#the truck was lifted so high there was probably over a foot between the tire and the wheel arch

[lemongrad]

#poll #the noisy one was a modded impreza with stickers over the tailpipe saying 'prius repellent' like #my good sir did you know that a prius ALSO has an internal combustion engine and hence a tailpipe #the truck was lifted so high there was probably over a foot between the tire and the wheel arch #and I know massachusetts roads get a bad rap due to the winter weather and the ensuing potholes #but if your vehicle is so tall that you run the risk of hitting the bridges on storrow you might need a shorter truck and also therapy #mood

[angryschnauzer]

Overnight

Summary: It may have been a mistake to get off the highway, your car breaking down on an abandoned back road. But just in time a tow truck appears, and the mechanics garage isn't far away... but when you find out the parts will be delivered overnight, you storm off towards town... and somehow find yourself where you least expect.

Pairing: AU Mechanic Chris Evans x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Dubious Consent, AU, Greasy Mechanic Chris, Backroads Fic, Unprotected Sex, Thunderstorms, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, unprotected anal sex, Sloppy Seconds, Kitchen Sex, Dark Chris, Slightly Creepy Fic

A/N: This is a slightly twisted story, i wouldn’t say it was ‘dark’, but it does have a slightly sinister undertone. I’m also tagging it as dub-con (dubious consent) as although reader never says no, she is never asked either. This is very much a work of fiction, and i urge the reader to take responsibility for their online consumption, so ensure you read the warnings before reading and then only proceed once you have accepted what this story may contain. It is not a light and fluffy fic.

I do not operate a tag list, but you can follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as every time i post a story i will reblog there. I have too many stories to do a masterlist, but you can find my entire back catalgoue on AO3 through THIS LINK.

A while back i also wrote a Seb AU Mechanic fic, and here is the link for that: Caught In The Storm

Overnight

You should NOT have turned off the interstate. Sure, you would be stuck in bumper to bumper tailbacks in the searing heat, but surely it would have been better than this. The further you’d driven, the worse your car had sounded, the metallic clanking sound getting louder and louder the further you drove. Something made a loud THUD and you felt the power steering go, and glancing in your rear-view mirror a large oil patch was appearing behind your car as it slowly started to cough and splutter, before coasting to a halt on the side of the cracked road. As the engine died you thumped the steering wheel, cursing and screaming at the broken piece of junk, before with heavy limbs you pulled yourself from the car. 

 Standing on the rough gravel at the side of the road, your hands on your hips, you glowered at the car, a faint hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. The sun beat down and you could feel the heat of the day sinking into your bones, gnats and midges trying to gnaw at your skin as you slapped them angrily away. Dark clouds grew on the horizon but did little to obscure the beating sun high above you. 

 Checking your cell phone you weren’t surprised to see the no service icon, you were in the middle of nowhere, more likely to be dragged into the surrounding swamp and eaten by god knows what than to be able to call anyone. Just as you were lamenting your woes, the sound of an old diesel engine came rumbling to yours ears, and glancing down the road you saw an ancient tow truck coming into view. Standing in the road you waved your arms to flag the vehicle down; even if it couldn’t help then maybe it could take you to a working phone.

 The truck came to a stop in front of your car, and as the engine cut off and the driver’s door opened, you felt your body go tight. The man that climbed down from the cab looked like sin on a Sunday, long denim clad legs striding towards you, ball cap on backwards doing little to shade his face from the pounding sunshine, and a t-shirt that seemed to be painted onto his broad chest and wide shoulders;

 “In a spot of trouble there darlin’?”

 You let out a huff, you weren’t about to let some back roads hick try and charm his way into your panties… though said panties were suddenly becoming damper by every second he stood close to you. Shaking your head, you stood tall and puffed your chest out;

 “My car has died. If I could borrow your phone to call Triple A, I haven’t got any signal on mine…”

 The guy looked you up and down, his gaze resting on your chest as a bead of perspiration ran down your neck and between your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips;

 “AAA don’t come out here, its subcontracted out to us locals. I’m on my way back to the garage now if you want a tow Sweetheart?”

 Letting out a deep sigh you nodded, returning to your car to grab your purse as the man started to unreel the towing line and called out to you;

 “Hop up into the cab Princess, this won’t take a moment”

 Rolling your eyes at the pet names you bit your tongue; the guy was after all helping you out. Gripping the handle of the tow trucks door you looked down at the old worn paintwork ‘Evans Autos’. You quickly fished your phone out of your bag and snapped a shot, setting it to upload to the iCloud once you got in range of any signal… at least that way if this greasy backroads mechanic chopped you into little pieces you had left a trail of evidence. 

 Pulling the door open you let out a small yelp when you came face to face with a big brown dog sitting on the passenger seat;

 “Scoot!”

 The dog looked at you with utter disdain, and firmly remained sat on the seat. Waving your hands a little you frowned at it;

 “C’mon, scoot over!”

 Over the sound of the towing winch whining at it pulled your car up onto the truck, you heard the mechanic call out;

 “You’ll have to climb over Dodge… he likes the window seat”

 Turning back to the big mutt you could have sworn it had a smug ‘so there’ look on its face, and as you climbed up and around the dog, you sat in the middle of the wide bench seat. Looking around you couldn’t find any seatbelts, so just sat with your hands firmly clasped in your lap. The sounds of lockers being shut hit your ears before the driver’s door opened and the mechanic climbed into the seat next to you and grinned;

 “Best hold on Babe, it’s a bumpy ride to the garage”

 “I’ll be fine, thanks” you muttered as he gunned the engine and pulled away.

 -

 He hadn’t been lying; the roads were atrocious. With each bump and pothole you were bounced closer to him, the dog the other side of you seemingly able to spread out across not only his seat but part of yours. You could have sworn the mechanic was aiming for every single bump possible just to be able to watch your breasts bounce as the truck hit each stone. 

 With each jolt and jiggle your thigh was pressed closer and closer against his, and when the truck hit a huge hole in the road you felt yourself almost  lifted from the seat, suddenly pinned back by his strong arm quickly thrown across your torso to hold you down and from slipping from the seat. The skin of his tattooed bicep was pressed against the exposed neckline and chest, his scent invading your senses; a warm spicy aftershave and motor oil and gasoline. You could feel your panties getting wetter as your legs parted so you could plant your feet on the dusty floor of the truck but it did little to alleviate the aching between your thighs. 

 Finally he slowed the truck and turned the wheel into a sharp left-hand turn, the truck bouncing along a gravel driveway until an old wooden auto shop came into view. Pulling the truck to a stop he climbed out, holding his hand out for you;

 “Dodge likes to sleep in the cab…”

 Rolling your eyes you took his hand and climbed out as gracefully as you could, your short sundress sticking to the seat before you yanked it down to retain what was left of your dignity;

 “So Babycakes, there’s a coupla’ chairs round the side if you want to take a seat whilst I look at your car, and an icebox on the counter just inside the shop, help yourself to a water”

 “Umm, thanks”

 -

 You glanced at the time on your phone. You’d been waiting three hours; the sound of your car being taken to pieces by the mechanic was all you’d heard for most of that time. The only thing that seemed to have changed in those three hours was the humidity rising and the storm clouds coming closer. Rising to your feet you stretched your limbs and turned the corner of the auto shop, glancing at the mechanic as he lay on the floor below your sorry looking car as it was raised on the hydraulic lift;

 “Sir?”

 “Chris”

 “What?”

 “It’s Chris, not Sir…”

 “Ok, Chris. Do you know how much longer it’ll be?”

 Chris pulled himself out from beneath your car, wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging from the back pocket of his jeans;

 “For today, I’ll probably be done in an hour…”

 “Great!”

 “... but I need to overnight the parts I need, so it won’t be ready until tomorrow”

 “What? When were you going to tell me that?”

 “I’ve just ordered the parts Honey”

 You let out a grunt of frustration;

 “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow… you could have told me sooner”

 You turned on your heel and started to walk away;

 “Where ya’ goin’?”

 “To find a motel, or a guesthouse, or somewhere to stay at!”

 “On foot?!”

 “YES!”

 -

 You had stormed off, anger driving your feet as your white sneakers slowly got covered in brown dust that puffed up from the gravel driveway with every step you took towards the road. Finally you reached the cracked asphalt, taking a sharp right-hand turn and you started along the road. By now the humidity was hanging in the air and it felt like you were walking through soup. Even the midges had given up, their tiny wings not strong enough to cut through the cloying stillness. The sun was now obscured by dark clouds, but you continued on. Finally a crossroads came into view, and you willed your heat-tired muscles to push on, coming to the sign and stopping. The shortest distance was to take a right, so scrambling over the accumulated gravel you continued your journey. 

 -

 An hour later your legs were weary. Your dress clung to your skin as sweat beaded across your brow, down your chest and back. You held your arms out as you walked, hoping just by moving they would cool your skin, but having little affect.

 Finally a small house came into view, further buildings behind it mostly hidden by trees. The hair on your arms stood on end with Goosebumps and you could smell petrichor on the air, you knew the storm was about to break. Quickening your step you found the energy to trot down the rest of the way, past the worn mailbox with most of the letters worn away, the last three just spelling out ‘van’, but you were oblivious, the first raindrop hitting your skin and you sprinted towards the house. 

 By the time you reached the porch the parts of your dress that weren’t stuck to your skin due to sweat were doing so thanks to the rain. A crack of thunder boomed as a flash of lightning lit the sky, and as you cowered under the porch you heard a bark and a very wet brown dog suddenly ran for cover, shivering on the doorstep. Another crack of thunder made you jump, and the dog cowered against you, you crouching down to wrap your arms around the scared creature. Looking at the name tag that hung from its collar you read it; ‘Dodger’, and your heart plummeted to your stomach. Before you could even fathom what had happened, a familiar voice was behind you;

 “You were walking over an hour and you still manage to find your way back here?”

 Turning you looked out to the lawn where Chris stood, the rain pouring over him, his t-shirt stuck to every curve of his body and his jeans hanging low on his narrow hips. Slowly striding towards you he wiped the rain from his face as he stepped under the porch, reaching around you and opening the door to the small cabin;

 “You took a right and another right, didn’t ya?”

 “How did you…?”

 “Well, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff, I woulda told you to turn left at the end of the driveway. Instead walked a giant triangle and found yourself back here”

 You let out a strangled noise, not quite a cry, not quite a scream, before your body sagged;

 “Can you… can you give me a ride into town?”

 “Nope”

 “No?!”

 “The town is tiny. All we got is a church, a market, and a drug store. Nearest motel ain’t for thirty miles, and you wouldn’t wanna stay there… unless you like cockroaches”

 You could feel your bottom lip quiver, trying to hold back the tears before Chris’s voice softened;

 “I got a couch you can stay on, no funny business, no obligations…”

 He was close, so close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and you found your mouth moving before your brain could stop it;

 “What if I wanted funny business?”

 There was no more preamble, no more hesitating, he stepped forwards, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other on your waist as he pulled your body flush against his own, his lips meeting yours.

 The kiss was fierce, your mouth willingly opening as his tongue pushed against your own, dancing together as you tasted one another. His hand on your hip pulled at your dress, curling it up in his fingers until your skin was there to touch, his large hand gripping the soft cheek of your ass. He pushed you back, the hardness of the wooden clapperboards of his cabin rough against your skin, but you were blissfully unaware of it. He pressed one leg between yours and you ground your hips against the firm denim clad muscle of his thigh, in turn the thick hardness that was growing between your bodies he rubbed against your hip, moaning into your mouth as the friction helped release some of the tension that had built during the day. 

 Snaking a hand between your bodies, your dress had already ridden up so he was easily able to slide a hand into your panties, leaving streaks of motor oil across the pale fabric as he sought out your clit. Pushing two wide fingers down he found your soaked entrance and gathered some of your wetness, before bringing his fingers back and rubbing firm circles against your sensitive bud. His lips parted from yours, resting his forehead to your own for a moment you panted into his mouth, the air between you hot and thick, before those kiss plump lips make their way to your neck, sucking and licking at your jugular as his beard scratched against your skin. 

 Your head lolled back and rested against the wooden side of the building, the storm raging around you as you felt your orgasm starting to build. Your hands clung to Chris’s strong arms, his skin patterned with tattoos that you yearned to run your fingertips over tenderly. Your body started to shake, your orgasm growing closer as that coil in the pit of your stomach wound ever tighter, your hand finding its way to the firm bulge that was pressing against your hip, and as you squeezed the hot muscle through the denim you started to come, Chris’s mouth finding your own against as he swallowed your cries of passion. 

 He stilled his fingers as you trembled against him, quickly unfastening the buttons of his fly and pushing the garment down just enough to free his thick cock, taking hold of your thighs as he lifted you.  With strong hands he gripped at your panties before ripping them from your body, the ruined pieces of cotton falling to the floor at your feet. You felt the wide tip press against your still trembling entrance and with a grunt he thrust into you, filling you completely as you screamed out his name.

 You clung to him as he started to fuck you roughly against the wall, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting being drowned out by the storm now wild overhead. With each thrust your body was sent to heavy, the thick stretch of him inside you making your legs tremble as he held one leg over his hip, letting you try and keep the other held up as he pawed at your breasts, pulling your dress and bra down until you spilled out, your tits bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts. 

 No words were spoken, your moans the only thing that could leave your lips as Chris fucked you so hard you were sure you’d never be able to close your legs again and made roadkill of your pelvis with his powerful thrusts. You were trembling around him and you were getting closer and closer to coming again. His lips were on your neck again and muttering the dirtiest things in your ear;

 “Are you gonna cum on my cock babe? Make me fill you with my cum until its dripping down your legs… you’re squeezing me so damn tight, gonna pump you full then take you inside, make you sit on my face, would you like that? Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt?”

 “Oh fuck… Chris, yes… fuck, keep going…”

 He laughed quietly before picking up speed, the slapping sound of his heavy sac against your ass filling your ears as the wide root of his cock rubbed and dragged against your clit. With a grind of his hips you were coming, your fingernails clinging to his back as you shook with pleasure, triggering his own orgasm as he pumped hot ropes of creamy seed deep within your womb.

 Holding you against the wall, he kissed you, his tongue working against your own before he slowly pulled out of you, letting your feet fall to the floor. Your head swam from the pleasure surging through your body, only partially aware of Chris pulling his jeans up enough to keep them on his hips before he wrapped his arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you inside.

 Moments later you were being dropped onto a large bed, the covers messy from when the previous occupant had simply gotten up and dressed that morning, and you watched as Chris stripped his soaked clothes from his body before crawling onto the bed, his gaze feral as he pressed a line of kisses up your sternum before his lips found yours again. His fingers worked deftly against the ties of your wrap summer dress, pulling it open and helping you to wriggle out of it; all whilst his lips never left yours. 

 Finally he pulled away, his strong arms bulging as he flipped you over and pulled your hips up until you were resting on your knees. His wide tongue pulled a thick stripe through your cum soaked folds, from clit to asshole, before grinding his face against your crotch. His tongue was everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to your well fucked entrance, then moving up and pressing against the tight ring of muscle between your asscheeks. With more insistence he pushed his tongue against your back door and you sighed into the old sheets below you, your fingers curling in the cotton as he slid two thick fingers into your soaked channel whilst his tongue worked against your asshole. When his thumb found your clit a shockwave bolted through you, your scream into the mattress from sheer pleasure as you unashamedly ground back against him, moaning his name as your legs shook. He pulled his mouth away and spat on your asshole, working a finger in up to the knuckle and you started to cum, his fingers in your cunt rubbing against that spongy spot whilst his thumb worked figure eights over your clit, and you found yourself squirting your release as you screamed with pleasure.

 You were aware of Chris pulling away, your body trembling and fluid in the prone position. You heard the quiet click of the cap of a bottle before a cool viscous liquid was slowly spread over your ass. The touch of Chris’s fingers exploring your most hidden of places had you pushing back against his touch, relaxing as he slid two oiled fingers slowly into your ass, massaging you, stretching you. By now you were drooling, your tongue working against the cotton sheet as you bore down as he pushed a third finger into your ass, the quiet squirt of more oil being applied directly inside you had you knowing what was coming, and humming a low moan as you felt his fingers pull away only to be replaced with the well-oiled fat crown of his cock. 

 Turning your head you watched as he pushed the wide mushroom into your tight ring of muscle, groaning as your secret walls gripped him so hard. His large hands pulled your cheeks apart and he spat on his dick as he started to push into you, filling you, parting your walls with his meaty girth. You could feel every vein and ridge as he pushed harder, reaching around and rubbing at your clit whilst he rocked his hips back and forth before he was finally balls deep in your ass. 

 “So fuckin’ good, feel so tight around my dick Baby, taking me so well... “

 His mouth was as dirty as you had hoped, praising you for taking his dick in your ass as he started to fuck you, pushing his legs open to widen your own and allow him in even deeper. Your hands scrambled at the covers trying to find something to grip onto, some sort of purchase, before he was suddenly pulling your arms behind your back and gripping your wrists with his massive hands. Folding your arms across your sweat drenched back he used them to anchor himself as he fucked your ass even harder, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you as your empty cunt ached to be filled. As if reading your thoughts - or you could even have said it aloud, who knows you were so high on pleasure - he grasped your arms in one large hand before curling the other arm beneath you, pushing three fingers into your soaked pussy as he fucked your ass so hard you doubted you’d be able to sit down for a week without feeling it.

 “Fuck… gonna cum Baby, gonna fill this ass with cum so deep…”

 “Yes... Chris, FUCK, fuck my ass, I want your cum…”

 “My fucking gorgeous anal cum slut, your cunt is gorgeous, but I’m gonna fuck this ass from now on… never had an ass this good, this tight… gonna have you gaping by the time I’ve finished with you… my cum dripping down your legs, gonna make sure you never wear panties again, need you ready for me to bend you over and push my dick up this tight ass to fill you with another load…”

 Your orgasm took over, gripping Chris’s dick and fingers so hard it set his orgasm off, a second wave of your orgasm so intense that as you felt your body milking Chris, the room went dark and you blacked out.

 -

 The room was dark, the sound of rain outside soothing to your ears as you tried to figure out where you were, then snippets of your memory came back; your car, the garage, Chris… the storm… fucking him… Turning you saw him quietly asleep beside you, you winced as your muscles protested against moving, but the need for water and the bathroom was too much as you quickly slipped out of the room. 

 Having found the bathroom, you attempted to clean yourself up a little before walking through the small cabin to the kitchen, taking a glass from the counter before filling it and drinking the whole thing at the sink and filling it again. Two warm hands wrapped themselves around your naked body from behind, warm lips and a rough beard found your neck and Chris started to kiss along your shoulders, his hands finding your naked breasts as he cupped them whilst grinding his hard dick into the crease of your ass. Setting the glass down you spread your legs a little wider, and a warm hum of appreciation reverberated through Chris’s chest as he dipped his hips whilst pushing you forwards over the old porcelain sink, the smooth crown of his dick pushing against your used asshole, and you felt the pop as he sank into your cum soaked walls.

 Groaning as you leaned forwards and gripped the cool porcelain, you opened yourself up for him as he ploughed into your murky depths, his thick thighs pushing your legs wide apart before he lifted one of your knees until it was resting on the countertop, your other foot only just reaching the floor as you were stood on your toes, Chris fucking your ass harder this time, gripping your hips as he filled you again and again. His hands moved to your breasts and he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling the hardened teats until they were painfully hard. Snaking his hands up your front he wrapped his fingers over your shoulders so he could pull you back onto him harder, his thrusts increasing in speed. Your cunt was leaking juices down your inner thighs, and with each thrust his heavy sac would slap against it, reminding you of its emptiness, and you found yourself begging;

 “Chris please… fill my pussy…”

 Chuckling he pulled one hand down and spat on it before pushing three fingers into you, all whilst continuing to fill your ass with his fat cock;

 “You like that? You like having all your holes stuffed? You’re just begging to be filled, used, fucked…”

 “Oh fuck… harder… fuck me harder…”

 With a grunt he increased the speed of his thrusts, the front of your thighs pushing painfully against the sink, your leg muscles screaming at the way you were stretched wide open, but the pleasure was too intense to stop, you needed it, you needed the release.

 You came again and Chris fucked you straight through it, somehow finding the skill to fuck you even harder, sliding a fourth finger into your slick channel as he stretched you so wide. Your head swam, the sound of the storm outside closing the world in around you, and as you came again so did he, filling your ass with another load of his cum.

 Afterwards he carried you to his bed, wrapping his hard body around yours as you fell into a dreamless sleep, the reality of the world far far away.

 -

 Handing over the keys you smiled at Chris as you took them from him. Your body ached and was sore beyond belief, but it was certainly a night to remember. You had slept in until well past midday, only waking when your stomach had growled from not eating anything. Picking at some leftovers in Chris’s fridge, you’d found your soaked sundress draped over the back of a kitchen chair, pulling it on you shivered at the damp touch of the fabric before you’d stepped out of the cabin and found Chris fitting the parts he’d had on overnight delivery to your car. The bill had been more than you had expected - the parts costing more than you had in your purse - so when Chris had smirked at you and suggested an alternative payment, you had sighed with pleasure as he’d fucked you bent over the hood of your car, his dick filling your cunt as he had three fingers stretching your ass. You’d cum so hard you were left shaking, and he had pulled out just before he came only to push an inch into your ass and fill you with another load of his cum.

 With your keys in hand you kissed him, your tongues sloppy before you pulled away just as the sound of tyres could be heard on the rough gravel of his driveway, another tow truck pulling up alongside Chris’s. 

 Sitting in your car you gave him a wave as you pulled away, watching the garage disappear into the distance before you turned your attention onto the road ahead, pulling out onto the dry again asphalt, another summer storm starting to gather on the horizon.

 -

 Not thirty minutes later you were standing at the side of the road, kicking the flat tyre before screaming out at the sky in frustration. You checked your cell phone, groaning when you saw the out of service sign, before stashing it back in your purse. 

 The sound of an old diesel engine could be heard in the distance, and you looked up to the sky before closing your eyes;

 “No… it can’t be…”

 Taking a deep breath with your eyes still closed, you heard the engine get closer until it came to an idle beside you, and familiar voice greeting you;

 “Baby… you need a ride?”

 Chris hopped out of the cab, slipping his hand beneath your dress and giving your ass a squeeze;

 “Gotta watch out for that sharp gravel, it’ll blow tyres out real bad…”

 -

 Sitting in the cab you watched as Chris hooked your car back onto the tow truck, before ducking back inside the truck, this time just the two of you;

 “Where’s Dodger?”

 “Sleeping on the porch… Now, we’re gonna have to order you a new tyre Baby…”

“Let me guess, it’ll be delivered overnight?”

 He leant back and started to unbutton his jeans;

 “You never got to taste my dick last night… how about you try it now whilst I finger that ass ready for the next round? Huh Baby?”

 Settling onto your knees on the wide seat, you took him into your mouth, sucking him as he started the truck, unaware of the rusty nail that he dropped into the pocket of the door, a small piece of tyre rubber still attached to it… he’d found you, and he wasn’t about to let you drive off into the sunset...

#chris evans fanfic #mechanic Chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #dub-con #dubious consent #chris evans smut #dark fic

[triplexdoublex]

That’s My Baby

Pairings: Mod Sun x Reader

Warnings/tags: Pegging, use of a strap-on

A/N: This takes place in the same universe as my other Mod fics but it can still be read as a stand alone.

“Hey, you’re home!” You greeted Mod at the door. “I was starting to get worried, you usually text if you're gonna be home late from the studio.” 

“Sorry, I got a little distracted,” he motioned to the pink store bag in his hand.

“Oooh is that for me!?” You questioned excitedly, retrieving the bag from his grasp.

“Uhhh… yeah, I mean technically —“ he winced as you opened it, uncertain of how you would react. “I know we had talked about spicing things up and I-I just happen to pass that new sex shop they just opened on the way home, so I stopped in , and - and umm, yeah I thought I might be into trying... that” he spoke quickly, with both hands shoved into the pocket of his jeans, awaiting your response.

“Oh..” you gasped in shock as you pulled the apparatus from the bag. “A strap-on? Y-you want me to —“

“Sorry—” he began, with his head hung low. “I-if you’re not into it we can just—“

“Hey, hey, look at me,” you placed it back in the bag and stepped closer raising his chin with your fingertips. “You just caught me off guard that’s all. I’d be honored.” You smiled.

“Yeah?” His face lit up. 

“Yeah,” you pulled him in for a kiss. “C’mon,” you took his hand in yours, the bag in the other and walked him towards the bedroom. 

“Now?” He questioned, in surprise.

“Mmm, hmm” you hummed in confirmation , tugging him through the bedroom door.

“Damn, you spoil me.”

“You know it, baby.” You smirked before pushing him down on the bed, with a hand to his chest. You placed the bag at the foot of the bed for the time being as Mod rid himself of his shirt. You crawled over his sprawled out body on the bed and began kissing his neck. 

“God, I fucking love you!” He spoke with a hint of soft laugher to his voice. “I shoulda known you’d be cool with this.”

“Of course, anything for you, baby,” you began kissing him lower, and lower, trailing your lips and tongue over the permanent artistry that adorned his flesh until they disappeared below the denim horizon of his jeans. He lifted his hips as you unbuttoned his pants, aiding in their swift removal; his boxers stripped away with them. You took him in your hand and slowly pumped him while you lowered your mouth to the tip with a teasing, single swipe of your tongue. 

“Always such a tease!” He remarked with an impatient whine looking down at you.

“Can’t help myself, love watching you get all flustered and needy,” you continued to taunt him, holding him motionless in your palm as you licked around the base and mouthed his balls. His eyes were locked onto yours, watching you work. His hands were gripping at the sheets with eager frustration, his cheeks rosy and flushed.

“Please!” He begged as he lifted his hips from the bed with desperate need, trying to fuck into your fist. Eventually after teasing him a little bit longer you obliged and took him fully into your mouth; a satisfied hum falling from his lips. “Finally!!” he cried out gently threading his fingers into your hair, his hand bobbing along for the ride as you worked your mouth up and down his length, taking him in as deep as you possibly could and pumping what you couldn’t. You kept at until you felt his hand pushing at your shoulder; a breathy “stop, stop” bringing you to a halt. “Didn’t wanna cum yet,” he huffed “Wanna wait until —“ his eyes finished his sentence, drifting to the pink bag at the end of the bed. You got up off the bed and quickly retrieved the bag, as to not keep him waiting. 

“Oh good, you bought lube too” you noticed when taking out the strap-on. “Here,” you tossed it to him.

