, because he of all people could understand what about Coin felt off and strange and so familiar.

I curse myself again, as I suddenly miss him even more than before.

Unable to force myself to put my focus elsewhere—especially now that Gale is surely angry too—I change directions and head towards the recovery room.

I don’t even knock before entering. I push the door open, only to find him sitting on top of his bed, a sketchbook in hand, a lot more tranquil than I pictured.

He looks up as I enter—and then, simultaneously freeze in the doorway, like the coward I truly am inside. Before he can speak though, I blurt out, “I know you’re mad about me kissing Gale and I don’t know how much you saw or heard, but it wasn’t... it wasn’t exactly...” I stop because once again, I’m unprepared and out of my element and have no rhyme or reason in what I’m trying to say. I don’t know the right thing to say. I never know the right thing to say.

Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t screw always everything up. “It wasn’t,” I finally force myself to continue, off his patient and somewhat bewildered glance. “It wasn’t what I wanted... I didn’t want it to happen. I don’t, I don’t even know what-“

He finally puts me out of my misery now. “Katniss,” he speaks my name along with a sigh. I watch carefully, feeling a lump build in my throat, as his blonde brows furrow over his baby blues.

He shakes his head, slow and calm. Far more reasonable than I ever anticipated. “I’m not mad at you, Katniss,” he promises, with all the genuineness in the world.

I bite my lip, befuddled by his words. “But... where have you been then?” Why did you leave me? A small voice in the back of my mind demands.

He shrugs, his gaze falling down to his bed now. His demeanor is almost embarrassed, I realize with a start.

“I wanted to give you and Gale space. I’ve been practically mauling you since you woke up so I thought-“

“But I didn’t want you to leave,” I abruptly burst out, unable to shove the words down any longer.

A pang of embarrassment shoots through me though, for the pathetic crack, evident in my tone. And I mentally berate myself.

Not for the embarrassment. For the pathetic crack itself.

And for the fact that somehow I’m the frenzied one here and Peeta is the voice of reason.

Which used to be our norm but after everything that’s transpired, I would have thought things would be reversed by now.

He just stares at me for a long moment, carefully considering his next words.

Finally, he opens his arms slowly and utters, “Come here,” in a tender murmur and I practically fly into his arms before I can second guess the offer.

I feel my injured side screaming as I curl up like a ribbon in his arms, but I surpress the wince to the best of my ability and instead bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his sweet scent like a mad girl.

He softly presses his lips to my messy locks, carefully massaging the back of my head soothingly. “I’m sorry I ran away,” he whispers, barely loud enough for even me to hear. “I was just embarrassed. I know—I’ve always known deep down—that it’s not right for me to constantly hold you to the things you said in the games. Or to project my own feelings onto you.”

“You didn’t,” I refute venomously, my brows knitting together.

“Katniss, I know you and Gale have had something between you for a long time.”

“Gale was just a friend until me and you came back from our first games. Maybe he wanted to be more even before, I don’t know, but I never felt anything romantic for him. I swear.”

“You don’t have to defend your feelings to me,” he states softly.

“I know, it’s just...” I sigh, moving to sit upright across his thighs. “No matter what I do, it’s wrong. If I say I’m confused, you’re both hurting. If I say I want to kiss you or sleep with you or just be with you, I’m leading you on because I can’t-I can’t make any promises about my feelings right now, because I don’t even know up from down anymore. And if I say I do or don’t want to kiss Gale or be around him or hunt with him still, I’m hurting him or giving him the wrong idea or telling him the wrong things, and it all gets confused and there’s an entire rebellion that I’m the face of, and now I don’t even know if I’m a part of that, but Snow and his followers all hate me still so I know family still won’t be safe until this is all over. And you. You and Johanna and Annie went through the ringer over me. And Gale gets upset whenever he sees us together—it hurts him to see us—but I can’t always seperate you two from one another and I just-I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Peeta lets me rant the whole entire spiel out, his hand slowly moving in circles to rub my back, from the top of my spine down to my backside. “Katniss,” he whispers once I’m done. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I get it. You’re under immense pressure. The last thing I want to do is make things harder on you.”

“You’re not,” I say, shaking my head insistently. “You’re not making anything worse, Peeta. It’s-it’s not you.”

“Okay,” he concedes and unconsciously wraps me up tighter in his arms. “Just relax, okay? Relax and breathe.”

I quiver and quake against him. “I don’t think I can.”

I barely realize I’m crying until Peeta leans down to kiss my tearstained cheek softly. “Katniss, it’s okay. I’m not mad. And Gale shouldn’t be. If he is, then that’s on him. The rebellion isn’t just your responsibility. Do not let them put all that weight on your shoulders. I know they already have but it’s not all your responsibility. And no one is going to let anything happen to your mom or sister.” He pushes my hair away from my forehead, pressing his lips there for a long moment. “Or you. I promise I will not let anything else happen to you.”

I swallow hard as he rests his forehead against my temple. I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes that it will make my head stop spinning somehow. Deep breaths to center myself fail miserably and in the end, I feel my bruised ribs and lung disagree with the movement and ache worse than before.

Peeta feels me cringing against him in pain and remains careful as he shifts, reaching for something off his bedside table.

I’m in too much pain to react as pushes off my robe and tugs my hospital gown down in order to slide against my skin, his hand holding it firmly to my side.

The icy temperature brings some sort of relief to me almost instantly, and I let out an audible sigh of relief, feeling my rigid body relax even a minuscule amount for the first time.

“I don’t blame you for having feelings for Gale,” Peeta murmurs, drawing my attention back to our conversation and away from my painful left side. “And if you want to be with him, I won’t hold it against you. I’m not going to lie, I’d be ... sad but... it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still be your friend. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still be at jere for you however you needed me. There’s no ultimatums here, Katniss. I’m still here for you, even if you’d rather be with Gale.”

I pause for a long moment, absorbing his words. He’d be willing to be my friend, even if I hurt him? Even if I chose someone else over him? Even after everything we went through, even after all the ways he’d been abused because Snow could see how much I care for him? How much I need him. He’s still willing to put it all aside and be there for me, no strings attached.

And I try not to compare but my brain draws the conclusion almost involuntarily, and I can’t stop myself from realizing that, in the same position, Gale would likely not be telling me the same thing.

I burrow my face deeper in his shoulder, shutting my eyes in exhaustion.

Peeta catches me off-guard, moving my hair aside to kiss my neck, eliciting a flare of heat in the place where his lips brush my skin, and I may not know exactly how I feel, but I know in that moment exactly what I want right now.

“The only person I want to be with tonight is you,” I whisper honestly, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to somehow understand an emotion I don’t know how to admit. “The only person I want right now is you, Peeta.”

#everlark #thg #hunger games #my writing #asks 🦋#everlurked 🌸✨

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years

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Seeking Mercy-Chapter 8

A/N: Please don’t kill me. Unless it’s with kindness but with this cliffy I don’t expect anyone to feel any kindness toward me. #sorrynotsorry

DEAN’S POV

Driving Baby is one of my favorite pastimes. Just out for a ride, no destination in sight. Unlike when we are headed toward a case. Cruising down the highway with the throttle wide-open, airing out the cobwebs.

Y/N is in the seat beside me, our hands together, palms pressed and fingers linked. Hers look so small in mine and I love it. I love her. For years, hell decades even, I never thought I’d find this. This contentment, this serenity. I was a love ‘em and leave ‘em type; good enough for a one-night stand before I’d be off to the next case, the next hunt, the next town.

But with Y/N, that has all changed. She showed me what love really is, how it feels to have someone to fight for, to fight beside. Yes, sure I have always had Sammy but Sammy can’t give me what my wife can. He can’t give me peace of mind and reassurance, a place to lay all my burdens and just……...be.

And, yea, I was hesitant at first. Hell, I resisted her for so long. Never wanting to involve her in this life, but she proved me wrong time and time again that she was here to stay. Now I bask in her perseverance. I not only have a best friend and wife, but we have created life together. Mavelin is the apple of my eye and this new one? Well I already love him or her immensely; will go to the ends of the earth for both of my children.

I never knew love could be like this. Sure, I thought I had it with Lisa but that was a lame attempt. She and I never saw eye to eye on a lot of things, things that Y/N and I do. She is definitely my better half, my soulmate.

The sounds of Zeppelin pour through the speakers as I accelerate down the road. After the doctor’s appointment confirmed Y/N’s pregnancy, I wanted to celebrate just her and I. I was headed to our spot when she took her hand out of mine and turned the music down.

“Dean we need to talk. I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” I ask as I glance over at her.

“Pull over.”

I find a spot and pull off the road, putting the car in park and killing the engine.

“Baby, what is it?” I ask, nervous and worried.

Y/N’s next words hit me like a ton of bricks. “I slept with Adam.” She begins crying and refusing to look at me

“Wha--what?” My world feels like it has tilted and I’m going to fall off any second.

“I slept with Adam,” she repeats through the tears.

I can’t say anything. No words will come, the only thing going through my mind is her confession, over and over and over. “I slept with Adam. I slept with Adam. I slept with Adam. I slept with Adam.”

I look at the center of the steering wheel. I can’t look at her right now. I can’t think of anything but her with Adam. Her laying under him while he fucks into her; while he does the one thing that only I am supposed to do. He fucking fucked my wife!

“You- you slept with my brother?” I say the words and I can feel the nausea building in my gut.

I see her nod in my peripheral vision. This can’t be happening. This is some sick joke, it has to be!

“Was it while I was hurt?” I ask trying to hold my emotions close.

Again she just nods.

I can’t think. I can’t speak. I just sit there and wonder how the fuck this is my life. My wife, the love of my life, slept with my brother. My brother, the one we took in after his mom was killed by a ghoul and he had nowhere to go, the brother Sam and I knew nothing about until he called our dad’s old number. That fucker fucked my wife.

But then I think about her. What she went through while I was hurt, how it must have felt knowing that I couldn’t give her the one thing she needed, the one thing she wanted. And he stepped up. He filled in where I failed. He helped her. I can’t fault either of them for that. It hurts like hell, it hurts worse than hell; I know, I’ve been there. I can’t lose her, I just can’t. There is only one thing to do.

I feel the tears well up behind my eyelids and I dare them to even think of making their presence known. Dare them to escape.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

I close my eyes and feel one of those assholes cut loose and slide down my face. FUCK! Man up Dean.

“So,” I clear my throat and wipe away the evidence of my heartbreak. I still can’t look at her so I keep my eyes on the center of the wheel. “While I was unable to fully satisfy you, you fucked Adam?”

“Yea,” she answers meekly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Y/N asks. I can hear the uncertainty and confusion in her voice.

“Yea, okay,” I say with a nod and then I steel myself and look at her. “I wasn’t able to please you, you found it in my brother. I understand.”

“But-”

“No buts,” I tell her. “I get it. I do. You’ve always had a voracious sexual appetite. I know this and I couldn’t do for you what needed to be done. So you found it somewhere else. Am I happy about it? Abso-fucking-lutely not! Do I like the idea that my half-brother now knows what it feels like to be inside you? Hell no. But I get it. I do. And I love you enough to overlook it. Just as long as you swear it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t. I promise.”

“How many times did he-- no you know what, never mind. I don’t want to know,” Dean says, shaking his head.

“Listen, Y/N. I love you and I can’t imagine life without you and Mav. I don’t want to lose you. It would kill me,” Dean says and then stops. He glances down to her stomach and then back up to her eyes. “Is the baby his?”

“No,” she lies. “This is your baby, Dean.”

That was all I needed to know. I crank the ignition and turn back onto the highway, headed for home.

Once we get back to the Bunker, I have one more thing I have to do before I can truly put all this behind me and move on.

I grab Y/N’s hand and head down the hallway, leading her to a door I’m sure she is familiar with. Knocking on it, I keep my eyes forward waiting for him to open up.

After about 5 minutes, Adam opens the door, looking puzzled. “We gotta talk,” I say as I push past him and walk into the room, going to the built-in desk in the corner. Leaning back against it, I cross my arms and decide just to get down to it.

Adam looks like a fucking deer caught in headlights, or maybe a cheater with his pants down. Whatever. He looks between me and Y/N and then back to me. “What’s up?”

Clearing my throat to make sure my message gets through and there is no chance of miscommunication, I say, “I know about you and Y/N. I know the two of you had sex. Look, I see it like this…..you did what I couldn’t while I was broken. But if you ever try to touch my wife like that again I’ll break your dick. Is that clear? I’m back, my dick works again so she doesn’t need yours. Got it?”

“Crystal,” Adam says, looking like he is about to shit his pants. I nod in confirmation and walk out of the room, hoping and praying that Y/N follows me and she wasn’t lying about not letting that happen again.

I hear her footfalls behind me and can’t help but feel relief.

Once inside our bedroom, I shrug off my flannel and toss it across the chair. I am fucking exhausted. Finding out the truth really takes it out of you.

I sit on the end of the bed and watch as Y/N goes about her nightly routine, calmly and quietly.

“Hey,” I say, getting her attention. “Come here.”

She steps to me and I grab her hips, maneuvering her until she is standing between my knees. “I’m not mad, okay? Hurt, yea but I’m not mad. I was, but not anymore. I love you with my whole heart and soul. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to do this life without you, now that I know how it feels to do it with you.”

Y/N starts sobbing and throws her arms around my neck. “I love you Dean! I love you so much.”

END DEAN’S POV

“You can do it baby,” Dean cheers Y/N on as he wipes the sweat from her brow. “Push.”

Gritting her teeth and gripping the side rail of the bed, Y/N bears down and pushes. She’s been at it for a couple of hours now and it seems like little progress has been made.

Dr. Porter looks up over the drape and smiles. At least Y/N thinks she smiles, the medical mask is hiding the lower half of the woman’s face.

“You’re doing wonderful Y/N,” she encourages. “The baby is almost here; just a few more minutes.”

“You hear that?” Dean asks, the smile in his voice evident. “Our baby is almost here. I love you.”

“You are not touching me ever again Dean Henry Winchester!” Y/N states as another pain takes over. “Ow fuck!”

Dean laughs but he wonders how true her words are. He grabs her free hand to give her support but his eyes bulge when she squeezes it; his fingers going numb quickly.

“Here we go,” Dr Porter announces. “The head is almost out. Give me another one.”

The baby’s cries fill the room as Y/N lays back on the pillow and feels her child’s body slip from her.

“It’s a boy!” Dr. Porter tells them and holds up the wrinkly and screaming baby. “Good lungs too.”

Y/N looks up at Dean as he watches the nurses take the baby to the warmer and begin preparing him for life outside of his mom. He looks down at Y/N and smiles.

“We have a boy. You gave me a son.”

“Do we have a name yet?” one of the nurses asks.

“Maddox. Maddox Eli Winchester,” Y/N informs her as the nurse lays the baby in her arms. Maddox is wrapped in a tiny blue blanket.

A few hours later, Y/N studies the babe in her arms. His hair is light brown, a cross between Adam’s and Sam’s and his little eyes are a mixture of the green of Dean’s and the hazel of Sam and Adam’s.

Y/N had secretly hoped that once Maddox had arrived, her silent question of paternity would be answered. But Maddox was a combination of all three Winchester men.

Determined to not keep living with the lie she told her husband all those months ago when she confessed to sleeping with Adam, Y/N put away her doubt and decided to secretly get a paternity test done. If no one else knew, at least she would be 100% positive who fathered her son.

Maddox is a month old when Dean decides to sacrifice himself to save the world, welcoming the archangel Micheal into his body.

