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pftones3482 · 5 years

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The Smell of Juniberries

(A Klance Commission for @aquacanis).

Under a cut for length, set about two years post season 8. Yeeeee.

Juniberries smelled like how cranberries tasted – tart, pungent, with hints of sweetness that paired well with almost any other smell they came into contact with. They were wonderful for bouquets, if one knew what they were doing, and after nearly two years of working with them, Lance was very confident in his ability to make floral arrangements.

“You just about done here? I need help with the sound equipment,” Pidge piped from his shoulder.

Lance let his hands fall from the flowers, studying them with a critical gaze for one last moment before twisting to the gremlin at his side. She’d shot up nearly four inches since the end of the war, perfect arm rest height, and Lance used this to his advantage now, leaning on her shoulder. “Can’t get Hunk to do it?”

Pidge rolled her eyes, glasses reflecting the early afternoon light of the open-aired pavilion as she nodded over to Hunk and Shay. “They’re working on lighting and the dessert table. Ask me, they’re just flirting incessantly.”

Lance smothered his grin and nodded, letting a chuckle slip loose. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be over in a minute, Pidgeon. I’ve got two pieces left.”

She gave him a two fingered salute and then walked back to the DJ booth, adjusting her suit as she moved. Lance took the second of reprieve to straighten out his own suit, a dark jacket over a soft, baby blue button down with a pink bowtie. His eyes perused the pavilion, lips quirking at the sight of Hunk and Shay laughing, at Coran and Iverson (THAT had been a surprise, but was admittedly adorable) bickering on how to hang the black and white streamers across the room.

“Need some help?”

“Quiznak!” Lance hissed, nearly elbowing Keith in the throat as he whipped around. “Don’t do that to a guy, Kogane!”

Keith’s smile was genuine, a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound it.

Lance huffed a breath and attempted to compose himself while simultaneously giving Keith a once over. He was the best man, dark suit jacket and maroon colored button down. The bow tie at his neck was pink, like Lance’s, though a different shade, more suited to match the color of his shirt. His pants were form fitting, flaring just slightly at the shoes, and Lance caught himself staring just a little too long at his thighs. He shot his eyes back up, but Keith hadn’t seemed to notice. “You good?”

Keith pulled his gaze back from where he’d been studying the room. “Yeah. Yeah, just can’t…can’t quite wrap my head around it.”

Lance nudged into him gently, smiling in the hopes of easing his nerves. “Hey. He’s basically your brother. It makes sense you’re nervous.”

Keith snorted, a small sound, but one that sent Lance back years. “I shouldn’t be. Obviously he can handle himself, and Curtis is amazing. It’s just…I spent so long worrying about him and trying to…I don’t know.”

His brows were furrowed now, and Lance let him sit for a moment in silence. Took the time to collect his own thoughts.

For two years, he’d been working on the family farm. Integrating juniberries into Earth’s atmosphere had been shockingly easy, though it wasn’t that much of a surprise, given how similar the atmosphere of Altea was to Earth. Since the war, they had been the most coveted type of flower, worth hundreds, and Lance was determined to make sure people knew about them, their history, about the woman who had made their existence once again possible.

Lance pressed his lips together and glanced around.

She was here, in subtle ways. The pink of the bow ties, at Shiro’s insistence. The juniberries in everyone’s lapels. The scattered pictures on the tables, dozens featuring goofy selfies and group photos that mostly Lance and Pidge had forced everyone into. He was glad they had done it, now.

She was there in the way Coran’s gaze lingered too long on the juniberries, in the way Iverson’s hand slipped over his shoulder and squeezed, reassuring. In the way Pidge paused at the DJ booth, eyes shut, fingers clamped around the headphones over her ears, murmuring words in Altean rather than English. The way Hunk’s fingers shook over the pastries on the table, juniberry shaped and infused cookies and cupcakes, Shay’s hands quelling the trembling.

She was there when Lance turned, to reassure Keith, the halo of light that circled his body as he looked back to Lance, a crooked, anxious smile on his face.

He knew that she would tell him to go for it. That she’d want him to be happy. It scared him to the depths of the oceans, but he knew she’d encourage it. This feeling he’d had, for far too long.

“Lance?”

He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep him from doing something stupid. “Yeah, sorry?”

Keith’s head tilted. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail, wisps of escaped pieces dusting his forehead. “Are you okay?”

Lance countered it. “Are you?”