“I’ll be right back,” you excused yourself to the bathroom to put on the device, saving you both the awkward embarrassment of trying to figure out how to put it on.

Inside the bathroom you stripped off your clothes and struggled to find the right orientation of the contraption, turning it around as you tried to pinpoint which of the multiple adjustable loops were meant to wrap around your thighs and which were meant  to encompass your hips. Once you got it figured out you stepped into it, and pulled it up, adjusting the straps to fit you snuggly.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said as you stepped back into the bedroom. “I swear you need a degree in engineering to put this thing on,” you laughed. “Ohh— getting started without me I see,” you took notice of Mod prepping himself on the bed; two lubed slicked fingers working him open. “Ready for me yet?” You asked crawling onto the bed and settling between his thighs.

“I-I think so” he slid his fingers out.

“How do you wanna do this?” You questioned. 

“Just like this,” he answered. “Wanna face you.”

 You cracked open the bottle of lube and drizzled it over the pink, phallic shaped, object strapped to your pelvis and used your hand to make sure it was fully coated before bringing the tip to the slicked pucker between his cheeks.

 You were met with resistance at first, barely able to inch your way inside “Try not to tense up or it’s gonna hurt more. Just relax,” you coached him, rubbing soft circles with the thumb of your free hand on his hip. It took a few moments but eventually Mod relaxed enough and the head of the toy popped in, being swallowed by the tight ring of muscle. 

“Mmm, fuck!” Mod groaned, squeezing his eyes tight.

“That’s the worst part I promise,” You stayed as still as you possibly could. “I’m gonna give you some time to adjust, let me know when you’re ready.”

“You’re right it’s not so bad now, think I’m good,” he said after a few minutes. “You seem to know what you’re doing, have you done this before?” He questioned as you began slowly rolling your hips.

“No, but do think I’ve never been on the receiving end of anal before? Did you forget I used to date Colson?” You laughed.

“Ah, Touché” he laughed as well. “Speaking of Colson, please don’t tell him or the guys about this.”

“If that’s what you want baby, I can respect that, but I want you to know that this doesn’t make you any less of a man or whatever it is you're worried about?” You reassured him, gripping his waist with both hands as you gently thrusted.

“Mmhhmm uh, I-I know that, but I’m not sure the boys would agree,” he answered through strained moans.

“Pleasure is pleasure, if whoever the hell made humans didn’t want men to get fucked up the ass then perhaps they shouldn’t have put the male G-spot there,” you said in all seriousness.

“That’s a good point,” he laughed looking up at you with his crystal blue-green eyes. “This is why I love you,” he cupped your face, with a smile on his, and connected your lips.  You swallowed down his moans one after the other as you slowly increased your sped and depth. “Mmmmm mhhmmmmmn,” he broke the kiss with a long and throaty moan when you brushed against his prostate. “Aw yeah, do that- do that again!” He exclaimed breathily, gripping your backside, pulling you in deeper.

“Yeah, that’s my baby, that’s my baby. Let me hear you,” you praised and encouraged him. Typically Mod wasn’t one to be openly vocal, you knew he had the potential but he usually chose to hold back for whatever reason, but there was no stopping him now. 

“Uhhh , baby, fuck! This feel so ah- amazinggg!” He whined, covering his face with his hand.

“No, lemme see you,” you pushed his hand away and cradled his face. “Look at me. You close?” You questioned. Mod nodded. “Wanna watch you cum for me.” You reached your hand down between your two bodies and began stroking him to assist with his release. He tried his best to keep eye contact; his eyes fluttering closed in sync with the ebb and flow of your thrusts. Suddenly, you felt him twitch in your hand. “You gonna—“

“Yes,yes —- oh fuck! UhhMmmm,” His eyes rolled back and his shaft pulsed as he came, emptying on his stomach. You gave him a few minutes to come down from his high.

“Might sting a little” you warned, before you slowly pulled out, producing a brief whimper from Mod. “Stay right there,” you said. “I’ll be back with something to clean you up,” You once again excused yourself to the bathroom where you rid yourself of the contraption and wet a face cloth with warm water before returning to the bedroom. “You did so good,” you praised him as you wiped the cum and lube from his body.

“ I seriously can’t thank you enough, that was absolutely incredible,” he smiled at you fondly as you finished cleaning him up.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled back. “You might want to take it easily for the rest of the weekend, you’re probably gonna be a little sore.”

“Oooooh yeah, good idea,” he groaned as he sat up. Just then his phone went off. It was a text:

Colson: 11am tomorrow don’t forget!

“Oh fuck! I forgot I promised Colson I would help him move his shit into Megan’s place tomorrow.” 

“Can you cancel?” 

“No, I already smoked all the free weed that he gave me in advance in exchange for helping him.” He laughed 

“Yup sounds like something you would do!” You giggled “I’ll go with you tomorrow to help.”

***************

“Aye, perfect timing!” Colson shouted as you and Mod pulled into the driveway. “Just about ready to move my dresser out into the truck. Mind giving me a hand, while the boys take a break? Rook, Slim and Baze have  been helping since eight am but I know that’s early as fuck for you and you need your beauty sleep or whatever.” He laughed “let’s go.” 

Inside both boys lifted one end of Colson’s dresser and removed it from his room, and headed down the stairs with it. Mod was moving slower than usual, feeling a little sore as to be expected. 

“Aye, Mod you think you can walk a little faster here, my fuckin’ arms are getting tired.” 

“I’m walkin’ as fast as I can, Kells. You want help or not?”

“Walkin’ like you got a dick up your ass is more like it,” Colson taunted in friendly banter. “I’m the one walking backwards down a staircase here bro.”

“Kells, just shut the fuck up.” Mod laughed as they continued down the stairs.  He could feel himself beginning to blush and hoped he could just play off his pink hued cheeks as exertion, before Colson started asking more questions.

“Yo, Y/N!” Colson yelled over to you as you were loading some of the smaller boxes. “What the hell did you do to my boy last night? He joked. “Man can hardly walk. Did you finally break him out of his little Vanilla shell and give his thighs a workout making him fuck you good and hard last night or some shit?” Colson truly had no filter at times.

You looked at Mod with a smirk before answering. “Yeah, something like that.”

#mod sun #mod sun smut #mod sun x reader #mod fanfic #derek smith #derek smith x reader #derek smith smut #mgk #machine gun kelly #colson baker #megan fox

[jordanstrophe]

Going Once, Going Twice, part 4

I kid you not, I have re-written this 3 TIMES. I hope I didn’t overlook something *I’m excited to write the next one though*

CW: Whump, Pet Whump, Trauma, Manhandling, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Restraints, Implied Abuse

Masterlist

Robert pulled up to his home, he glanced at the boy in the back of his truck. Poor thing was exhausted... He was fast asleep in the back, bundled up in his coat with his shackled wrists. He really should have taken those shackles off, but after getting his shoulder bitten, he didn’t want to scare him anymore, or risk losing a finger.

He opened the door as quietly as possible, and gently lifted him in his arms. He didn’t even stir as he was carried into his house. It was one story with a basement, even after his inheritance, he refused to move, as he always loved this place. He only fixed it up a bit and installed a nice kitchen for all his cooking dreams, it was also next to a childhood friend as well, so bonus points. 

He unfortunately didn’t have a spare room, so he was just going to tuck him up in his own bed, and crash in his favorite recliner and call it a night. He pushed open the door to his bedroom with his foot, accidently jostling the man in the process, who slowly blinked to awareness. His eyes shot open. 

Wait, where was he? Was he being carried? Who was carrying him?! 

He let out a yelp, trying desperately to kick his way out of the man’s grasp. “Woah there!” Robert called, as Peter managed to kick his feet out from his arm, but Robert kept a firm hold on his chest. His feet hit the ground and he tried to slink out of the man’s arms, but Robert’s strength kept him held against his chest.  

“Easy, it’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you, calm down!” Robert tried, as Peter cried and struggled. Finally, all the frustration and exhaustion hit him, as he let out one last desperate cry, before falling limp. 

Robert slid down onto his knees with him still in his arms, this was wrong... His first step into his home and this is how he’s being treated. He was manhandling someone who was traumatized. “I.. I’m sorry.” Robert huffed, holding the hyperventilating boy in his arms. “Sshh... It’s okay. I’m going to let you go now. I’m sorry...” He released his grasp, as Peter used whatever energy he had left to scamper away. 

The closest thing was the bed, as his instincts forced him to crawl underneath as far as he could push himself and tried to catch his breath. “Oh no no no... Sweetheart...” Robert sighed, flopping into his chest on the floor, trying to coax the boy out with an outstretched hand.

��“I know you’re scared and exhausted. Trust me, I am too. But I can’t let you sleep under there, please come out so we can get some proper rest, okay?” He knew It probably wouldn’t work, but it was worth a shot. Peter glanced back at him with fearful eyes, too upset to budge from his spot.

Peter hugged himself under the bed. He was being so so disobedient. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t yanked out and beaten half to death for his disrespect. The man paid an unholy amount for him, so why was he being so patient? He felt terrible, and cursed his behavior.

Robert wondered if he should just leave him there for the night and crash himself. But no. He had to take care of this boy now, and he wasn’t going to be lazy about it. He inched over as quietly as he could until he could reach him. He gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The most Peter could react was a very sad little murmur and a flinch. 

“Everything is okay.” He whispered, slowly pulling him closer, and closer. “Can you come out for me?’’ He soothed. Peter gave in, he was tired, and scared, and knew all the man had to do was grab him. 

“I’m s-sorry!” He yelled. He wasn’t going to cry, he was going to be respectful and give his master what was owed. “I’m s-so sorry! I know I’ve been t-terrible for you, I d-didn’t mean t-to... I even bit you, and that’s unforgivable!” He cursed himself.  “Oh sweetheart...” Robert muttered. “You’re not bad, you’re just scared, there’s a difference. You didn’t hurt me either, you just took a chunk out of that coat.” Robert chuckled, brushing the hair from his face. 

He took his hand, as Peter cringed, waiting for a punishment. Instead, the shackles popped off and fell away from his bruised wrists, as Robert tossed them into the trash.  “I.. But-.”  “-Sssh, no buts. It’s off to bed with you now.” He smiled. He took his hand and pulled him up into the bed.

He pushed the heavy blankets down with a knee, and laid him in the plush bed. He whimpered and looked up at him pitifully, clutching the coat to his chest tightly. “It’s alright, you can keep the coat.” Robert smiled. “I’m in the next room if you need anything. Goodnight.” He said, sitting up and turning the light off, before heading straight to his recliner, and passing out himself.  

The unwanted sun rose soon after, Robert crept over and quietly opened the door. Peter was still fast asleep, hugging the coat tightly with a peaceful expression. Thank goodness...

He pondered what to make for breakfast, it was his first morning, technically his first time meeting him too, without him being half asleep, or his teeth sunken into his shoulder... Peter had been through a lot, that much was clear. He was only going to be there for a week, not to his knowledge... But he was going to do his best to make him comfortable and happy.

He cracked some eggs and bacon onto a stove, and even decided last second to also make some pancakes.  After some time, he glanced back at the bedroom. The door was... open!?

“Peter?” Robert called, trying not to let the panic leak in his voice. He ran out of the kitchen towards the open door, but startled himself when he found Peter pressed against the wall, cowering. His face said he had just woken up, but he had some energy now, it seems his fear got turned into curiosity.

He dropped to his knees instantly, still holding the coat in his arms. “Good morning... Master.” He mumbled. It felt so wrong to call someone else master then his previous one. “Good morning.” He smiled, giving himself a moment for the adrenaline to wear off.

“Come on up off the floor. You got up at the perfect time! Breakfast is ready.” Robert lifted him to his feet and steadied him by his arm.

The kitchen was gorgeous, spotless, marble countertops, golden background, hundreds of pots, tools, equipment selectively in their place, and colorful plants lining the windowsill. There was a small table in the center, with a couple of high chairs around it. Robert was a very tall man, so the chairs were quite towering.

Peter looked up at him for confirmation, as Robert nodded with a smile. He tried to hop up onto the chair, but failed a couple of times. “Is it alright if I help you?” Robert asked, as Peter ceased his attempts with embarrassment. He nodded shamefully, as Robert took his arm and gave him a boost up. He set a plate full of delicious smelling food in front of him. He gasped, covering his mouth, glancing up and down between the food and Robert, who gave him a sweet smile. “It’s all yours.” He said.

Every bite was divine, with every bite he felt more and more guilty that he didn’t deserve it. The man paid an unholy amount for him, but was also being so patient with him.

Why?

“So! Peter, is there uhh, any hobbies you like? Something I can get for you?” Robert asked.  “Oh! I like... Being useful, I guess.. Master.” He replied. Robert stopped and glanced up at him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to call me that. It makes me feel like some tyranny.” He laughed. “Is calling me Robert, or Mr. McAllen okay?” He asked.  “O-f course. It’s whatever you prefer, Mr. McAllen.” Using his first name felt wrong on so many levels. 

“Maybe you would like to try painting, or music. I personally love woodcarving. I used to sell some awhile back.” He smiled. 

Yes, yes... He knew it was only a week. But he seemed like such a sweet young man who never got to have fun and express himself. Maybe he should run to the store and buy him a bunch of things, can’t say no until you’ve tried them all!

Oh no.

It was happening.

He was starting to bond with him

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @moose-teeth @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @yet-another-heathen @sillypizzazineoperator @freefallingup13 @alien-octopus

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

my brain huuuurtttsss

#whump #pet whump #rescued whumpee #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #whump writing #whump stories #tw slavery #sold whumpee

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Untitled

Inspiration struck last night 👀 - putting this here so you can let me know if it's worth continuing/if you would want to read more of it. Super AU!

Jane cut the engine of her Ford Ranger just outside the tiny strip mall off of Sixth Street. It had been a splurge just after she got brought on as the head baseball coach of Empire High School, a treat for herself for finally getting a big-person job and generating some regular income. Her mother had convinced her to do it, actually, because Jane had been on the fence for months, waffling so many times that Angela piled her in the family Buick and dropped her off at the dealership. Find your own way home, Angela had said, and it better be in that brand new truck.

Now, Jane was thankful for the push, because southern California summers in her old Civic with the busted A/C were no fucking joke. They were still no joke now, but at least she could blast cold air on her face when needed. Like now: even at six thirty in the morning, temperatures climbed above eighty in early August, and she settled into the discomfort of an already damp back. At least her front still looked fresh. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time before she got out, taking off her adjustable black cap with her school’s insignia and smoothing the tied-back black hair on top of her head. Presentable and believable: a baseball coach with a ponytail and a Nike dri-fit short sleeve windbreaker over her t-shirt.

She hopped out, satisfied enough to not be looking like a hooligan, and when she planted her turf shoes, she could tell the asphalt was already on fire. The boys were gonna be whiny as hell this afternoon. That made her grin just a little bit. She ambled up to the donut shop-slash-panaderia on the corner, straightening her posture when the door jingled and signalled her entry.

The short, middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun and an apron around her waist brightened when Jane approached the counter. “Buenos días, Coach Rizzoli,” she greeted with a smile and voice so cheery, she’d obviously been up for hours already. Probably baking as Jane finished weight-lifting in her backyard before the sun came up.

Jane smiled softly in return. “Buenos días, señora Gutierrez,” Jane said, deferential even though at nearly 5’11”, she must have been almost a foot taller than Mrs. Gutierrez. “Como está?” Short Spanish phrases sounded pretty darn good in her mouth, she had to admit, for all the Sicilian she heard growing up, and for being a product of Santa Ana. Spanish was more common than English in a lot of her friends’ homes growing up, so she caught on quick. At least enough to carry on a polite conversation, if needed.

“Bien, gracias. Tengo sus conchas aquí,” Mrs. Gutierrez asked as disappeared behind the counter to find what she was looking for, Jane’s order, reappearing with six pink donut boxes.

Jane opened her nostrils wide to take in the smell of flour, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon for the white conchas, her favorite. It was enough to feed a small army, which felt just about right for the staff meeting she had been tasked with supplying breakfast for. The first of the new school year. “Qué bueno,” she replied, not sure if she was referring to Mrs. Gutierrez’s overall well-being or the pan in the boxes. She pulled out her cash to pay, slipping her wallet in her back pocket, and in the seconds that it took her to do that, a single, piping-hot styrofoam cup of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her.

“Y un cafecito come le gusta,” said Mrs. Gutierrez with a wink and a smile. Occasionally, she did this, and it was her way of taking care of Jane, one of their family’s best customers.

Jane had learned not to refuse it. She just blushed and bowed her head a little bit, her lips pursed in a bashful smile. “Muchisimas gracias,” she said, taking a sip. Mrs. Gutierrez always left the cinnamon stick in it and added minimal creamer, just how Jane liked. Jane held back a moan. She decided she’d partake of the rest in the car, and then pocketed her change.  She picked the boxes up by the string tied to them and huffed, ready to begin the day. “Y el Jonny?” she asked, and Mrs. Gutierrez nodded her head towards the back of the bakery.

Jane nodded and made her way toward the door so she could pop around. “Qué tenga un buen día, Coach,” Mrs. Gutierrez called after her.

“Igualmente!” Jane replied, already on her way. She deposited her haul on her front passenger seat, keeping her coffee in hand, and then walked over to the alley between the Gutierrez bakery and the block wall separating it from the Cardenas market just across the way. She put her hat back on, threading her ponytail through its opening, and adjusted her Oakley sunglasses as she stood by the dumpster that Jonathan Gutierrez currently filled with broken-down cardboard boxes.

He heard her shoes scuffling his way, so he turned. “Coach Rizzoli! It’s early as hell,” he said, “what’re you doing here?” He sweated through the ribbed tank on his torso and the black basketball shorts on his hips. Jane commiserated, having helped her dad out on many a plumbing job in the summer when she was in high school.

“Well, first day for teachers is today,” she said, sipping her drink. “And I had to get some of your mom’s pan for the meeting. They’d expect nothing less. I’m here lookin’ at you because she exhausted all my Spanish skills, and I needed to remind you that practice starts at one today.”

Jonny, as tall as her, lanky too, smirked. “I’m sure you could’ve found a way to say that to her,” he teased, knowing that she couldn’t have, not well.

“You’re a riot. One o’clock, and not a minute later, a’right? I will not hesitate to bench our centerfielder for opening day if he’s late,” she warned. Then she started to turn.

“That’s like seven months from now!” Jonny whined, setting his box cutter down and running a hand through his thick black hair. “I got work today! Last day before school starts next week!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “The perfect hair thing may work on the girls at school, kid, but it won’t work on me. Find a way to make it happen - if you get into Fullerton, it won’t be because I sent you, but because you did it on your own. Part of that means showing up to practice on time. Even in August.”

Jonny sighed. His mom would understand, but his wallet would be crying. “I’m tryna save up for a pickup like yours, though, Coach,” he tried, batting his eyes for extra sympathy.

Jane laughed, and then he did. “Listen. You show up for practice on time every day this year, and you and me’ll have a talk about replacing today’s wages for that new Ranger, a’right?”

“Ok,” Jonny said quietly. He knew that Jane knew they didn’t have much money. And he knew that she knew most everything about him - she meant what she said. She’d taken him under her wing when she’d noticed his boundless talent and his faltering attendance. When she found out it was to make enough money to keep him and his brother on the team, she’d covered the cost in full. That was two years ago, and now that Jonny was an incoming senior, they’d righted the ship together. There was only a little more to go until he applied to the school of his dreams, the one with the killer baseball program and just miles from home.

It didn’t hurt that Jane was the first woman to play ball there as a range-y second baseman, was eventually drafted from Fullerton. He wanted to follow in her footsteps as best he could. “Good. See you then, kid,” she said. He knew that she knew the best way for him to do that was to grind. To eat, sleep, drink, and shit baseball.

“Hey Coach!” He called after her as she made her way back into the alley.

She turned around. “What’s up?”

“I wanna focus on my forearms this year. Should I go the Altuve way?” he asked, smiling.

The Jose Altuve way: banging sledgehammers into tractor trailer tires. Jane guffawed. “I’m not saying do it, but I mean hey, guy’s 5’5” and hitting thirty dingers a year in The Show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks,” and with that, he waved Jane off. She spent the rest of the ride to school thinking about how to safely incorporate forearm work into the team’s regimen in a way that didn’t involve sledgehammers.

The bread had made her truck smell like heaven, and it was the perfect olfactory accompaniment through the working class neighborhoods of Coronita Heights - the part that she felt more comfortable in. She’d grown up down the 91 in Santa Ana, one of Orange County’s most vibrant cities, and her street looked a lot more like these than the ones that Empire High School sat on.

But Empire was one of the top 15 baseball programs in the state, and she had jumped at the opportunity to coach when she’d been approached about it. She packed the few boxes from her parents’ house, used the rest of her signing bonus to put a nice down payment on a house in Coronita Heights, and hadn’t looked back. It had been good for her - she kept in shape, used that teaching credential she’d worked on at Fullerton to teach PE, and led the Knights to a CIF championship in the five years she had been there. She hunted another.

Soon, the burger joints, smoke shops, and insurance spots gave way to expensive houses and palm trees, and she saw the massive campus come into view. She hopped out of the truck once she parked near the office toward the front, downing her coffee and tossing it in the trash. She tugged her belt, looped through her white baseball pants, making sure the fit was good, and then she took the breakfast out.

Another school year was about to begin, and she was determined to make it a victorious one.

___

Maura smoothed her dress in the full-length mirror of her bedroom for what must have been the hundredth time. It was tasteful: sleeveless, dark blue, with a thin black patent-leather belt around its waist. She paired it with black heels, and she looked good. She knew, intellectually, that she did, but this happened every time she started something new: the nerves kicked in and she doubted herself. She curled her impeccably styled hair behind her right ear out of habit, and then made her way downstairs for breakfast.

Her palatial home in Anaheim Hills sat overlooking the city below, still sleepy at six-thirty in the morning. She was anything but, having already completed her run and entire grooming routine. She perused the options within her double door refrigerator, still quite imposing even under the expansive wooden beams on the ceiling that ran from wall to wall. She thought about eggs, protein always a good start to the day, but then remembered the expected temperature and decided a cold breakfast of yogurt and berries would be best.

Again, it was too hot for warm coffee, but the massive cold brew dispenser she had readied just a few days prior called her name and she filled a tumbler with it and her favorite almond milk creamer. She’d have one cup with breakfast and a refill for the road, as she always did from May to October. She reveled in routine; it was what helped her not to shake as she brought a spoonful of honey, dairy, and strawberry up to her lips.

Today, despite her several years of doctoring, would be her first job with the living since residency. In fact, it would be her first non-clinical job, well, ever. Even when she had volunteered for research, it had been in pathology labs, or oncology centers, or Alzheimer’s wards. Now, she would head the pilot program for a pre-med track at Empire High School. Well, pre-pre-med, she corrected herself. The point of the program was to prepare students from non-private and non-charter school backgrounds for the rigor of medical school. And, as a graduate of the Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, as well as Boston Cambridge University for undergraduate work, Coronita Heights Unified thought her very qualified to head its inception.

Maura was humble, so she did not consider that they also factored in her copious research articles within the field of pathology, nor her several awards from the Medical Board of California. But they did, and so today she started her teaching/counseling position that included Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Advanced Placement Biology and an elective of honors molecular pathology to boot. She had negotiated that last one to retain a taste of her passion outside of teaching.

Satisfied both with her breakfast and her mulling, Maura rose from her stool at the kitchen island, its white marble counter still gleaming from its recent clean this weekend, and made her way to the sink. She rinsed her bowl, placed it in the dishwasher on the top rack with the others, and then washed her hands for twenty seconds. Soap on, palm scrub, back-of-the-hand scrub, webspace scrub, for as long as it took to hum happy birthday to herself, twice.

She reveled in routine.

She unscrewed the lid of her tumbler and placed it under the dispenser in the refrigerator again, watching dark coffee wash over ice cubes with pleasure. The properties of matter, their predictability and regularity, calmed Maura. She could predict where each rivulet would go with accuracy, and then watch the change of color with no surprise when she poured in her creamer. She could control how light or dark it became, and thus control its flavor. She savored that one last ounce of control before she screwed her lid back on and walked over to where her purse and rolling cart awaited her at the front door.

She took one last look behind her, at the open concept living room so large it needed a sectional couch that no one used because people hardly ever dropped by, at the kitchen with state-of-the-art, industrial appliances that often cooked meals for one. It was her home, even if all of that were true, and the way that the southern California sun poured in through her floor-to-ceiling windows thrilled her. It thrilled her the way it had the first time she set foot in LA, for her first day of classes. She let that embolden her as she locked the door and stepped into her S-Class.

Navigation popped up as soon the engine roared to life, already pre-programmed with the route to Empire High School. She saw the calculation of a twenty minute drive, rearranged a few numbers in her head as she thought about the day of the week, the time of the morning, and the unpredictability of the 91, and decided twenty minutes was probably just about right. She’d given herself a cushion for twenty-five, and with a glance to the men’s style cartier on her wrist, she smiled and pulled out of the garage towards the main drag that would lead her to the freeway.

She jumped out of nerves and surprise when the system notified her of a call coming in. She smirked when she saw the caller ID: Dr. Nina Holiday, Hoag Hospital. Maura pressed the call accept button. “Need a consult already, Doctor?” she teased, her own voice always just a bit foreign in the morning after not having heard it for hours.

Doctor Holiday scoffed on the line. “You wish,” she replied, and then there were beats of silence. “I just wanted to call to wish you good luck on your first day. And to see if you’d reconsider.”

“If this is Hoag’s way of trying to lure me back, by making their premier neurologist do all the dirty work, I think I’m going to have to pass,” Maura said, and Nina laughed.

“No, this is just a friend saying you’re gonna be missed is all,” said Nina. “But I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Maura demured. “Pathology is in... very capable hands with Doctor Pike,” she said, and then immediately the two women guffawed.

“You couldn’t even get it out before you started laughing!” Nina asserted, “see? We’re up a creek with no paddle!”

“Whom the department decided to hire in my stead is not my business,” Maura replied professionally, “especially if they do not take my recommendations into account,” and then with more spice.

“You right, you right. And I know I said it before, but I respect you for this. I think my road to medicine might have been a lot easier if I had someone like you at my high school to guide me through,” Nina said seriously. “Just answer me something: you didn’t leave because of Ian, did you?”

Maura stiffened. She hadn’t wanted to think about that on her first day, but here Nina was, dredging it up. Maura wrung her hands on her steering wheel. “No. Not really,” she answered, and that was the truth. The timing of it all had just been awful.

“Ok. I just… with him being gone, I didn’t know if that would be better, or if you’d be haunted by ghosts, you know? If you stayed.”