No one could have seen what would happen next. How allowing Michael access would bring on the end of everything as they knew it.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @internationalmusicteacher @kricketc29 @natura1phenomenon @blacktithe7 @spnbaby-67 @travelingriversideblues-x @keymology @tftumblin @markofdean79 @thevelvetseries @deanwanddamons @winchester-fantasies @akshi8278 @michellethetvaddict @larajadeschmidt13 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @hoboal87 @atc74 @maddiepants @delightfullykrispypeach

#seeking mercy #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #adam milligan #reader insert #unplanned pregnancy #dean x reader #adam x reader #cheating #smut #donna hanscum #i wrote a case #made up monster

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knives-out20 · 3 years

Text

Hypocrite - Cliff Booth x Male!OC

Fandom: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)

Pairing: Bobby Brightside (OC) x Cliff Booth, StarBeep, DeepSpace(????),

Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, I cannot stop this shit, Who let me let this happen,

Notes: I just- I dunno. Enjoy!

Dedicated To: @mori-ohs

Bobby stretched his arms, Cliff creeping up on him and hugging him from behind. He smiled softly, leaning back into his lover. “Cliffy.”

“Bobby.”

“Havin’ fun watching me do all the work?”

“Maybe.”

Bobby scoffed, eyes scanning the stage. “I dunno why you bother comin’ with me to sound checks ‘n’ stuff” he thought out loud, Cliff kissing his temple.

“‘Cause I like your music. Not like I ever got anything better to do.”

“That’s true.”

Cliff and Bobby’s giggles melded into one beautiful sound, Bobby spinning to face him.

Beep’s shoulder twitched out of nowhere, as he and his brother Deep whispered the lyrics to some KISS song (Heaven’s On Fire), pretending to play the notes on their guitars. He chuckled as he locked eyes with Deep. “Feel my heat,”

“Takin’ you higher,” Deep nodded.

“Burn with me-” Beep lightly kicked Deep’s leg.

“Heaven’s on fire.” Deep scoffed, glancing straight up.

“Paint the sky-”

“-With desire” Deep’s eyebrows jumped, glancing over at Starchild.

Beep caught this and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Angel, fly;”

“Heaven’s on fire, whoo!” The two boys whisper-yelled, letting their guitars hang from their straps as they laughed to themselves.

“You had no right to look at Starchild, Derek” Beep shoved Deep, who chortled in return.

“I gotta clarify to myself whose in your lil’ head when this song comes into play, man” Deep shrugged, bandanna’d hands up in the air in surrender.

Beep kissed his teeth.

“Would you have rather we did Love Gun?” Deep inquired, nudging Beep with his elbow. “Or does Starchild also pull the trigger of your-”

“Shut up, shut up-” Beep hisses, waving his hands to signal for Deep to stop talking. “Don’t you have better things t’do, bro? C’mon, we both know how scared Penelope is of Gene, why don’t you go have fun with that instead?”

“Dude, my ass would be grass.”

“Mmh, whatever” Beep crossed his arms, stealing a glance over at Starchild.

Hmph. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect body- uh, perfect singing voice, perfect talent, what doesn’t this guy have?

“Aww, you’re blushing!” Deep teased, poking Beep’s heated-up cheek.

“Can it” Beep turned back around.

“B-Beep!” Frankie called.

Beep looked over at Frankie, who was by the drums with Peter. “Eh?” He answered, head twitching.

“C’mere for a sec? We need your- need your help.”

Beep sighed in relief; an escape from the hell that was Derek Sweeney. “Sure thing!” He nodded, sending Deep a nasty look before jogging over to the drums.

Deep clapped, laughing softly as Beep ran off. “Weirdo.” He breathed.

“Heyyy, Derek, right?”

Deep spun around, looking up and seeing Ace. God, was everyone in this band a fucking giant?

Save for Peter, of course. Poor guys.

Ace was wearing those damned boots that made Deep only be up to around the base of his neck. He’s still taller than Deep without them, but still. He’s extra tall with them on.

“Uhh, yea. Deep’s my stage name, though. Peep ‘n’ Deep ‘n’ Beep, the Trippy Comedy Trio” Deep explained, sniffing.

“Ooh, I forgot you guys weren’t in this for the main run” Ace hummed. “Tell me a joke, then.”

“Eh?”

“Tell me a joke, jester.”

“‘Jester’...” Deep furrowed his eyebrows, but otherwise ignored it. “Why can’t Jesus eat M&M’s?” He asked, feeling a hush go around the stage.

This usually happened when Peep, Deep, or Beep told a joke.

“Why?”

“Because they keep falling through his hands.”

A beat of silence from all around.

Then, all hell broke loose from the Buddies leaning onto things and doubling over in fits of laughter.

Bobby fell to his knees by Cliff, and for the first time, not in a sexual way!

Deep puffed out his chest proudly, hands on his hips as he looked up at Ace.

Ace blinked, tilting his head as he processed the joke. When it hit him, he let out that high-pitched cackle that he was known to have. Ace clapped his big hands together, leaning back as his laughs bellowed out of him.

Deep grinned, reveling in the sight before him like a perfect view.

A perfect view with perfect hair, perfect face, perfect body- uh, perfect talent- hold on, what?

Deep shook his head of the thoughts, looking back over at Ace, who was still laughing, falling to his knees. Laughter was Deep’s favourite sound, especially if it was caused by him. But something about Ace’s laughter- caused by him- struck an electric cord, deep- pun intended- inside him. Deep gazed down at Ace, mind bubbling with a gazillion different thoughts when Ace and him where posed like that.

Ace slowly calmed down, panting as he looked up at Deep. “Damn, you go home to a- to a girl with that humor?” He asked, outstretching a hand.

Deep pulled him back up, Ace dusting off his knees. “Uh, not anymore. I used to, though. A gal named Jenny, used to make her laugh by serenading her with Jenny Take A Ride, good song.”

“Ah, damn shame, ain’t it?”

“Not enough to go rats over, anymore” Deep disagreed. “I’m way over her, anyway. I’m good to get back in the game.”

Ace looked Deep up and down, chuckling. “That’s the spirit, funnyman. See you in five” he nodded, ruffling Deep’s hair before he walked off.

Deep watched him leave, feeling something slowly bubble up inside him. He gently pat his hair, eyes trailing from the broad shoulders of Ace’s costume, which led down to his narrow waist. “...Rats” Deep quietly cursed.

Beep passed him by, knowing that look all too well. “Hypocrite.”

“HYYYPOCRIIITE!” Bobby called over, hands cupped around his mouth. He watched the whole thing go down, after all.

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alleiradayne · 5 years

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Unconventional A J2 x Reader RPF Series

After a rousing evening of Friday Night Karaoke at the Supernatural convention, you’re tired and about to go to bed. But then a distinctly familiar laugh echoes through the hallway outside your hotel room door, and sleep is the last thing on your mind.

Part I - Situational

Summary: Back in your room after the always-entertaining Friday Night Karaoke, you’re about to pass out. But then that familiar cackling laughter hits your ears, and when you open your hotel room door, you find yourself standing face to face with Jared Padalecki. Warnings/Tags: Fluff, flirting, suggestions of sex, imbibing of alcohol Characters/Pairings: Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Female Reader Word Count: 3,569 A/N: For the love of everything good in this world, assume everyone involved is single or polyamorous. No. Wife. Hate. Allowed. This series as a whole will fulfill my Polyamory square for @spnkinkbingo but not until closer to the end. Beta’d by @atc74 because she’s awesome and managed to read this hella long buncha nonsense.

His laugh permeated your subconscious, and a tendril of recognition wandered its way through your weary daze. The first day of the con had wrapped no more than an hour ago. Karaoke, entertaining as ever, had sapped the last of your energy, but for whatever reason, you had struggled to fall asleep. Not even hotel infomercials or the endless stream of Tumblr had lulled you to sleep.

Oh, but that laugh. Though unmistakable despite its distance, you had to have imagined it, a lucid dream. Given the upcoming convention events, your subconscious mind must have conjured up ridiculous fantasies to placate your nerves. Come Sunday, you would meet him, really meet him and talk with him and, if you were lucky, get to know him a little. No wonder you subconsciously dreamt of him as you stared, unseeing, at the television.

But then he laughed again. Right outside your door.

Not a dream, then. But a simpler explanation existed; it had to be someone that sounded like him. Not like his laugh was exclusive to him. It might be to you, but plenty of people cackled at silly things like he did.

Except when he laughed, it never felt forced. His smile reached his eyes every time he laughed like that, and his body pitched as his shoulders shook. You had seen that laugh a thousand times, at so many cons and in so many gag reels. There was no mistaking it.

And then you heard it for the third time, though it echoed from further down the hall. Your single room was the last before the massive corner suite, and there it must be that he stayed.

You bolted upright, spine straight as you focused, and listened closer. Muffled sounds slipped through the wall of your room as bags thumped to the floor, other items dropped, and people bid one another good night.

Curiosity piqued, you hopped from the hotel bed, turned off the television, and shuffled to your door. More voices passed, but they sounded as if they headed in a different direction. When the soft thud and snict of the nearest door interrupted your concentration, you gripped the handle of yours, and, with a slow turn of the knob, pulled it aside.

There in the hallway stood Jared Padalecki, phone in hand and frozen mid-stride as he stared at you. No Jensen. No Clif. No other bodyguards. Just Jared. Alone.

Except for you. No anticipation had prepared you for him, as much as your imagination had tried the last few minutes. Your teeth clicked shut when Jared laughed through his nose, nothing like the cackling you had heard a moment earlier. No, that laugh sounded like pure amusement, as if he were used to people reacting to his presence like you had, mouth agape and eyes popping out of their heads.

The need to speak, to do something beyond standing there staring at him, surpassed your better judgment and so, you said, “Hey, Jared.”

Smooth. But, as terrible as it sounded, it worked. Jared smiled his charming smile as he slid his phone into his pocket and took a step closer. “Hey, there. Are you my neighbor for the weekend?”

With your wits gathered, your typical loquacious speech returned. “It appears that I am the lucky son of a bitch who gets to see you come and go in the halls of our hotel during this convention.”

Jared held out his hand with an approving frown. “Verbose. Is that normal, or are you nervous?”

“Y/N,” you started as you took his offered hand, yours dwarfed by his. “And it’s normal. I’m not known for mincing words. Some would call me turgid, even.”

“Hm,” he started as he looked you over and examined your hand in his. “I’m not seeing any fluid retention, Y/N. And I like verbose.”

The hallway had grown far too hot in a hurry. Your guffaw of a laugh drew another from Jared, and your voices sang a song you wished to hear every day for the rest of your life. But you had stopped him on his way out. His phone buzzed an incessant chirp in his pocket that distracted both of you.

“Sorry, Y/N,” he mumbled. “They’re waiting for me. Surprised Cliffy hasn’t come back up.”

“Where are you headed?” You had blurted out the question before any rational thought argued he might not want to share that information.

“Bar down the street. We’ve been there a few times before,” he said as he jabbed a thumb to the north. “Nice place, good food, good beer, fun atmosphere. We go largely unnoticed too, so that’s a bonus every once in a while.”

With a nod you agreed. “Yeah, it’s a good joint. Great fish and chips.”

“Oh,” Jared mused with a thoughtful smile. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll have to give it a shot another night though, just going out for a drink.”

Tips on bar food. Great. You had Jared Padalecki all to yourself and you chose to talk about bar food. How benign. How maddeningly… normal.

“Hey, Y/N?”

His shoulders hunched as he leaned closer to you, head low and knees bent as if to appear smaller. You shook your head free of your wandering thoughts and refocused. “Yeah?”

“You okay?” he asked. “Day went alright? You seem…”

The sting of embarrassment pricked at your cheeks as you smiled and averted his intense hazel stare. “Flustered? Bemused? Bewildered? Try all three,” you said as you ran a nervous hand through your hair. “I had a great first day at the con, but… I never expected something like this. Sorry, I don't want to keep you, I'll let you get back to your—"

“Come with us.”

The world lurched to a halt at Jared's words. “No,” you started with a shake of your head. “I couldn't. I mean, I could, I want to, but I wouldn't want to impose. And I don't want people to get the wrong idea…”

“You wouldn't be imposing, I invited you,” Jared explained with a shrug. “And we can't control what other people say. If it really makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to come out, but we'd be happy to have you.”

Drinks with Jared. “Jensen will be there, too?”

“Absolutely,” Jared replied. “Cliffy, as always. But that should be it tonight. Maybe more tomorrow after the concert. Rob and the band like to go out after, so sometimes we kick it with them.”

“Sounds like a good time,” you started, still hesitant. Why, you were not sure. How often did an opportunity to hang out with Jared Padalecki present itself? Once in a lifetime? No point in second-guessing yourself or his insistence.

“Y/N?”

A shake of your head cleared the fog of conflict from your mind. “Let me get my boots. You’ll have to excuse my attire, I planned on going to a Supernatural convention all weekend, not clubbing.”

Jared laughed at that, not far from his typical cackle. “We’re going to a pub, you’ll fit right in. And for what it’s worth, that plaid is great, I love the color. Looks good on you.”

From previous interactions with Jared—photo ops and autographs—you had experienced his giving nature before. It wasn’t the first time he’d complimented you. But that had not prepared you for another, and so direct without a crowed of people around. Your entire face burned as your knees threatened to buckle.

“Th-thanks,” you stuttered. “I’ll just… uh…”

Jared held the door aside as you pointed towards your boots, out of reach. “I’ll hold it. Take your time,” he said as he withdrew his phone and began to text.

With your boots on and a sweater donned, you gathered your belongings and returned to the door. “Ready?”

Jared flashed his brilliant smile as he motioned you through the door. “After you. Jensen’s already in the truck, Cliffy is heading in to lead us out back without any interruptions. Which rarely happens, just so you know.”

Through the door, Jared followed you as you asked, “Really?” Your door shut behind you with a soft click and you double-checked it to be sure it was closed.

“I mean, sure, a handful of people might recognize us in a night,” he said with a shrug. “Couple pictures here and there. Nothing crazy. And if we get overwhelmed at all, Clif’s there.”

At the elevators, you prodded the down button as you said, “I’m surprised you’re not swarmed by fans all the time.”

Jared’s amused chuckle followed you into the elevator as the door opened. “That’s a rare situation, although it has happened.”

The fifteen-floor descent began, and though you had a million questions you wanted to ask, a million things you wanted to say, none came to mind. How could they? You were in an elevator with Jared Padalecki. The worst parts of your imagination suggested possibilities better left to yourself, but Jared must have noticed the consternation on your face.

“You okay, Y/N?” he started, a gentle hand smoothing your shoulder. “You got quiet there all of a sudden.”

“I uh…” you stuttered. “I’m fine. Just overwhelmed. Elevator isn’t helping.”

Another laugh from Jared eased your nerves. “Worried about getting stuck?”

That furious sting returned to your cheeks, spreading across the bridge of your nose. “I wouldn’t say I’m worried about it,” you jested, but from where that boldness originated, you had no clue.

Jared's amused surprise worked a smile out of you as he said, “Okay, keep your secrets then. I won't pry.” He paused for a beat, then added, “For now.”

Innuendos then? The door to the elevator opened as it reached the ground floor, your mind spinning with every possible meaning to Jared’s words. But that string of images disappeared in a flash when you met Clif waiting outside the elevator.

As if unsurprised to see you, Clif smiled and offered his hand with a short introduction. You grasped it and shook, giving your name and a quick apology for Jared’s tardiness.

“We’re used to it,” Clif started as he turned for a stairway door. “He’s always dragging ass, although he may actually have an excuse this time.”

Through the door, Jared retaliated. “Don’t give me shit for inviting someone out, man.”

Clif laughed at that but said nothing else. Through a short series of hallways, you followed him to a rear exit of the hotel where a large black SUV waited. Clif rounded the front of the vehicle as Jared opened a door for you and ushered you in.

Once seated and the door closed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness only to find Jensen leaning over the console and staring at you.

“You’re not Jared,” he suggested with a smirk.

“An astute judgment,” you shot back.

“A smartass, though,” he retorted as he held out his hand. “My kinda gal.”

A brow quirked towards your hairline as you shook his hand, surprised to find it rough and calloused. “Y/N. A pleasure.”

The passenger door opposite you opened and Jared stepped in with a hop. He groaned with a contorted frown as he spotted your hand in Jensen’s. “Is he giving you shit already?”

“Oh, don't worry, my knight in shining armor, she beat me to it,” Jensen said as he released your hand and returned to his seat.

Jared’s approving smile heated the SUV to an unreasonable level, and you wondered if that might be your curse all night, sweating in the wake of Jared’s praise. He prodded Jensen in the shoulder as he said, “I brought backup.”

Jensen scoffed as the SUV pulled away from the hotel. “Great, now I have to put up with two of you.”

“Hey, I didn't pick a side here, I'm still Switzerland in this war,” you teased.

Jensen laughed and Jared mocked him as he threw a side-eyed glare at you. And then a thought occurred to you that, depending on their response, might sour the evening. “Do you guys do this often?”

“Do what?” Jensen asked.

“Pick up random fans in hotels and take them out?”

Jared’s nose turned a pink bright enough to be seen by the dashboard light. “No,” he started. “We don’t.”

“I mean, we’ve had our fair share of one—”

“Dude!”

Jensen scoffed as he leaned over the console again. “Oh, c’mon, man, she’s not some naive little girl, why do you think she asked?” he started as he regarded you again, then paused with a furrow of his brow. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Old enough.”

Jensen shook his head as he said, “Nope. Your pithy tongue isn’t getting you out of this one.”

“You think this is a pithy tongue, just wait until I’ve had a couple drinks,” you said with a laugh.

“Only a couple?” Jared asked

You scoffed at that. “I’m not a cheap date. Single barrel scotch is my go-to, and it only takes about two of those before I’m a beer or two shy of fucking wasted.”

Clif turned the corner with a bark of his own laugh as he said, “You sure know how to pick ‘em.” The SUV lumbered to a stop outside of the pub as he added, “I’ll go park and be back in a minute.”

“We’ll head upstairs right away, looks busy,” Jared suggested as he hopped from the truck.

Jensen opened your door and held out his hand for you. As capable as you were to exit the truck on your own, the chance to hold Jensen’s hand again would not go squandered. His gentle grasp contrasted with his rough skin, and your imagination ran further into the trenches with that second connection.

From the truck, you hopped to your feet and Jensen shut the door behind you with a wave for Clif. Quite familiar with the pub, you headed in first and went directly to the stairs in the back. The lower level was packed, but around the corner, the noisy din of the bar faded. Uninterrupted, you ascended the stairs and checked over your shoulder to find Jared and Jensen following you, a smile from each.

At the top you asked them, “Bar or table?”

Jared motioned far across the bar to a smaller booth area. Dim lamps illuminated the tables, bathed in soft golden light and secluded from most others. Perfect. You agreed without a word and followed Jared as he started for the table.

A few eyes followed, some squinting, and a couple wide with recognition. Jared waved and Jensen mouthed a greeting, but no one approached. Once seated, you beside Jared and Jensen across, a server rushed to the table. “Eating tonight?”

“Just drinks,” Jensen said as he ordered from the beer list.

Jared ordered a manhattan on the rocks, much to your surprise, and you ordered your preferred scotch. The server left, leaving a drink menu behind, and Jensen eyed you with a subtly suspicious raise of his brow. “You weren’t joking.”

“I’ll pay for my own drinks,” you said. “Shits expensive.”

“You never answered my question though,” he continued. “You enjoy good scotch, you’re not in complete shock around us, which, is refreshing, you managed to get Jared to order hard liquor for the first time in ages, and you didn’t get carded.”

“Hey,” Jared interjected but Jensen bowled him over.

“How old are you?”

The server returned with your drinks, Clif arriving on his heels and sliding into an adjacent booth with a few people in tow. You took the opportunity to sip from your glass, then said, “I’m thirty-four.”

Jared nearly spit out his drink. “I don’t believe you.”

“Which was why I avoided the question,” you started. “Nobody does.”

“I thought you were older for some reason,” Jensen said, then immediately backpedaled. “I mean, like, not in the face. That’s why I didn’t guess. You hardly look old enough to be drinking. But everything about your personality said otherwise.”

Jared’s nose scrunched as he backhanded your shoulder. “I still don’t believe you’re thirty-four. I’ve really only got two years on you?”

Despite the distraction of physical contact, you pulled out your wallet and handed him your driver’s license. “And you look about 20 when you’re completely clean shaven. Don’t make it seem like you didn’t win the genetic lottery.”

He handed back your license with a hearty laugh. “I shouldn’t complain, I know,” he sighed. “Jensen can, though. He’s old.”

“Distinguished,” you corrected as you hefted your glass towards Jensen. “I can only hope I make forty-one look as hot as you do.”

Jensen hid his smile behind his glass as he toasted yours, but he failed to hide the pink that colored his cheeks. “If you can pass for an under-age drinker at thirty-four, your forties will be glorious.”

Jared added his glass. “I’ll second that, even though he’s hitting on you.”

“What? I don’t see a ring,” Jensen started. “And it’s not like she hasn’t been flirting with both of us since the car.”

How had he arrived at that conclusion? An eyebrow quirked towards your hairline as you asked, “Sarcasm and witty banter count as flirting now? What’s next, eye contact?”

That drew both men up short, but you had not intended to attack them. Jared’s chastised frown and Jensen’s crestfallen pout broke your heart. “Guys, it’s fine. I’m just giving you shit. Flirt all you want, it doesn't bother me.”

“You sure?” Jared started as his tentative touch found your knee. “We shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sorry.”

A bewildered shake of your head preceded your laugh, and you held his hand firm, hoping to reassure him. “Don’t apologize, seriously. It’s not everyday guys like you flirt with me. Actually, it’s more like no guys ever, but that’s beside the point.”

“Fuck that, they’re missing out,” Jensen scoffed before he took a long pull from his beer. “I doubt you never get hit on.”

“I didn’t say that. Plenty of women hit on me and they’re way better at it than men are,” you said with another laugh. “Besides the two of you, that is.”

“Still,” Jared started, “I don’t know why a guy wouldn’t hit on you. You’re stunning. I’m surprised you’re not on TV at the least.”

You almost spat out your drink. “My fat face? Do you know how much weight I’d have to lose to get into the industry on my own? I have zero connections,” you explained. “And don’t say it, I know damn well I’m not fat. I work out a ton and practice martial arts. Could I be in better shape? Sure. But to accomplish that I’d have to do none of this,” you paused as you gestured with your glass, then took another sip. “And probably quit my day job.”

A thoughtful smile hooked Jensen’s full lips. “We should train together tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“What time do you need to be at the convention?” Jared asked, seeming to catch Jensen’s idea.

“Ten o’clock. I’m in VIP and shit starts right away,” you replied.

The two men considered each other as Jared squeezed your thigh. “So, we’ll be seeing plenty of you at the con, then, too?” he suggested.

That sting of embarrassment returned to your cheeks. “Actually, Jared, you’ll be seeing a lot of me on Sunday. I bought your photo op and meet and greet. Jensen, I love you, too, but I gotta admit, I’m more than a little obsessed with Jared.”

The massive hand on your thigh inched higher, nearing your center and squeezed. You gathered every ounce of willpower you had not to react. But Jared’s coy smile and Jensen’s knowing smirk had you dead to rights. “How about we train for a quick hour. Six o’clock sound good? Give you enough time to get ready for the con?”

“I uh,” you stuttered, Jared’s hand yet rubbing your thigh. You downed the last of your scotch to give yourself a chance to breathe. “That should work.”

Jensen checked his watch, then finished the last of his beer. “Should probably head back then. You good with that?”

Jared nodded as he pushed his empty drink to you. “Want the cherries?”

“How did you know?”

He laughed a short chuckle through his nose. “You kept staring at my empty glass.”

Damn perceptive of him. The first cherry disappeared in a quick bite, but as you brought the second to your lips, you paused as you saw both Jared and Jensen starting at you. Might as well give them something to look at, then. The cherry met your tongue as you reached for it, drew it to your lips, and then sucked it from the stem.

Jared gaped without reservation while Jensen’s crooked smile returned. He turned to Jared and said, without an ounce of sarcasm, “I hate you. I hate how lucky you are. I hope you know that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jared said as he urged you from the booth with a prod of your thigh.

You slid from your seat and waited for Jensen to talk to Clif, who begged off from his group and headed for the door. Jared tossed some money on the table as he placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you ahead of them.

“I was going to get my drink,” you said over your shoulder.

“And I said I was going to pay for it,” he retorted.

“Such a gentleman,” Jensen mocked. “He never buys me drinks unless we’re out with a group.”

“Shut up.”

Oh. So, it was true. They didn’t just bicker like an old married couple. They were an old married couple. At least, in spirit.

“You know,” you started, “I’m not opposed to entertaining more than one person tonight.”

Jensen eyed you over his shoulder as he neared the steps. “You want me to follow him up?”

Had you read the two of them wrong? “You guys don’t… you know,” you paused as you gestured with your fingers in the shape of an X. “Cross swords?”

Jared’s face turned a shade of crimson you’d yet to see, but despite his embarrassment, both he and Jensen laughed. As you descended the stairs, Jared wrapped an arm around your shoulders and said, “It’s not uncommon.”

“But?”

Jensen shrugged as he rounded the bannister. “Why don't we save that for another night?”

Jared pulled you flush to his hip as your arm slipped around his back. “Are you sure?” you asked.

Jensen’s laughter rivaled the sweetest song as he pushed aside the door. “Positive. You kids have fun. But don’t forget, gym, six o’clock. I wanna see what you can do.”

“We’ll be there,” Jared said as his thumb rubbed the back of your neck.

The black SUV rounded the corner as you shivered beneath Jared’s touch, the anticipation of his intentions shooting straight to you core.

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UNCONVENTIONAL MASTER LIST

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Unconventional

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#jared padalecki fanfic #rpf fanfic #spn fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #alleiradayne writes

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badwolf-in-the-impala · 6 years

Text

~Whiskey Lullaby~

~Chapter 3~

|| Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ||

Image Credit: Pictures not mine obviously, but the collage is.

Rating: NSFW-18+

Warnings: Alcohol and drug abuse, violence, suggested sexual/physical abuse, kidnapping, sexual content, angst.

A/N: Don’t hate me for this one XD It’s a little bit of a cliffy. But I’ll try and have the next chapter up soon!

|| Masterlist ||

It was late afternoon when Chibs made his way into the Clubhouse for a cold drink. It had been a slow day at the garage, and what little Club business needed taken care of for the day, had already been dealt with. He was bored to say the least. Teagan and Gemma had returned from shopping hours ago, but he hadn’t seen either of them since. Until he sat down at the bar that is.

Teagan was behind the bar, slinging drinks to the few people who currently occupied it. Her dark hair was tied back; simple black liner and mascara rimmed her emerald orbs. Making them twice as intense. She also still worn his shirt, though it was tied up now — crop-top style — with the sleeves tucked up inside the shirt. A pair of low-rise jeans hugged her hips perfectly, making it incredibly hard not to let his eyes wander over her figure. Drawing his attention immediately to the intricate workings of a very large tribal tattoo that spread down her left side and across her hip.

“What can I get ya, Scotty?” She smirked, leaning against the bar towards him now that her other customers were taken care of. Chibs returned the grin, tapping one of his rings against the bar in thought.

“Whiskey.” He replied.

“On the rocks?”

“Yes ma’am.” Chibs nodded as he made him self comfortable, watching as she scanned the shelves for a moment before grabbing a bottle of Johnnie Walker - Red Label, snatching up a rocks glass and pouring; adding a few ice cubes to it before setting in front of him on a small bar napkin.

“It’s like ye’r a mind reader.” He exclaimed sarcastically with a grin before taking a swig.

“Well, I assumed Scottish...cause ya know.” She gestured to him with a playful smile.

“W’ell, ye assumed righ’.” He smiled, tipping his glass and clinking it gently against the beer bottle she picked up. “Ye’r a natural, Lass. Who put ye behin’ the bar, anyway?” He inquired curiously, cocking a brow at her.

“Gemma asked if I could cover for Half-Sack for a bit...I don’t know. Something about a glass ball or something or other...I don’t think I even wanna know.” She replied, shaking her head with a mildly disturbed expression. Chibs almost choked on his drink.

“Nay, Lass.” He chuckled. “Ye most certainly don’...but on a high note, ye’r a far better bartender than ole’ Half-Sack!”

“You sure it’s not just ‘cause I’ve got tits and a nice face?” She cocked her hip out to the side with a playful glare as she crossed her arms, Chibs grinning in return. She had a fine sense of humor, he’d give her that.

“I’m offended ye would even’ think such’a thing! ... Ye’ve got a nice arse too.” He feigned mock hurt, his tone teasing before dissolving into laughter as Teagan picked up the bar towel and threw it at him. “Really though.” Chibs smiled as he handed the bar towel back to her.

“Ye make a fine barkeep.”

“Well, experience helps...” She mused, leaning against the bar again. Close enough this time that his heart skipped a beat inside his chest as he held her gaze. “I also have a knack for reading people though.” She added, tilting her head to the side with a smirk as her eyes gave him a brief once over.

“Tha’ so?” Chibs leaned forward slightly, leaving only mere inches between the two of them.

“One of my many hidden talents.” She hummed gently, winking as she pulled away with a mischievous grin.

“Hidden talents, ‘ey?” He chuckled before returning to his drink. “Suppose I’ll ‘ave to inquire ‘bout those later?”

“If you’re lucky.” Teagan shrugged as she threw another wink his way before she skipped off to the other end of the bar to check on the other customers.

“C’mon man...my sister? Really?!” The voice came from beside him; Chibs turning with a grin to find Tig leaning against the bar. A mild look of disgust plastered to his face.

“Don’ go gettin’ yer knickers in’a bind, man.” Chibs replied casually. “Jus’ bein’ friendly is all.”

“Yeah...the fact she’s wearin’ your shirt looks pretty friendly to me.” He grumbled, jumping as the dark haired woman slammed his beer down in front of him.

“Don’t go startin’ shit, Tiggy.” She warned, pointing an accusing finger in her brothers face. Having caught the snide remark as she returned. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Tig mumbled under his breath snarkily, gesturing to the shirt she wore as she turned to leave. Halting abruptly at his comment, her fair skin flushing red with anger as she turned on her heel sharply. Chibs about to step in and defend her when she reached across the bar to snatch her brother up by the collar of his Kutte, yanking him forward.

“And if you’re insinuating that I fucked your friend, I didn’t.” She seethed, green eyes blazing as she stared her brother down. Tig opening his mouth to argue the point when Clay barked at them to knock their shit off.

“Enough!” His deep voice bellowed through the Clubhouse, compelling it into silence as he stepped out of the Chapel. “Let him go Teagan.” She did as she was told, but not before giving her brother one final sneer. Shoving him back across the bar roughly before storming off to grab a couple more cases of booze from storage. Pausing for a smoke break outside in an attempt to calm her nerves, turning as she heard heels clicking on the concrete behind her as Gemma approached the table she sat on.

“Give it time sweetheart...” She assured the younger woman, giving her a grin as she lit the joint that hung from her lips.

“I’ve given it years, Gem.” Teagan scoffed as she stamped out the last of her smoke. “Twelve, to be exact...six if you don’t count the time I did in Prison.”