“I think I needed a fresh start either way, Nina. I really do,” Maura said.

Nina took the hint that they were done talking about it. Her voice turned chipper again. “I’ve got a call at seven, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? You can tell me all about your first week. Maybe over bottomless mimosas.”

Maura sighed with relief. She would need that. “Sounds great. Nina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling. I’m… I’m going to miss you, too,” Maura confessed.

“Aw, Doctor Isles, don’t get all mushy on me,” gushed Nina. “Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Maura said after the line had gone dead.

Nina’s call had lasted most of the ride. Maura was grateful. Nina had been one of the few people to get to know her at Hoag. The hospital itself had a very competent staff. Excellent, really. And Maura was one of the best, so this led to a never-spoken, always-felt air of competition. It didn’t really lend itself to friendship. But Nina had consulted with Maura so often, that a comfortable working relationship eventually morphed into a casual friendship. That turned into drinks on the rare weeknights they had off and brunch on Sundays at some of the best spots in Orange County.

They promised to continue, and they would of course, but for the first time in their friendship, they didn’t work a floor away from each other, and Maura resolved that while she would do everything to keep it alive, she had to acknowledge the change. Fittingly, as soon as she did so, she drove into the staff parking lot at Empire High. Her new beginning.

Her welcome e-mail mentioned a staff meeting today, Friday, in the lecture hall at the front of the school, refreshments provided. So, she pulled next to the gunmetal gray Ford Ranger to her right, and gathered her things. Her cart could wait until they were dismissed to ready their classrooms, so she deposited her fob into her purse and sipped on her coffee for fortitude as she followed the sidewalk pathway past the front office to the lecture hall. She had mapped out the route when she had found out about the meeting, deciding that touring campus on her own before she began would reduce her anxieties, as well as the possibility of unknown factors. It was also why she had arrived right on time: early meant possible one-on-one conversations with strangers, and late meant all eyes on her as she hustled in.

She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reached the glass double doors of the hall, and breathed in one last time. It was a big, 360 degree breath: it engaged her pelvic floor and spread her ribs equally. It lowered her pulse and calmed her nerves, and then she was ready.

When she entered, she heard chatter. Lots of it. When she turned the corner and yanked open the wooden door of the room itself, she was shocked to see what looked like most of the staff already deep in conversation in their seats. Some stood, others stretched their legs over a couple of seats at once, some laughed and some nodded seriously. For a moment, Maura panicked, then checked her watch again. She felt her heartbeat fall a little bit when she looked up to the front and realized that no-one had started the meeting. In fact, there was a small line at the sign-in sheet, so she decided that rather than have a breakdown in the walkway, she should join the line.

She mustered as much courage as she could and stood behind the last woman, who smiled at her politely. Maura smiled back and thanked whatever powers that be that the woman didn’t try to engage. The line moved quickly, and staff members grabbed what looked like sweet bread just off to the side of the table as they signed in. She forewent the sugar and decided just to take the requisite printouts instead. By then, things started to feel a little more like a normal job orientation, so she turned on her heels to make her way back to the crowd.

The confident turn ended up being another mistake, however, because as she started to walk, she saw no openings. It was like the middle of a very bad dream, in which she needed so desperately to blend in, but all she could do was stand out. She felt eyes on her as she passed tables full of other adults, she heard conversations quiet and alter when she walked by.

However, just as she was about to give up and stand all the way in the back, someone called out. “Hey,” the voice was firm, raspy, and kind. She turned instantly and it kept talking. “You need a spot? I was savin’ this one for my brother, but, big shocker, he’s late.” Seated at a table in the middle of the hall with an all-white backpack on the empty chair next to her, two aluminum bat handles sticking out on either side of it, was… “Oh, and I’m Jane. Rizzoli. By the way.”

Jane Rizzoli. Maura thought the name fitting. Jane was so tall and so dark-featured and so handsome that she needed an Italian surname. And by god, she had one. One with a trilled-r and a plural i and everything: it was perfect for her in the way that all its sounds signified abundance. Maura’s mind rambled and she caught it; she wasn’t even sure how the phonotactic rules of Italian applied to Jane’s physicality, but they did, and Maura sat next to her without hesitation. She chanced one glance to the length of Jane’s torso as she curled to put her elbows on the table, and then she met Jane’s dark brown eyes.

It was then that she realized that Jane probably awaited some kind of response. “Maura Isles,” said Maura, holding her hand out. Jane shook it and Maura was not at all surprised by the firmness of the shake.

“Hey Maura. I’m uh, I’m the head baseball coach here. I also teach PE,” Jane explained. Then she looked down at herself, her uniform and the bats in the backpack now on the floor. “But you probably guessed that.”

Maura smirked, and laughed softly. “I don’t like to guess. It puts people in awkward positions. But I would say there’s lots of evidence to that fact, yes.”

Jane laughed openly and then took her hat off. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the hotshot doctor that they hired for our new pre-med pipeline.”

Maura raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “And why would you assume that?”

“You talk like a doctor. And you dress better than everyone else in this room. Real doctor-y,” Jane wagged her own eyebrows up and down.

Maura watched Jane’s crooked grin, rapt. “One…” she began slowly, “doctor-y is not a word. Two, what if I were independently wealthy and taught, oh say, English?”

Jane shrugged. “Words are made up. And are you? Independently wealthy?”

Maura’s mouth twitched in humor. “Yes,” she answered. Jane threw her head back in defeat. “But, I am also the doctor piloting the pre-med program here.”

Just like that, the slender column of Jane’s neck brought her head forward again. “Thought so!” she said. Just as she did, The man who Maura knew from his photo online as the school principal walked in. People started to hush as he made his way to the front podium. Even she turned her attention, until there was the distinct warmth of whispering by her ear that dismantled all other thoughts. Jane was speaking. “Well, Dr. Isles,” she responded, “welcome to Empire High, then.”

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #lauren writes rizzoli and isles fan fiction #the high school teachers baseball California AU no one asked for lmao #not sure if it's too niche or if there'll be interest for it #but it feels like if I do continue it it should be long? #idk we'll see

[goldenraeofsun]

Remember Me, Honeybee

Part I

Two hours into the farmers market, and Dean’s had enough. Even the gorgeous day outside, sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky, does nothing for him.

Next to him in their produce stall, Sam rearranges their vegetable display with all the intensity of Bobby Fischer facing off against the Soviets. He adjusts an eggplant a few inches to the left, eyes it critically, and moves it back where it was.

Yesterday, Dean got sunburned from too many hours in the sun harvesting. But before he could even think about a shower, a visitor pounded on their door because some neighbor ratted them out to local Fish and Wildlife. So on top of dealing with a peeling forehead and an aching back, Dean had to take care of Ms. Rosen nearly breaking and entering to get at Sam or his watercress - she wasn’t really clear on which was her priority.

Sam, the cowardly sasquatch, bolted the moment her car tires pulled up to their farm.

It took an hour to get Ms. Rosen to leave. First, Dean had to show her Sam’s pet watercress plants at the edge of their property. According to Ms. Rosen, they’re an invasive species, which Sam could’ve mentioned to Dean at some point. Then, Ms. Rosen explained the $150 fine - all the while heavily implying she could dock a few bucks if left alone in a room with Sam.

Dean forked over the money. Sam’s virtue got to live to see another day.

At least Becky gave Dean plenty of blackmail material. If Sam pisses him off one more time, guess who’s getting Sam’s phone number faxed straight to her field office?

Dean was looking forward to sharing the whole story with Cas when they pulled up to the farmer’s market that morning. But his favorite beekeeper, potter, and candlestick maker is notably absent again.

As Hannah steps away from her stall to replenish her display, Dean seizes his chance. “Be right back,” he calls to Sam as he darts out behind their table.

When she catches sight of him, Hannah turns her back to lift a crate of soaps that would’ve left Dean sore for days. Goddamn angel strength.

“I may be a dumb human,” Dean starts, “but even I know that angels don’t get sick.” His voice drips with disdain. “Where’s Cas? The real reason, this time. Not that BS you fed me last week.”

Hannah sighs, her normally refined tawny wings fluttering in barely-concealed agitation. “He’s… indisposed.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Cas has been here, rain or shine, every market for two whole friggin’ years. Is he,” he forces out the words, dread trickling down his spine, “dying or something?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head. “He’s not mortally ill. He’s just indisposed.”

Dean gawks at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You have customers,” Hannah says shortly.

Dean waves off a soccer mom armed with a bushel of kale and a hungry leer. “Sam’s handling the orders.” He points at the line in front of Sam, and the lady walks off in a huff.

“Is that right?” Hannah asks innocently once Dean’s attention darts back to her.

“Cut the crap,” Dean says sharply. “Why hasn’t Cas shown for the past two weeks? The real reason. None of that indisposed bullshit.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re keeping me from my own customers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’d better talk fast.”

Hannah makes a face like she smelled Sam’s post-Chipotle farts. “Castiel was cursed.”

“What?”

“Keep it down,” Hannah hisses, leaning in. “He - well, it’s a long story. Our cousin, an archangel, cursed him.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Hannah’s lips purse. “Gabriel has been very hard to contact for the details. He apparently thought Castiel was moping too loudly or too frequently. ”

“Moping?” Dean echoes, his brow furrowing. “Cas always seemed fine to me.”

Hannah shrugs. “Ask Gabriel. Now, if you don’t mind,” she lifts her nose into the air, wings straightening, “I have customers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean retreats to his vegetable stand, his head swimming.

Dean never saw himself as a farmer until his health nut little brother decided to ditch his high-paying (and stressful) lawyer job to play Green Acres, and Dean, naturally, followed since there was no goddamn way Sam knew his way around a tractor. Sam was more likely to mow down his own gigantor foot than move a clod of dirt. Luckily, to Dean, an engine’s an engine.

At the farmers market, Sam’s booth was placed next to Cas’s. On their first day, Cas walked over with a complimentary jar of honey. He was stilted and awkward, sure, but he was also the first one to welcome them into the fold.

Lost in thoughts and worries about Cas, Dean almost gives a customer a twenty dollar bill instead of a one, blanks on when their summer squash will be in season, and accidentally rings up asparagus as broccoli.

“Look,” Sam says after apologizing for Dean’s latest mistake, “why don’t you head back and check on the tomatoes? It’s winding down here.”

Dean dubiously eyes the hubbub of people browsing vegetables.

Sam gives him a light shove towards their truck. “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, anyway.”

Dean grimaces. “It’s that obvious?”

“To everyone and their grandmother,” Sam says under his breath.

Asparagus Man at the front of the line nods gravely.

“Thanks,” Dean says sourly to both of them.

“Go check on Cas,” Sam says as he gestures for the next customer to step up to the register. “Swing by and pick me up in a few hours.”

* * *

At the foot of the unpaved driveway up to Cas’s house, Dean cuts the engine. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, debating with himself. Cas might not want visitors.

But Dean brought pie.

Homemade, of course. And if it was supposed to celebrate Sam’s birthday tomorrow, what Cas doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam likes cake better, anyway, because he’s a freak.

Dean grabs the pie, shoves open the door, and strides up the dirt road to Cas’s house before he can talk himself out of it for good.

This is what you do for sick friends, anyway. Charlie drove all the way up to the city with chicken noodle soup, Settlers of Catan, and prime gossip on Benny’s on-and-off-again thing with Andrea when Dean had the flu a few years ago.

Dean is just being a good friend. It’s not weird.

He knocks on Cas’s cobalt blue door, his heart beating double-time behind his ribs as the seconds wear on with no answer.

Dean dawdles on Cas’s welcome mat. He tries again. Cas’s house isn’t exactly small, with its pottery studio in the basement and wax room in the back. Cas might be in his nest, on the can, or in his garden by the hives. Hell, with this mysterious curse, Cas might not be home at all - but stuck in some angel hospital being poked and prodded by docs. He probably should have squeezed Hannah for more details.

The door opens as Dean contemplates, for the hundredth time, bailing with his tail between his legs.

“Hello?” Cas says, peering curiously at Dean.

“Cas,” Dean says, relieved. From one cursory look, Cas seems normal. His hair’s fucked up, of course. His dark wings are equally unkempt, feathers sticking out every which way. All typical Cas.

Cas blinks. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. But no sound comes out.

“You’re up,” Dean says stupidly. Of course Cas is up, or he wouldn’t have been able to answer the damn door. Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Hannah mentioned you’d, uh, been cursed,” he says awkwardly.

Cas relaxes a fraction. “Ah, yes, I was.”

Dean gives Cas another once-over. “I just found out this morning, so I thought I’d stop by. Bring pie." He holds up the pie as evidence. "See how you are. But you look good.”

Cas squints at him, his head tilting. “Thank you?” he asks like he had a half-dozen responses in his head and chose that one at random.

“No prob.”

Cas’s gaze darts down to the pie in Dean’s hands for the first time. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping inside. “I’ll take this to the kitchen. I’m starving. Do you wanna eat it now?”

Cas gestures him forward. “This way.”

Dean throws him a funny look but follows him to the kitchen he’s been in about a hundred times before - for Cas’s annual Spring Equinox party, for a handful of dinners with other farmers in the area, for water breaks in between weeding Cas’s bee-friendly garden.

Afternoon sunlight from the beautiful day outside streams through the large windows that overlook the back porch and garden. It illuminates the kitchen table, absolutely covered with what looks like all of Cas’s beekeeping books.

Dean clears enough space for pie and strides over to the drawer for the baking utensils, saying over his shoulder, “I hope you’re hungry.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean hastily turns back around - only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with Cas.

Dean takes an instinctive step backwards, his ass smacking the drawer closed again. “Dude,” he says in a strangled voice. His heart pounds in his chest at the close proximity and intense look in Cas’s eye. “We talked about this. Personal space.”

Cas retreats, his brow furrowing. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “I must have misread the situation.”

“I - yeah - I guess,” Dean stutters as he grabs plates and stacks two forks on top.

Cas falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table. Silently, he moves enough books around for them to sit and eat.

Dean eyes the haphazard piles as he takes his own seat. “D’you have a problem with one of the hives or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his brow furrowing. “But it’s hard to tell.”

Dean snorts as he cuts them both slices. “I thought you knew everything about bees.”

Cas shoots him a dour look. “I did,” he says pointedly.

“Did?”

Cas fusses with a pamphlet on colony collapse. “I’m trying to catch up, but there is a lot of information to learn.”

Dean frowns. “Catch up to what?”

“To where I was,” Cas says, head tilting.

Dean sets the pie server down to focus on Cas, since he’s not making any goddamn sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas looks at him like Dean’s the one who lost his mind. “I don’t remember how to take care of them.” After a beat, he clarifies, “The bees. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks relearning how to maintain the hives, harvest honey, check if there is enough honey to harvest...” he drifts off, looking more than a little lost.

Dean blinks. “That’s the curse?” He grimaces as he forks off a generous corner of pie. “Dick move on Gabriel’s part. That’s your goddamn livelihood.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t just make me forget the bees.”

Dean chews at Cas thoughtfully. “What else? Please tell me you forgot that time with the goat and a hooker.”

Cas stares at him. “I don’t remember anything.”

Dean’s next bite of pie freezes halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean anything?” he demands.

“I didn’t think it needed explaining,” Cas says waspishly, as all the pieces finally fall into place for Dean. “I thought Hannah told you about it.” His feathers rustle against the back of his chair.

“Hannah only said you were cursed!” Dean flails, “Not that you have goddamned amnesia. Do you know what pie is? Do you know who I am?”

Cas blinks, a little taken aback by Dean’s reaction. “I retain my general knowledge. I know what pie is,” he says. “I don’t remember eating it, but I know it is meat or fruit wrapped in pastry.”

“Oh my god.”

Cas’s gaze falls to the uneaten pie in front of him. “And, no, I don’t know who you are.”

Dean blinks, all the blood draining from his face. He forces out, “You’re serious.”

“I’d hardly joke with a stranger,” Cas says frankly.

Dean lets his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

Cas peers at him curiously. “The curse erased all my personal memories, but I was assuming we were friends, is this right? You know your way around my house, and Hannah wouldn’t have divulged my condition to just anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, “we’re friends. I - my brother and me, we have a stand next to yours at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Work colleagues, then.”

Dean snorts. “A little more than that.”

Cas bites his lip. “But you told me to respect your personal space. If we were -”

“Woah!” Dean cuts in before Memento can come up with any more bright ideas, “We’re close friends, alright?” he says before Cas can get another word out, “But not… like that.”

Dean doesn’t even know if Cas goes for humans. Most angels don’t. Cas never mentioned any romantic partners, and Dean never pressed. Better to keep that box locked up tight. Cas never shied away from giving his opinion to Dean or anyone else. He’s the most blunt, sincere person Dean knows - angel or human.

If he felt anything for Dean - the barest speck of more-than-friendly feelings, he’d have said something.

“Oh,” Cas says, and, behind him, his wings droop the smallest fraction.

Dean scans the table and pushes Cas’s worn copy of The How-To-Do-It Book of Bee-Keeping by Richard Taylor his way. “Test me.”

“What?”

Dean shovels more pie into his mouth. “As’ me anyfin’,” he mumbles.

Bemused, Cas opens the book to a random page. “How do you use a bee escape?” he reads aloud.

“Do you know what they are?” At Cas’s headshake, Dean holds his fingers about three inches apart, “They’re little plastic doodads with little bee-sized holes in the middle. You slide ‘em in the hive right before you’re about to harvest. Once they’re fitted, you smoke out the bees, one comb at a time. Once they’re out of the way, you can scrape off the honey.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Do you also keep bees?”

Dean can’t help his loud laugh. “God no,” he says as he closes his mouth around another bite of pie. “I’m just a farmer. But I’ve helped you out a few times.”

At least twice a month since Dean moved to this corner of semi-rural America, but who’s counting. Honey is only harvested once a year, but Cas can always use an extra set of hands in his garden. Or around the house. Dean’s worked off more than one argument with Sam by kneading clay in Cas’s pottery studio basement.

“So you know all this from me,” Cas says dubiously.

“Sure do,” Dean says, smacking his lips as he debates another slice of Cas’s get-well-soon pie. “You’re a good teacher, and once you get on a roll about the bees, it’s kinda hard to shut you up.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he cuts himself another (smallish) slice. “I look hot in a beekeeper suit, anyway.”

Cas frowns, confused. “Do most humans find baggy coveralls and heavy veils sexually appealing?”

Dean snorts. “That was a joke.”

Dean doesn’t mention that he finds the beekeeper getup hot as hell as long as it’s Cas wearing it.

It’s just - Cas doesn’t usually bother with the veil since he likes to have a full range of vision when caring for his bees. Dean once let a whole comb drop on his foot at the sight of Cas bent over, wholly concentrated on the hive, a barely-there smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were luminous in the bright sunlight, and every few seconds he would lick his lips, probably to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip.

“Oh,” Cas says, a faint blush touching his cheeks. His gaze drops to his plate, and his wings sag behind him.

Dean mentally kicks himself. Cas might still have all a whole encyclopedia shoved in his brain, but jokes will fly right over his head like so many of Cas’s precious bees. Since Dean started hanging around, he had been getting better with the jokes and references, but Total Recall Cas got that goddamn factory reset, so Dean has to cool it for now.

“Forget it,” he tells Cas. “I’m an asshole.”

Cas squints across the table at him. “You are not.”

“Huh?”

Cas carefully spears off a bit of pie. “You came by to check on me, offer me food,” he slips his fork into his mouth, eyes closing as he savors the tart cherries and buttery pastry, “stay and talk.”

“I, mean, yeah,” Dean says, wrongfooted, “we’re friends. ‘S the least I could do.”

Cas has another bite. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Dean says before he crams the rest of his slice into his mouth. He studies Cas as they both eat, an uncomfortable foreboding settling deep in his stomach. Now he sees it, how Cas doesn’t look at him with any familiarity. It’s more like, to Cas, Dean is some fucked up jigsaw puzzle slash zoo animal. Eventually, Dean has to ask, “Are you going to get your memories back?”

Cas shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” He braces both elbows on the table. “But you were cursed - there’s gotta be a way to break it. That’s how curses work, right?”

Cas exhales a slow sigh. “Gabriel did say there was a way to break it.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Dean demands, almost offended on Cas’s - his Cas’s - behalf. “You’re okay forgetting your whole life?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you insane?” he hisses, his feathers puffing up like an angry cat. “Of course I am not ‘okay,’” he says, air quotes and all, which Dean hasn’t seen since he told Cas they were lame. (He felt bad about it for a week afterward and gave Cas a free apology pumpkin. First of the season.)

“I am able to navigate the outside world as well as a human toddler,” Cas continues heatedly. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks?”

Dean huffs an impatient breath. “What have you tried so far?”

Cas grimaces. “Gabriel said it could be broken like all curses could be broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” Cas says frankly. “I spent a week in Heaven’s archives and libraries. The most common way to break curses is by consuming a stone taken from the stomach of a goat -”

Dean makes a gagging noise.

“-or bathing in the blood of a virgin at the new moon.”

“Not any less gross,” Dean says emphatically. “Where the hell are you going to get virgin blood? Are they talking about, like, a whole virgin? Or does born again count?”

Cas shakes his head. “The new moon was four days ago.”

Dean frowns. “Did you have to do the blood thing?”

From the look on Cas’s face, Dean isn’t going to make him watch Carrie anytime soon.

“So I went to more obscure magic,” Cas continues. “I tried bathing in a natural source of water. And then I ran a bath and filled it with salt, since salt repels evil.”

“All I’m hearing is lots of bathing so far.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I lit sage in every room and burned three types of wood. I wore an evil eye bracelet. I sprinkled consecrated water blended with honey over the threshold.”

“No dice?”

Cas throws him a baleful look. “I have ants now.”

Dean snorts. “Well that sucks,” he says, since what else can you say when your best friend swaps all his memories for a Bug's Life?

Cas sighs. “From my notes and research, I can’t leave the hives completely unattended, so I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how not to kill them,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the kitchen table. “Once I’ve determined if the bees will survive on their own, I can look back into the curse.”

Dean purses his lips. “Have you prayed to Gabriel? Tried to convince him to take it back?”

“Every day since it happened,” Cas says, his face somber.

“Alright,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’s empty plate, “I can’t help with the curse stuff since I save the teen witch adventures for Sabrina. I can help with the bees, though, if you want.” He gets to his feet and dumps the plates in the sink.

Once his back is turned, he frowns as he thinks his words over. Who knows if this Cas actually wants him around? This Cas doesn’t know him from Adam.

To the dishes Dean says, “The next beekeeper is a few towns over. I could give him a call for you, if you’d rather have him. Cain’s mostly retired, so he’d probably have the time to show you the ropes.”

“Is Cain an angel?”

Dean laughs over the splashing water. “No, he’s a crotchety old bastard who would rather live with bees than people. You get along.” He sets the rinsed plates out to dry and faces Cas. “I’m sure you have his number in your phone too, come to think of it.”

Cas meets Dean’s cautious gaze with his usual soul-searing stare. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me. Maybe I could call Cain if there are any advanced problems we can’t figure out together.”

Dean smiles. “Sounds like a plan.” He jerks his head towards the backyard. “You wanna get suited up?”

“Now?” Cas asks, alarmed.

“No time like the present,” Dean says as he walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Cas to follow. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Cas stares at his beekeeper suit, hanging in its usual place on his screened back porch, next to his gardening gloves.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “You’ve got a spare in your shed, so I’ll grab it on the way.”

Cas picks up the suit like it’s about to bite him.

“’S a good thing I’m here,” Dean says as Cas slowly unzips the front. “It’s always a bitch to get your wings covered.”

Cas’s wings slump. “I have a feeling this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a step forward, “no, it’s your bees. You love them.”

Cas frowns. “But I don’t remember how.”

Dean grins. “Then you’re a lucky son of a bitch who gets to fall in love with something all over again.” He sighs wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to erase Star Wars from my brain and watch it again for the first time.”

“What is Star Wars?”

“A trilogy of movies from the 70s and 80s,” Dean says, his smile widening.

Cas nods. “I’ll have to rewatch them, then.”

“Damn right,” Dean says. “I gave you the DVDs for my birthday last year, so they should be around here somewhere.”

“For your birthday?” Cas asks, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t gift-giving normally the other way around?”

Dean shrugs. “But I’d been bugging you to watch ‘em with me for years. Trust me, it was an awesome birthday.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s not sure where to poke holes in Dean’s story first, so Dean reaches for the wing covers. “I think we should do the hard part first.”

“You’re currently the expert,” Cas says as he sets the suit aside.

Dean frowns as he takes in Cas’s black wings, reflecting muted tones of magenta, purple, cobalt, and green. Normally, Cas rocks the sex wing look - a few feathers askew here and there like someone raked their fingers through them - but now his wings look more like Cas stuck his alulas in an electrical socket.

Without thinking, Dean says, “It’s gonna be hard to get them in the wing covers. They’re a little messed up, dude.” As Cas’s face falls, Dean adds quickly, “Nothing a little grooming can’t fix.”

Cas flushes. “I haven’t been able to reach my whole wingspan on my own. Hannah offered-” he breaks off, his gaze skittering around to settle just over Dean’s left shoulder. “But I don’t know her, not really, so I was uncomfortable accepting.”

Dean takes a step back. “I mean, you don’t need to do it. I’ll have to touch a couple feathers to get these on you, if you’re okay with that.”

Cas swallows. “No, you’re right. My wings are a mess.”

Dean’s fingers practically tingle with the urge to reach out and smooth down the closest feathers, but he shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead.

“Can you help me?” Cas asks.

Dean quietly dies inside.

Cas’s wings flutter in anticipation, and Dean is so, so weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly as he drops the wing cover and approaches Cas’s back. “You sure, man? I - I’ve never done this before.”

Cas turns his head. “Never?”

Dean clenches his hands into fists. Don’t touch. Not until he says so. Dean can keep his goddamn hands to himself. Cas deserves that much.

“Do you want me to walk you through it?” Cas asks softly. “I know how, since it’s only personal memories about my life that seem to have been affected.”

“Ah,” Dean hesitates, a hundred and one wing kink porn videos flashing through his head like popup ads. “No,” he coughs, “I know the mechanics.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

Dean fidgets in place. “‘S like picking beans, right? Don’t pull on them too hard. They’ll come off if they want to come off. Make sure nothing is sticking out at weird angles.”

Cas makes a face. “Did you just compare my wings to legumes?”

“Maybe?” Dean says defensively. “Look, I know vegetables, and I know what your wings are supposed to look like. What else do you want from me?”

Cas’s mouth opens, but no words come out. With a sigh, he faces forward, presenting his wings for Dean.

Dean inhales a deep breath. Christ, his hands are goddamn shaking. Get a fucking grip, Winchester. He lightly touches the base of Cas’s left wing.

Cas shivers, the feathers rippling.

Dean yanks his hand back.

“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly. “You took me by surprise. Please continue.”

Gently, Dean grazes the base of the wing again. The feathers rustle like under a moderate breeze, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop, so Dean keeps going. He feels along the surface of Cas’s wings, most of the feathers slipping, glossy smooth, under his fingertips - until he catches the first snag. Nerves rocketing up to eleven, Dean tugs lightly on the first feather out of place.

Cas sucks in a breath.

It comes loose, and Dean has a fleeting, stupid thought to steal it for himself. But he lets it flutter to the floor.

Dean soldiers on, biting his lip as he tries to keep himself from grabbing handfuls of feathers and burying his face in Cas’s wings. Meticulously, painstakingly, he combs through the mess. As he moves closer to the second joint, Cas’s feathers, which had been subtly shifting the whole time, stiffen.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, stilted. “Please continue,” he says, his voice rough.

Dean frowns. If Cas is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to tell him, Dean’s not going to be the asshole who turns a blind eye to the signs. He withdraws his hands, and Cas’s wings -

They flare out, seeking Dean’s touch.

Without thinking, Dean blurts an astounded, “Dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says, and, from this angle, Dean has primetime viewing of the back of Cas’ traffic light-red neck. His wings retreat to fold stiff as a board behind Cas’s back.

“Hey, no,” Dean says as he lays a hand along Cas’s wing, petting it gently. “I just wanted to check in with you.” He grins lopsidedly, not that Cas can see him. “Communication is important.”

Cas coughs. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice still sounds off. “Please continue. I,” he breaks off, turning a little in place so Dean can see half of his face, “I was enjoying it.”

“Good,” Dean says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I - uh, me too.”

Cas blinks. “You were?” He frowns. “Grooming is… boring. A chore.”

“Not for humans,” Dean says as he picks up where he left off. “We don’t have big fancy wings to lug around everywhere. They’re-”

“What?” Cas waits, clearly expecting an answer.

Dean sighs. “Cool,” he supplies lamely. “Your wings are cool.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face with his back turned, but his wings fluff up ever so slightly, so Dean counts it as a win. “I’m glad you think so,” Cas says quietly.

“’Course,” Dean says, easy as pie. He pulls on another feather, and, when it doesn’t come out, tucks it back into its proper place, “I’ve never seen an angel with wings like yours. Malachi’s got dark grey ones, and I thought they were your shade of black, but they’re not. Plus, he’s an asshole.”

Cas chuckles. “I don’t see how him being an asshole has anything to do with his wing color.”

“No, but, if you ever run into him - an angel with dark grey wings - now you know.”

“So you’re only looking out for me.”

“You don’t know this yet,” Dean tells him conspiratorially, “but I’m awesome.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Thank God Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Equally embarrassed and pleased, Dean rambles, “You should also watch out for Metatron - the white-winged dude who runs the thrift shop down the road. He’s been angling to set up shop at the farmers market for fucking ever even though he has a storefront for all his crap. Whoever said white wings meant purity was full of shit because Metatron’s a douche.”

Cas laughs, and Dean nearly slumps over in relief.

He can still make Cas laugh.

“Hannah, she’s okay,” Dean continues as he combs through the rest of Cas’s secondaries and coverts before he gets to the primaries, large and built for flight, and completely within Cas’s reach to groom himself. “But her partner, Duma, hates you for some reason, so I’d steer clear of her.”

Cas’s wings dip a few inches. “It doesn’t sound like I’m on good terms with many angels.”

Dean lightly runs his palm over Cas’s flight feathers - while he’s back here, he might as well. “I guess not,” he admits because Cas is right, “but they’ve all got massive sticks up their asses, so you’re better off.”

“They’re family.”

“They’re dicks,” Dean corrects. “Come on, you’re goddamn cursed with amnesia , and not one is here helping you out? Dick move for dick angels,” he finishes.

“Hannah visited.”

“Like I said, Hannah’s okay,” Dean says as he straightens up.

“At least you’re here,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly as he brushes out bits of fluffy down near the base of Cas other wing, “After two weeks.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I should’ve.”

“How?” Cas asks, sounding baffled.

Dean scoffs as he cards his fingers through the shorter feathers near the bone of Cas’s wing, “You didn’t show at the farmers market. You always show.”

“But-”

Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was up.” He yanks a little too hard on a feather, and the brittle shaft breaks between his thumb and pointer finger. Dean lets it fall to the floor in disgust. “But Hannah said you were sick, and I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted company or everyone to stay the hell away. And then I talked to Sammy, and he said angels don’t really get sick like we do.” He exhales a slow breath, consciously holding himself back from tearing any more feathers out. Cas doesn’t deserve that, especially after all the shit he’s dealing with.

“We do get sick,” Cas says, his voice breaking through Dean’s morose reminiscing of the past week, “But never with the type of illnesses that can be treated outside of Heaven.”

“That’s what Sammy told me,” Dean says heavily.

“You were worried?”

Dean pokes him in the muscular part of the wing. “Of course I was worried.”

Cas’s head tilts, but not enough that Dean can make out his expression. “Because we’re friends.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “because we’re friends.” He tugs on a few more feathers, and one comes loose. He holds it between his fingers for a beat, rubbing his thumb along the vane. With a sigh, he moves onto Cas’s other flight feathers. He gives them a few long strokes, unable to help his smile as he feels at the power, the potential, all hidden in Cas’s wings. But, eventually, he has to straighten up.

“All done,” he says with forced cheer as Cas turns around to face him.

Cas blinks a few times like he’s coming out of a trance. “Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He spreads his wings.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest, and his awe must show all over face, judging by Cas’s barely-there smirk. But, dammit, Dean��s going to enjoy the sight. Cas never puts himself on display like this, preferring to play the nerdy beekeeper in a trench coat rather than an almighty Angel of the Lord.

Cas turns his head to inspect Dean’s work. He gives an experimental flap, sweeping all the old feathers littering the floor up into the air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. He folds his wings back, and Dean’s heart aches for something he never had in the first place.

“Don’t - don’t mention it,” Dean chokes out.

A fluffy piece of down drifts down to settle on Cas’s nose. He goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

Dean cracks up. Grinning, he reaches up to brush away the offending bit of down.

Cas catches his arm in an iron grip, his own face oddly intense.

“Cas?”

But before Dean can finish his sentence, Cas pulls him closer and seals their mouths together.

Dean lets out a muffled (completely manly) noise of surprise against Cas’s lips before muscle memory takes over. As Dean kisses back, Cas makes a light soothing rumble in the back of his throat, his touch gentle and warm. Dean’s other hand grasps desperately at Cas’s shirt, anchoring him in place. An electric, bubbly feeling is exploding in his chest, a wild kind of joy Dean normally would tamp down, tell himself, watch out for the other shoe to drop.

Other shoes like Cas’s missing memory.

Dean freezes, and it takes him a long moment to realize Cas isn’t moving either. His grip on Dean’s arm has gone slack. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s eyes wide open and glowing with an electric blue light.

Fuck.

Dean’s watched his fair share of angel-on-angel porn and more than his fair share of angel-on-human porn, and kissing’s not supposed to do that.

Dean takes a stumbling step back. “Cas?” he tries.

But Cas doesn’t move. He doesn’t give any sign he heard Dean at all.

Dean falls forward, tripping over his feet. He grips Cas, hard, by the shoulders. With his heart in his throat, he gives Cas a small shake. “Cas?” he tries again, and his voice sounds alien to his own ears, loud and breathy with his panic. He shakes him harder. “Cas!”

Several agonizing seconds pass, and the light slowly dims from behind Cas’s eyes, leaving behind his normal blue.

“Dean?”

Dean’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Hey,” he says weakly, “Nice to have you back, buddy.”

Cas blinks a few times. He swallows, a strange expression coming over his face.

“You okay?” Dean demands. “What the fuck was that?”

Cas stares at him. “That was the curse breaking.”

Read Part II here!

#profoundnet #angel castiel #beekeper castiel #farmer dean #fluff #wing grooming #amnesia #mutual pining #friends to lovers #rae writes fic

[consumedkings-archive]

“Did you just bite me?!” for Elliot?

angel!! thank you so much for sending this in and being PATIENT, i am a clown and procrastinated for so long but i still hope you enjoy this. ♡ ♡ ♡ i decided to write this from elliot’s main canon, as sort of an additional/deleted scene that would have taken place in chapter 12! i just really miss their dynamic before everything went to shit lol (ಥ﹏ಥ)

as you can see, this was also requested by my angel @shallow-gravy because y’all are big brain and know my girl too well  ♥(ꈍᴗꈍ)

v. drag me into place ✤ ancient names-adjacent

john/elliot + “did you just bite me?!” taken from this prompt list!

words: ~1k!

warnings: brief, brief, BRIEF and VERY VAGUE mentions of elliot’s raging and untreated ptsd. john being a shithead. naughty language. that’s all!

“It’s pretty cute,” John said conversationally as they walked out into the sort-of-alley stretching behind the Spread Eagle.

Elliot arched a brow at him. “Fall’s End?”

“That you’re still pretending you don’t like me.”

She rolled her eyes. Hard. It was near-impossible to ever get a read on John, a real one, because every time something happened, he flipped some kind of switch inside of himself and put on a big show of it again. That’s what he’d done with her the entire time at the ranch, and in front of his brothers, and—

“I mean,” John continued lightly, “we did kiss.”

And then, too. When Joey had come in and he’d pretended like he had some devious secret she wasn’t privy to. Of course, in a way, he did—but Elliot intended to keep it that way.

For now, anyway.

“Plenty of people kiss,” Elliot replied, huffing as she lifted her leg and balanced the crate on the top of her thigh to fish around her back pocket for the truck keys. “Family members. Friends. The Pope.”

“Do you think the Pope kisses with tongue?”

She shot him a dirty look, and he flashed his teeth at her in a grin. She said, “I’ll kill you, John.”

“Yes,” he acquiesced, clearly trying to behave himself. “You’re very scary and threatening, deputy. Put your leg down, you look like a flamingo—I’ll get it for you. Back right?”

“Is this an excuse to put your hand on my ass?”

“I don’t need an excuse to do that,” John informed her plainly. “I’d like to do so anyway.”

“Back right,” Elliot confirmed, feeling his finger hook into the belt loop of her jeans to turn her more towards him. “And don’t take your time, Seed, I’ve got a surprising amount of upper-body strength and it’ll take about five seconds for me to slam this crate of supplies into your—”

“Shhh—shh shut up.”

John hissed the words into the shell of her ear, slapping a hand over her mouth and hauling her behind the edge of the Spread Eagle. The crate of supplies she’d been carrying nearly toppled out of her hands; Elliot could hear the sounds of voices on the other side of the building, car doors slamming and laughter.

It wasn’t Eden’s Gate, because they chattered comfortably in what she now recognized to be Swedish. The Family, she thought, but only vaguely—and only vaguely because John’s fingers over her mouth and his breath on her ear and the sudden way he’d pulled her out of immediate view of the streets in Fall’s End had kicked her brain into high gear.

She tried to turn it off. Wouldn’t that have been nice, if she could just do that—turn off the instant surge of panic and the urge to drive her elbow straight into John’s face for spooking her? After all, it was one thing for John to slowly crowd his body up against hers, lean down because he wanted to kiss her but didn’t want to spook her, card his fingers through her hair and say I can have both. It was entirely another to—

The reasonable thing to do would be to reach up and pull his hand off of her mouth. But that would mean dropping the crate, and that would mean having something inside of her brain that wasn’t screaming RED ALERT, ABORT MISSION, IMMEDIATE DANGER, ABORT ABORT ABORT—

So she didn’t. She thought only about how it felt like she couldn’t breathe, how both the abrupt way John had grabbed her made her want to be sick, how the knowledge that the Family was just feet away sparked an itch for violence in her, and so she opened her mouth and—

“Fuck!” John’s hand jerked from her face, and he hissed the word out probably about as loud as self-preservation would allow him. “Did you just bite me?!”

“Told you not to fucking grab me like that,” she snapped viciously, pitching her voice into a whisper at just the last minute. “You’re lucky I didn’t take your finger off.”

“You—” The brunette sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, gemlike slits. Though her heart was hammering in her chest from the instinctual adrenaline, it felt good, too, to have John be wary of her. He’d gotten too comfortable getting in her space, touching her, instigating a response or a fight or some kind of visceral reaction out of her because he didn’t know how to get attention unless it was negative attention.

“Don’t. Fucking. Grab. Me,” Elliot reiterated, biting the words out between her teeth.

“Okay,” John replied tartly, shaking his hand like he’d just gotten stung. Didn’t draw blood, she thought, somewhere in the back of her mind. A shame.

“You’re being a baby about it.”

“You bit—”

It was Elliot’s turn to hiss at him to shut up when the sound of the front door of the Spread Eagle shutting caught her attention. She heard tables and chairs getting moved and scooted around, the sound of someone laughing at something another person said drifting through the back.

Car, she mouthed at him, now.

For once, he didn’t complain, but yanked the crate out of her arms to haul it into the truck while she grabbed the keys from her back pocket. It took about thirty agonizing seconds of situating before she turned the key, grimacing—knowing that they would be heard—and then slammed her foot on the acceleration.

Nobody came rushing out of the bar. Nobody hauled ass to hunt them down. Elliot thought she might have heard the sound of inquisitive voices just before the engine of the Eden’s Gate truck roared to life; but she couldn’t say for sure, especially considering that her world became the grind of the tires on the dirt road before she hit pavement.

Should have stayed, something in her said, fingers itching. Should have stayed and fucked them up for trying to take Joey from me.

They made it all the way out of Fall’s End and to the gas station before she slowed down. John was looking at his hand still. She glanced at him, the dread of a possible run-in still fresh in her stomach, and said,  “I didn’t even draw blood.”

“You’re a fucking animal,” was his reply.

Elliot tried not to sound pleased when she said, “I told you, we’re all animals in the end.”

#my writing #writing prompts #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #nightwingshero #shallow-gravy #thank u my sweet angels ilysm!!!! #sorry this took so fucking long!!!! #fc5 fic

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 9

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~6,300

Warnings: Blood drinking, Light Smut

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

Start from the beginning   Previous Chapter   Next Chapter  

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Lilah wandered the familiar path, her hands stuffed deep into her coat. It was cold enough that she’d lost feeling in her nose about a mile back, and her breath puffed visibly in front of her with every exhale. Snow crunched under her boots, the air crisp and fresh. The sun glinted off the hills that surrounded her, the frozen lake to her left a mirror of ice.

Outside of the occasional woodland creature and one terrifying encounter with a moose, Lilah had been alone for the last three months. She hadn’t left the solace of the cabin except to go on her daily walk around the lake. A five mile trip, it gave her time to think about the only thing she really had to think about—the bond.

As soon as she had gotten unpacked and the internet up and running, Lilah was translating the book. It was slow going, but she had made it through her first read through of the thick tome. She’d had to purchase a second notebook with her weekly groceries, her thin scrawl filling page after page. Going over her notes was her bedtime story, translating new pages was her full time job.

It was in the second reading that Lilah could tell she was going to have some very particular problems. Clearly written by a male and very thoroughly filled with the male perspective, Lilah found herself rolling her eyes several times a day as she gathered more and more context from the words. There were whole pages dedicated to the subservience of the one bonded, the full authority of their word. As she got deeper into the text, Lilah could see why Brasa had been so frustrated with her. She was supposed to be completely tied to him, in his ‘keep and care’. It irked her that she was supposed to give up her entire life for him—that he had been taught that she would, that he fully expected her to.

No, ‘irk’ wasn’t the word. Enraged was how she felt. Lilah had an entire career, was well known and well versed in her craft.  She had a reputation that spanned across the globe. Why should she have to give that up? Although, Lilah was beginning to wonder how she was going to continue to work long term—really long term. After another fifty years, would people even believe she was still Lilah McNamara?

Immortality was not something she ever thought she’d have to consider beyond a theoretical thought experiment. Now, with the possibility right in front of her, Lilah found herself unable to make a decision one way or another. She was under no illusion that she could go back to the way she lived her life before. Soon enough, everyone around her was going to start asking questions.

Brasa checked in with her periodically, usually a text asking how she was. The first time it had happened, Lilah stared at her phone for about three hours before replying ‘I’m fine’ and setting it aside. He hadn’t taken the conversation further that time, and hadn’t done so during any of the following check ins. Lilah never initiated it, but she always replied. That was, until she’d shattered her phone screen about six days ago. A replacement was on its way, but shipping was notoriously slow in the Canadian winter.

As she rounded the final bend towards the cabin, Lilah stopped short and eyed the black SUV sitting next to her own four wheel drive truck (rented). After the moose encounter, she’d started carrying her preferred firearm, holstered on her thigh. Her hand reached for it now. There were several possibilities as to who had tracked her down, but they would have had to be pretty savvy. Lilah had used a card and id that she had made to put in her burn bag, a fresh name and backstory at the ready. No one really knew where she was, not even her partners.

Ducking down, she stepped carefully, wishing the sun didn’t glint so powerfully off the snow. The truck was running, air from the exhaust wandering upwards. The windows were so dark that she doubted she could see through them, even if she got close. The tracks from the wheels led back towards the far end of the property.  Through the trees there was an opening that led towards the main road, about three or four miles away.

Both hands cradling the gun, she flicked off the safety and let her finger rest gently on the trigger. More slow, stalking steps, the snow and ice crunching underneath her boots.  Stopping behind a group of low hedges that demarcated the boundary between the cabin’s yard and the surrounding woods, Lilah waited. Her breaths puffed out in front of her, eyes narrow and focused.

There was no movement in the windows of the cabin, the door was closed and looked like it was still locked.  Not here to rob her. Vaguely, she wondered if Seth had decided to make a visit.  He’d been working on finding a book Brasa had contracted for them to acquire.  From Seth’s near constant complaints, the effort was slow going.  Lilah firmly refused to perform any research on the project, claimed over and over that this was a vacation. Besides, she had another book to take her time and attention.

She grew quickly tired of waiting for something to happen, the feeling in her fingers slowly growing non-existent.  With careful steps, she left the copse of trees and shrubs, making her way into the open.  If push came to shove, she knew the trail and surrounding woods well enough to turn tail and run.

Moving ever closer, Lilah kept her pace slow, kept her gun pointed at the ground, but ready to fire. One step in front of the other, planting her foot before shifting her weight to take the next step. Seth’s voice rumbled in her ear…

Biggest mistake most people make is they get clumsy—fall, and you’re easier to kill.

The SUV shut off. She froze, lifted the barrel an inch or so. The door opened and Brasa stepped out. He was wearing a heavy wool coat, buttoned all the way up to his chin. She spotted his usual leather gloves and tailored slacks. Heavy boots. Gold-rimmed sunglasses. Lilah held her position, unsure.

He closed the door, his shoulders rolling as if to loosen stiff muscles. Lilah remained where she was despite the way her arms were beginning to protest. She watched him take a few steps forward, coming to a stop out of arm’s reach. His shoulders were hunched against the wind the blew lightly around them, hands pushing deep into his pockets.

The cold seeped further into her body, leeching heat from her as she stood, immobile.  Lilah swallowed around a dry throat, her hands cramping a little around the grip of the pistol. She wished like hell she’d worn gloves. The cold metal bit into her skin, a burning sensation that made her think she wouldn’t be able to fire, if necessary.

Brasa looked calm, his mouth pressed into a thin, displeased line. His posture was hunched, arms close to his body. Her eyes narrowed around the line of his ears and the small bit of skin between his jawline and the high collar of his coat. Steam was rising, a phantasmal smoke drifting upwards. Her arms dropped a fraction as she noted the way his flesh was prickled with goosebumps.

Very carefully setting her jaw, Lilah said, “What are you doing here?”

Head tilting to the side, Brasa regarded her for a moment before saying, “You weren’t answering my texts. I worried.”

There it was, as simple as could be—a logical explanation. Lilah felt her shoulders tighten with frustration. Of course it was logical. The logic of it only made her more frustrated, because she couldn’t think of a single explanation as to why he shouldn’t be standing right where he was—not when she thought about it logically.

He let her think in silence for a long time. The steam rising from his skin felt like the only thing moving between them. Lilah struggled to come up with words that would accurately reflect the ire she felt at his arrival.  She was supposed to be taking time to figure things out. She was supposed to be reflecting on what she wanted and how she was going to move forward. She was supposed to be afforded some space.

And yet, beyond that feeling was the understanding that, while Brasa could probably feel that she was physically well, he might hesitate to breach the bond to check in on her after she failed to respond to their typical communication. He had given her as much space as she’d requested, asking for only confirmation of her well being every few days.

That didn’t make Lilah any less pissed off. With a curled lip, she holstered her gun and allowed her stance to relax enough to take the strain off her thighs and arms. Curling her hands into little fists, she shoved them into her pockets to get them out of the cold.

“I’m fine,” she responded, eventually.

“I can see that,” he drawled, his expression shifting into half amusement.

That pissed her off more. She didn’t want him to be amused. Lilah didn’t know how she wanted him to feel, but amusement was not on the list.

“Well,” she quipped, “I guess you don’t have to be worried, so you can head out.”

Brasa’s mouth quirked up on one side, “Have you been reading the book I gave you?”

Lilah sighed, realizing that she wasn’t going to get out of this situation quickly or easily. He was here, and he was going to assure himself of not only her safety, but also her feelings on their bond. Efficient.

“I have,” she edged, “There’s a lot in there that I don’t agree with.”

Lips pulled between his teeth, releasing a second later, Brasa took a minute step forward, “Is that why you stopped answering me?”

The shake of her head was automatic, “I broke my phone, I’ve got another on order.” Eyes glancing behind him, she caught sight of the box on her porch, “Looks like it arrived while I was out.”

Weight moving from side to side, just once, Brasa’s attention left her and went to the trees that surrounded the plot of land the cabin sat on.

“Where do you go?”

She shrugged, “There’s a path that goes around the lake. I walk it in the afternoons.”

This particular afternoon was fading into evening, the sun sinking ever lower towards the horizon. Shadows of the trees around them stretched towards her, bringing colder air in the light that wasn’t yet dying.

Brasa nodded a little distractedly, “Tell me about this disagreement you have with the text.”

Lilah drew in a breath and held it, unsure where to start. She could talk about the way the bond tied them together eternally. She could talk about how she would be asked to be subservient, as the party bonded to him. She could talk about how she couldn’t figure out how to continue her career when the people who might recommend her for work would die long before she would. Instead, another thought took precedence, a niggling little thing that she’d found in a footnote.

“Will I really go crazy if we’re apart too long?”

His mouth opened and closed, pulling up a bit at the sides as if he wanted to laugh, but had caught himself at the last possible second. Lilah thought that she might use the gun holstered at her thigh, if he actually did laugh.

“It is possible,” he began, taking another step forward, “But unlikely.”

The book had been pretty clear. Prolonged separation would lead to symptoms that had read, to her, like psychosis.  Hallucinations, aural and visual, inability to sleep, extreme lack of emotional control, outbursts, convulsions, self-harm, physical aggression without provocation.

“Why is it unlikely?”

Brasa jerked his chin forward, “We’ve been apart for three months. Are you going crazy?”

Sometimes it feels like it, she thought. But no, she was still a rational, thinking being. Again, with the fucking logic.

“No,” she said, eventually.

He shrugged, as if that was all the answer she needed.

“Maybe it hasn’t been long enough,” Lilah commented, more to herself.

“Its been long enough,” he replied, a little heat in his voice.

Eyes falling to the snow on the ground, Lilah lifted her toes in her boots, flexing the muscle as she thought.

“So, what else in the book is wrong?”

Brasa cautiously took another step forward. They were now within a few feet of one another. Lilah could see his boots just outside the focus of her gaze.

“Not wrong,” he corrected gently, “Just unlikely.”

Lifting her eyes to his face, she glared at him, “What else is unlikely?”

He looked as if he was choosing his words carefully, “I don’t know.”

She scoffed, “Well that’s very helpful, Brasa. Thank you.”

For the first time since he’d stepped out of the car, Brasa’s face twisted in anger, a snarl sounding from his chest, “Sarcasm is not needed. We are in the same situation, Lilah. I have the same questions you do.”

Lilah’s frustration bubbled over, her hands flying out in front of her to emphasize her words, “Isn’t this a part of your culture? Didn’t they teach you about it at...at whatever correlates to school for you?”

“Yes, of course,” he shot back, looking surprised that she’d even asked the question.

“Then,” she reasoned slowly, “How do you not know what’s going to happen?”

“Because you are human!” He said loudly, just short of a yell.

“So?” She replied, her voice rising along with his, “Kate’s human. She and Richie—.”

He cut her off, “Richie is Culebra. I am Xibalban. There is a difference.”

“What’s the difference?” Lilah asked, shrilly.

At this, he paused and rolled one shoulder. His voice, when it came, was lower and slower. Controlled. “I am older, stronger. I have walked in the daylight since birth. I am a sun god, Lilah. Now that I have been released from my fealty to Amaru, there is little I cannot do.”

A kind of helpless confusion washed over her, “I don’t know what that means.”

Brasa closed the distance between them, reaching out to grasp her arms above the elbow, “It means that   we must work through this together. I have given you time, but running away will only prolong the inevitable.”

Brows drawing together, she whispered, “What is inevitable?”

“That I am yours and you are mine,” he murmured, “Everything else will follow.”

Rhythm and ritual filled his voice, sending a frisson through her body. Lilah felt physically deflate at the finality of it. This was too much for one person to deal with. It weighed on her, a physical thing that dragged at her feet no matter where she walked.

Face scrunching with the effort to hold back the strange well of emotion she was feeling, Lilah croaked, “How do you know that?”

His expression softened, mouth pursing in empathy. Lilah tried not to feel like a child being comforted. An attempt that failed miserably.

“Because,” he said as he stroked a finger down her cheek, “We are bonded”

She hissed a breath, “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Brasa gave a small shrug, “For me, this is all the assurance there is.”

Shaking her head, Lilah croaked, “I need more than that.”

He nodded, hands squeezing her elbows, “That will come. In time.”

Jaw clenching, Lilah eyed him, seeing her own reflection in the lenses of his glasses, “And I have plenty of time, don’t I?”

Brasa drew in a deep breath through his nose, his chin tilting down in defeat, “I apologize for not telling you. I thought you might need time to accept it. Accept me.”