“I know baby...” Gemma replied as she exhaled, offering the joint to the younger woman beside her who accepted willingly. Taking an exceptionally large hit, before passing it back. Exhaling the sweet smoke with a sigh as she frowned.

“He still see’s me as the same junkie fuck-up that left charming in cuffs at 17.” Teagan stated dejectedly, burying her face in her hands as tears built behind her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Oh honey...” Gemma sighed, pulling her into a tight embrace. Smoothing her hand in circles around her back. “Your brother might harbor a lot of anger about the past...but none of it is intended for you baby girl.” Teagan pulled away slightly, looking up at Gemma with a confused expression. Her brows furrowed together tightly.

“What do you mean?”

Gemma sighed, taking a seat beside her on the bench. Taking another long pull off her joint before passing it back to Teagan.

“He blames himself for the path you took. For not being there to keep you straight when your Mom bailed.” Gemma stated softly. “For not realizing sooner that -- that guys you got involved with was bad fucking new from the start...”

Teagan sniffed lightly, wiping at her face as a stray tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. All the years she’d spent assuming he was angry with her...it never once crossed her mind that maybe he blamed himself too. Gemma smiled softly.

“You really think he would’a saved that car all these’s years, otherwise?” Gemma smiled softly as she nudged the younger woman’s shoulder gently with her own, earning half a smile out of her in return.

“I assumed he would’ve kept it for other reasons.” She replied quietly, taking a final hit from the joint before handing it back to Gemma and hopping off the table to retrieve the beer cases she’d pulled, pausing just before she entered back into the Clubhouse. Her green eyes sorrowful as the faintest hint of a smile touched her lips.

“After all...it was never really mine to begin with.”

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

Teagan was still tending bar later that evening; Half-Sack returning later than expected, but she didn’t mind. She actually enjoyed the work as it kept her mind off the world of worry she had precariously balanced on her shoulders. Who knows, maybe if she begged hard enough she could even convince Clay to actually hire her on permanently.

The Clubhouse was quiet for the most part, save for the small talk between Tara and Gemma at the end of the bar. The rest of the Crew currently immersed in a meeting discussing Club business. The Jukebox playing 80′s tunes softly, creating decent background noise as she wiped down the bar and restocked the empty slots in the beer cooler. Making several trips back and forth into storage with Half-Sack to pull more cases.

She had overheard talk of some of the Tacoma boys arriving soon, and there always seemed to be a heavy thirst among the men after a long meeting. Knowing it was better to be over stocked than under; she found a place out of the way to stack the remaining cases she had brought out. Assuring she would be set for a while as she dusted her hands against her jeans.

“You’re pretty good at that.” Piney’s gruff voice commented as he took a seat at the bar. The other men slowly filtering out of the Chapel and following suit. Scattering among the bar as their chatter slowly started to fill the room again. Teagan smiled at the old man kindly.

“Thanks...I’ve had a lot of practice.” She chuckled, pouring him a double shot of Tequila and leaving the bottle on the bar-top. “I worked all over down in Vegas. Pretty damn good money to if you’re decent at it.”

“I would imagine so.” He chuckled. “’Specially with a pretty face like yours...makes the all the menfolk tip good.” He winked, tossing a $20 onto the bar for her.

“Jesus pop, don’t go blowin’ it all at once.” Opie laughed as he took a seat beside the old man, ordering a beer and a shot of his own.

“Gah...” Piney scoffed with a wave. “If only someone would’a warned me ‘bout that years ago...you wouldn’t be here.” He replied sarcastically, cheersing his glass to the air before knocking back it’s contents. Gathering up the bottle and glass before meandering away from the bar.

“Ouch...that ones gotta sting, huh Ope?” Teagan chuckled as she tapped the tip against the bar before tucking it inside the tip jar on the counter behind her.

“What’s Hale doin’ here?” Juice questioned as he watched the surveillance cameras overhead, Teagan turning as she set his beer down in front of him. All the color draining out of her face as she noted the Deputy and several other Officers climbing out of their rigs.

“Jesus...” Clay gave an aggravated sigh as he nudged Gemma off his lap. “Can’t a guy sit for five fucking minutes.” Grumbling as he made his way towards the door, Bobby and Jax in tow as they followed him outside.

“Ye al’righ love?” Chibs questioned as he sat down, worry evident in his brown eyes as he stared at Teagan. Studying her expression as she watched the cameras. Panic setting in as she watched Hale hand over what was most likely an arrest warrant.

The older man confused as she quickly stripped off all her rings, a necklace, and pulled her cell from her pocket and a switch blade out of her boot. Shoving it all toward the Scotsman who tucked everything into the inner pocket of his Kutte without a second thought. About to question her again as the Clubhouse doors opened and Deputy Hale and his Officers entered. Clay and the rest of the guys following close behind.

“Teagan Trager?” Hale spoke calmly, watching as she paused from wiping down the bar -- a little to furiously -- and looked up at him. Inwardly groaning at the sympathetic look he wore on his face.

“David...” She sighed. Tossing the bar towel aside as she placed her hands against the bar, arching a brow as she waited for what she knew was about to follow.

“It has been brought to my attention that you’re in violation of your Parole...I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.” He stepped forward, placing what was most defiantly a warrant on the bar in front of her. Chibs craning his neck over the Deputy’s shoulder to glance at it. Gemma pushing her way to the bar to grab it.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” She demanded as she snatched the paper off the bar-top and gave it a once over. Her expression falling as she looked up at the young raven haired woman. “Jesus, Teag.”

“Call my lawyer, Gem.” She instructed as one of the officers came around the back side of the bar. Pushing her forward onto it as he cuffed her hands behind her back and checked her for weapons.

“And?!” Gemma demanded as they began ushering Teagan towards the door.

“I’m assuming you should inquire as to why in the BLUE FUCK my paper work he said he’d fax over to the Charming Police Depart never showed up!”

The doors slammed shut behind them, leaving the remaining members of the Clubhouse glancing around at each other with confused looks as they watched her loaded into the back of the squad car on the cameras. Gemma pinching the bridge of her nose as she drew in a deep breath. Retrieving Teagan’s phone from Chibs as she scrolled through the contacts, pulling up her Lawyer’s personal number before punching send and placing it to her ear.

“Shit...”

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TAGLIST: @jacksonroth @stacie-marie-bloom @cole-winchester @journeyrose

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snowbellewells · 6 years

Text

“Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)”

(Once again, I’m later in the day than I hoped, but I do think this chapter will make up for the cliffie last week. In fact, by the end, I think we’re headed somewhere distinctly more pleasant. ;) There is some tense action here first though - Gold does some definite Dark One level damage and injury - just for fair warning before you start.)

Lastly, please enjoy @wingedlioness awesome and amazing art further in this chapter. It’s actually an image of the scene that came into my mind first, and then brought about the rest of the story.

“Run to Me (in the Dead of NIght)”

chapter seven ~ old heat of a raging fire

There was no time for Killian to react; not to charge in counterattack, to retreat, to duck or dodge - he barely had time to think that the flash of silver he had seen in Gold’s hand meant nothing good for him, and it was already too late. Though he had realized he was being followed and turned to face his pursuer in a relatively open space before they could attack unseen, it had not been his Crocodile that he expected. Knowing Gold’s vengeful nature as he did, Killian had believed (a horrible miscalculation, it would seem) that the Dark One would be at least immediately consumed with plotting his former pupil’s demise for what she had done to his clearly much beloved maid. When he’d turned to face the person creeping along behind him, he had fully expected Cora - or possibly Regina - who were both much more likely to simply gloat and soliloquize before actually getting down to business, giving him time to figure out his defense, even if they welded magic and he did not.

His sworn enemy however offered no such luxury, striking out as soon as he had spoken, with a swift and vicious accuracy that nearly felled Killian in one disastrous motion. It would seem that Gold had not relied most immediately on his powers, but had struck first with a quite human - and deadly effective - tool. The glint of silver Killian had spotted too late was from a small handgun, its size so compact and discreet that it had barely been visible in Gold’s grasp until he raised it to fire.

The shot struck home, and the fire that spread, not just from the spot in his shoulder where the bullet hit, but through his veins brought the further sickening realization. The bullet was silver as well, already poisoning and draining even as the fact of it reached his brain with startling clarity. The imp had never fought him fair, and it should really no longer be a shock.

“Coward!” Killian growled, hand immediately going to his shoulder in an attempt to focus him on staying upright in the face of his nemesis and staunching the blood he can already feel welling to the entry site. He took a step forward, wishing in the moment he still carried the cutlass safely tucked away aboard his ship upon his person. He needed something to brandish as the old crocodile stalked closer, knowing he had injured his prey, even as Killian felt himself weakening.

Even more frightening, of course, was the fact that he would soon be forced to shift into his wolf form. Though normally being a large, powerful wild animal with teeth and claws at his disposal to fight back would be comforting, he felt vulnerable as well having his secret, other side exposed to Rumplestiltskin against his will. Not to mention, he also lost his human thought process and strategy against an all-too-cunning foe once he transformed. Yet, if he lost much more blood, or the Dark One landed another strike, it would become inevitable. The werewolf body reverted back to its elemental form to heal itself, to protect so to speak, and though he could grit his teeth and stall it for a time, eventually it would happen anyway, and resisting would only make the shift more painful.

Stumbling to his knees, Killian tried to brace his hands on the rough forest floor to push himself back up. Gold was slowly moving ever closer, and he couldn’t bear to face the fiendish villain bowed and shaking as he was - but it was to no avail. He could feel his tendons stretching and lengthening, his face tingling and the skin pulling taut, the pressure in his head excruciating as it literally began to elongate and change shape. His fingers were curling into claws in the dirt even as he tried to ball them together in fists, as if the whole metamorphosis could be halted by sheer force of will, despite what he knew.

A low, warning growl rumbled in his throat, reverberating through the small clearing. Remarkably, Gold did halt for a moment, just out of reach, studying him with a maniacal gleam in his beady eyes.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, looking strangely engrossed in the process before him, giving a disturbing impression to something that normally felt as natural and simple as breathing to Killian. “Don’t worry,” he cackled in that unnerving high-pitched voice which alerted Killian to the fact even before he could shake his head to look up with clear vision at the facade of unassuming pawnbroker vanishing to once more reveal the demon who had maimed him permanently and taken his love’s very life. “I’ll wait, mutt, until we can look at each other wearing our true faces.”

Unable to hold off any longer, Killian curled into himself slightly, and he knew the shift was taking hold. The itchy, tingling sensation of hair sprouting thickly all over his body, his teeth growing and sharpening in what was rapidly becoming a snout, and then at last the cracking, bending, and rearranging that for a second nearly debilitated him, before he stood crouched in the dirt and dry leaves, a large, snarling black wolf.

Knowing he had not a moment to waste before the Dark One’s morbid curiosity faded and he attacked again, Killian lunged for the monster, teeth flashing and snapping wildly. But he never made it. A force caught him in mid-air and threw him back to the ground with stunning force. The same power held him there, pinned to the ground, immobilized and crushing him with ever-increasing pressure, until the pressing of the wounded shoulder into the hard-packed forest floor squeezed a yelp of pain from him.

Looking up dizzily, he saw Rumplestiltskin standing over him, hand outstretched and glowing with an eerie red light. He was holding him down with magic, and even if the wound he had already dealt could heal with the traces of silver still in his blood where the bullet went through, he saw that the Dark One simply wouldn’t take the chance of actually fighting him fairly. The incapacitation he was suffering was more than enough, but Killian sensed there was more yet to come.

Leaning over him now, Gold tossed the gun aside to pull out a gleaming sharp blade that he brandished before Killian’s eyes - now those of a wolf - but still capable of registering that this too was silver and capable of wringing all too much pain from him before the Dark One actually took his life. He tried once more to snap at the hand so close to his snout, but the silver and the loss of blood had already weakened him, making it a rather pitiful gesture, and the snarl he emitted proved to be the only gesture of any real threat he could muster.

“Now, now, let’s have none of that,” Gold tsked, affecting the tone of a disappointed elder as he crouched over Killian, a tremor running through the wolf that he could not hold in. Gold waved his hand once more, and Killian felt his jaw latch closed. He couldn’t snap or bite - his last defense - as the silver blade was held aloft once more; the magic binding his mouth as securely as if it had been a muzzle lashed with rope. He thrashed his head back and forth in a near panic at having nothing he could do against the coming onslaught.

“You really are a pathetic beast, aren’t you?” Gold mocked. Running the knife along the tufts of coarse fur, teasing the way Killian’s animal instincts caused him to shiver, sensing the danger and unable to curb the natural reaction.

Slowly, the Dark One trailed the sinister weapon down a flank, and ever so seamlessly increased the pressure until he was slicing a trail of pain through fur, skin, and muscle, laying open Killian’s leg. When he reached the paw that rested somewhat stunted and immobile on the ground, Gold dug in deeper still, forcing an involuntary whimper and carving a fiery shot of agony across what would be his human wrist to the hand which had been useless to Killian since their last fight centuries ago.

Weaker and weaker with each cut of the blade, Killian found himself rendered practically motionless and had all he could do not to whine helplessly at each new assault, not willing to give Rumplestiltskin the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’d hurt him. At last, his enemy hissed, practically in his large, furry ear, making sure he couldn’t miss the hideous vow. “Now that I have you where I want you - at my mercy, as you should be - nothing stops me from cutting out your heart and crushing it, ending your miserable existence at last, as I should have all those years ago.”

His next swipe of the knife was the deepest and worst of all, and Killian only a had a moment to register what he thought was an angry, desperate shout from across the clearing, before his vision went murky, swirling away from his plight, and for a moment, awareness altogether.

~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~

They had barely ventured five minutes into the passage from behind Regina’s fireplace, when Emma was arrested by such a staggering sense of panic and fear that she couldn’t ignore it. Fumbling to a stop in the dark tunnel between Graham and her father, David walked into her at the abrupt halt and her flashlight fell from nerveless fingers and rolled away across the stone floor of the space. Clutching at her chest, Emma gaped breathlessly for a moment, not sure what was going on, while he dad quickly recovered himself and reach out firm, solid arms to steady her.

“Emma? What is it? What’s wrong?” Graham pressed worriedly, bending as well in trying to meet her eyes.

She shook her head helplessly, clutching David’s forearm to pull herself upright and trying to once more catch her breath. “I’m not sure,” she managed, “but some - something isn’t right.”

“Do we need to go back?” her boss queried, his brow furrowed in concern and moving to gather up her dropped light. “Can you make it back?”

Emma shook her head again, more vigorously as she tried to make herself clear. “No, it isn’t with us...at least...I don’t think so.”

Shakily, she stood up straight from leaning on David and tried to bring herself back under control. The immediate impact had dulled some, but she still felt a persistent ache in her chest; some pounding warning that things were not as they should be. Puzzling for a moment, Emma tried to consider. Had she heard or seen some sign that Regina or her mother were aware of their movements? Could they be walking into a trap? It didn’t seem likely. Nothing appeared to be amiss around them, and David and Graham still stood right beside her. There wasn’t anything she would have seen or heard in this close a space that they wouldn’t have noticed as well.

No, the danger wasn’t to them. Yet, she couldn’t ignore the niggling worry that still tingled under the surface. As if to reaffirm, when she shook her head to clear the premonition and press on, another lancing pain shot through her chest.

She looked first to Graham, who handed her back her flashlight, and - though still appearing worried for her - didn’t press her but merely turned back to gather his things again, ready to move forward if they were.

When she glanced to David however, she sensed some sort of dawning understanding in the look he gave her. There was a soft and almost sadly knowing expression within his eyes as they searched hers. “Is it in your chest?” he asked gently, as if not wanting to spook her, but to help her come to some realization on her own that he had already reached himself. “As if something is making your heart clench?”