That was… a fairly accurate description of what she needed. Lilah’s entire world had shifted on its axis and all she wanted to do was slow everything down so that she could fucking think for two seconds about how she wanted to react to it. Instead, she received hit after hit of new information that so fundamentally altered her worldview that she just couldn’t take anything more.

Warily, she asked, “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”

He shook his head in the negative, “I don’t think so.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You don’t think so, or you don’t know?”

Brasa paused for a long moment. Lilah watched him think, her attention diverted periodically by the little wisps of steam that were curling around his ears.

“I believe you have all the relevant information I could confidently give you right now.”

How very diplomatic, Lilah thought wryly.

“The book talked about...submission—that I would have to submit to you,” she edged around the subject she most wanted to clear up.

Brasa’s head tilted to the side, “Ah, there is that.”

Lilah blinked, her jaw clenching as she waited for him to continue. She resented the little smile that threatened to bloom on his pretty face, resented that he didn’t appear to be taking it seriously.

“It is mostly cultural. As the elder in the bond, I would typically be tasked with leading our household. I have taken measures to ensure that you have as much choice as possible, But, when we are among my people, they will look to me to make the decisions for us.”

Her mouth thinned, “I don’t think I like that.”

Brasa shrugged, “I cannot change what has been true for centuries.”

She shifted on her feet, uneasy with the information, then, “Am I really going to live forever?”

He breathed in, the rays of the dying sun catching against his skin and illuminating his face in amber and gold, “You will live for a very long time.”

Tears formed, she blinked them away, sniffing, “I don’t think I like that.”

Gloved fingers touching her cheek, he whispered, “In this, I can’t give you a choice. I am sorry.”

The words hung between them. Lilah’s chest clenched in helplessness, unable to make this one decision—the most important decision—in her life. Everything was changing, had changed, and no amount of thinking could take her back to the place she was in a little over a year ago. Still, she struggled with how to move forward in this strange, new world.

“Let’s go inside,” he prompted suddenly, turning her gently to guide her towards the house, “Its cold.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “Its Canada in January.”

“Still,” he responded, his voice tinged with an odd strain, “The cold is not my preference.”

Lilah supposed that it wouldn’t be. A sun god would naturally prefer fire and heat. She made a mental note to ask him, when they warmed up, how that worked. Was it a moniker? Did he have special sun god powers? Would he show her, if he did?

Walking with her up the stairs, Brasa stumbled a bit, but righted himself almost immediately. She glanced at him sideways, following his gesture towards the lock on the door.  Lilah reached into her pocket and pulled out the key ring for the cabin. A single key hung from a little kitschy wooden maple leaf that swung daintily as she unlocked the door.  

Inside, she pulled off her jacket and scarf and threw them over the back of the couch. The fire she kept going every day was, thankfully, gas. It took little to no effort to get it roaring again, the heat wafting out to fill the room. She stared at it for a few moments, then pushed her hands into her thighs to stand.

Brasa remained near the doorway, unmoving.  His skin looked strangely pale, his jaw set in such an odd way that Lilah felt her brows come together in confusion.

“You okay?” She asked, even as she took a step towards him, her hand outstretched.

He didn’t say anything. Just...stood for another moment, and dropped to the floor in a heavy, unbroken fall. Lilah felt her throat constrict around a shout as she rushed over. She pushed at his body, maneuvering his bulk so that he rested on his back. Tearing off his glasses, Lilah patted his face, trying to rouse him. His skin was ice cold, frigid even as the room began to warm around them. She’d never felt him cold before, not once.

Leaning down, she rested her ear against his chest. Nothing. No breath moved in or out of his body. Shaking, Lilah rose up and gave him a once over. He looked...dead. By all appearances and by all measures of normal functioning, Brasa was laying on the floor of the cabin, dead.

She didn’t know what to do. Lilah had no fucking idea what to do. Shoving her body upwards, she tripped over to the dining room table and grabbed her notebooks, thumbing through the pages. The book contained an entire (mind-numbingly boring) section on formal bonding contracts for major families—there had to be something here about treatment for heat loss. That was her best guess as to what this was.

Desperate for answers, she tore several pages as she went through them, until she found where she’d written out the words ‘magical first aid?’ in the margins. Eyes scanning the pages, Lilah read over the section a few times.  In cases of injury, blood could be used to treat wounds, bonded blood being the most effective. Lilah looked at him over the edge of the page.  He still wasn’t moving.

“Magical first aid, it is, then,” she breathed, setting the notebook on the table and returning to his side.

On her knees, Lilah ran a shaking hand down his chest, unnerved by the cool body beneath the fabric of his shirt. He needed to get warm. She calculated the distance between where he lay and the fire burning merrily in the hearth. This was going to be a real bitch.

It took several minutes of grunting and cursing at how fucking heavy he was, but Lilah managed to get him within a few feet of the fire. She told herself that this was definitely not a stalling tactic. He’d wake up easier if he was warm. Maybe. Possibly.

Hovering once more over his lifeless body, Lilah tried to figure out how she was going to do this.  He’d always initiated the blood exchange—the knife...She patted her hands over his pockets, finding the little pocket knife he kept on him. Delicately, she flipped the blade open.

Heart in her throat, Lilah rolled up the sleeve of her arm and pressed it to her skin. Lips peeling back, she tried to force her hand to press harder, to break the skin deep enough that he’d be able to get more than a few drops. Lilah, it turned out, was a bit of a coward.

Feeling her eyes burn angrily, she dropped her arms and looked at him. He was pretty much dead and she couldn’t even give herself a little cut to potentially save his life. The disappointment and self loathing that she was pretty good at keeping at bay rolled over her in an ugly, sad wave. She continued to stare at him, her chest tight. He’d done everything she’d asked him to do—she asked him for secrecy, he gave it. She asked him for time, he gave it. He hadn’t even really asked for her to help him in this moment, and she couldn’t bring herself to give it. Selfish little coward.

Taking a deep breath, Lilah moved a little closer, her eyes catching a very slight movement behind his lids.

“Hey,” she called out, tapping the sides of his face lightly, “Hey. Please wake up.”

He didn’t respond, but his head tilted into her palm as she touched his cheek. His skin felt warmer, that was good. Maybe she wouldn’t have to pull a Buffy after all.

“Brasa,” she urged, “Wake up.”

He turned his head further and inhaled against her palm, his eyes opening to slits of nothing but black. His fangs peeked out from his parted lips, more warmth seeping from his skin. Lilah’s heart beat quickly in her chest, the faint relief at seeing him awake overshadowed by how he wasn’t saying anything. He looked unfocused, half conscious, as he blinked lazily at her.

“Are you okay?” she asked, ducking down a little to catch his eye, “The book says I’m supposed to give you blood if you’re hurt.”

No answer. He looked at her, much as he had done that first night, all soft, tender awe that in any other situation might have been off putting to her. Lilah swallowed and started to pull her hands away from his cheeks. He caught one and yanked hard. Off balance, Lilah fell into his chest with an audible exhale. Before she could make any attempt to right herself, Brasa rolled her beneath him.

In the few times they’d been this close, he had made an effort to keep from putting too much of his weight on her, always allowing her space and leverage to get free if she wanted. This was not the case as he pressed her into the unforgiving floorboards. A quick glance to the knife in her hands, and then it was clattering away. Lilah did her best to keep calm, but his unfamiliar behavior made her cautious. His expression was relaxed, and he didn’t look like he was going to hurt her, but he hadn’t said anything. It was his silence, more than anything, that made her reach out and touch him.

She traced along his jaw with two fingers, searching his eyes for some clue that he knew who she was. Still no words, but he nipped at the pads of her fingers with sharp teeth, smiling a little when she squeaked and pulled them back into the safety of her chest. Dropping to his elbows, he nosed at her neck, inhaling. His chest squished her hands between them, air pushing down into his belly.

“Brasa,” she tried again, “You have to tell me what happened. Are you alright?”

Elbows on either side of her, he kept nuzzling at her neck and beneath her jaw, drawing in deep, hungry breaths. Lilah set her palms to his collarbones and pushed as forcefully as she dared. He rose up marginally, nose tracing over her cheek and over towards her mouth. He breathed her name, kissing her once gently before diving in for a harder, deeper kiss.

Lilah gripped his shoulders, the heavy coat crumpling in her hands. The slingshot of emotions she’d just been through had nothing on the deep seated pleasure she felt as he slid his hands down to her thighs and pulled them up and over his hips so that he could lay more comfortably atop her. His mouth was soft, contrasting with the scrape of stubble on his chin and cheeks.  Lilah moaned quietly as he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue in a slow tease.

Lilah had forgotten how much she liked kissing him in the last three months. She had also forgotten how the sweet taste of venom would color their kisses, how it zinged over her tongue and the inner lining of her lips, leaving them warm and tingling. She had just enough brain power to be relieved that he’d said her name, knew who she was, before all she could focus on was how good he felt against her.

Brasa nipped at her, catching her lower lip on a fang. The skin split open so cleanly that it took the sting of his tongue laving over it for the implications to even register. He sucked on the small wound, eyes closed, a happy little growl rumbling in his chest. Lilah felt herself smile even as he resumed the kiss. He was adorable even while delirious.

They’d practiced some with getting around the sharp points of his fangs, but Lilah had not yet mastered  it.  She felt one prick her tongue as she slid it along his, could taste the blood almost immediately. Above her, Brasa groaned and pulled away for half a breath before he was returning to the kiss and sweeping his own tongue into her mouth eagerly.

He was diligent in gathering every drop of blood, alternating between giving soft little pecks and enticing her into deep searching kisses that left her more than a little lightheaded. And, when she turned  her head to draw in a much needed breath, he mouthed along her jaw and down the column of her throat, sucking hard on the skin at her pulse point.

Lilah carded one hand through the short hair at the back of his head, pulling on it lightly when he placed his teeth against her skin, pausing in question. She tilted her head back to give him more access, arching into the heavy weight of his body.

Under his bulk, Lilah had little to no leverage to move, her body sinking further into the floor. She surprised herself by how much she liked the feeling. His arms wrapped around her securely, pulling her up and into his chest even as he held her down.

He’d grown hard as they kissed, his erection heavy behind the fly of his slacks. Lilah rolled her hips up into it, enjoying the surprised sound of his moan against her neck. He might be the elder in this relationship, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have any power. To prove the point to herself, Lilah swiveled her hips against him in another slow grind, her breath catching when he followed the motion.

Without much more preamble, Brasa sank his teeth into her. She sucked in air, her eyes squeezing closed in response to the pain. The hand in his hair closed to a fist, and he growled. The vibration of it rolled over her, down to her bones. And then the venom was hitting her system. The muscles of her face, her arms, her chest, and legs all began to relax as her heart pumped it through her extremities. Arms flopping onto the floor next to her body, Lilah let out a relieved breath.

He drank greedily from her, his mouth flexing with each swallow. One hand kept her head still for him while the other roamed her body, grabbing handfuls of her hips and ass. Lilah felt her eyes roll back, a kind of wailing moan ripped from her throat as her body bowed up beneath his weight. Brasa shoved his hand underneath her, pulling her up with inhuman strength as he sat back on his heels.

A surge of adrenaline moved through her, giving Lilah enough energy to grip his biceps in an attempt to remain upright. She needn’t have bothered. Brasa let go of his bite, shifted his grip, and pushed to his feet. She dangled helplessly in his arms as he took two steps, dropping heavily onto the couch.

There was a clarity in his gaze when he looked at her, now. She tried to form words, but she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin. Every brush of her clothes, the heat of the fire at her back, the heat of the male pressed all along her front, even the throbbing ache at her neck—all of it swirled together into one unending loop of feeling that kept her just below the threshold of functioning.

She tried to catch her breath, barely sitting upright, most of her weight leaning on the broad expanse of his chest. Brasa wrapped an arm around her hips, his free hand patting his pockets. Lilah laid her heavy head on his shoulder her hands wandering underneath his coat. Fuck, but she loved the feel of him. All of that strength wrapped up in sinewy muscle and otherwordly heat. She needed more of it.

Rocking a little from side to side, Lilah spread her knees wider to get a little more friction. She could feel how wet she was, her body swollen with the need that was making itself ever more apparent. Fingers curled into his shirt, Lilah ground down on him, eliciting a choked groan.

“The knife,” he bit out, “Where is it?”

Lilah’s head lolled to the side as she flung an arm out, “Somewhere over there.”

She congratulated herself on how coherent that sentence was, especially given how focused she was on getting the angle between them right so that she could have the orgasm her body was desperately asking for. Her hips circled, using the seam of her jeans to drag over her clit. It was so, so good. But, it wasn’t enough to get her there.

Beneath her, Brasa visibly struggled to keep on task. He pulled off his gloves, throwing them to the floor. Then, he was shrugging one arm out of the sleeve of his jacket. Lilah leaned back a little, bracing her hands on his stomach as she gave another experimental shimmy. She whimpered, her chin dropping. Much, much better. At this angle, she could glide over the whole length of him, from the base to where he was straining up towards his waistband.

He hissed, eyes shut, brows together, his hands gripping her hips hard enough that she felt the first bloom of pain. Lilah took advantage of his gasp, kissing him roughly. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, biting down a little more harshly than she intended. He didn’t seem to mind, if the way his hips jerked up to grind against her was anything to go by.

Pulling away, Brasa held her chin and forced her to look at him, “Took too much. Need to give you some.”

Through her muddled thoughts, Lilah rebelled, “Uh uh, need you first.”

She tried to kiss him again, whining when he leaned away with a shake of his head.

“Blood first, then you can have whatever you want.”

She pouted, trying to dislodge his hands so that she could get at his mouth. When he held her still, when his arm turned to steel as he held her hips immobile, she found herself begging, “Wanna come. Then, blood.”

He chuckled, his voice affectionate and not a little chiding, “If I let you come now, you’re going to pass out.”

At this, Lilah rolled her eyes, “Big talk.”

She, perhaps, knew better than to taunt him. Possibly, it was the venom running rampant through her. Possibly, it was the shock of having him so close after such a long absence. Possibly, Lilah was just the kind of person to goad powerful, immortal beings to get what she wanted. At any rate, she felt her heart miss a beat as he stilled beneath her, his eyes narrow.

With brusque movements, Brasa uncuffed his sleeve and rolled it back, biting into his wrist messily. He guided her to the side, her head turned almost uncomfortably so that she could seal her mouth over the wound.

Like the last time she’d done this, Lilah almost wished she hadn’t. He was so goddamned sweet. Every swallow was tainted with sugar, the aftertaste hinting at copper. Brasa held her there until he was sure she’d stay. And then he leaned over where he’d bitten her and gently laid his teeth over the mark. He didn’t bite, didn’t reopen it. Just laid his teeth there, fangs giving a gentle push.

It took several long seconds for Lilah to realize that he was giving her another dose of venom. When the rise of the second wave began, the first wave having never fully receded, she felt her entire body twitch, nearly unseating her. Eyes closed, everything in her both relaxed and contracted at the same time.

Head tilting back, Lilah let him go, her body fully supported by his arms as he eased her over and to the side. She swallowed, drawing the last bit of him down, a gasp already building in her lungs. She felt nearly lifeless, and too alive at the same time, her limbs out of her control. Pleasure coasting along every neural pathway only to be answered by ecstatic nerves.

Brasa shushed her gently, leaning over her on all fours, “Do you need something, querida?”

Lilah had just enough sense to sneer up at him. He laughed, dropping to one elbow and touching her cheek softly. She tried to lift up to get a kiss, but he turned his hand to hold her down with gentle pressure on her throat. Then, he slid that same hand down the center of her body to rest on her belly.

Mouth next to her ear, he whispered, “Tell me what it is that you want. I will give it to you.”

Lilah struggled to form words, her mind consumed by the feelings crashing over her. She took great, heaving breaths—coffee and caramel. Fuck, but she loved that smell.

He pushed his fingertips beneath the fabric of her shirt, tracing the sensitive skin beneath her belly button. Lilah shuddered, her hands clenching the pillow beneath her head.

A kiss to her cheek, soft and chaste, “Tell me what you want, Lilah. Tell me, so that I can give it to you.”

She writhed. Wordless sounds melted from her lips, tainting the air between them with need. He watched her with a hot gaze, his body still except for the occasional tremor.

“I need,” she rasped, swallowing around a dry throat, “To come. I need it.”

As if a cord within him had snapped beneath the pressure of his patient waiting, Brasa dropped his stance a little and rotated his hand, pushing beneath the waistband of her jeans. Lilah might someday feel shame for how little it took—just the brush of his fingers, really—before she was coming. Arching upwards, her head flung back, her mouth open in a silent scream. It wracked her. It shattered her.

And, before it was even close to over...Lilah lost consciousness.

#from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #Brasa #In the Bond

[johnseedfanclub]

WIP DAAAAYYY

Ya’ll are crazy with the wip tags lmaoooo I enjoy writing for ya’ll tho~

Tagged by @mrspaigeomega thx bestieeee 💕

“What the fuuuuck”

It been only what? An hour? maybe two? I don’t know... four...? Maybe? Angel was completely out of it after whatever that.....Connor..dude gave him. He had no idea where he was going. He was definitely on some road of some sort. Where? God knows. At this point, he was wandering around like a lost sheep. No one around him, no ride, no place to rest or camp out, fucking nothing.

“Jesus fucking Christ....what the fuck was in that thing?”

Angel tried to gather his senses but with whatever he took it was a fighting battle between his senses and the psychedelic effects of that...what was that again?...fucking Cannabliss. He was swaying slightly and stumbling. Maybe this was a bad idea. It’s been years since Angel touched weed, let alone any drug.

“God fucking- FUUUUCK!”

Angel leaned to the side a bit too much and fell over the guardrail on the road. And with his luck there was a hillside and he tumbled downward until he hit a tree stomach first. Angel felt a rush of pain and nausea hit him like a fucking truck. He couldn’t even bring himself to get up. So he stayed for a few minutes recovering.

“Holy FUCK am I glad I’m not white boy wasted” Angel said to himself as he finally gotten up, still swaying slightly and trying to gain control of himself. He looked around and luckily found a hiking trail of some sort and stumbled his way onto it.

“I can’t fucking take this anymore” Angel sighed out as he took out his radio and held it up, radioing no one but who else?

“Connor...” Angel cut off the radio “of course of all people I trust”

“CONNOR” Angel tried radioing the other man again

“SHHHHHT” was heard on the other side

“Connor I’m fucking dyin’ the fuck did you give me”

“Angel stop it. First of all this is YOUR fault I told you it isn’t the same as fucking weed it’s much stronger ya fuckin’ lightweight.” Connor whispered into the radio “Second, you need to lay the FUCK low. They found out you left and if you don’t find a place to seek shelter you’re gonna be fuckin’ dyin’”

Angel heard the radio cut off and knew he wouldn’t be able to find a way to make this shit wear off

“Fucking FANTASTIC” Angel said loudly

Maybe a bit too loudly

“What was that?”

“Over there”

Though Angel was blissed out of his mind if didn’t take much to comprehend it wasn’t no regular civilian

“Fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck fuck” Angel panicked as he tried scrambling back to where that fucking stupid tree was and tried climbing back up to the road

“THERE HE IS. GET HIS ASS”

“OH SHIIIIT.” Angel managed to finally jump over the guard rail, well...more like fall, and started sprinting as if his life depended on it.

I mean it did

But as he was running, he realized he didn’t feel....tired.. and to his surprise, he was running faster than a fucking marathon runner.

But he quickly took this thought out of his head when he heard gunshots behind him, followed by angry call outs and screaming

“These fuckers don’t let up do they?” Angel said through breaths

Angel found a dirt road making a sharp turn into the forest again. After his first experience he really didn’t want to go somewhere that would probably cause him to meet with these freaks again but

“I’ll take my fucking chances”

Angel sprinted down the dirt road for a bit before walking off of it to prevent himself from being too visible.

“God...haven’t ran like that in years...kinda felt good”

The effects of the cannabliss were really starting to kick in, Angel went from feeling disoriented to energized. He felt like he could run all through Holland Valley without any trouble. He could probably take down a thousand peggies in the middle of it too.

“Connor” Angel radioed him again

“You’re going to get me into trouble”

“I feel fucking great Connor you have more of that” Angel whispered into his radio

“Calm your fucking asscheeks little man, it’s your first time. I’m guessing the adrenaline kicked in huh”

“Oh fuck yeah” Angel chuckled “Some fucking country rats were chasing me and I ran as if I was Usain Bolt”

“Country r- ANGEL!!! GET YOUR ASS SOMEWHERE SAFE THOSE WERE EDEN’S HUNTERS” Connor yelled through the radio

“Huh??” Angel tilted his head slightly

“THEY’RE EITHER GONNA BRING YOU BACK TO JOHN OR KILL YOUR ASS”

“OH SHIT” Angel started panicking “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT EARLIER”

“I FUCKING DI-“

Angel turned off his radio and looked around

“No fucking map, no people, no help, holy fucking-“

Just as Angel was trying to figure out how he was going to find a way to get to safety, a bullet grazed his shoulder, piercing skin but not luckily no entry

“FUC-“ Angel tried to hold in a howl as he gripped his arm and ducked out of sight. He quickly started crawling his way through the thick brush hoping no one would find him. But with this new psychedelic effect it might aid him in his escape

“Gotta get to Falls End...Gotta get to Falls End-“ Angel whispered to himself

“Look what we have here”

Shit.

Angel quickly got himself up off the floor and looked around quickly, spotting Michael a few foot steps away.

“You know I knew this would be easy but not this easy”

Michael was almost right. Compared to him, Angel is a little boy 5’11 to 5’6 is quite the difference in height, let alone the fact that he was trained like a soldier by Jacob. It didn’t help Angel that he was high off his rockers at the same time, giving Michael a great advantage

“Mmm..the effects didn’t wear off either huh” Michael teased as he leaned down to look at Angel’s eyes, pupils completely blown wide. “First timer?”

Angel couldn’t get any words out. Instead he turned around and tried to run.

“AHT- AHT-“ Michael grabbed Angel by the arm and tugged him close “Don’t think your getting yourself out of this one”

Oh but he was. Though Angel was small, he had skill. As a former underboss and marksman he was trained to fight. Even if he wasn’t armed to the teeth like Eden’s Hunters and Chosen he could take down a man with ease

“Mmmh..yeah...I’d say that too.” Angel nodded in agreement before swinging around and socking Michael in the nose

“ACK-“ Michael didn’t let go but loosened his grip just enough

Angel clenched his fist and went for the throat, punching him hard enough to make the man let him free before lifting his foot, earning Michael a hard blow to the stomach

Michael became a coughing mess, in shock that the smaller man sized him up so quickly, despite being under the influence

Angel made no time to get away running as fast as this adrenaline could take him

Michael let out a huff and wiped the blood off of his nose, taking out his MP40 and aiming it at Angel’s back. He put his finger on the trigger, ready to end the man’s life but lowered his weapon. Touching his nose and looking at the blood on his fingers, chuckling to himself

“Hmm...maybe Connor was right about you...”

#far cry fandom #far cry fanfiction #far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry #john seed #jacob seed #joseph seed #far cry deputy #deputy oc #farcry 5 #oc: angel sanchez #oc: michael hernandez #oc: connor whelman

[jawritter]

Promised

Chapter 4

**Series Warnings!! ** ABO dynamics! Smut, unprotected smut, knotting, claiming, mating, heat, rut, language, overly protective Jensen, age gap! 19-year-old reader, 41-year-old Jensen, virgin reader, loss of virginity, sort of an arranged Marriage, hint at possible mob type settings.

Story Description:

In a world where your presentation can be a blessing or a curse, a newly presented Omega will come face to face with the harsh reality of Alphas, Omegas, and pack alliances that are expected to be upheld with the union of your two families…

A/N: Pt.4!!! Please don’t copy my stuff! Feedback is welcomed! If you want to be added to the series tag list, or just my tag list in general let me know! Cross-posted on Wattpad! Hope you enjoy it!! This is my first ABO series so be nice lmao!

Word Count:2281

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Ran over by an angry truck driver, who once he hit you, backed up and ran you over again for good measure. That's what you felt like when you finally regained consciousness.

You laid there as still as possible, refusing to open your eyes. You were so deeply asleep that when you very first realized you had woken up, you felt nothing but numb until you started to become slowly more alert.

Your joints felt like you had been unhinged and then reattached. Your body felt sore all over like you had the flu and were recovering. There was a dull ache between your legs, nothing like it was though. Your stomach felt slightly nauseated... Did you come close to death, or were you just being dramatic?

The more you became aware of your body the more you remembered what happened the previous night.  You could then feel you Alpha's arm and leg caging you into his body as tight as he could hold you in his sleep.

The rise and fall of his broad chest and breathed deeply in his sleep. His scent that seemed to radiate to your very inner being surrounding you. His body warming yours seemly from the inside out. It felt amazing... If only you didn't need to go to the restroom you could stay there all day.

Being as gentle as you could as to not wake up your Alpha, mostly because you didn't know if he would be angry with you for waking him when he looked so peacefully asleep next to you, so you tried to unwrap him from you. You were successful in removing his arm and were working on sitting up to unwrap his leg when he sat up with you like someone had shot him.

You froze staring at him like you might freak out and faint.

"You okay?" he mumbled, started, and still mostly asleep. You would have found it funny if you weren't a little afraid of him. He was twice your age, and after all, he was an alpha. You had heard that they weren't always nice people.

"Y...Yeah... Uh... I just need to," you pointed to the bathroom and he caught on quickly.

"Oh!!! Oh, I'm sorry," he mumbled, releasing you from his hold and running his hands down his face in an attempt to wake himself up more.

You stood and your world spun as your muscle protested. You could feel his eyes on you, so you tried not to show just how tired you still were even though you had to hold onto the wall to make your way as quickly as you could to do your business.

Once you were done you looked in the mirror for the first time in probably two days. You looked horrible. Your hair was a mess. You were a little pale, with circles around your eyes like you could really use another five or six solid hours of sleep.

Then you saw it. Your claiming mark. Running your fingers over the freshly raised mark slightly you felt your stomach twist with nerves.

It vaguely crossed your mind that you no longer belonged to yourself, but you belonged to him. A man twice your age...

Sure he was attractive, but could the two of you even find a common ground to stand on as far as a functioning relationship, or were you destined to just be his arm candy and a rut bunny for him?

Rut... Shit, you hadn't even thought about that. He would eventually go into a rut and would expect you as his mate to help him through it. The thought terrified you, but in a way, you couldn't stand the thought of another Omega even being without a foot of your Alpha, much less going to bed with him.

A light knock on the door nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"Hey, You okay in there, sweetheart?" his deep muffled voice called through the door before cracking it slightly, but not enough to fully see you.

"Yea, yea, I'm okay. I think I might want to take a shower," you said ideally, looking back in the mirror. You just realized you were wearing a shirt that must have been his, because it was WAY too big for your small farm, coming down almost past your knees. Did he dress you?

He just nodded his head, stepping back into the room, but not going away from the door, which made you a little worried. Was he going to watch you the whole time? Not let you out of his sight? Was he one of those overly possessive Alpha men?

"Okay, I'll order some food while you shower. You haven't eaten anything in two days, you wouldn't let me feed you anything, all you wanted to do was sleep."

Momentarily forgetting about the shower you stepped out into the room, keeping your distance though. It was like having this whole other person attached to you that was a complete stranger. You didn't really know what to do with them, but you were so overwhelmingly drawn to them you gravitated toward them without really even a thought. It was scary, to say the least.

"What do you mean two days?" you asked, your voice small. You hated how you automatically submitted to him when he didn't even do anything but stand there.

"Well, they let your fever get a little too high before they called me... I really don't know why they waited... by the time I got to you, you where exhausted, after we... you know... you fell asleep and slept through the rest of your heat. You'd drink water if I put it up to your mouth, but you wouldn't eat anything... My sister said it was because they let you get a little to far gone before they called me."

You stood there staring at him, trying to process everything he was telling you.

Just like that, those memories flooded you of the past two days. You'd been asleep, but not totally. You remembered Jensen's hands constantly checking you. You remembered him trying to get you to eat. You remembered him washing you in a bathtub. You where aware of all these things, but you wouldn't open your eyes. Your body too exhausted to even get yourself to respond to your mate.

You remembered the fever, and when It would get to high how he'd try everything that he could to bring it down instead of knotting you. Your heart clinched within you. You wondered if you weren't good enough for him if he wasn't pleased with you the first time he was with you. So he'd rather put cold rags on you to bring your fever down, instead of knot you again.

You couldn't help the embarrassment and shame that crept it's way into your features as you set there on the side of the bed. You couldn't meet his gaze. You wanted the floor to open up so that you could take a nose dive directly into it.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt Jensen's arms pulling you into his lap. Holding you close to him.

"Talk to me sweetheart, what's wrong."

You couldn't bring yourself to tell him you were ashamed that you weren't good enough for him. So you just sat there looking anywhere in the room but at him. You felt his lips brush your claiming mark, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through your body at his touch. You felt his fingers lift your chin to look at him.

"Y/N, talk to me, please, let me know what's wrong. Maybe I can fix it. I don't like not knowing what's wrong with you."

There was a command behind his voice, and you knew if you didn't open up soon then he was going to lose patients with you. You felt like all you had done was cry since he carried you into this room. That made you feel even worse.

Not looking at him you couldn't bring your voice more than a whisper. You felt like your heart was being crushed in your chest. Afraid that if you told him what was wrong, he would get even angrier with you than he probably already was.

"I'm... I'm sorry... I'm not good enough for you Alpha. All I've done is cry and be a burden to you since you carried me in here. I couldn't even go through a heat properly... If you want to reject our bond and send me home I understa..."

Jensen placed two fingers over your lips to stop you before could break down completely. Your body trembling lightly at his touch.

"First, I'm not going to reject our bond and sending you home," he said, wiping tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

Purring he pulled you closer to him, making you face him, and wrapping your legs on either side of his hips as he leaned back against the headboard, making himself more comfortable. 

Jensen Guided your face into the bend of his neck, close to his pulse point where his scent was the strongest, and a calm enveloping you.

"Secondly, you've been through A LOT. I don't expect you to walk around like stone, and I was more than aware that this adjustment, no matter how long they took preparing you for it, was not going to be an easy one for you." 

His deep voice rumbled against you, running his fingers through your hair. You vaguely noted how small your body was held up against his massive shoulders and strong chest.

"And thirdly, you made it through your heat just fine. You had a lot working against you. They kept you in your house until you fever reached a dangerous level before they called me to tell me that you had presented, your first heat is always hard, and usually very intense, you being somewhat of a late bloomer made it a little rougher on you, and then there is the fact that you had never been with a man before. I didn't want to hurt you, so I tried different ways to keep your fever under control. After the night I brought you here and claimed you, you were past the worst of it. You where exhausted. I wasn't going to continue to knot you over and over again when you were barely conscious. Just because I mated you doesn't give me the right to rape you, and were in no position to give your consent. I'm not some Alpha that just takes what he wants at the expense of his Omega. It's my job to take care of you, your not a burden."

You don't know how long you stayed there like that wrapped up with your Alpha, No sex, no heat-induced hurry, just whispered affections, and soft touches. Finally, your stomach growled loudly and you felt Jensen laugh against you, unwrapping you from himself carefully.

"Go shower, I'll order us some food. There's an olive garden not far from that will deliver to the hotel. You need to eat to regain your strength. I'll be here waiting for you to get back out here to me. I'm not going anywhere."

Nodding your head you stood and made your way toward the shower, this time turning the water on and stepping in under the warm spray. Letting it wash all your worries away some. Beating down against your sore muscles. The water helps you feel a little more human and a little less like the walking dead. Your mind on the Alpha that was waiting on you in the next room. You hoped that he wasn't lying about the last two days and the reason he hadn't knotted you again, or even tried to have sex with you.

Cursing your stupid insecurities and low self-esteem you dry off quickly. Stepping out of the shower you noticed a pile of clothes sitting there folded neatly for you on the sink that wasn't there when you got into the shower. Here he was, still taking care of you. There was also a bathroom bag pack there with your things, toothbrushes, and other essentials from home. You didn't even hear him come into the bathroom.

Your heart swelled in your chest. Thinking maybe, just maybe he wasn't lying about you not being good enough for him. I mean according to the blood test you were true mates. Though you weren't going to bring that up to him.

When you walked out of the bathroom again you looked at the large hotel room that was more of a studio apartment than an actual hotel for the first time. He'd turned the lights on for one, and you don't remember him really having them on the whole time you'd been here, but also this was the most alert you'd been since you got here.

You found Jensen standing at the island sorting the food he'd bought. Chicken parnassian, salad, breadsticks, even raspberry tea for both of you. Smiling when he saw you come around the corner into the room he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around you. The same calm washed over you, and honestly, you could have stood there like that all night long as long as he kept his arms wrapped up around you like that.

"Feeling better?" he asked, burying his face in your kneck inhaling your scent deeply.

"A lot better," you said as he pulled away from you just enough to grab the food he'd fixed for you, leading you over to the couch before grabbing his own and coming to sit down next to you...

You felt more at home at that moment you had in your entire life, and honestly. That scared you a little.

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

Catch up: Promised Series Masterlist

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#alpha!jensen #alpha!jensen x omega!reader #alpha jensen omega x reader #omega reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles smut #smut #jensen x you #jensen ackles x you #promised #jawritter #dean wichester #dean x reader #supernatural #spn fanficiton #spn fanfic writer #jensen ackles series

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 17)

The wind whips Daryl’s face as he passes the tarnished sign at such a high speed he’s sure he’s gonna drive the motorcycle to its breaking point. ‘Alexandria; a fresh start’ flies by like an arrow. Dammit, it’s not going fast enough. But it’s dark and he doesn’t want to risk colliding with any backliners from the herd. 

As soon as they reached an intersection Daryl took off, leaving Sasha and Abraham to lead the herd the last couple of miles. He would never have left unless he was sure they would make it on their own. 

He’s sure something happened back at Alexandria, just knows something has happened. Over the walkie talkie he could hear something was not right. He called out to Rick, without getting an answer. Then radio silence followed. 

He increases speed, squeezes the throttle, pushes the bike to the limit. How long has he been driving? He had to take an unbearable detour to avoid the herd. A short distance he had to drive out into the terrain to get around a dozen cars, blocking the road. Just when Daryl thinks that he must be close, he pulls the brake and digs the heels of his boots down the tarmac. The tires squeaks and starts to smoke from the friction. Daryl stops with a thud and breathes frantically by the sight in front of him. It's the back of the herd, the one that broke off by the sound of the horn earlier. It must be at least twenty of them blocking the road to Alexandria. He can’t take them down on his own, not now. 

He quickly gets off the motorcycle and pushes it down the ditch, further into the forest out of sight of the flock. He ducks behind some bushes and tries to gather his thoughts. Rick doesn’t respond to the walkie talkie. Walkers may have surrounded Alexandria. That’s all he knows at this time. He has to leave the motorcycle and continue on foot. He therefore begins to leap through the woods in the dark. Why doesn't he see anything? If everything were as usual, Daryl would've seen lights from Alexandria. But he sees nothing. With determined steps he moves rapidly through the forest. 

His heart beats frantically in his chest and the sweat is running down his forehead as he starts to run, as the terrain gets more accessible. Not until he approaches the edge of the forest and sees the wall and the walkers, pressing up against it, desperately, or miraculously, trying to walk straight through it. In addition, it is completely silent, except for the growling, guttural sounds from the dead bastards. And, yeah, the truck, driven straight into the wall by the church. Something’s definitely happened. Daryl leans up against a tree branch, out of sight. He finds the button on the walkie talkie.

“Rick?”

No answer.

“Rick?”

It’s useless. Radio-silence has never been more clear. He looks out from behind the tree, knows what he has to do to get back inside. And it won’t be through the main gate, but over it. Daryl makes sure the crossbow is loaded, feels his heartbeat increase. With the crossbow raised in front of him, Daryl moves quickly and smoothly, towards the wall; looks to the right, to the left and back to the right… 

Fifteen seconds. That’s how long it takes before he’s discovered. Fifteen seconds before a limping bastard attacks and Daryl puts an arrow straight between its cloudy eyes, before continuing making his way towards the wall. He’s scared of what's on the other side, scared of what he might see. Will there be a massive slaughter scene? Bodies scattered around the streets? He shakes off the thought, approaching the wall and the walkers, pressing themselves up towards it. He runs towards the truck, that's his only chance. To get up on top of it and over to the other side, into Alexandria. He starts to climb. The truck has driven straight into the corner of the church. He manages to get on top and runs over the trailer. He stops at the hood, holding his breath. The sight on the other side gets him off balance. No carnage. No dead bodies. It’s dark, silent and he doesn't see a single person. Except-

“Daryl!”

Spencer stares at him from the watchtower, as if he can’t believe his eyes. He looks fine. Unharmed. 

“What happened?” Daryl says and climbs down the truck and makes his way over to the watchtower. 

“Wolves.” Spencer replies in a lowered voice. “They attacked. But we made it. We got ‘em.” 

From the main gate, Daryl sees both Aaron and Maggie approaching him. He directly sees in Maggie’s eyes that something is not right. Aaron looks relieved and worried, but unharmed as well. Where are the others? That’s what he asks when he embraces Maggie.

“They're not back.” she says stiffly.

“Have you seen them?” Aaron asks.

Daryl shakes his head, telling that he left Abraham and Sasha to lead the herd. They should be on their way back by now. Hopefully. They start to walk towards the house. On the way, they pass smeared blood on the ground, a tame attempt to clean up in the streets. People are starting to appear on their porches. The houses are darkened and there’s a generally subdued atmosphere over the Safe-Zone.

In the distance, Daryl sees Rick coming towards him, with Michonne by his side. Carl stands on the porch and out of the house comes Carol. Whatever happened here, they managed to turn the situation in their favor. Everything seems calm. Yet the mood is low. 

“You came back?” Rick says when he stops in front of him. 

“Yeah.”

“I had it under control.”

“Didn’t sound like that.” Daryl scoffs and nods at the walkie talkie. “What happened?”

“The Wolves attacked the RV.” Rick replies. “I asked you to stay.”

Daryl doesn't know what to say. On one hand he wants to yell that Rick could lift the damn walkie talkie and respond, but at the same time he’s ashamed; ashamed that he did the opposite of what he promised him. Just because he can’t control his emotions. The situation is saved by Carol, who hugs him.

“I'm happy you’re back.” she says softly and smiles. “We’re fine. All of us.” 

Her way of emphasizing 'all of us' makes Daryl wonder if she can really read thoughts after all. Daryl’s eyes search for someone. Someone whom he doesn’t see at first, but who then hurries down the porch, seemingly well, but with a deadpan face. Mila walks, or rather strides towards him. 

For a second Daryl’s sure that she’s gonna give him a punch right in the kisser. Unlike Carol's warm smile, Mila looks stern. Therefore, he’s both surprised and relieved when Mila strikes her arms around his neck, pulls him into a tight embrace and presses her body against his. Daryl thinks he’s going to break, or melt and turn into a puddle. It feels like a ton of bricks is lifted off his back, the belt around his chest is completely gone. He hasn’t thought about how short she is before. He inhales the scent of her, her hair. A cocktail of flowers, something warm and spicy, that makes him almost feverish, combined with vodka. Has she been drinking? 

He wants to say something. Damn it, he wants to say a lot of things. But once again, his ability to speak has gone into hiding somewhere. Mila lets go of his neck and takes a step back. He lets go of her, but that embrace felt better than anything he’d ever felt before. It was real. Warm. Special.

“Sorry I was a jerk this morning.” 

Really? That’s what he has to say to her? He has had plenty of time to figure out what to say to her during his ride back here. Dammit his heart is about to burst and all he has to say is… that? 

“I-” it’s as if she doesn’t know what to say either. Instead she points her index finger at him. “I was worried!” 

“Fine, stop.. pointing at me.” 

“I point because I care!” Mila sputters and turns on the spot, her ponytail slaps him on the arm, and walks back towards the house. 

Daryl finds Mila in the kitchen later, after being briefed by Rick and the others on the current situation. Mila’s standing at the kitchen island, looking at two white slices of bread lying on the counter in front of her. Next to them stands jars of pickles, peanut butter and jam, everything she managed to find in the kitchen cupboards. It’s the vodka bottle next to the strawberry jam that catches his attention. There’s a small amount left on the bottom of the big bottle. She has kept herself busy. It’s impressive she’s standing on her legs. 

When he heard the others talk about what had happened, how the Wolves attacked the Safe-Zone and its residents, Daryl could hardly believe his ears. Not his eyes either probably, if he’d been there. Mila had given them a real rumble. Like a freight train she’d attacked the Wolves, wearing what sounded like jeans, bra, boots and the fedora hat. In addition, they had put the Wolf, who caused Mila her wound in the woods, in the makeshift cell. He was in poor condition. Partly because of Mila, who shot his kneecap to pieces and then tortured him, without so much as a wink. On the contrary. If Spencer told the truth, Mila smiled while she did it. 

“She was completely… I mean-” Spencer grasped for words. “It didn’t bother her. At all.”

Daryl looks at the woman in the kitchen, who seems to consider whether she should open the jar with pickles or peanut butter first. Mila looks up and meets his gaze. 

 ”You’ve washed up.” she says. ”Pigs are gonna start flying too?”

Again, his entire oral cavity is transformed into something similar to the driest desert. Soon I’ll start spitting sand, Daryl thinks and swallows. Mila doesn’t take notice however. She nods to the bottle with a led label. 

“There's a sip left on the bottom.” she says. “If you want it.”

“Nah, I’m good.” he manages to utter. “More interested in something to eat.”

Mila holds out her hands.

“This is what the kitchen offers tonight. I'm no Carol in the kitchen but... there’s-” she holds up the jar with pickled cucumber. “Pickles. And peanuts butter. And boring, white, bread.”  

“Ain’t nothing wrong with this.” Daryl takes one of the bread slices in front of her and takes a bite.

“It's made of dust and air.” Mila notes and glares at him. “Why’d you come back?”

“Does it matter?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders, takes the jar of pickles and opens it. He wants to tell her. Tell her that he cares. Why does it have to be that difficult? While struggling with his inner thoughts, Mila takes a cucumber out of the jar, sticks it between her teeth and starts eating. She unscrews the cork on the vodka bottle and takes a small sip.

“How’s the scrapbooking?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Mila replies. “You didn’t answer. Why did you come back?” 

Daryl looks up at her through squinting eyes. On the inside he’s like a storm, and yet he manages to stay calm. She gives him a sense of peace of mind; yeah, besides himself pondering himself into madness over his own feelings. Daryl could accuse her of causing him to feel like that and withdraw and avoid her. But he doesn't want to. He likes her. He likes spending time with her. 

He remembers the dinner the night before. All of a sudden, while the others, him included, talked over the table, he heard how Mila began to lull Juri to sleep. Very quietly she hummed a song to get him to fall asleep. 

Daryl hesitates before he opens his mouth. 

“You remember that song you hummed last night-” he starts to hum and Mila looks, with slight surprise, at him. A faint smile appears on her lips. She clearly didn’t know he heard. ”I thought about that.” Daryl’s gaze intensifies. ”I missed it- missed you.”

It took him all of his willpower, all of his courage and guts, to say it. His eyes flicker between her face and his own hands. Before Mila can reply from the other side of the counter, they are interrupted by the sound of small feet against stairs. 

“Go back to bed, Malysh.” Mila says towards Juri, standing in the stairs, barefoot, in pajamas, grasping the ear of a stuffed toy rabbit in his hand. “I'll make you a sandwich. Let’s go.”

Juri doesn’t move. Instead he bursts into a big smile when he sees Daryl.

“Listen to her, kiddo.” Daryl says. 

Juri nods and climbs back upstairs, holding the stuffed toy rabbit. Daryl turns his head back towards Mila. Did she even hear him pour out his heart, seconds ago? He doesn’t dare to find out.

“He seems okay?” he asks instead.

“If you mean about before-” Mila opens the jar with peanut butter. “He’s fine.”

“Heard ya’ saved the whole place?” 

She chuckles. 

“Which drunk did you talk to, if I may ask?” Mila meets his gaze while she spreads a layer of peanut butter over the bread. “I didn’t. I helped… a little. It’s a big difference.” She puts the lid back on the jar with peanut butter and opens the jar of jam. “If anything, I think I did a… not that charming first impression on the residents. Now, I’m known as the crazy Russian girl, torturing people in her underwear.”

“Thought they were joking ‘bout that part.” he says and feels a rush of heat run throughout his body.

“The torturing or the bra?” Mila smirks. “I’m afraid not. I’m damaged goods, Daryl. I’m ‘bra and torture’-crazy.” Mila takes a new slice of bread, presses it on top of the other and puts the sandwich on a plate. “More about that another time. Sorry, I have to... feed my offspring.” She nods to the plate. “I’m really glad you’re back.”

Mila gives him a tired, but warm, smile before she leaves the kitchen and hurries up the stairs, leaving Daryl more confused than before.

#daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #daryl dixon #twd daryl #Jersey on my mind #Daryl Dixon Fanfic #The Walking Dead fanficition #The walking dead fanfic #fanfiction #twd fanfiction #fanfic #twd fanfic #the walking dead fandom

[burtlederp]

Broken Pieces Superhero AU

 Many, many, many, many thanks to @quirkykayleetam, who is a fantastic and patient editor and collaborator on this beauty! I’m the one posting it this time, as I ended up writing most of it... XD Boy am I glad it’s done! I hope y’all enjoy!

tw: blood, guns, cartoon villainy except that there’s Gatling guns and giant automatons

Chapter 3: Same Old, Same Old

A few days passed since Damien and Daniel met. They were quiet, Damien going about his usual business as the rest of the town was. 

Then the power went out.

That in and of itself was only a minor issue; a good portion of the town's populace already powered their homes with generators or lived near some who did to share.

It was an issue, however, when the supervillain Roman blew up the bridge of the one road leading into and out of town, as well as the airstrip. It probably wouldn’t have been as much of an issue to everybody but he just happened to choose the day the Walmart delivery truck arrived. 

Damien was tired, having finished a graveyard shift and gone straight to his job at the gas station, but duty called. He “suddenly” came down with a bad case of the flu, quickly changed in a hidden spot, and hurried to the police station where he got the details: Roman was holding the whole town hostage and would continue to do so until he’d received $20,000 in cash from the Alaskan governor. Whether or not the governor had heard and was organizing rescue of some sort was unknown, as all signals seemed to be jammed.

It was a very standard situation for the Alchemist, maybe a bit bigger than Roman usually went, but nonetheless simple and straightforward: Find Roman, punch him a bit, then then let him run away. The Alchemist saves the day! Easy

Alchemist didn’t even think of the Rogue as he made laps around the town, garbed in his usual summer costume, searching made a little more difficult by the summer foliage. He checked a few spots downtown that he checked every time Roman showed his face, then moved his way down the highway to the bridge. The overpass was guarded by two large brass automatons both wielding large spears that looked to be attached to chain of large bullets which looped up over their shoulders. There was no sign of Roman himself, and assuming those spears were more than they appeared, the Alchemist kept low and out of sight as he moved on, searching.

The Alchemist found Roman at the destroyed airstrip. Three large automatons patrolled the area and the aircraft hangar seemed to be the center of operations. The Alchemist could see Roman from his hiding spot in the trees, the villain sitting proudly on his mobile throne. Ed, the town’s only pilot was chained to a chair while some poor kidnapped cameraman sat tensely beside him cradling a large TV camera.

 The stage was set. It was time for the games to begin.

The automatons patrolled rather closely to the hangar itself; sneaking between them would be difficult and risky. They were large, about twenty feet high each, all with those probably-a-Gatling-gun spears in their hands and, on top of that, Alchemist already knew that being punched by one of those things would suck. The robots’ “eyes”’ were two large globular implants hidden behind their helmets. Roman’s large tank was parked out front, obscuring clear vision into the hangar, whose main door was open. Only one plane inside was still untouched; the mayor’s was destroyed, currently being torn even further asunder by one of Roman’s confounded fabrication machines. Prioritizing, Alchemist knew that Roman himself was not the real threat here: it was the automatons.

 “What’s the easiest way to take down a person?” Alchemist rubbed his jaw, hidden beneath his mask. “Well, tripping them, but I have no rope or chain, so…” Alchemist’s eye was drawn to a young, tall spruce growing nearby, and a very stupid idea came to mind.

 It was difficult, a little more than Alchemist anticipated, but only a few minutes later he had bent the spruce back so far it was about to split, and it was all he could do to keep his feet on the ground and the tree top in his gloved hands. Teeth gritted, he took aim and waited for an automaton to move into place. Just a little further, a little further…

THWISH-CRK!

The Alchemist sent himself flying through the air perhaps a bit faster than he anticipated, careening towards a brass head before smacking into it definitely harder than he had wanted to. He had planned to land and put something over the thing’s eyes, but instead the head caved under his foot, the body toppling over onto the hangar. He pushed off, somersaulting as he hit the roof, the body of the automaton slumping off the edge with its head destroyed. He skidded to a stop, looking over his shoulder, and turned back around to see the other two automatons looking down at him, their eyes glowing and their spears raised. With barely enough time to curse, The Alchemist leapt to the side dodging a wave of bullets. The hero ran across the thin roof towards the side of the building where he knew the fabrication machine sat, well aware that those bullets were piercing straight through the steel.

“Please don’t hit the hostages please don’t hit the hostages pleeeeeease…” he begged internally. He slid off the edge of the roof, briefly holding on to the lip before dropping to the ground below. The automatons were moving, stepping around to spot him again, but he moved faster, darting around the corner to enter the hangar, where he ran right into Roman himself. The pair collided hard and fell apart onto the ground.

“Alchemist, you fuc--!” Roman spat, glaring at him, but Alchemist wasn’t paying attention to him--he was more interested in the golden head poking out from around the back of the building. The hero leapt to his feet, grabbing Roman by the cape and throwing him hard against the interior wall, pinning him.

“Call off the automatons, Roman!” Alchemist hissed. 

“What, you think I’m going to do it just because you asked nicely?” Roman retorted, hands on Alchemist’s wrists. 

“No, you’re going to do it because I told you to,” the Alchemist’s eyes narrowed, and Roman felt a heat on his shoulders, through his armor. Roman’s eyes widened, and his hands moved fast, faster than Alchemist anticipated. He was forced to rear back as a sharp spear suddenly shot from Roman’s gauntlet towards his face. The Alchemist could feel its sharp point graze his hood as he leapt back. Roman stood there, breathing hard, eyes narrowed.

“You trying to kill me?!”  the Alchemist spat.

“I could ask you the same thing, idiot!” Roman snarled, tapping a button on his control gauntlet. A nozzle rose from his tank. Alchemist braced, and was surprised as a jet of water shot out, spraying Roman. Distracted, he didn’t see the tank also prep another shot, and was suddenly engulfed by a chain net that knocked him off his feet and wrapped around him. He struggled with it, trying to get free, but was bound quite tight. Roman stood over him, frowning, and glanced at the cameraman, who had the camera raised and recording.

“You! Turn that off, just for a minute!” He ordered. The cameraman obeyed. 

Roman then turned back to the Alchemist, who glared daggers up at him. Roman bent down, taking hold of the chains and lifting the Alchemist’s head off the ground so he could look him better in the face.

“Al, look, just a quick aside with you,” Alchemist stared up at his archnemesis suspiciously, eyes narrowed, and Roman ignored him and continued. “You can use acid, okay? You can use acid on my machines, on chains, walls, prison cells, whatever. But for the love of Pete, don’t fucking use hydroflouric acid on me. Do you realize how powerful that stuff is?” the Alchemist blinked, now looking a little confused.

“It’s really fucking powerful, okay? Really. Fucking. Dangerous. Don’t use it on me again, or I swear next time we meet, I will actually kill you. Understand?” Roman tipped his head a bit so the Alchemist could see his eyes a bit better through his helmet. The Alchemist looked him up and down, and then nodded. 

“I wanna hear you say it, Al.” Roman raised an eyebrow. Alchemist sighed, rolling his eyes, and Roman shook him with the chains. “Say it, Al. If it’ll make sure you don’t do it again, you can give me your own condition.” The Alchemist’s face brightened.

 “Don’t use armor-piercing bullets on me anymore. I’m not wearing kevlar or some shit,” the Alchemist responded almost immediately. Roman thought over it a second and nodded.

“Alright, deal.”

The Alchemist reached a hand awkwardly through the hole of the chains, and the two shook on it. 

“Back to fighting?” the Alchemist inquired.

“Yep. Roll cameras.” Roman motioned to the perplexed cameraman, who fumbled and got the camera rolling again just in time to see the Alchemist push off the floor with his hands and uppercut the villain as he flipped through the air like a spinning log. He landed heavily back on the floor on his stomach, Roman staggering backwards. 

“You--! How did you even do that!” 

Roman popped his spear from his gauntlet, flicking it into full-length and charging at the Alchemist. The herot didn't wait, pushing himself some more and rolling, managing to stay just clear of the spear head--until he didn't, and it plunged into his back. The Alchemist shouted in pain, gripping the chains in his hands tightly.