Cold dread gripped Emma hard, sending a chill through her as she suddenly knew just what was causing her discomfort. Her mind rebelled at the possibility after so little time knowing him, yet the moment the idea hit her, Emma knew the fear was true and her anxiety only increased. He was the one in trouble...Killian needed her. “It’s Killian,” she barely whispered, wide eyes locking on her father’s as he nodded in indication that he had come to the same conclusion.

Though now feeling almost harried, in a rush to go to him as quickly as possible (and again marvelling at how intense their connection was, how desperate the need to assure his safety) Emma tilted her head curiously, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet in her haste to be off but still needing to know, half wanting and half afraid to ask how her father had figured out what was going on inside her. “How did you know?”

Stepping closer, sensing it would be better accepted in her current state - his daughter might even welcome the support - David wrapped Emma into a loose hug, cradling the back of her head in his large, paternal hand. But even he could see her almost vibrating with tension and that she wasn’t going to be able to stay still much longer. He gave her an encouraging smile as they stepped apart again. “I’ll tell you the whole story sometime, okay? But for now, let’s just say I’ve felt what you’re describing firsthand… when Snow was in danger. We weren’t even in the same place, but I knew she had been hurt all the same. I could feel her pain in my own body.”

Emma swallowed hard, nodding her comprehension of his words, though her mind was floundering at the obvious meaning. “So, does that mean we’re… I mean...do you think Killian and I are…” She couldn’t quite say ‘True Loves’ in serious context, not just because she had really just met Killian, but also because up until coming back to Storybrooke with Henry, she wouldn’t have even believed such a thing existed.

David looked her right in the eye, not deflecting or putting her off, but being completely honest. “I couldn’t say. That’s something the two of you will have to figure out for yourselves. I do, however, know what you’re feeling. Don’t worry about following us right now. I can help Graham. It’s all under control.”

Emma gave him a relieved, lopsided smile back, her heart rate already picking up again, readying herself to take off. “Are you sure?” she double-checked.

David nodded with certainty. “Absolutely. Right, Sheriff?”

Graham agreed easily, equally certain that they would be fine and not wanting Emma to be held back from what she needed to anymore than her dad.

“Thanks guys, really,” Emma offered sincerely. She was already turning to go and edging back the way they had come “I hate to ditch you like this, but...I have to go. Something’s wrong, and - crazy as it sounds - I need to find Killian.”

“Understood,” her dad assured simply. “Now go.”

Emma didn’t waste any time after that, moving as quickly as she possibly could through the darkened passageway they’d already traveled. She stepped out into the mayor’s office once more and nearly jogged from town hall. The anxious feeling within her only continued to crest though, and once she was out in the open air she took off in a full-out run toward the trees, knowing that whatever was happening, her man was in the forest, and he needed her.

~~~~*****~~~~*****~~~~

Killian wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand Gold’s torment, caught in his animal form, unable to shift back or fight him, immobilized from the silver now well into his system, he had suffered several deep cuts and lost a fair amount of blood. Clearly the Dark One didn’t relish putting him out of his misery quickly - even if he did want him dead in the long run.

With an evil chuckle, Gold at last lifted his implement of torture, laying the knife aside, the glimmer of triumph and sadistic glee on his face almost as frightening as what Killian knew was coming. “You made this almost too easy, pirate. Soon, you’ll be nothing but a distasteful memory, no one will be any the wiser as to what happened, and really, would will even miss you?”

Biting back the howl of agony that rose up in his bleeding, slashed chest, Killian took in every word, though he couldn’t answer, and panted harshly, fighting just to stay conscious as Gold prodded devilishly at the incision he had made. The feeling of an evil hand in his chest, rummaging with spiking fingers of pain to find and extract an actual organ was a sensation so strange and unnerving it was hard to convince himself he hadn’t already drifted off in some unconscious hallucination. Shaking his head in mock sympathy, Gold’s next words sent a whole different kind of fire through the trapped wolf’s veins. Killian snarled uselessly, hating the villain for his words almost as much as for the torment he was inflicting. “Well, no one but poor Deputy Swan, that is. She might miss you a bit, but soon you’ll just be one more in the long line of those who have left and disappointed her. A perfect state to have her in really, when we need her weakened and distancing herself from others who can help her - putting her walls back up…”

A wrenching jerk alerted Killian that the imp had at last found what he sought, the pressure on his organ blindingly intense as Gold grasped it, squeezing for good measure, doing his task the messy and old-fashioned way, as it caused Killian the most pain and fear, and though his magic could have seen his enemy long dead by then. Killian couldn’t help the pitiable low whine that escaped him at the fresh agony, much as he wanted to face his end in stoic silence, determined not to show the Dark One his defeat. He was suffering maddeningly by that point, certain he was about to be snuffed from the world of the living.

Gold’s self-satisfaction however, faltered when he attempted to remove the heart and crush it before Killian’s eyes. Tugging in both a debilitating and nauseating fashion, the organ simply wouldn’t leave his chest cavity. Gulping against the heaving sensation, Killian barely staved off the blackness to at least face his final moments head-on.

Then he heard her voice - its defiant beauty ringing out like a beacon on the crisp air through the fading grey of his consciousness. “Hey! Wanna bet?!” she challenged, bursting into the clearing ready for a fight.

Gold whipped around, startled at the interruption, but only slowly standing from his crouch, a terrifyingly eerie calm about him, even caught in the act. “Actually, Miss Swan, I would take that bet. How are you going to stop me?” As if to display how untroubled he was by her interruption, he turned back to Killian, once more plunging his hand into his chest, drawing a startled and pained yelp from his captive once more.

Emma acted without thinking; sheer adrenaline, fear, and protectiveness fueling her. She couldn’t let this nutjob gut the man she cared for right in front of her. Desperate to reach Killian in time, and yet knowing she physically couldn’t, pure instinct caused her to fling her hands out toward Gold, open and outstretched, and unbelievably - just as had happened with Cora - a blinding bright white light filled her palms with warmth before shooting out from her and blowing Gold back from Killian.

The Dark One himself was taken aback, pushed head over heels to land sprawled and dazed on the ground several feet from his victim. Acting quickly before he regained his footing or his wits, Emma rushed to her wolf’s side, one hand gently easing into the hair on his ruff, but the other still raised, warily braced for Gold to strike back.

“I might have known,” Gold spat, sure enough only moments later climbing back to his feet and eyeing Emma with a narrowed, calculating expression. “Product of True Love and all… I figured as much in theory, but you showed no signs…” He seemed to be racing through the turn of events in his mind before his gaze snapped back to Emma, and Killian behind her, again. Sneering in warning, his true cowardice showed through despite his threatening words when he took a step back in retreat rather than pressing his advantage. “You may have taken me by surprised this time,” he hissed as he backed further away, clearly uncertain of just how powerful Emma was and unwilling to find out how she would fare against him, “but this isn’t over, Savior.” He offered that last with a mocking tone given to Emma’s title. And then, before she could even respond, he had vanished in a puff of his trademark red smoke.

Emma waited a moment, pulled tight as a bowstring, fully expecting him to return and attack unawares. Nothing of the sort happened though; she and Killian were alone now beneath the trees. A low, pleading sort of whine left the throat of the wolf before her, and as she turned anxiously to help him, and scared by the various cuts and the glistening of wet blood against his black fur, her attention was immediately fully focused on Killian.

As if he could sense the shift in her mind, the large canine lying in pain at her side attempted some sort of greeting, his tail thumping listlessly against the leaves and dirt of the forest floor. There was a sort of knowing, a human recognition in those still stunning blue eyes, Emma noticed with affection. Even in an animal face, she could see through them how glad he was to see her, and also just how much he was hurting. The whimpers, low and barely escaping through his still magically-shut muzzle were like little strikes to her heart, and Emma reached out, not sure what was proper or right, but needing to ease him however she could, running her fingers over his silky, dark head lovingly and scratching behind his pointed ears. “Oh, Killian,” Emma murmured, still worried by the lethargic response. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to be okay, alright?”

Again the soulful, sad-eyed look was levied at her and her stomach clenched at just how many cuts and tears there were along his hide. Knowing that her father and Graham were likely to drop everything and come running - even though what they were doing was important and pressing to do before Regina showed herself or caught them at it - Emma fumbled for her cell with shaking fingers and dialed the only other person she could think of who might know what to do.

When Ruby’s voice answered on the other end of the line, Emma was so overcome with relief that she could hardly put it into words. Quickly explaining where she was and what had happened to Killian as briefly as possible, Emma hoped Ruby would know what she could do. Valiantly she tried to ignore the emotional quaver in her voice, and thankfully Ruby seemed to do the same when she responded.

“Okay, Emma, look he’s going to be fine,” her friend promised, keeping her voice steady and in command, strengthening Emma’s own shaken nerves perfectly. “Gold’s used silver against him, and that’s what is making the effects so severe. He’ll be able to heal, and relatively quick at that, since he’s in wolf form. If you can just get him someplace safe and make sure nothing else silver gets anywhere near him, he only needs a little time until the symptoms wear off, okay?”

Emma nodded, then echoed “okay” back to Ruby sheepishly upon realizing that the other woman couldn’t hear her over phone wires unless she spoke up.

“Emma!” Ruby prompted, her voice a bit sharper as she called Emma back from worried reverie. “He’s going to be alright. I promise. As long as he can rest and you stay with him until his body’s reserves can replenish themselves. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Emma replied in a voice she hoped sounded a lot more certain than she felt inside.

“Good, I’ll let you go then. Keep me posted, alright? I’ll let Graham and your parents know where you are and what’s happening as well.”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Emma replied, hanging up as her friend bid her farewell.

Looking back down at Killian lying before her, she found it hard to believe there wasn’t more she could be doing for him, but she was no veterinarian, and Ruby was a wolf herself, she would know what Killian needed better than Emma in this case. Stroking a tender finger down the furry snout lying against her knee, Emma whispered, “Hang in there, Jones. We’re going to take care of you, and you’ll be just fine. You trust me, right?”

In a response that could have almost made her weep for joy, his long pink tongue slipped out and gently lapped at her fingers sweetly, as if wordlessly confirming that he had understood her words and was indeed confirming his belief in her. Whatever had been holding his mouth closed unnaturally seemed to have been loosed, and he could at least move his jaw normally again. She took it for a good sign and chuckled lightly at the affectionate gesture.

“Thanks,” she said wryly after the impromptu tongue bathing, even as she was already looking for some way to transport the injured wolf. She knew he had been headed to check out Gold’s cabin, and from what she remembered of the structure’s location, they were nearly there. It wasn’t ideal certainly, considering who had put Killian into this state. But, in all honesty, one place was really just as safe as another when it came to Gold. With his power, he could appear anywhere to come after them when it suited his whims. What was more important was getting Killian into some shelter for the night so he could heal.

“Okay, buddy, here goes nothing,” Emma offered, standing to remove her leather jacket and spreading it out on the ground, patting it in some mix between cajoling a pet and playfully wheedling with a reluctant friend. “Can you scoot just a little onto this jacket and maybe I can pull you like a makeshift sled?” She really wasn’t sure if he understood her words, or if that impression was only in her mind, and she knew he couldn’t answer her. However, she was surprised when he shook his head, almost as if saying ‘no’ with an indignant ‘whuf’ of air to accentuate the gesture.

Then slowly, painstakingly, he pulled himself to sitting and then finally standing shakily on all fours. Emma hurried to his side, wide-eyed and trying not to let the fact that she too was trembling all over show. Standing near enough for him to lean against her shins - which he did with nearly every step - they began to hobble forward out of the clearing and along the short path left to the cabin.

His size even in wolf form had Killian standing nearly even with her hip. Black as coal in coat, he was truly a breathtakingly beautiful animal, even limping with his head hung low as it was and with the tremors she could feel coursing through him.

Their progress was slow, but Emma sensed Killian needed to do this under his own power rather than lying helpless any longer. She was glad he could manage it, and found her fingers sinking into the thick fur at his neck, carding the coarse hairs for additional contact, assuring herself he was still with her, still pushing forward with each labored step She was kicking herself now for wanting to deny whatever sort of abilities she possessed; she might be able to transport them to safety or heal him instantly if she had tried to find out what she was capable of instead of denying the ability existed. Yet, if gutting this out helped Killian fight back in some way, she would lend her strength to lean on and allow them that much.

Finally, the cabin was in sight, and after barely pulling himself up the steps, Emma opened the thick wooden door and watched as Killian limped the half dozen steps to a rug by the fireplace and collapsed upon it, sides heaving horribly. Seeing a box of matches on the mantle, Emma struck one, and lit the few small logs remaining in the hearth to generate some warmth. She stroked a loving hand down his flank before rising from her crouch, to which a full body shiver ran through his form in response.

“Rest,” she ordered firmly. “I’ll be right back. We’ll clean you up and get you feeling better.”

Hurrying to the adjoining bathroom, she was delighted to find running water, which she turned on to get hot for bathing his wounds and began digging through the medicine cabinet above hoping to find some sort of antiseptic as well. Rummaging through, she was startled by a sound of something tumbling in the other room.

Running back to Killian and hoping Gold hadn’t already returned to complete his attack, she was brought up short by the sight which greeted her. There by the fireplace stood Killian Jones, once more in human form, though looking more than a little rumpled and confused, and with bare skin on full display. One hand was bracing him on the mantelpiece, while the other hand had moved to clutch at a knitted blanket draped over a rocking chair nearby in an effort to preserve his modesty, but he’d frozen when she burst back into the room, just as she had.

The firelight glinted off his muscled form, making him glow like a bronzed statue, and it was all Emma could do to pull her eyes up the expanse of dark hair covered chest and strong shoulders to Killian’s searching face watching hers uncertainly. Her cheeks flamed with both embarrassment and attraction in equal measure. She had to lick her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, in spite of herself, before her voice stuttered awkwardly to ask, “K-Killian? Are you alright?”

His ocean eyes swept up to meet hers, and their gazes locked on each other. The air between them practically sizzled. And then he responded, “Aye, I’ll live… Thanks to you.”

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @laschatzi @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @linda8084 @kday426 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @allofdafandoms-blog @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @capswantrue @kiwistreetswan @branlovesouat @quicksilvermad @aloha-4-ever

#cssns #cs au mc #cs ff #cs werewolf au #run to me (in the dead of night)#chapter seven

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builder051 · 6 years

Text

Jax Beach story arc part 5

Sorry in advance for the cliffie ending. I’m kind of excited for this.

IDK If this really warrants a warning, but content ahead includes sex that doesn’t actually happen, as well as implications of alcoholism and infidelity (but you already know that if you’ve been following these characters).

____

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for…something like this,” Mark whispers, kissing Troy’s cheek.

“I think I’ve heard that before. Maybe in a movie?” Troy moves his head so the next kiss finds his lips.

Mark giggles against Troy’s mouth and strokes his jaw. “Doesn’t mean it’s not romantic, though.”

“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t romantic.”

“Good.” Mark stretches to open the drawer of the bedside table. He fishes the box of condoms from the very back, and he’s both proud and embarrassed that he has to sit up and break the seal. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says.

“Don’t worry about me,” Troy says with a smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The spell is broken abruptly with the sound of frantic knocking on the apartment’s front door. Troy startles at the sound and holds his arm tighter around Mark’s back.

“It’s ok,” Mark murmurs, though he’s jarred himself. It has to be past midnight by now. The only people coming by this late are out to cause trouble. Or people in trouble.

Troy’s breath slows against his collarbones, but the knocking starts up again. “Damn,” Mark whispers. “They’re really interrupting my moment.”

“Are you gonna…?” Troy asks. He pushes his hair back off his face. His lips are flushed from kissing, and he looks impossibly handsome.

Mark isn’t sure what he’s asking, so he doesn’t know how to answer. He can’t help but smile, though.

He’s saved the effort of thinking up words when his phone rings. Mark glances sideways at the device’s screen. Todd’s name flashes up. “Shit,” Mark says, sitting up and throwing back the covers.

“What is it?” Troy asks. “Or, well, who is it?”

“Just…one of my buddies.” Mark struggles into his underwear and looks for his shirt. “Hold on one second. Let me take care of this.”

Troy pulls the bedding back up to his chin and nods.

Mark sprints to the front door. He wonders how peculiar he looks and whether or not his hair is standing up on one side, but the thoughts are quickly dispelled as he turns his mind to Todd and what trouble he’s inevitably gotten into.

Mark unlocks the door and opens it a crack. When he sees his best friend’s wild eyes, he pulls it all the way. “Hey, man,” he says. What’s going on?”

“Mel’s gonna kill me,” Todd slurs. His cheeks are flushed under his stubble, and he grips the doorframe to stay upright. “I can’t go…she’s gonna kill me.”

“Why’s she gonna kill you? What happened?” Mark should invite him in. Todd looks like he’s in bad shape. But he also wants him to go away.

“I’m not supposed to be getting plastered anymore.” Todd takes a step forward, and Mark has no choice but to support him over the threshold.

“Ok, why don’t you come in and sit down. You look like you’re gonna fall over.” Mark steers him toward the couch. He knows Mel has been interested in sober living lately, and that there have been tensions between Todd and his wife. But he’d thought it was just a phase. And none of it is his business.

“’M not gonna fall…” Todd grumbles, but he practically trips into the couch cushions.

“Yeah, right.” Mark stands over his friend. “What do you need? Water or something?” Hopes he doesn’t sound curt.

“I don’ know. I gotta go find the car.” Todd slides his feet out of his flip-flops and rubs his fists into his eyes.

“You drove here?” Mark asks, alarm bells going off. “That’s really unsafe, man.”

“Walked,” Todd mutters, though the word is clipped with a thick swallow. “I don’t…know where I left the car.”

“We can look for it later,” Mark says. “You ok?”

“Can’t lose a fucking Volvo,” Todd hiccups. “Mel’s gonna kill me.”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Mark retrieves the trashcan from under the kitchen sink. “There are, like, four bars walking distance from here. We’ll find it tomorrow.” He hopes Todd will quit groaning, maybe throw up, and be on his way. The thought of Troy in the bedroom waiting makes Mark cringe.

Todd groans and stifles a wet belch behind his hand. “Fuck.”

“Here you go.” Mark plunks down the trashcan. “Get it up and you’ll feel better.”

Todd doesn’t need telling twice. A torrent of liquor splashes into the bin. He sputters and vomits again. Todd’s calm, probably too out of it to put up a fight, but the audible contractions of his throat still sound painful.

Mark perches on the sofa beside his friend and pats him on the back. “Ok?”

“You shoulda…told me to stop,” Todd chokes, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“What? Knocking back shots?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “You gotta figure that out yourself, man.”

“But you were there…”

“No, I wasn’t,” Mark reminds him. “Not tonight.”

“But…why?”

Shit. The last thing Mark needs tonight. A drunken interrogation. “I was…doing other things.” He hopes Troy’s fallen asleep, or at least isn’t listening intently from the bedroom. He can’t imagine he’ll take kindly to his brand new relationship calling him other things, even if the wording was unintentional.

“No… y-you were there,” Todd insists. “You coulda kept it from happening.”

“I was here,” Mark says. “And you’re your own man. I don’t keep track of you when we go out.” He depends on Todd not keeping track of him either. Mark’s mind flicks back to Troy, and the urge to push Todd out of the apartment rises again. “You feel better now?” He claps Todd’s shoulder.

“But I saw you. Before I left…before I walked home…” Todd gags again. Mark nudges the trashcan with his foot to make sure Todd doesn’t miss.

“You’re confused. You walked here. To my apartment,” he clarifies. “You gotta pull it together, man. You gotta go home.”

“No, I mean…that night,” Todd says, resurfacing.

Mark’s lost. They’re clearly not on the same page. He wants to tell Todd to shut up, but he seems almost desperate now, like he’s scrambling to get something off his chest. He should just let him. Mark isn’t eager to hold Todd’s secrets, though. Especially not with his own secret on the other side of the bedroom door.

“Bud, you’re not making sense,” Mark says, giving Todd one more chance to drop it. “I was probably smashed too.”

Todd doesn’t take the out. “You coulda told me not to fuck that chick. Then Mel wouldn’t be such a fucking tight-ass about everything.”

Whoa. Mark can’t tell right off the bat if there’s truth to what Todd’s saying. They’ve gotten separated at bars lots of times, flirting with girls until everyone’s too plastered to realize Mark’s off in the corner talking to a guy. He’s used this kind of behavior to his benefit. Now it makes Mark feel sick.

“I’m not responsible for you, man,” Mark says quietly. “You’ve gotta figure out your own shit.”

“I don’t…remember it. Not my fucking fault.” Todd aims a sloppy punch at the arm of the couch.

“Not mine, either.” It’s not. Right? Mark’s not sure anymore. If it was a case of keeping a girl from getting picked up by a seedy stranger, he’d do the right thing no question. But when your best friend is the seedy stranger, it makes things so much muddier. He can’t get involved in Todd’s life, not when he depends on Todd returning the favor and staying at arm’s length. Mark looks toward the closed bedroom door and lets out his breath. He’s not sure he wants to face Troy now.

“Shit,” Mark mutters. He takes the trash can into the kitchen to rinse it out. He watches Todd curl in on himself with his elbows on his knees, clearly still drunk, but also clearly uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Not sure what to do. It’s exactly how Mark feels too.

He gets a water bottle from the fridge and sets it on the edge of the coffee table. “If you wanna crash here tonight, that’s fine,” Mark says. “Maybe text Mel, though? Tell her you’re ok?”

“She’s gonna kill me…” Todd cracks the seal on the water bottle and fumbles for his phone.

“She’s gotta know you’re not already dead first.” Mark forces a smile.

“Hmph.” Todd’s phone makes a swooshing sound as the message sends, and he flops down sideways on the sofa.

“Alright. Good.” Mark gives Todd one last glance and shakes his head in sympathy as he finally heads back toward the bedroom.

***

Troy sits up as Mark opens the door. The covers fall down to his waist, and Mark sees that he’s put some clothes back on.