 "That's what you get, Alchemist!" Roman spat.

The Alchemist bit back another yelp as Roman pulled the spear out, pressing his face against the concrete, only to give a strained gasp as the spearhead stabbed into his bicep. Roman yanked the spear out, readying another stab, but was not nearly fast enough as The Alchemist rolled out of the way, getting to his feet, the chains sloughing off him with edges sizzling from acid. 

“Dammit, you--” Roman was cut off as the Alchemist delivered a fast left hook and another fist to his gut. Roman staggered back as Alchemist ran past him towards the fabricator.

 “No, Alchemist, don’t!” 

TheAlchemist ignored him, throwing up his hands and spraying some liquid into the material receptacle. The machine didn’t stop, just continued chugging, but the Alchemist knew it wouldn’t be long before it did.

He turned to just barely dodge a spear that was flying towards his face. It lodged itself in the fabricator, much to Roman’s frustration.

“No!” Roman bellowed angrily.

 The villain’s eyes widened as Alchemist ran towards him. He side-stepped one attack, then another, but not the third punch.  The Alchemist grabbed him by the cape clasp at his throat and lifted him bodily into the air.

“Call off your machines, Roman,” Alchemist hissed. “Call them off or I’ll destroy them myself!”

“I think I’ll select the latter, thanks!”

Roman gripped the Alchemist’s forearm.  The hero who shrieked.  His muscles contracted uncontrollably before his whole body collapsed as Roman’s built-in taser did its job. The villain landed, backing away towards his tank as he tapped away on his gauntlet.

“Have fun with the big boys, Alchemist!” Roman grinned darkly, climbing up into his tank.

The Alchemist rose shakily onto his elbows, wondering what he could mean by that, when bullets started piercing the warehouse, climbing towards him. He gasped, rolling to the side and pelting towards the fabricator. 

“Damn, he got me targeted!” he thought.

The Alchemist gritted his teeth, pushing off the floor and flying just over the top of the machine. He hung onto the wall for a second, waiting for the bullet spray to near, then kicked off. The bullets demolished the fabricator as the Alchemist leapt clear. He rolled as he hit the ground then ran for the large box bearing an antennae in the corner that was clearly not just part of the hangar. The hero had to wait a heart-pounding moment for the bullets to start moving towards him, but they did. Soon enough, they would have pierced through the box, tearing it to pieces. 

“Yes!” the Alchemist punched the air, but his victory was short-lived. His suspicions had been correct: the box was indeed the signal relay for Roman’s instructions to the automatons, but gatling guns needed a little time to slow down and stop. Bullets, the spray slowing, still flew through the thin hangar walls. They hit their target. The Alchemist weakly jumped to the side, messily landing as pain bloomed like the blood on his leg, his side, arm, his ear.  There was no more sound after that.

“Alchemist!” Ed called, getting to his feet, having long since wormed free from his bindings. He ran to the hero, kneeling beside him. “Damn villain lied!” the older man growled, looking over the Alchemist’s wounds. The hero shook his head weakly.

“N-no, it’s fine, he--nngh--he didn’t have time to--to switch the bullets,” The Alchemist wheezed. “Ahh, ff--ff--crap, crap, th-this doesn’t, doesn’t feel--” he cut off as there was a sound of groaning metal.

 Air whistled past something and suddenly an automaton crashed through the opposite side of the hangar, falling and entirely crushing the fabricator. The ground shook as all three automatons fell to earth along with the two distant robots guarding the road. The Alchemist hoped that was it for the things on the bridge as well.

“Well,” The hero huffed a weak laugh. “Isn--isn’t that convenient?” 

“Son, stop talking, you’re bleeding out,” Ed growled, reaching for the mask. “C’mon, you need to just breathe--” The Alchemist’s hand stopped him.

“N-no, it’s fine. J-just help me up, please,” The hero asked weakly, starting to move, only to gasp in pain.

“Boy, you aren’t thinking of moving, are you?” Ed raised an eyebrow. 

“I called for an ambulance already,” The cameraman offered helpfully.

A solid black SUV skidded to a halt in front of the three men, its black-haired driver jumping out before the vehicle came to a complete stop.

“Ambulance won’t make it in time.  Don’t worry; I’m with the League.”  He flashed an official-looking badge at Ed and the cameraman before turning his entire attention to the Alchemist and the blood seeping through him onto the reddening concrete.

“I’ve got word that hospitals might not be safe any way.  If I can stabilize him here, there’s a safehouse close by.  You hear me, kid?”

The Alchemist’s brown eyes looked at him, glazed over but clearly recognizing him. “Oh, for the love….” He let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling of the hangar. “Just… just do what you have to do, man….”

The hero heard Daniel steadily giving orders to Ed and the cameraman as the latter grabbed supplies from the SUV. He felt pressure, pain. There was the sense of movement and white bandages turning scarlet. Then everything began to blur. The world went black, with a familiar voice whispering in his mind, “you’ve got my work cut out for me this time, don’t you?”

---

Tag List (I’m including those of you who enjoyed the original Broken Pieces story, but if you want to be taken off, please just let me know!):  @stoic-whumpee​​​​​​, @whatwasmyprevioususername​​​​​​, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall​​​​​​, @straight-to-the-pain​​​​​​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​​​​​, @0idril0​​​​​​, @fallingstormphoenix​​​​​​, @whump-fantasies​​​​​​, @imagination1reality0​​​​​​, @whumpback-wail​​​​​, @whump-tr0pes​​​​​, @untilthepainstarts​​​​​, @captivity-whump​​​​, @burtlederp​​​​, @redwingedwhump​​​​, @whumpiary​​​​, @captivity-whump​​​​, @blue-flare10

#whump #whump writing #superhero #supervillain #superhero whump #guns #gatling guns #gunshot wound #blood #stabbed #stab #stabbing #spear #roman #alchemist #my writing #damien #marcelo #daniel wei #quirkeykayleetam #burtlederp writes #gosh that fight scene was painful to write #im so glad its done #and didnt turn out bad

[valeriethepussycats]

Speed

Chapter 3

Pairing- Dean x Reader

Warning- cursing

Dean Is driving alongside the bus. “I  gotta get on that bus.”  

“Yeah. You get on the bus.” Gordon said Sarcastically.

“Drive straight! Stay in this lane!” Dean yelled at Jody.

“Watch the road.” Gordon urged.  

Dean Looks around. How to do this? He looks at the Jag's door -- it's a problem. So he speeds ahead of the bus, opens the door, swings it wide. The wind tries to push it shut but he holds it.

“Wait a minute. What are you doing?” Gordon asked Uncertainly.

Dean ignores Gordon’s question. “Are you insured?”

“Yeah! Why?” Gordon answered Confuse.

Dean slams on the brakes.

“No! No!”

The Jaguar’s tires smoke. Bus Comes up fast, smashes into the door, rips it off. Everyone on the bus looks in amazement as the Jaguar, minus the door,slows beside the bus.

“You broke my... my door.” Gordon whined.

“Sir, I need to take your phone.” Dean told Gordon.

“Take the phone.” Gordon said in a dry tone.

“Take the wheel.” Dean told Gordon as he stands up.

“What are you...” Gordon trailed off. “Oh, oh, shit. Whoa, shit.”

“Drive straight.” Dean yelled at Jody and she nods.

He stands on the edge of the seat as the owner scrambles to get into it. 

Dean prepares to jump. He's just about to.But... Some YAHOO in front of Jody is going forty. She has to swerve. Dean yells leaps from his car. It doesn't look like he's going to make it. His right hand grabs the bottom of the handrail shoulder His Feet at the front is wrenched of the bus. Dean howls. ” Oh, shit.” His pavement. Are dragging over the The jaguar. Gordon is struggling to get control of the car.

“Whoa! Shit!” He can't do it in time. The Jag plows into the big yellow water-filled collision barrels at an off-ramp. Gordon, unhurt, cranes to see if Dean made it okay. Dean pulls himself with one arm, up onto the bus steps.

“This guy's out of his mind.” Y/n proclaimed.

“OK, listen, you've got to stay above 50.” Dean whispered to Jody.

Y/n gets up from her sit and grabs holds to the Rail. “Excuse me, are you out of your mind?... Hello?” Y/n asked Dean.

Not paying her any attention still talking to Jody. “Whatever it takes.” Dean tells Jody

“Everybody, I'm Dean Winchester, LAPD. We have a slight situation on the bus here.” Dean Announced. “Ma'am, if you'll please sit down.”

“No I won’t sit You're scaring the shit out of these people.” Y/n protested.

“Ma'am, please!” Dean insisted.

Y/n looks at Dean and see that he’s serious she sits back down. Dean makes his way down the bus, looking at everyone. In the back, Ray starts sweating as Jack approaches. His hands reach for something under his coat.

“If everybody will stay in your seats and remain calm, we should be able to defuse the problem, so sit tight.” Dean Addressed everyone.

The man Ray rushes up from his sit with a  gun pointed at Dean. “Get away from me!” Ray shouted.

He levels a gun at Dean. Instinctively Dean whips his own out, and the two are at close range stand-off. Ray looks more scared than anything. There are a few screams.

“I don't know you, man. I'm not here for you.  Let's not do this.” Dean told Ray.

“Stop the bus!”

“He can't!”

“Stop the bus! Stop it!”  Ray yelled at Jody.

“Listen!” Dean yelled at Ray. “Look, I'm putting my gun away, OK?”  Dean uncocks his gun and starts to Lower it slowly. “OK? Now, listen. I don't care about your crime. Whatever you did, I'm sure that you're sorry, so it's cool now. It's over.

“I'm not a cop right now.” Dean informed Ray as he throws his badge on the ground. “See? We're just two cool guys, just hanging out...”

Arthur jumps on Ray to take the gun away from him and then a shot goes off The driver's partition Shatters. Jody lurches to one side, hit in the back.

“Jody!!!” Ellen yelled.

The bus swerves sickeningly Jody slumps over.

Y/n rushing up and take hold of the will.

“I'll get the wheel!” Y/n told Jody diving wit the wheel, Ellen to help Jody.

“I've got it! Jody! Oh God, Jody!” Y/n put forth.

Jack moves in and with two crunching blows disarms and subdues Ray. Simultaneously.

“Come on. You've got to move your legs. Somebody move his legs!” Y/n yelled. “Come on! Jody, get your foot... get your foot off the pedal!”

Ellen and two other moves Jody from the sit and Y/n sit down.

“I got to stop this thing!” Y/n stated.

“No! Don't! Stay above 50!” Dean urged.

“Jody's been shot! We've got to get her off!” Y/n insisted.

“You slow down and this bus will explode! There is a bomb on this bus. If we slow down, it'll blow.  If anyone tries to get off, it'll explode.” Dean informed everyone.

“Bullshit! Yeah, there's a bomb. Some funny joke man.” Castiel a men dress down in a suit and tie said unconvinced.

“Are we gonna have a problem now?” Dean questioned.

A moment. Castiel backs down.

“She's bleeding so much. I don't know what to do.” Ellen said in a panicky voice.

Dean walks up the the front of the bus. “Put pressure front and back and keep her legs up.” Dean told Ellen as his talks of his  button down shirt.

“Hold on.” Ellen told Jody. “Jody, lift your head.”

Castiel moves to help lay Jody out more comfortably. Dean goes over to Y/n. She is staring straight ahead, death grip on the wheel. She's terrified .“Miss, can you handle this bus?”

“Oh, sure. It's just like driving a really big Pinto.” Y/n joked.

“ I need to know! Can you handle it?” Dean questioned.

“I'm fine. I'm fine. Just tell me what the plan is.” Y/n told Dean Sincerely. “Is there a plan?”

“Just for you to drive. We're OK for now. Just keep us above 50.”

“Good plan. So, you're a cop, right?”

“That's right.”

“I should probably tell you that I'm taking the bus because I had my driver's licence revoked.”

“What for?”

“Speeding.”

Dean grins as he dials on the phone.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Back at the precinct Bobby and Garth are getting geared up. “Benny, we're on our way to the chopper. If anything changes, let us know!” Bobby shouted as he and Garth rushes of the board the chopper.

Benny nods as he sits at his decks. Then  officer Robin walks up and hands him a book. “Anything we haven't seen should be in here.”  

The bus races along. High above it we see the local news helicopters, cameras trained on it.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

At Chuck’s house. All four TVs are on, playing all the different newscasts. Chuck sits, watching the various helicopter shots of the bus.

“Something wrong with the driver,but at least one car, a Jaguar, has been driven off the road by the speeding bus. The bus apparently came onto the freeway at the Lincoln on-ramp.”

“It began picking up speed, swerving, and hasn't slowed down since.”

“Minutes ago a Los Angeles police officer boarded the bus by jumping onto it from a moving car.”

“Would that be you, Dean?”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Dean on the phone with Benny. “Where do we start?”

“Check the speedometer. Has it been fucked with or loosened? See any wires or anything?” Benny said with a mouth full of food.

Dean gets down to check. “Excuse me, ma'am.” Dean leans on Y/n’s legs and looks under the wheel. “ No, it's clean.”

“Then it's gonna be under the bus. Probably was rigged to one of the axles.” Benny told Dean as he starts to clear space on his decks.

“I can’t get under the bus right now Benny. It's kind of in motion.” Dean pointed out.

“Excuse me!...Excuse me!” Ellen shouted to get Dean’s attention.

“Hold on.” Dean tells Benny. “Yes?”

“Access panel... in the floor.” Jody Breathed. “Underneath you.”

Dean goes and opens the panel. Pavement rushes beneath him. “All right, Harry. We're in. Passenger relay.” He hands the phone to Kevin.

“Sir, take this. I want you to tell him what I see.” Dean said getting down on all fours and sticking his head in the panel. “OK,we got a wad! Pretty big!”

“There's a pretty big wad.”  Kevin told Benny.

“Brass fittings... I think I can reach the circuit wire.”

“Brass fittings. He can reach the circuit wire.” Kevin told Benny.

“No, no. Don't do that. That's a decoy. Classic. What else?” Benny asked Kevin.

“That's your classic decoy what else.” Kevin

“Hold on.” Dean tells Kevin.

It's hard to see very far with tanks and pipes. Dean lowers his head even further down. From his P.O.V., the undercarriage closer to the front comes into view.

“Fuck me!”

There is an obscene mass of plastique stuck to the front. Detonators, wires, a jerry-rigged timer built around a gutted gold wristwatch. A lot of the gold plating has flaked off, dull grey beneath.

“Oh, darn.” Kevin tells Benny.

Dean sits up and takes the phone from Kevin.

“Benny, there’s enough C-  on this thingto put a hole in the world.”

“OK, all right. Just stay calm. What else?” Benny told Dean.

“Three triggers... one on the axle I can't really see, a cellular remote and a timer running off a wrist watch.” Dean replied.

“Officer!” Y/n said in a Panic.

“A watch? What kind of watch?” Benny asked.

“Gold.Gold band. Fairly cheesy.”

“Officer!” Y/n tried again but Dean gives her the “hold up” finger.

“What’s on your mind, Benny?” Dean questioned.

“Shit. What do I do?” Realizing that his attention was mostly focused on his Conversation Y/n takes the intercom She said loudly. “OFFICER!”

Dean gets up and looks out the window.

“What do I do? Which way?”  Y/n shouted at Dean.

“Oh, shit...Get on the shoulder.” Dean tells Y/n.

“OK.” Y/n nods, veers onto the right shoulder, blasting past the slowing traffic. But then they see A half-mile ahead, there's a stalled car being rolled onto the back of a tow truck on the shoulder. Behind it,there's an off ramp

“Watch it!”

Y/n tries to squeeze the bus between the tow truck and the slow lane. She hits the car on back, sends it flying over the front of the truck. She keeps going, sideswiping several cars.

“Um, stay on or get off?” Y/n said stressed. “Stay on or get off?!!”

“Off! Off!” Dean answered.

“OK.”

Y/n steers off the freeway at the last second, onto the exit ramp.

“Hold on!”

The bus Roars down the off-ramp, slamming into the water barrels.

“Oh, God.”

Far ahead, cars are stopped at the light. The ramp is a single lane. The bus jumps the curb, taking out roadway signs, reflectors and car mirrors. For the next few minutes, whenever she doesn't need to use both hands to drive, her hand is on the horn. Y/n's hands and feet are in constant motion. The passengers are knocked about, yelling. Dean and Y/n's faces -- uh-oh.

“Keep going.”  Dean told Y/n

“It's red!” Y/n protested.

“Go! Go! Go!”

At the bottom of the ramp. Cross traffic. Y/n’s footHesitates over the brake, thenDean’s foot Stomps on the gas.

The bus Rockets through the intersection. Cars fishtail, nearly colliding.

“This is much better city streets.” Y/n said Sarcastically.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

As Chuck watches, eating a baloney sandwich on white bread and a glass of milk. Three of the TV's have the bus on them, but the fourth one is turned to a football game. “The bus is on Western heading in a southbound direction. Now, where the bus did exit here, it had a couple of close calls.”

“Yeah! Yeah! All right!” Chuck praised his football team.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Benny is sitting at his desk holding a detonator pondering when officer Robin walks over to him and interrupt his thinking. “I don't get it.”

Benny exhale loudly and looks at Robin. “The watch is a shitty timer. Why use it? What's he saying?”

“Lots of people have watches.” Robin stated.

“This guy has no MO. A bomber falls in love with one kind of bomb and they're very monogamous.

This guy uses C- dynamite, different trigger every time, and now he throws in this watch.” Benny informed Robin.

“He's an encyclopaedia of bombs.He knows every kind.” Robin agreed.

“Yeah, and everything we do to dismantle it....  Wait a minute. I want to look at the files for the last 10 years.” Benny pondered out loud.

“We did the mug shots. It's not gonna help.” Robin admitted.

“No. I want to look at cops.” Benny replied.

“Come on. Let's go.” Robin murmured to the surrounding cops.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Dean is standing next to Y/n as she is driving the bus His  cellular rings. And he answers it without missing a beat.

“Yeah. Bob, where have you been? I had to bail on the freeway. We're in the city.” Dean informed Bobby.

Bobby is looking out the window of a helicopter. He has a map of the city on his lap. “I can see you. Just keep going straight. I'm going to try to clear the roads for you. Just stay on-line.” Bobby told Dean.

Cars cruising to an intersection. It reaches the intersection and turns, screeching, halting in front of traffic and blocking the intersection.

The cars slam on their brakes, nearly hitting the patrol car.

“Shit! Oh, Jesus!” Y/n murmured. “God! No!”

The passengers barely have time to curse before the enormous bus roars by, going the other way. The passengers watch the city streets fly by, panic volume turned high. Y/n and Dean Sees a garbage truck back out in front of the bus.

“Go left!” Dean urged Y/n.

“Sorry!” Y/n Pulls the wheel hard left. The bus  Swerves into oncoming traffic. The bus dodges oncoming cars, trucks and other buses, bumping a few.

“Oh, my God! Oh, jeez!” Y/n voiced.

A Lincoln peels off the side of the bus, goes flying.

“People, stay out of my way! Stay out of my way!” Y/n shouted.

“Ma'am, up to the right.”  Dean tells Y/n.

“OK, OK I see it. Sh...” Y/n trailed off as she switch the bus into the right lane.

“Bob! Bobby! You’ve got to get me out of here!” Dean yelled into the phone.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

On the same Street as the bus is speeding down. The two women wave goodbye. The first Woman pushes the baby carriage toward the curb.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

“All right? A few more blocks, you'll come up to a soft turn. Right. Then hold straight. I've got some units waiting for you there. They're gonna lead you to the 105 Freeway. It's not in use.  It'll be empty. You'll be totally clear.” Bobby told dean

“Got it.” Dean replied. “In a few blocks, we'll take a soft turn to the right.”

“OK, wait a minute. Escort to where?” Y/n takes her eyes off the road to look over at Dean. “Where do we get an escort to?” Y/n repeated.

A woman in the baby carriage steps out from behind a van right in front of the bus.

“Watch out!”  Dean shouted.

The bus Smashes into the baby carriage as the woman pushing it jumps clear.

“Oh, God!” Y/n yelled as she let’s go of the wheel to Cover her face, and record timing Dean grab the wheel.

The baby carriage is knocked seventy feet in front and to the side of the bus, sailing through the air.

“Oh, Jesus! Oh, God! I hit the baby! Oh, God! I just hit the baby!” Y/n bawled.

Dean His eyes following. He grimaces as The baby carriage hits the pavement. But then a hundred empty soda and beer cans explode out of it.

“Cans! There was no baby. It was full of cans.” Dean said wait a note of relief.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”  Dean said with amusement on his face.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Here at last are the patrol cars, which start up, leading the way. After a few blocks the patrol cars Come to the on-ramp. The bus follows when A group of school kids walk blithely in front of it.

“Jeez! No! No! No!” Y/n is forced to Swerve and continue on the street parallel to the freeway.

“Why aren't they in school?” Y/n yelled.

“Bobby, we're boned.” Dean proclaimed.

“I'll get you out, Dean....All right, listen. You got an entrance coming up, Dean. It's gonna be a real ugly turn, though.”  Bobby explained.

“How ugly?” Dean asked.

“What's ugly?” Y/n Chimed in.

“We got a hard right coming up at the construction site.” Dean informed Y/n. “This should be it.”

“That's a dead end.” Y/n told Dean with a firm  voice. “I can't make that turn.”

“You can make it. Keep left. Keep left and make it wide.” Dean told Y/n

“Oh, God. We're going to tip over.” Y/n confessed.

“You're right. We're going to tip over.” Dean agreed.

Part 4

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x black! reader #dean x y/n

[the-everlasting-dream]

Walk of Shame - Drake x MC, The Perfect Cliché

A/N: So I’ve been playing around with the idea of Drake and Liz would have met if the whole TRR book never existed and I thought it would be fun to shove the into as many cliche situations as  possible. Given my terrible track record of keeping up with series, this is gonna be an unofficial one. Stand alone fics that make up The Perfect Cliche. 

Cliche count: 

New neighbours

Mutual pining - or the beginnings of it

Awkward interaction

Walk of shame

Word Count: 2540+

Warnings: None

Drake rolled his eyes at the large moving truck situated in front of his apartment building destined to make him late for work that day. Tanner is going to have my guts. 

He shrugged on his jacket and dashed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. The lift wasn’t working — of course it wasn’t working — so he wrenched the door to the stairs open, glad he only lived on the fourth floor. Close to the bottom, he was in such a rush he barely registered a stack of boxes on legs headed towards him until the last second when he twisted his body, clipping the new tenant as he shoved past. 

‘Hey —‘ 

‘Sorry!’ He called over his shoulder, barely glancing back to glance at them before rushing off. 

- Elizabeth huffed setting the last of her boxes down onto the floor of her new apartment, arm still sore where that asshole on the staircase had clipped her while bulldozing through. She looked around. This was her new apartment. That sure felt weird to say. Back home the prospect of going it alone and making it big in the big city was a lot more romantic than the sad little space before that cost more than it was worth. But going back wasn’t an option, she told herself, picturing her fathers furious face when she stalked out of his house for the last time. Shaking her head, she reached for the box of cleaning supplies, determined not to fail like he taunted her she would. 

The day passed quickly and by the time the sun was setting, she’d accumulated a huge garbage bag of dust, bug carcasses and other unmentionables she’d found in the apartment. Now where was the bin? 

She paused realising the superintendent hadn’t showed her where to dispose of her rubbish and there was no way she was leaving the bag in her apartment for another second. Hefting it, she opened the door to find it. 

A few minutes later, Elizabeth realised that she was completely lost, and by some miracle had ended up at her own door. She was just about to give up when the sound of a door clicking caught her attention and she watched a tall broad shouldered man step out, carrying a garbage bag of his own. Perfect. 

She wanted to leap after him but cautioned herself. Jesus Elizabeth let’s try not to creep out the new neighbours just yet? 

He had headphones on so he wouldn’t have hear her approach but she followed behind him at a safe distance just to be safe. He lead her unaware the the fifth floor where the disposal awaited and she paused letting him throw away his bag first before stepping up for hers. As her neighbour turned, Elizabeth saw the tired lines on his unexpectedly handsome face. Noticing her staring, the stranger gave her a grim half smile before stepping aside to let her throw her giant bag away. 

- As soon as Drake got back into his apartment, his phone vibrated with a text. 

Kiara: Dinner on Friday? 

Sounds good. 

He clicked his phone off and sighed. 

Kiara was... high maintenance to say the least. She was beautiful and smart and way out of his league and sometimes he wondered what he was doing with a girl like her. Their physical attraction was undeniable but in all other aspects, he felt severely lacking. He’d never pictured himself dating a high class New York socialite like her. 

In his mind, he’d always pictured himself with a down to earth, jeans and t shirt kinda girl who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty for fear of ruining her manicure. Kinda like that girl he’d run into in the hallway. The new tenant he guessed, just finished cleaning judging by the giant garbage bag, messy hair and streak of dust on her cheek. His lips twisted up a little at the memory. 

Yeah someone more like her. 

-

‘So how are you liking New York?’

Elizabeth took a sip of her latte as her best friend sat expectantly on the other side of the lunch table. ‘It’s... certainly an experience.’

‘Welcome to the real world baby girl. It sucks. You’re gonna love it.’ Her best friend Athena Park replied mischieviously, earning an eyeroll in response. ‘Have you gone out since you got here?’

Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I’ve spent most of the week cleaning and unpacking and prepping for the interview today.’ 

‘How’d it go?’

‘Good I think? The guy wasn’t too sure but the lady liked me. They said they’d get back to me at the end of the week.’ 

 ‘Yes!’ Athena crowed loudly, other patrons of the restaurant cringing at her. ‘That’s a perfect reason to celebrate. You free tomorrow night? Doesn’t matter. You’re free tomorrow night. We’re going out!’

-

‘Thanks!’ 

 Elizabeth tipped the delivery boy in exchange for one supreme pizza that was definitely not recommended for just one person. After the interview today she was hoping for a nice quiet night in to relax. She shut the door waiting for a few moments for the delivery boy to leave before sticking her head out in hope of catching sight of that handsome stranger. She’d caught herself in the act of looking out for him in the hallway each time, hoping for a glimpse of her mysterious stranger, who despite his attractive looks, seemed to be permanently grumpy. 

Elizabeth had no idea what she was trying to achieve by this. It’s not like she was interested interested.  After her recent break up with Robbie, she definitely was okay with being single for a very very long time. Still a little bit of eye candy wouldn’t hurt. Seeing nothing, she shut the door and settled in for a long night with Emma Swan, Regina Mills and Killian Jones, main characters of her favourite TV show.

- 

‘C’mon babe you know I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t personal.’ 

‘Felt pretty damn personal to me Drake. Kiara snapped back, tossing her perfectly flat ironed hair as she glared at herself in her compact in the dim light of the cab. 'He’s my cousin.' 

 'He’s a pretentious prick.' 

 ‘Drake!' She snapped her compact shut and fixed him with a furious look. 

‘Sorry,' he mumbled half heartedly, not meaning the single word because anyone that complained that his exotic caviar had been served two degrees warmer than it should have been, deserved prick status in his mind. Still he felt guilty for making Kiara upset after she had worked so hard to maintain a good relationship with her cousin and he had probably ruined it. 

 'Babe I’m sorry.' He leaned over kissing her cheek, nuzzling her neck. 

‘Mmhmm.' She hummed in annoyance, arms folded across her chest as she stared out the window. 

 Drake wasn’t giving up yet. Sliding close, he brushed her hair away from her neck, stubble grazing the exposed skin, a hand finding her thigh. 'Let me make it up to you.' 

 Kiara scoffed but he could tell her resolve was wavering. He began tracing little circles on her thigh, as he pressed his lips to her neck, searching for her sweet spot. 

 ‘Please.' He murmured, finding it and she let out a moan. ‘I’ll do anything you want me to.’ 

‘You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute. Kiara muttered before slamming her lips onto his. 

-

Elizabeth was completely enraptured by the final episode of season three of Once Upon A Time, pizza dangling between her mouth and hand. When the big reveal happened— 

  Shit! Both her hands clamped over her mouth, eyes bugged open as she sat in horror for a few moments after the end credits ended. It took a stick wet sensation on her stomach to pull her out of her stupor and she looked down to see the piece of pizza that she had slathered in child sauce lying face down on her shirt. Groaning out loud she glanced at the time and the big basket of dirty laundry that she had been putting off for the last three hours that she’d spent on the couch. 

  Surely no one would be doing laundry at 1:30am right? 

 Hefting it on her hip, she tugged the door open, shoving her foot between the crack distracted as she leaned over to grab her keys from the glass bowl when a strange sound reached her ears. 

  Is that moaning?

Poking her head out the door, her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. 

  Oh... he has a girlfriend. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Her very mysterious, very attractive neighbour currently had his tongue down a girl’s throat as he pinned her to his front door right in full view of anyone walking by. Pressed so tightly together, Elizabeth had no idea where he ended and she began, she forced herself to shut the door, opting not to be the creepy neighbour with a voyeurism kink. She would just wait until they were gone and escape down to the communal laundry room. Her neighbour and his girl didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon, she observed after a good five minutes had passed. 

Their moans grew louder and louder until —

'Get a bloody room will ya? Some of us are tryna to fuckin sleep!' 

Thank you cranky Australian dude from 145.

With armed with her phone, earbuds and throwback playlist on, Elizabeth hoisted the basket on her hip, ready to take the monster that was her laundry basket. 

-

Drake sighed to himself again, the argument still replaying in his mind. 

'You don’t even try.' 

'All I’m doing is trying!' 

 'Well maybe you need to try harder!’ 

‘I don’t know what the fuck you expect from me!’ 

‘Clearly too much!’ 

Still shirtless, he ran a hand over his face wondering how they could go from making out to a yelling match in mere seconds. Too riled up to stay in this room as the scent of Kiara's Black Opium cologne still remained, he grabbed his phone and stalked out the door, remembering he had a pile of laundry to pick up from the laundry room downstairs. 

 A movement at the corner of his eyes, he realised he wasn’t alone. Glancing behind the second row of washing machines, his eyebrows shot towards his hairline. 

 His new neighbour, the girl who had followed him to the bin the other night, the one that he couldn’t help sneak looks at locked in her own little world, completely unaware of his presence. Earphones on, dancing like no one was watching because as far as she knew no one was. Interestingly enough she was also shirtless, save for a pair of pyjama shorts and a sports bra. As she attempted and failed to do what he guessed was meant to be a Spice Girls dance move. 

The sight brought a smile to his face despite his earlier fight with Kiara. Not wanting to embarrass his new neighbour, he crept away, resolving to introduce himself properly sometime.

-

'What?’ Elizabeth yelled over the loud music of the club, having clearly drunk more than she should have. 

 Athena repeated herself, trying to be heard over the pounding bass beat with even less success than the first two times she’d tried. 

 ‘What?’ 

Her best friend rolled her eyes, making a circle with one hand and stabbing her pointer finger through it repeatedly, needing no further clarification. 

 Elizabeth turned to the blonde guy whom she was currently dancing with knowing at once that a similar though was on his mind. She sized him up, weighing the pros and the cons of this while Athena was already heading off with another girl. Her partner raised an eyebrow at her playfully and Elizabeth felt a grin begin to grow. 

Why the hell not?

-

Now that he thought over it, Drake truly felt like an asshole for the night before. Kiara wasn’t wrong, he hadn’t been trying his hardest at all. He’d know what life he’d been in for when he started dating her, the demands and requirements of her socialite status and he’d promised her he was worth it. 

He liked to think of himself as a trustworthy guy and in the interest of not throwing a two year relationship out the window, he grabbed his jacket, phone and keys before he could talk himself out of it.

-

Adjusting the large hastily purchased sunglasses on her face, Elizabeth glanced around self-consciously as she made her way across the street to her apartment building, hoping no one would see her messy hair and hastily donned nightclub dress and put two and two together. Waiting for the elevator induced a spiral of anxiety as she prayed that none of the building’s fellow residents would show up. Glancing behind her, she caught the eye of the rotund building’s superintendent, regarding her with a thoroughly unimpressed gaze. When the doors finally dinged open, she rushed inside, hastily jabbing the close button. Adequately satisfied that no one had seen her do the most embarrassing walk of shame ever, Elizabeth slumped against the side, so ready for a hot shower and a six hour nap. 

 'Hold it!' A hand slipped past the closing doors, preventing them from closing. 

She could barely stop herself from gasping as her grumpy-but-attactive-and-also-kinda-mysterious neighbour joined her in the small space, looking just as dishevelled as she was.

They stood there in silence, both not wanting to state the obvious cheesy elevator music trickled through the crackling speakers as Elizabeth struggled to think of something to say. 

 ‘Rough night?' 

The guy picked up his dark head, giving her a half hearted nod. 'Yeah you could say that. You?' 

'You have no idea,’ she sighed, wracking her brains for something to say. 'I’ve seen you around sometimes. Your girlfriend is really pretty.’

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as her neighbour’s narrowed in confusion. 

'I just mean.. uh... I’m not stalking you or anything uh.. I’ve seen you together.' 

'Uhh thanks... I think?’ He ran a hand through his ruffled brown hair. 'Would probably mean more if she was still my girlfriend.' 

 Guilt immediately bloomed in her. Good one Richmond. 'Oh. I didn't mean to...I’m sorry to hear that.' 

 'Don’t be.’ He shrugged it off. 'It was bound to happen sooner or later. But hey at least the sex was good right?’ 

‘Yeah,’ she answered weakly. ‘It was… it was good.’ 

 Mercifully the elevator dinged, getting to their floor and to her dismay, they were headed the same way, forced to walk together. 

 ‘You’re not from around here are you?’ 

‘Was it that obvious?’ Elizabeth replied, surprised that he interested in making conversation after not one but two verbal blunders from her. 

 He shrugged again, making her clock that as one of his trademark gestures. 'You liking it here?’ 

‘Its definitely taking some getting used to but its not too bad.’ 

‘Huh, yeah. There’s no place like it.’ His tone was strange but she couldn’t decipher what he could mean by it as they were already at her door. 

 ‘Well this is me.’ 

‘So it seems,’ he replied, already turning to go. 

‘I’m Elizabeth.’ He paused, regarding her for a moment, lips twisting into a half smile. 

'Drake.’ 

‘See you around I guess.’ 

‘Yeah, you too.’ 

-

Tags:  @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa, @drakewalkerwhipped , @thewolvesss ,  @mfackenthal , @srawesleyghuewrites , @topsyturvy-dream , @enmchoices , @gardeningourmet @debramcg1106 , @alesana45 , @meladoridarcy, @blackcatkita , @tmarie82 , @annekebbphotography , @lizk77 , @jayjay879 , @tornbetween2loves , @akrenich , @theroyalweisme , @likethetailofacomet , @sleepwalkingelite  , @ooo-barff-ooo , @drakewalker04 , @mkatschoicesblog ,  @speedyoperarascalparty , @carabeth , @fairydustandsarcasm , @drakewalkerisreal  @mrsnazariowritesagain

#tbh idk what im trying to achieve here #can i even write fic anymore #half my permatags dont read lmao #but if y'all want i'll write more #inspo and time are hard to come by these days ugh #drake x mc #drake walker #trr drake #drake x elizabeth #elizabeth richmond #TRR AU #The Royal Romance #playchoices #choices #choices fandom #choices fanfiction

[wolf-555-writer]

Heating Up Part 1

So... something else for you guys. I took a little pause from writing the Alex Danvers story and came up with this as I also love Caitlin Snow from The Flash :). 

I assumed some stuff about how to control Caitlin’s powers. Hope you don’t mind... 

Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost x Meta Reader

Summary: Reader is a metahuman and can control heat. Team Flash is in need of your help as Caitlin can't control her powers anymore and is on the loose as Killer Frost.

Word Count: 2,187

“Have you found her?” Barry asks while nervously pacing around in the cortex.

“Can you please stop”, Cisco answers, rather annoyed by Barry. “You asked the same question, like, seconds ago. Nothing has changed since.”

“I just want to know where she is, okay?”

“We all want to know where she is”, Cisco reacts, gaze fixed on the screen. The blue light shining on his face.

“Wait… what do we do when we’ve found her?”, Iris asks perceptively, watching over Cisco’s shoulder, following his every move. “What do you mean?”, Barry replies, looking at Iris confused.

“Well… she’s not Caitlin anymore as she-”. Iris is interrupted by Cisco who quickly lifted his head up and is now staring at Barry. “No, she’s Killer Frost”, as he vividly remembers the vibe he had about Caitlin. Fighting in the dark, misty woods, not being able to reach her anymore, only left with Killer Frost.

“Maybe we need to find a solution beforehand, you know, to turn her back to our Caitlin Snow”, Cisco presents because he definitely doesn’t want his vibe to come true.

“So, what do you suggest, Cisco?” Barry asks, placing himself next to Cisco and finally standing still.  

“Well, what do we need to defrost Frost…”, Cisco teases with a slight grin, one eyebrow lifted, and adding an intentional pause. Because he already knows the answer to his own question.

Seeing his eyes widen, now locked with Cisco’s Barry answers, “Heat!”, as if an imaginary lightbulb suddenly turned on above his head. 

“Indeed, we need heat. Cotrolled heat.”

///

Busy with cleaning the fire truck spotless, you see two guys, kinda nerdy looking, walk into the fire station, gazing around as if they’re lost. One of your colleagues walks up to them. You can’t hear what they’re discussing but suddenly you notice your fellow firefighter point in your direction. Wait a minute- He’s pointing at you.

What would they need from me? They don’t look like law enforcement or something… While you’re occupied thinking about what the reason could be, the two guys are already calling you by name.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”, the one with the long, black hair asks.

“Yes, that’s me”, you respond. Ceasing the cleaning task, you smoothly jump down from the large fire truck. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you a metahuman that can control the vibration velocity of molecules, or better said: control heat?”, he demands out of the blue. Then the other guy quickly swoops in because your face starts to radiate confusion and plain anger. 

I mean, that’s kind of a personal question...

“My name is Barry Allen and this is Cisco Ramon. I apologize for his inappropriate question”, the other guy eases, now frowning at his partner, apparently named Cisco. “I work as a CSI at the CCPD and we’ve come to a conclusion that you are indeed a metahuman”. You stare silently at the two guys while Cisco whispers something at Barry like -that's exactly what I said-, scowling at him and making a hand gesture.

How the hell do they know this and why do they even want to know? you think, simultaneously trying to come up with a proper response.

“What gave you the indication that, as you just so subtly said, I am a metahuman who can influence temperature?”, you ask them, staring into their eyes stone-cold. Kinda proud of your smart counter question, you casually lean against the glistening fire truck with one arm.

“You were in Central City when the STAR labs explosion happened, right?”

“Yes I was. I was working”, you confirm, still in the dark about the purpose of their visit, now in an intimidating pose with your arms crossed and shoulders squared. When you discovered your powers you surely made some mistakes in the beginning, but those were minor accidents, nothing serious. You quickly had them under control and only used them occasionally at your job. I mean, it does come in handy sometimes. However, you stay careful as of course not the whole world needs to know.

“Well, we have noticed-”. Barry cannot finish his sentence because he is being interrupted by Cisco. They clearly do not see eye to eye on what questions to ask.

What do they even want from me? From my powers?

Watching them fight like a married couple, you hear an alarm go off. A loud noise echoing through the entire station and red lights flashing brightly. You quickly react out of instinct as you need to move out, responding to the call. You hop into the fire truck while putting on all the gear and declare relieved: “Sorry guys, duty calls!”. They silently stare at you with their mouths wide open watching you drive away with the rest of your team, leaving them behind, unable to ask what they really came for.

///

Finally… the long-lasting shift is over. Walking away from the station towards your car, truly exhausted, you bite down in a crunchy red apple. You taste the sweet, juicy flavour, lastly able to eat after the busy day you had. It’s already dark, seeing the moon shine bright. Arriving at the car, keys in hand, you notice a piece of paper on the windshield. Picking it up, now holding the note as suddenly The Flash appears in front of the car. You can’t see his face clearly because the street light he’s standing underneath is broken. He starts to speak with a distorted voice. “I need your help, (Y/N)”.

How does he know my name? you think, staring at him in silence, frowning and still holding the paper in your right hand. He continues while you chew and swallow the remaining apple chunks left in your mouth. 

So it appears The Flash needs your help. He actually needs your powers to be exact. A friend of his is in serious danger. If you want to help him you need to come to the address described on the note. You tilt your head down and read what’s on the piece of paper. By the time you look up again The Flash is gone, feeling a mild breeze as he vanished. Because helping people is in your blood, you don’t hesitate. The Flash asked for my help, that’s not some opportunity I get everyday. Unlocking the door, you hop into the car and start the engine. “Let’s go to STAR Labs”, you announce as you hit the gas pedal forcefully with your right foot while gradually releasing the clutch with your left, driving off with screeching tires.

///

Arriving at the STAR Labs building, you gaze at the damaged structures. It doesn’t nearly resemble the shiny, new, high-tech building it was before the explosion. Not knowing where to go, you just casually walk inside, no security or whatever. After wandering around in the hallways, you eventually hear faint voices in the distance and start to follow the noise. Suddenly all eyes promptly turn to you, shocked expressions on their faces as you were standing there a couple of seconds in silence. The Flash is not wearing his mask, probably didn’t expect you so soon. You can see who it is. It’s the guy that visited you at work today. 

It’s Barry Allen.

“Wait- What the hell... it’s you”, you exclaim, completely startled. “Okay, I’m out”, you continue since you’re still furious about their inappropriate questions and unsolicited visit at the fire station today. They crossed a line there. You’ve had enough of this weirdness and start to walk away as suddenly The Flash, aka Barry Allen, abruptly appears in front of you. “Wait, just hear me out”, he expresses with credible remorse in his eyes. Apparently they’re in desperate need of your help?

The guy with the long black hair, Cisco, starts to explain how their friend Caitlin Snow cannot control her powers anymore and is on the loose. With the help of your ‘heat’ powers you can counteract Killer Frost’s ‘cold’ powers and turn her back into Caitlin again. Or at least... they think you can. You definitely want to help them, compelled by their story, but you don’t know if this will work. “I mean… I ‘ve never used my powers on a real person before...”  

///

It’s dark outside. The little light that is shining is coming from the bright, white full moon as it’s a clear night. You’re currently in the cold, foggy woods, panting because you’re running, fast. Cisco had found the location of Killer Frost, you don’t exactly know how, probably something to do with his powers that you do not completely understand yet. In the distance you see them, Barry and Cisco, as all of a sudden a shockwave of cold air hits you right in the face. Or call them by their superhero names, Flash and Vibe, who are currently getting their asses kicked by Killer Frost. You’re scared and feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest. Adrenaline rushing through your veins. You notice Cisco taking cover behind a broad tree, seeing the woman with hair as white as snow shooting ice shards at him, piercing the thick bark in the end. They’re talking- no, screaming at each other.

“Caitlin! This isn’t you! Stop!”

“Caitlin is no more, my name is Killer Frost!” she furiously answers while rapidly throwing icy fragments his way.

What if I hurt her? They’ll never forgive me for that, because Caitlin means so much to them. Can I do this?

The help you received from Cisco during your training at STAR Labs did give you some confidence. But it’s not the same, now that you actually have to do this in a real-life, and death, situation.

It cannot wait any longer as the circumstances are escalating quickly. The fight between them is rapidly heating up. No- wait- cooling down? The Flash has now reached Caitlin’s alter-ego, Killer Frost. But he harshly collides with the dirty, forest soil due to the layer of slippery ice that appeared underneath his feet, induced by KF’s cold powers. She aggressively stabs him with a sharp icicle in the leg, making him scream in agony while reaching for his shin. He can’t get away. Cisco is still pinned down behind the tree. You have to act, like right now, preventing a fatal outcome.

Sprinting towards her, you covertly roll over, making an evasive maneuver. You grab her. Arms wrapped around her tight. Closing your eyes and highly concentrating on your powers. You feel heat radiating through your body. You feel it all around you, completely under your control. Contracting your arm muscles extensively since it takes some strength to restrain Killer Frost, who’s now brutally screaming to release her. But you’ve completely blocked out every single sound that is hearable. You block yourself from everything. Clear minded, only focusing on the temperature around you. Controlling it. At a given moment you don’t feel her resisting anymore. 

Did- did I… kill her?

When you cautiously open your eyes you see someone with gorgeous brown hair, very very close to you. Her eye colour not silver-white anymore, but beautiful, hazel brown and sparkling. So... this is Caitlin Snow? You’ve become speechless while you’re still holding her tight. She looks into your lost, dreamy eyes, confused, because she doesn’t know who you are and especially why your arms are wrapped around her so strongly.

“Hi- can you maybe please let me go?”, she asks with a soft whispering voice. With her question she snapped you out of your distracted state and you awkwardly answer: “Yeah… eh… sorry, I-I …”. Relaxing your arms and freeing Caitlin, you stop in the middle of the sentence while you watch her staring at her friends in utter guilt. She did this. She hurt them badly. The smirk that had appeared on your face quickly disappears. Cisco swiftly jumps up from behind the damaged tree and rushes towards you two as he noticed the situation is safe. Barry, who’s still in excruciating pain, has removed the sharp object from his leg and the wound is already healing as we speak, perks of having speed-healing powers. Standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do since you have done your part, you watch Cisco hug Caitlin.

“You’re back again”, he relaxes his breath. Caitlin stutters. “I-I’m… so sorry guys…”, her eyes becoming watery and looking at Barry, who’s still lying on the muddy ground in pain. He sits up. 

“It’s okay, Caitlin. We’re just glad that you’re okay, thanks to (Y/N)”, he mentions while they all turn their heads in your direction, making you slightly blush. Gratitude overflowing as this feeling is new to you. Honestly, saving people is kind of an everyday business for you. But this, this feels different. Hoping you can pursue these kinds of ‘superhero matters’ more often in the future, you stand there. A warmth rippling through your body, not because of your meta powers. It’s caused by the charming woman you saved today, curious what will happen between you two, as it slightly feels like you’ve found your counterpart. Literally. ‘Heat’ and ‘Cold’, opposites belonging together. 

Continue with part 2

#caitlin snow #killer frost #caitlin snow x reader #caitlin snow imagine #the flash #barry allen #cisco ramon #iris west #wlw fiction #fanfiction #caitlin snow x you #killer frost x you #killer frost x reader #caitlin x reader

[thenarator]

Paradox Pack: The Paradox Job, pt 1

sorry for the rush job on the editing, but i’m super thrilled to be working on this story. it’s a fic for my masks campaign, which is super fun and completely awesome to play. mostly for the other members of the group, but you can read if you want.

Nightingale went down first.

It had been a perfectly ordinary mission, in the beginning. Darkling’s family had received intelligence that there was going to be shipment for the Ring of Gyges passing through the warehouse district, not far from where the old Lairhouse had been. The pack had chosen positions and lain in wait, expecting the trucks at any time. They should have twigged that something was wrong when there was only one truck, but when the fight broke out no one was paying very close attention to the number of vehicles until Nightingale threw open the rear doors.

The truck contained a large and conspicuous power dampener, and a number of wire cages. Five wire cages to be exact. All of them were empty. As Nightingale stood frozen they one by one looked over: first Clubs, then Dynamo, Sundog, Butterfly and Darkling. As they saw the interior of the truck they all reached the same conclusion.

There was no shipment. Or rather, the shipment was them.

“It’s a trap!” Nightingale shouted, leaping backward to try and take to the air, but one of the thugs slammed the butt of his gun against her back and forced her to her knees inside the truck. He jumped in after her and shoved her into one of the cages before she could regain her feet, and locked it behind her.

“Nightingale!” Clubs yelled, leaping into the back of the truck to try and free her, but the thug who had been fighting Butterfly, who she’d been obliged to give some room to avoid taking the barrel of his gun the teeth, aimed at Clubs’ back and fired.

With a cry Clubs went down, bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder, and the thug in the truck shoved him into another cage.

“Clubs!” Nightingale shrieked, rattling the bars of her cage, but it was solid and the power dampener was doing its work.

The thug who’d shot clubs turned his weapon on Darkling next, but before he could shoot Butterfly high kicked his gun so that it whacked him hard in the nose. Another well placed kick to the groin had the thug on his knees, and Butterfly turned to the others. Dynamo, who had been trying to get at another thug with her stunchucks, activated her force field belt and ran toward the truck. Multiple thugs tried to stop her, but her force field barreled through them like a battering ram. She leaped into the back of the truck, her belt’s protection knocking aside the thug that had trapped her teammates, and began trying to undo the locks on the cages.

Low on time, Dynamo simply put her hand on the lock and tried to short it out, but apparently this had been factored into preparations. She screamed as whatever was in the lock flooded her system, electricity crackling along her skin, and her belt shorted out with a whirring buzz. She dropped like a stone, and was promptly shoved into a third cage.

Butterfly was distracted at that point by another thug coming at her from behind. He got an arm around her neck in a sleeper hold, and for a few seconds she was unable to free herself. She was just beginning to see blackness creep in at the edges of her vision when suddenly light exploded from above, and Sundog’s voice cut through the confusion.

“Let my family go!” they said, tone furious and commanding.

The thugs ignored them, but it was distraction enough for Butterfly to fling the one that had hold of her over her shoulder. He landed on his back, dazed and half blind, and Butterfly stood with one hand on his neck, exerting just enough pressure to cut off his air, but not enough to crush the windpipe. Above her Sundog was still shouting for them to let the others go, but down on the ground another thug was aiming at Sundog. Before Butterfly could move suddenly a small tuft of feathers was sticking out of Sundog’s back. A stunning dart.

As Sundog began to fall, their light fading as they lost consciousness, Darkling dived into the shadows surrounding the nearest warehouse. There was a long shadow from a nearby stack of crates right where Sundog was falling, and Darkling opened a portal directly beneath them. Sundog fell through it, and then there was a grunt of pain from Darkling as the exit portal in the shadows of the warehouse dumped the unconscious sunbadger atop them.

Not willing to waste the opportunity, the thugs swarmed into the shadows. In seconds four of them had the winded Darkling by all four limbs, and a fifth was carrying Sundog. Darkling was not so much hoisted as throw, struggling and kicking, into the truck and shoved into a cage by one of the soldiers that climbed in after them, and Sundog was placed none too gently in another.

“No!” Butterfly screamed, lifting her foot from the thug’s throat, uncaring whether she had successfully knocked him out or not.

She ran for the truck, but all the thugs except the one she’d been grinding under her heel were piling into the back of the truck. With a jolt of horror Butterfly realized why there were only five cages in the back of the truck; she had no powers, and hence was of no interest to the Ring of Gyges. The doors to the back of the truck slammed before she reached them, and the truck sped off just as her fingers brushed the handle. She ran after it for a few yards, screaming incoherently, but it was no good. She could not catch up. She couldn’t save her family.

Finally Butterfly stopped running and bent double, hands on her knees, breathing hard. She heard the tires of the truck squealing as they sped off, and there was the sound of laughter, and then of gunfire. Butterfly put up an arm to shield her face, and felt the bullet bounce off her suit. More laughter, and then the truck turned a corner and was gone.

Never, Butterfly thought, had she wished for superpowers. She’d always done enough, been enough, as an ordinary human. Her body was a weapon, a finely tuned instrument of beautiful destruction, and that had always, always been enough. As she watched the truck vanish however, she found that she couldn’t help but wish for some power that could reach out and stop them from getting away. Her family were right there, they were so close, and if they got any farther she would-

She shook herself. The truck was gone, and so was her family. Now she needed to concentrate on getting them back.

She turned, to see the thug she’d been choking with her foot sitting up and rubbing his throat. He had been left behind by his fellows, who had probably believe him unconscious. Now he turned to Butterfly, saw what was clearly the completely savage look on her face, and turned tail to flee.

“Oh no you don’t!” she shouted, breaking into a run.

The man was still dazed, and Butterfly was desperate, and she closed the distance between them easily. She kicked him in the back, hard, and he went sprawling forward onto the pavement. She turned him over, onto his back, with her foot, and he looked up at her in nothing short of horror and despair.

“Where are they taking my family?” Butterfly demanded.

“I don’t know,” the man shook his head.

Butterfly put her foot on his throat and pressed lightly. “Try again.”

“You don’t know the corners of the harbor my bits are gonna end up in if I tell you,” the man wheezed.

Butterfly reached up and traced Silver Star’s diadem with a finger. “Recognize this?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he looked suddenly even more terrified than before. Butterfly summoned up every scrap of anger and remembered what Kate had told her. They have to believe you’ll really hurt them.

“I was trained by Silver Star herself,” Butterfly told him, her tone cold as ice. “If you dodge my question one more time I will crush your throat beneath my foot, don’t think I won’t.”

The man swallowed, then whimpered. “There’s a piece of paper in my jacket. It’s got the address.”

#masks a new generation #the paradox pack #paradox pack #the paradox job #sam writes fic