“I’m sorry,” Mark sighs. He sits on the edge of the bed, turned toward the wall and leaving a good two feet of space between them. “That was… I don’t know what that was.”

“He’s your friend. He needed help,” Troy supplies.

“Yeah, but…Jesus Christ.” Mark’s not sure what all Troy might have heard, and he doesn’t want to ask. “I’m not gonna…it’s not a good time anymore.” He gives the smallest glance over his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s ok,” Troy says. “I wouldn’t think it would be, after that.” His voice is gentle. It’s tinged with the smallest hint of disappointment, but also the warmth of understanding. “I’ve been that guy, messed up on somebody else’s couch. I feel for him.”

“Yeah, well…” Todd’s words replay on loop in Mark’s ears. That night. A single occurrence doesn’t stand out. But the general theme is common. How the hell can he help Todd when he can’t even pinpoint what went wrong? It all seems like small change from the perspective of tonight. “I don’t know. He’s gonna sleep it off, then…I don’t know.”

Troy draws in a slow breath. “It’d be better if I left?” His tone is the same, made sweeter by the hand he places gently on Mark’s shoulder.

The plain and simple answer is yes, it would be, but Mark shakes his head. He feels like if he says yes now, he’ll be saying yes to erasing Troy completely from his life. And that’s not what he wants.

“I didn’t mean to just…leave you like that,” Mark says. He feels like his stomach is sitting in his chest.

The mattress shifts as Troy leans closer. “I know. It’s ok. This…this can wait. Your buddy needs you right now.”

“Yeah,” Mark sighs. He scrubs one hand over his face.

“I’m gonna go, ok?” Troy swings his legs over the edge of the bed so he’s seated beside Mark. “I’ll call you in the morning if you want.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be good.”

Troy stands up. He pulls on his jeans and crosses to the bedroom door.

“Wait,” Mark says, getting to his feet. “I don’t know if he’s asleep…” He hates that he’s anxious. But he also hates the idea of outing himself to Todd like this. Or at all, if he’s honest.

“I’ll be quiet,” Troy assures him.

“I just…ok,” Mark whispers. He silently opens the bedroom door, then follows Troy on tiptoe as he sneaks behind the couch and toward the front door.

“Goodnight,” Troy mouths as he steps out into the night.

Mark smiles. “Goodnight,” he breathes back. He shuts the door behind Troy and locks it, then leans against the frame with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Huh?”

Mark’s eye snap open.

Todd sits up against the arm of the sofa, yawning. “Who was that?”

#my ocs #jax beach crowd #Troy DeHaven #mark acosta #todd rhinehart #emeto #emetophilia #sickfic

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sacred-arrow-writes · 7 years

Text

Twelve Days of Christmas. On the Eighth Day of Christmas-

A/N: In which each day, Kagome gives Inuyasha a gift signed by his Secret Santa in hopes of bringing back his Christmas Spirit.

I got the idea from Hallmark as a prompt. Im just using the idea for the story, the only thing I kept the same from the movie is the newspaper and some of the S.S. notes, so don’t sue. I do not own Hallmark or Inuyasha and Co. So, enjoy! I’ll post a ficlet a day until December 25th. Enjoy everyone!

Last chapter I posted said chapter Eight, but I mistyped. It was chapter SEVEN and this is the real chapter EIGHT. I went back and changed it, but whatever. Anyway, this is a cliffy -YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED- but I did it for a reason.

Anyway, to my main squeezes once more. This is for you.

@keichanz @mmhinman @inunanna @kagomeforever @akiza-hades-rose @purekagome @grapefruitwannabe @adorableears7

Day Eight December 19, 2016:

---IK---

The bedroom door creaked open as two different kinds of footsteps padded across the hardwood floor. The large bed positioned in the middle of the master bedroom, dipped as the invading parties jumped on the slumbering half-demon in the center. "Wake up!"

Inuyasha nearly had a heart attack as his golden orbs flew open. Gasping for breath and clutching his chest, he came face to face with his niece and his dog. As much as he wanted to say what he was really feeling, he took a deep breath before opening his mouth. "Rin, you scared the hell outta me. What are you doing here?"

Rin rolled her eyes and giggled. "Daddy and mommy are down stairs making breakfast and I was told to come wake ya up!" Bang barked happily next to his owner.

Groaning, Inuyasha threw the duvet off, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He pulled on a tee-shirt to go with his sweats before he made his way back to Rin. "Come on squirt." He bent down and let the giddy little girl jump on his back as she rode piggy-back down the stairs.

Inuyasha turned the corner to his kitchen, Bang hot on his heels, and placed Rin on a bar stool. "What the hell are y'all doin' here so early on a Monday? I have things to do before I go into work."

Kagura smirked, placing a bowl of dog food on the floor for Bang, whom ran as fast as he could to gobble it up. "We know what you have planned. I wish you would just ask her out and stop pussy-footing around."

Inuyasha cut his eyes at her and growled. "Mind your own, wind wit-." When a large hand made contact with the back of his head, Inuyasha squeaked and turned to see his brother leaning against the counter.

"What your tone, little brother. I'd hate to kill you so close to Christmas." Rin made an audible gasp at her father. He cut his golden eyes to her. "Oh fine. I hate to maim you so close to Christmas."

"That ain't much better, daddy."

The daiyoukai shrugged. "To answer your crude question, Kagura has some things to do in town today and since Rin is out of school for the holidays, she is tagging along to do some shopping."

"I closed the shop up today so I could get everything we need for Christmas day. Besides, since this year your heart seems to have grown three sizes, -thanks to a one Miss. Kagome Higurashi-, you'll be spending Christmas with us. We came by to see how you're doing is all."

Inuyasha snarled and flopped down on a bar stool next to Rin. "I don't get why you didn't cook breakfast at your own home."

Kagura's crimson gaze lifted from the bowl of pancake mix and settled on his face and unruly hair. "Well, would you like for me to take my famous pancake batter and leave?" His ears rotated in her direction.

Inuyasha gulped. "Um- no. No, you, Rin and the pancakes can stay, but can he leave?" A clawed thumb was tossed up in Sesshomaru's direction.

Kagura laughed. "So plans for today? I know with who, but what are you two going to do?"

"I haven't made it to get my parcel yet, but its-"

"Right here." Sesshomaru slid the familiar brown package across the counter. "I stopped by to sign some paperwork this morning and Sango met me at the front door. Said to give you this and it would save her a trip out here."

"Thanks." Inuyasha mumbled.

Finishing the last of the pancakes in the skillet, the wind sorceress wiped her hands on the red apron she sported and leaned against the counter on her forearms. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Open it stupid." The words held no venom or hate as she slid the package to her brother-in-law.

Sighing at the three sets of eyes on him, Inuyasha took the package and ripped it open. A red, glossy box met their stares and on the lid was an old-timey movie reel with a box of popcorn decorated with white, black, yellow and red stock paper. He removed the lid and out fell the note. Rin picked it up and smiled. Inside the box was a string of popcorn.

On the Eighth Day of Christmas,

My Secret Santa gave to thee;

The colors of Christmas,

Are oh so Bright.

But nothing beats,

The black and white.

Merry Christmas, your Secret Santa.

"That's clever." Sesshomaru mused. "A traditional black and white movie. I don't think I would have ever thought of that."

"That's because you're an ignoramus." Inuyasha mumbled. Once again a large hand made contact with the back of his head. "Stop doing that!" He growled. The oldest Tashio merely crossed his arms with an eye roll.

Flipping four large pancakes on a plate, Kagura slid it to Inuyasha with a smile. "I take it you're going to invite Kagome?"

"Yeah." No one missed the faint blush that spread across his nose.

Snatching the plate from her Uncle with a smirk, she lifted the canister of syrup. "So, any idea who the real S.S is, Uncle Ash?" Rin asked, pouring a glob of thick, sugary goodness on her pancakes.

"Those were mine!" He whined before Kagura slid another plate to him. He gathered it up and scooted down a seat from his niece. Sticking his tongue out, he poured some syrup on his stack and took a large bite out of the side. "No."

"No?" Rin sighed. "It's romantic right?" The females smiled dreamily as the men rolled their eyes.

"Inuyasha, do you plan to watch this movie tonight?"

Around another mouthful, -which was too much for a human to consume at once- Inuyasha nodded. "Ye'h. W'y?"

"Because tonight is the new moon." The fork clattered against the plate. "I take that as you forgot all about it."

"Ugh! I hate this time of the month. Geeze, it's like having a damn period."

Kagura snorted. "Yeah right. Menstrual cycles are ten times worse than loosing your demonic side for one night. Ours last five to seven days and we actual bleed out of our-"

"AH! Shuddup! Shut the hell up!" Inuyasha shouted as he pinned his ears back. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Does Kagome know about it?"

"I guess she'll find out tonight." Inuyasha scarfed down his breakfast and made a beeline for his room. He needed to get out of his house before blood was really shed and no, not the female kind. He shuddered at the thought.

---IK---

Kikyou giggled as Suikotsu kissed her neck as she made omlets for the three of them. "Stop, before Kagome walks in here." Her fiancee smiled against her smooth skin, but the assault did not waver.

"Too late." Kagome gagged as she covered her eyes with a delicate hand. "Get a room."

"I would love to, if your sister would put down the spatula."

Another round of mock gagging noises ensued. "Grosssss."

"Oh shuddup you. If it was Inuyasha you'd be all giddy." Kikyou placed three omlets on three different plates with a side of coffee. "See, that bright, red flush speaks volumes."

Kagome was indeed quite red at the mention of Inuyasha. "Whatever." She took a plate and a cup of coffee. "Anyway, 'Kotsu, are you planning on keeping the house you own in Harperville or are you going to finally move around here? It's a pain to drive an hour just to see you."

"I was thinking the exact same thing. Finish y'all's breakfast. I have a surprise." He wiggled his brows as he took a bite of his omlet and groaned. "Oh gods, Kiki, this is fantastic." He took another big bite.

"Pace yourself." The twins warned.

As soon as the food was eaten, the coffee was drank and the table cleared, the three made their way out the door. "So what's the surprise?"

"Kags, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."

She huffed and puffed out her cheeks. "Meanie."

Kikyou laughed and wrapped her arms around Suikotu's for warmth. "I'm excited!" With a laugh from the man beside her, he bent down and kissed her temple.

Across town near Hilltop, where Inuyasha and Kagome had their fifth day together, black, iron fencing with a large gate, surrounded a beautiful two story, New England-style colonial house. The exterior was white clapboard with dark, gray shutters and front door. The roof was steep-slanted with three triangular, casement windows and narrow eaves. The best feature was the covered, front porch that extended form one end of the house to the other with white pillars and rails. Kikyou and Kagome stared far longer than Suikotsu thought they would as he leaned over to close both of their gaping mouths.

"Well?"

"It's beautiful!" Kagome exclaimed as she leaned against the fence. "I didn't know they remodeled it!"

"Last month they finished. You never noticed?" He asked and all she did was shake her head with stars in her eyes.

Clearing her throat, Kikyou looked up at him. "What are you trying to say by showing us this? Because I know you."

Kagome looked back at the two of them. "Who lives here now?"

Kikyou turned back to the house. "I don-" The sound of jangling keys cut her off.

"You and I do, or we will after the wedding." He placed the keys in her palm.

Tears gathered in her brown orbs as she stared at her hand, her twin's squeals in the background fell on her deaf ears. Kikyou looked up. "Are you serious? Don't mess with me because this is like, the greatest gift ever and if you're pulling my leg, so help me 'Kot-" He bent down, embraced her tightly and planted his lips firmly against hers. Kikyou gasped then kissed back with equal fever.

Kagome pulled out her cell with a quiet awe, and snapped a couple of photos. Kikyou would want to add this to her best-things-to-ever-happen-to-me box. When they pulled apart, tears were falling down her sister's cheeks and both their faces were deep red. When he confirmed that it was indeed their home, Kagome laughed. "Let's go check it out!"

---IK---

It was nearing six o'clock when Kagome was making her way back the Gazette. Inuyasha had sent her a text earlier in the day to ask her to meet him there that night so he could share his latest gift with her. Of course she already knew what it was, but she didn't know what movie it was going to be or where. As soon as the large, brick building came into view, so did a head of black hair and deep brown eyes. Kagome was taken back as she slowed her pace. Who is that? In her defense, he was handsome, very handsome, but nothing compared to Inuyasha.

Kagome hesitated before nearing the door. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm waiting on a beautiful woman to accompany me to a movie. You wouldn't happen to be free would you?" That voice was just so familiar.

Pervert much? Her cheeks flushed as she turned away. "Well- that's great and all, but I actually have a date with someone else, so if you would ex-"

"Kagome, it's me. I'm Inuyasha."

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned around to face him. "Inu- what the crap? You're human?!"

He laughed. "Yeah. I'm half-demon remember? I turn human on the night of the new moon." He gestured up to the sky and she followed his now blunt finger up to the moonless sky. Yup, no moon in sight.

"Oh, I feel stupid. I read that before in one of my grandfather's old books. I can't believe I never even asked. You know I knew your voice sounded familiar."

Inuyasha leaned close to her. "It's nice to know you'd turn down a good-looking stranger for my half-demonic self." His breath fanned against her cold cheeks.

"Yea- wait, who said anything about good-looking?!" She stuttered.

He only laughed and pulled her into his side. "Come on. I have a movie picked out, since my latest gift was to watch a black and white movie with popcorn!"

"Really? That's really cool! I love black and white movies! What did you pick?"

"A classic. A Christmas Carol from 1951. I also have a large box of buttered popcorn. You in?"

"I am so in!" She was getting excited. "Where will we be watching this movie?"

"My house of course. Come on, wench." His brown eyes sparkled in the street lights and Kagome's heart melted once more.

Tucked into his side, Kagome snuggled in a little bit deeper as he guided them to his home. This was a great idea. He seems so much more Christmas-y. She tried to hold in her giggles.

Inuyasha was holding her a bit to tightly, but he blamed the cold, snowy weather. After all, wasn’t he supposed to keep her warm? As they neared his house, -which was now decorated with a ton of christmas lights around the edges of the roof and windows- his only hope was that his family was gone. They ascended the stairs and before they walked in, Inuyasha turned her to him and smiled.

Kagome was about to ask about the delay, until she looked up and noticed a bundle of mistletoe dangling from a red ribbon above the doorway.

"My niece and sister-in-law decorated the house today, including the outside."

Kagome grinned. "Oh really? Well, then I guess we shouldn't waste all their hard work then." She fisted his red scarf and brought him down to her level. As her pink lips pressed against his, he only wished he could smell her scent that usually engulfed him at a time like this. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and deepened the kiss. Her tongue danced with his as they explored the other's moist cavern. Hands moved from body to hair in a matter of seconds and soon the kiss was no longer gentle, but full of raw passion and hunger.

When air became to much, they parted. Inuyasha cursed his human side in that moment when he could no longer hold his breath as long. His eyes focused on her delicate face, swollen lips and her pink tongue that slid along her bottom lip before disappearing back inside. "That was amazing." She whispered.

Inuyasha nodded as he wiped a stray snowflake from her reddened cheek. "It was, but let's get inside, you're freezing."

They shared the same hundred-mega-watt-smile as they crossed the threshold and closed the door with a soft click.

---To Be Continued---

Until tomorrow my loves. Check back and see what day nine has in store for our favorite couple!

#cliff hanger #@i'm sorry but not sorry #it all happens for a reason #inukag #inuyasha #kagome #12DOC #i will go down with these ships

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albinohare · 5 years

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Sailing Nova Scotia: Jagged coastline makes for a unique cruising experience

Nova Scotia’s intricate coastline has wilderness, history and civilisation in abundance. Tom Zydler explores it

All photos: Tom Zydler

As soon as the sun began to disperse the fog that had settled at night over Pubnico Harbour we weighed anchor. Cape Sable was about 15 miles away and the wind, light and contrary, made it slow going.

Three hours later a sheen in the veil of wet haze changed into a low, sandy shore. My wife, Nancy, spotted the first buoy, a red dot bobbing in and out of sight among the waves. We noticed the current was still running with us to the east. The visibility wasn’t too bad. We now motored less than a third of a mile from land.

To starboard, swells grew higher and higher on scattered shoals only 150m away. On the shallowest spots of Horse Race, a wall of swelling sea thundered and collapsed before reaching our channel. Soon a tall lighthouse came into sight and then vanished behind as our Mason 44, Frances B, popped out into much smoother waters.

Molly’s Cove on Shelter Island, a gem of the Eastern Shore

This inshore shortcut close by Cape Sable made rounding the southernmost tip of Nova Scotia a fast and exciting jaunt. Earlier, from the west, we crossed the famed Bay of Fundy with its extreme tides to Brier Island – the boyhood home of Joshua Slocum, the first of the great single-handers. The red cedar shake boot shop of the Slocum family still overlooks the harbour.

Every summer currents filled with plankton and krill bring hundreds of whales to the overfalls off Brier Island, yet in June 2017 we failed to spot any. It was an unusual year when most of the right whales in search of food moved instead into the Gulf of St Lawrence.

South of the tiny, remote Brier Island and over on the mainland of Nova Scotia lies the port of Yarmouth. Entirely protected from winter gales it was once a major centre of shipping and shipbuilders. Today the wharves built near and over the old launching ways serve countless fishing vessels of all types. Up the harbour and downtown yachts pick up moorings or tie up at a small marina.

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It didn’t take long to get a sample of Bay of Fundy currents. Fog, thick enough to chop with a hatchet, took a long time to lift over Yarmouth Harbour. As it thinned we left, a few hours too late to carry a fair current all the way. Schooner Passage through Tusket Islands offers a shortcut safe from tidal overfalls and open ocean swells but the currents, in half flood, had already turned contrary when Frances B pointed her nose between ghostly islets in the thickening fog.

We revved the engine to speed up. Instead of the usual six plus knots the GPS registered about a knot and half. At least in the lee of the island the sea flattened, broken only by eddies and swirls of tide. Finally, out of the Passage, the wider waters diluted the fierce stream. The course change towards Pubnico, our staging anchorage for rounding Cape Sable, brought clearing afternoon airs and fair current.

East of Cape Sable tides diminish, the seas calm down. Ahead stretch 250 miles of Nova Scotia, its coast shredded into inlets, sounds, bays and coves, all easily accessible in day trips. A long inlet a few hours from Cape Sable hides Shelburne. Every boat sailing Nova Scotia will sooner or later show up here to refit, relax and socialise.

A ‘Redcoat’ guards the Shelburne home of a loyalist who escaped the 1776 American Revolution

At the yacht club docks we spotted the bluewater ketch Kantala. Michael and Sheila Donnan built her in British Columbia more than 20 years ago before setting off to make ‘a Guinness World Record for the slowest circumnavigation’.

The 20m schooner Wolfhound was quite a sight too. Artist Steven Dews and his wife, Louise, have allowed for about ten years of cruising to reach their home base in New Zealand. Steven is a maritime artist famous for spectacular canvasses of sailing ships and classic yachts.

The waterfront near the yacht club shows preserved evidence of maritime history. The cooper shop dates back to the 19th Century, and the schooners bound for offshore banks once stopped in Shelburne to buy boats made in the Dory Shop – its doors are still open.

Among Canadian yachtsmen, starved of sandy, sunny beaches, Port Mouton counts as an irresistible summer destination. On this coast, summer morning south-westerly airs may, by the late afternoon, due to hot air rising over the land, muscle up to a really strong breeze. After midday we had already reefed the main and rolled some of the genoa.

Gybing into Western Channel brought the rising chop right astern, the wind 20 knots. Steering by hand we raced by the buoys, rolled up the genoa and screamed within spitting distance of a red beacon. A long beach backed by high dunes opened up to view, and the forest at the background cut the wind to a breeze while the anchor splashed into Caribbean blue water. The setting sun threw long shadows on the sand.

Port Mouton isn’t all about lolling in the sun. Out of sight behind a massive breakwater hums a busy fishing fleet. After the collapse of cod stocks Canada introduced very strict conservation policies; an open season for some species may last only few days. One autumn evening we counted 57 longliners leaving port at high speed.

Bluenose II, the pride of Nova Scotia, sails off Lunenburg harbour

Of all the port towns with maritime heritage, Lunenburg is the most irresistible. As we reached from the outer waters into Lunenburg Bay a hilly skyline of steeples rose ahead. The waterfront resembled a 19th Century etching complete with masts of schooners and square riggers.

With luck you can tie up at the exquisite Fisheries Museum of the Atlantic next to the Bluenose II, a schooner that beat the best of the American competition from Gloucester. Beloved by Canadians, Bluenose II often ventures out – a thrilling sight in the bay. The town has managed to hold back developers’ bulldozers and lovingly maintained timber architecture lines the streets. No wonder Lunenburg is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Labrador Current from the Arctic bathes the coast of Nova Scotia, but the Gulf Stream flows north a bit farther offshore, its warmth serving as a hurricane path. Now and then an odd tropical storm pummels the coast. Come September it pays to listen to the weather coming from the East Coast of the US.

Fortunately, Lunenburg is surrounded by a choice of escape anchorages. Twice we sought refuge in La Have River just around the corner to the south-west.

To the north-east opens Mahone Bay. A vast body of water, scores of Islands, bays, yacht clubs, marinas and boatyards add to the busy summer sailing scene. In search of tranquility we sailed into Deep Cove, a cleft on the Bay’s high, cliffy east shore. A narrow channel, precipitous on one side and densely forested on the other, culminated in a pond. A necklace of moorings for local yachts kindly left the middle for visitors to anchor.

Halifax, with a population of 400,000 plus, naturally offers everything your yachting heart may desire plus a culturally thriving city. The great peninsula in the western approaches, a 20-mile stretch punctured by eight inlets that themselves branch into side arms, is the local yachtsmen’s fabled playground.

Considering the numbers of boats in Halifax we made sure to sample these coves on weekdays. Entering Prospect Bay and heading into Rogue’s Roost was a bit hairy since the high tide covered even the tips of the kelp fronds, an early warning of the rocks under. As novices in this maze of rocks and islets we motored gingerly in.

The chart promised a tight, deep pool to starboard, good enough for one boat of our size in this wonderfully wild place, despite Halifax throbbing around the corner. On Friday afternoon yachts began flocking in but by then we were secure in our bowl among hills.

East of Halifax is the least populated part of maritime Nova Scotia. Rising ocean levels changed deep gorges sculpted by receding ice millennia ago into long forested bays which in turn fork into enticing arms. Miniature archipelagoes of islands and islets, the passages between them open to careful navigators, dot the coast.

Molly’s Cove on Shelter Island, part of Pope’s Harbour, is particularly memorable for its clear, blue waters, the forests reflecting in the mirror calm sea.

Aquaculture certainly is making its mark in many coves protected from ocean swells. However, there is always room to anchor or pass by. We swung into the well-marked channel into Whitehead Harbour, our mind on anchoring in Yankee Cove. As is often in these waters a large reef of rocks positioned itself smack in the middle.

A handy perch for an osprey on a yacht’s rigging

A bit of careful slaloming led in when a large installation of mostly submerged cages hove in sight leaving free space to anchor in a nicely protected indent in the shore.

The prevalent ocean swells on this coast come from south-east, a feature to remember when choosing an anchorage. Most of the prominent bays are cut into the mainland towards north-west. The exception is Liscomb Harbour, a four-mile long east-to-west slot. Three islands off the entrance effectively bar the ocean swells from intruding. As in other harbours of the Eastern Shore, less than a handful of houses stood among trees on the shore.

At the west end of the run rises Liscomb Lodge, large, but tastefully hidden on the cliff top. A floating dock, good for about one 15m boat, was taken but we found shelter in a narrow passage. Somewhere outside howled a strong gale yet only rare puffs moved the tree tops as we lounged near the bar to tunes delivered by two mature musicians.

When time comes to turn back to the south and home you become painfully aware of the prevalent south-west winds. Trying to wait this out till the next wind change led to other discoveries of secluded spots. One year coming back from a summer trip to Greenland, Labrador and Newfoundland we reached Canso.

Overlooking the easternmost peninsula of Nova Scotia the village was once thronged with fisher folk, mostly Basque, loading on cod. Centuries of vanishing fish stocks changed the town into a backwater, and the fisheries are now limited to lobster trapping in a short open season.

Spectacular fog banks rise over Cranberry Islands near Canso at the easternmost tip of Nova Scotia

We spent some time in Glasgow Harbour on the south side of Canso Peninsula, entertained by noisy seals that hauled out on a rocky reef nearby. With the dinghy roped to the end of a park boardwalk, we landed by a meadow filled with pitcher plants thriving on a mosquito diet and an easy trail continued to Canso town.

Once the south-west wind dropped to 15 knots we followed the buoys of Andrew Passage, a mere ribbon of deeper water winding through rocks towards the open coast. Beating southward in these moderate conditions should have been no problem.

But out there, away from the lee of the islands, the seas were stirred up wild. Short, steep, vicious. The bow would dig in and then had no time to rise before the next wave rolled right over it. Steering off wind to gain more speed didn’t help – on top of the underlying south-eastern swell the fresh wind created waves from south and south-west, seemingly from all over, and they were winning.

In three unpleasant hours we made about 7 miles. Abeam opened a gap in the coast with Port Howe at the end. An S-shaped course led in; serious breakers boiled white over shoals. The bay was uninhabited: one mildewed house was leaning ready to topple, its windows gaping hollow.

Behind a spur of rocks, out of sight, stood a wooden cabin, probably only rarely used. Above our boat at anchor, on a giant basket of twigs, an osprey peeped at high pitch. Its mate wheeled down from the clouds and joined – there must have been chicks in the nest.

Dinghy cruising through the north-east arm of the bay, to the rapids of a tawny stream, we tracked a weasel foraging in and out of water. Nancy joined him, looking for mussels and periwinkles between seaweeds. A massive bald eagle followed our progress, flitting between treetops.

Nova Scotia is a quite unique cruising ground combining access to urban locations with easy escapes to wilderness and nature. Its jagged coastline could make a lifetime of cruising.

About the author

After a lifetime as yacht skipper for pay, Tom Zydler and his wife, Nancy, now sail the northern waters of the Western Atlantic in their Mason 44, Frances B.

The post Sailing Nova Scotia: Jagged coastline makes for a unique cruising experience appeared first on Yachting World.

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alleiradayne · 5 years

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Part I - Lesson Learned

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Me, Clif Kosterman Warnings: None, only fluff and mild angst here Word Count: 3,108 A/N: Assume all parties are single and absolutely no spouse hate!

In another minute, I’d have gone to bed.

In five minutes, I’d have passed out.

And in the morning, I’d have seen the post on Instagram and been pissed at myself all over again. 2016 might have repeated itself had I not learned my lesson the hard way that year.

Instead I sat in the chair at the desk of my hotel room, phone in hand, and flipped through every social media platform I had. I searched tags and pictures and an endless stream of fan accounts until I found that for which I willingly sacrificed sleep.

#spnfamily @jarpad Jared and me @ Sneaky Pete’s!

“Ugh, Sneaky Pete’s?! Really?!”

If you can’t tell, I’m not fond of that bar. Every time I’ve been there, someone starts a fight. Something about alcohol and open stripper poles enraging people.

But Jared was there. Though I desperately needed sleep, I wanted to meet him outside of the con. Just once. Just to get that sort of selfie with him. You know, blurry, half-drunk, overexposed, and hair in my face with his perfection right next to my hot mess. That selfie.

The handle of the hotel door clicked before I realized I’d left my chair, tossed on my N7 hoodie, and shut off the lights.

“What am I doing?”

Silly question. I knew exactly what I was doing. Stalking a celebrity. Yup. Real healthy. I know. An endless tirade of chastising thoughts raced through my mind as I walked down the hallway to the elevator. An eternity passed while I waited, and twice I nearly turned back for my room. But when the bell sounded and a door opened, I darted in and smashed the button for the main floor.

In the lobby, I rushed to a side door and avoided any eye contact. If I had looked at anyone, they would know what I was up to. They would know I was leaving my hotel to go to a bar because a celebrity I wanted to meet was there and that I had stalked him on social media. They would know the second they looked at me, with my red cheeks and wide eyes. Yeah, she’s on a mission. A creepy fanatic’s mission.

The cold November air hit my face with such force, it sucked the breath from my lungs. Again, so lost in thought, I’d lost track of myself. It happens from time to time. I get so caught up in my brain, I forget where I am. Usually it's because I’m planning out another piece of writing, whether it’s my novel or fanfiction. Better not think about that too much or your dumbass will end up telling him about it. If you’re even lucky enough to meet him…

I scoffed loud enough to scare a dog and their human as I passed. Should have taken a Lyft. But nope. I had not plan that far ahead. Too impulsive. And by the time I got to the bar my feet screamed for relief, not because of the long walk, but because I’d been on them all day. Saturday at a Supernatural convention is long. The Saturday Night Special had been entirely worth it though. I’d never look at Rob Benedict the same way ever again.

At the door, I handed the guy taking cover a ten-dollar bill, and I barely heard him over the music as he asked for my wrist to stamp. Not that I paid him much attention either. I had a mission. Unfortunately, Minneapolis complicated finding a 6’4” brown-haired, broad-shouldered guy. Loads of men fit that bill there, what with the plentiful Scandinavian population.

Through the entry, I scanned the crowd as I headed to the bar on my right. To my left, stripper poles stood in a line on their platforms, every single one packed with far too many people. Though I laughed at the idea of Jared on a stripper pole in a packed bar, I knew better. He might be silly, but he sure as hell wasn’t dumb enough to do that in public.

With the bar three people deep, I forced my way to the front, a few well-placed elbows and crushed toes parting the throng. The bartender, a harried woman who tried to put on her best smile, took my order, ran off for a glass and the bottle of scotch, and poured my drink. I avoided eye contact again as two men—boys, really, they looked barely old enough to be in the place—on my right tried to get my attention with terrible pickup lines that involved my drink. Not that I could hear them. Bass deep enough to shake the building thumped terrible party music accompanied by terrible lighting and shitty vocals.

Did I mention I hate Sneaky Pete’s?

I emerged from the crowded bar and headed for the stairs, still scanning for a set of shoulders above the sea of heads. When I saw nothing of note, I took the stairs to the speakeasy basement to find it nearly dead.

Nearly.

A few booths sat occupied, couples and smaller groups that wanted to escape the insanity of the main level, music muted to a dull roar. An older man sat by himself sipping a drink at the end if the bar nearest me. And the bartender—a woman about my age—talked with him. She’d get an extra tip with that sort of attention.

With a sigh, I turned back for the stairs, but something out of the corner of my eye stopped me. I looked over my shoulder, then turned back around as I spotted them. At the far end of the bar sat two people, one with long brown hair, and the other bald.

You know, leading up to that point, I never thought it would happen. From the second I’d left my hotel room, I imagined getting to the bar, getting a drink, sipping it down as I walked through the place once, maybe twice, then leaving.

But there at the bottom of the stairs I stared, dead-eyed, at Jared Padalecki.

At the back of his head.

Close enough.

My feet refused to move, though I desperately wanted them to. There were a great many things I wanted to do. But for the life of me, in that first moment, I balked. And it wouldn't be the last time. I damn near ran back up the stairs and out the front door.

But then Clif nudged Jared and pointed my way. He turned and spotted me, and Christ, I'll never forget that smile or his awkward wave. I'll never understand what about him then had managed to ease my nerves, but he had, and one foot stepped in front of the other until I passed him.

“Hey, Cliffy.”

Jared cackled as Clif leaned from his stool and hugged me. “She clearly knows the rules.”

“Get in good with the body guard, right?” I said as we parted. When I turned to Jared, I managed to keep my shit together as he hugged me in turn. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

Parted, he asked, “Were you here last year? What’s your name?” He motioned to the stool Clif had vacated.

By the end of this, you’re going to hate me. I hesitated yet again before taking a seat. “Jeanna,” I replied as I sat down. “And yes, I was here last year with my sister. We bought the very last J2 op Friday morning.”

“Well, then it was meant to be,” Jared teased. “Is that Jeanna with a G or a J?”

A long pull from my drink eased my nerves. That he even thought to ask that question set my heart racing “A J. We were J4 in that photo op. My sister is Jessica.”

“J4, I love it,” he said with a laugh. “So, how was the Special?”

“Rob kissed me,” I blurted.

Jared rolled his eyes, not missing a beat. “Rob can be a cheeky fucker sometimes,” he said. “How did he manage that?”

“They set up a sort of ‘pit’ area in the big aisles on both sides of the theater,” I said as I air-quoted. “A new friend and I stood the whole show. I got some amazing pictures.”

“You’ll have to show me after you get them cleaned up,” Jared insisted. “Twitter?”

“I’d love to…” I started as I looked around the bar. The conversation had started so well and had continued so easily, buy my confidence slipped. It was too good to be true. I had missed something, a sign or a phrase. Clif would escort me away any second. “I’m sorry, I should probably leave you alone. I don’t want to take up your personal time. You’ll be up to your eyeballs in fans tomorrow, and I’ll see you plenty then anyway—”

Before I slipped from my stool, Jared reached out with an unsteady hand but stopped short of touching me. “You don’t have to. You’re not bothering me. Not like there’s a million people trying to get my attention.”

I eased back onto the stool as I thought. I had imagined meeting Jared in public on occasion. But that simple fantasy usually consisted of a short greeting, getting that selfie, and then being on my way. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d have him all to myself for a personal conversation. “Are you sure? I mean, like I said, I’ll see you all day tomorrow. I’m in VIP, I have your solo photo op, I have your meet and greet—”

“You bought all that?” he asked.

“Damn straight I did, I love—”

Yeah, I usually say I love Jared Padalecki. But not to his ridiculously gorgeous face. “I uh… you’re my favorite.”

I’d tell you that Jared blushed when he regarded his beer, sipped from it. But the dimly lit bar masked his face in angular shadows so dark, I’d never know. “It’s okay, Jeanna,” he started. “You’re my favorite, too.”

“Wow. Thanks,” I retorted as I sipped from my drink. “I get it, I made it weird. Don’t rub it in. I’m not exactly… it’s not every day I get meet someone like you.”

Jared laughed through his nose as he spun the bottle of his beer on the bar between his thumb and middle finger. “Not many celebrities in the Twin Cities?”

For a moment, I stared at him, unsure of what to say. When he stared back with his easy smile and perfect hair curled behind his ears, I understood. “You are probably aware of this, but, you’re not just some random celebrity, Jared. You’re… you’re an incredibly important person to me. To a lot of people. Your compassion and empathy for people knows no bounds. You’re so selfless, I don’t know how you do it. I’d be exhausted all the time.”

Jared’s smile fell and I resisted the urge to scream, to take it all back the second the words were out of my mouth. Too late, Jared capitalized on the moment. “I appreciate your honesty,” he commented. His hand moved for my shoulder once more, but as before, he hesitated. “I’m… flattered to have had such a positive impact on people’s lives.”

“Good,” I stated, “you deserve it.”

I could have died a happy woman right then and there as Jared smiled in the wake of my words.

If I told you everything we talked about that evening, you'd have a novel on your hands, and a boring one at that. Sure, we flirted here and there, but I quickly understood that Jared was the type of person who truly meets people. He wants to learn everything he can about them before parting ways, take something profound, new, defining with him when he leaves. I told him about things I never imagined I would have—including my ideal final season for the show, complete with angels, demons, monsters, sex (not with monsters), love, and for once, a real shot at peace. Retirement. On a beach somewhere in Texas with a cooler full of Margie. As much as he liked the idea, he confirmed my suspicions. Sam and Dean’s story does not end on a beach with girlfriends (or angel boyfriends) and a cooler full of Wisconsin's fictional pride.

It was one o’clock before I even thought to check the time. We had talked for two uninterrupted hours. And as much as I wanted to stay, I needed to be back up at seven for my much-anticipated Sunday.

But before I said any sort of goodbye, I grabbed a napkin and my sharpie—always carry a sharpie with you at cons, just in case—and wrote down my number. When I slid it to him, Jared picked it up and squinted at it.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” he joked.

“Oh, gimme a fucking break, dude, you’re swimming in pussy,” I retorted.

With a crooked smile, he shook his head. “Not really. Do you think I do this,” he paused as he gestured between us, “all the time?”

“With that face and your body, I would,” I said. “Not to mention your heart and brilliant brain, too. You make conversation too easy.”

A distinct shade of pink slashed across his nose, distinguishable despite the dark shadows on his face. I waited for another witty retort, but nothing came. He simply stared at me, eyes searching mine with an intensity that rendered me speechless.

I had told Jared things about myself most people in my life did not know. And as I sat there, staring at him, I realized that Jared understood that. When he hesitated to touch me for a third time, I spoke. “Are you… scared?”

“Maybe a little,” he mused. “I can promise you, this isn’t something I normally do. Spending this much time with a fan… never struck me as a good idea.”

“And now that you have?” I asked.

Finally, his hand enveloped mine where it sat on the bar. “I'll say this. You’re a natural at meeting celebrities. You played it cool even though you were nervous. You talked to me like I was just… another person. And that’s incredibly refreshing.”

“You make it sound like most fans are cra—”

He shook his head, vehement in his disagreement. “No. You’re not. Ya’ll are amazing and generous and so full of love. I would never disparage any of you. Most engagements with fans, either at a con or out in the wild, are short or in a… sort of controlled or contained system. It’s kind of sterile. It sounds ridiculous when I put words to it, but there’s little margin for error and that’s intentional.”

“So, you’re saying it’s almost scientifically curated to go well,” I offered.

“Almost is the key word. There’s a reason Cliffy follows us everywhere,” Jared added with a coy smirk. “But more often than not, what we need is someone to take care of a crying fan because, if Jensen and I or any of the other cast had to handle that on our own every time it happened, we’d lose our minds.”

I recalled the first time I had met anyone from the show. “I thought I was going to throw up after I met Misha a couple years ago.”

Jared laughed his dorky cackle as he said, “Misha gets that reaction a lot.”

“He was all hands…”

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“No, it was wonderful.”

Again, Jared cackled as if I’d said some sort of perverted innuendo. With his hand still on mine, he took it from the bar and held it. “See, that right there, that's... oh, how gross, I don’t want to say you’re ‘different’ and make this fucking weird. But… I don’t know, I’m not explaining myself very well.”

“I won’t let it go to my head,” I started, “But I think I get it. This’ll sound weird, too, and it might creep you out, but I’ve always imagined my personality was very similar to yours. I’ve always imagined that, at the very least, were we to have worked together on a set, we would have become really good friends.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jared started, “And it’s not weird. We could be friends.”

I tried. I wanted nothing more than to walk away from that night remembering the perfection of our conversation up to that point. But when disappointment contorted my smile, Jared saw it, and winced. When I started to talk, he spoke over me. “I didn’t mean it like that. We could be friends, sure. But…”

His voice trailed off as he thought, eyes listing to the bar. “But?” I asked.

“But I’m guessing at this point you were hoping for more than that.”

What constituted as “more”? Best friends? Friends with benefits? Long-distance lovers? “Look, I gave you my number as a hail mary.”

“What?”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I couldn’t resist the joke. “It’s a sports term. Like, slam dunk or…”

He grinned as he said, “Ball handler?”

I never thought I’d ever hear my laugh mixed solely with Jared’s. But laugh we did, singing a song I wanted to play it on repeat forever. I had to drop another joke to hear it again, to commit it to memory. With my pithy line readied, I sucked in a breath between laughs and spoke.

Not a single word made it past my lips, for Jared’s landed on mine with such sudden insistence, I froze. His massive hand warmed my cheek, fingers slipping into my hair, and he pressed harder, as if to remind me of what he had done. It worked, but not how either of us had wanted.

I promise, I’ll make up for how ridiculously I behaved here. When I squirmed away from him, I hated myself. I ended the kiss as quickly as it had started, slipped from his arms and off the barstool to race to the stairs. He didn’t follow me. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see the dejection on his face that I knew was there.

I was up the stairs and through the front door in seconds. I wasted no time heading straight back to my hotel, oblivious to the chilly November drizzle. Incessant ridicule ran through my head, berating myself for being rude, for being a bitch, for being just downright mean. And for passing up on spending a night with someone I knew that, without a doubt, would treat me with nothing but respect.

How fitting then that, when my phone rang, I answered it without thinking.

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