Keith’s lips pressed into a line, thin, looked away. “I…”

Curtis’ mother came flying into the room from the adjacent church, clapping her hands. “Chop chop everyone, let’s go! Five minutes until we need to be in places!”

Before he could lose his nerve, Lance settled his hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezed. “Later. Help me with these arrangements.”

They ended up a little sloppier than the rest, but Lance couldn’t bring himself to care.

The summer after the war, a year after the end of the Galra empire, found Lance kneeling in the dirt outside his house, hands muddy from fixing the fallen juniberries. There had been a storm the night before. It had taken out trees, bushes, roses, the like. Juniberries had never been exposed to rain until they were planted on Earth. They did well in it, as one could expect, but they were delicate. Couldn’t take a lot.

They had fallen, wilted, were on the verge of dying.

Lance couldn’t see. His vision was blurred, hands shaking too hard to move any of the flowers properly. His family was asleep - it was early. The sun was barely on the horizon.

It felt cruel. Like the universe was playing a horrible, nasty joke on him. “Here’s this plant that reminds you of your dead girlfriend! Lol time to kill it.” What kind of sick sense of humor did the universe have?

Hands closed over his. Slow. Meticulous. Uncaring of the mud and the dirt and the tears. Lance looked up to find Keith kneeling before him, still dressed in his Blade uniform. His knife was on his hip, a weird detail that set in Lance’s mind and never left. Behind him stood the others, in various forms of dress, all of them looking tired and sad.

He looked back to Keith, drowned in the depths of his gaze. When he opened his mouth, Lance found himself focusing on the way his lips moved, caught himself, very briefly, wondering what they felt like.

“How can we help?”

They spent the day cleaning, restoring, throwing mud and just laughing. It was the first time since her death that Lance had felt truly at peace. At the end of the day, they’d joined Veronica and the kids for lemonade on the porch and surveyed the saved fields.

Keith’s arm had draped around Lance’s shoulders, Blade Uniform replaced with one of Marco’s old college t-shirts. A friendly hug. The weight still registered in Lance’s head. He still didn’t know how they had known to come. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save all of them.”

A glance to the left, at the wheelbarrow of unsalvageable juniberries, and then back to the right, at Keith. The others, behind him. He knew, then. Felt his cheeks burn, but he couldn’t tell if it was a blush or those damned marks. “We never could.”

The hug grew tighter.

“I do.”

“You may now kiss the groom,” Coran announced, eyes twinkling and mustache quirked.

Lance whooped louder than almost anyone as Shiro and Curtis closed together, grinning through their kiss. Hunk grabbed him and Pidge up in a tight hug and Lance sank into it, smiling so widely that he knew his cheeks would ache in the morning.

A look to his left, Keith clapping politely but smiling like he’d just seen the sunrise for the first time. Lance nudged Hunk, jutted his head, and in seconds the man was being swept up along with them, yelping in surprise but laughing as soon as he knew what was happening.

The after party went long. Speeches read, by Keith, one of Curtis’ old friends from before the war that Lance didn’t know very well. One by Coran, that Shiro had requested, one that made the old man cry even as he read.

And then dancing.

Too many partners to count. He danced with Pidge, goofily, twice. Took it more seriously the second time before nudging her off to the woman she kept eyeing in the corner. Lance thought she might be related to Curtis, but wasn’t sure how. Danced with Hunk, mock slow-dancing, and then with Shay, sticking his tongue out at Hunk over her shoulder as she giggled. With Coran, a dramatic waltz that made them both crack up and laugh like children. Coran’s face was soft when he left, his eyes settled on Lance’s cheeks. Lance knew it hurt him to look, sometimes. He didn’t hold it against him.

Somewhere into the night, Shiro approached. “Dance with me.”

Lance took his human hand in surprise but let Shiro lead him out onto the floor. Curtis was dancing with his little sister’s niece, swinging her around the dance floor as she squealed in delight. “How do you feel?” Lance asked, glancing back at Shiro. He realized, with a start, that he was just a little taller than him now.

Shiro’s smile was soft, barely there, but so genuine it ached. “The same? But different. If that makes sense.”

Lance hummed. “It does.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lance lifted his eyebrows, looking at Shiro in confusion. “What for?”

Shiro shrugged, spinning a little until Lance could see Keith over his shoulder. “For putting so many elements of her into this. I just…wanted her to be here, you know?”

Lance locked eyes with the man and softened, squeezing Shiro’s shoulder tightly where his hand rested. “Hey. I do. It’s your day. Of course you wanted her here. We all did. And she was. Here, I mean.”

Shiro’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know it must have been harder though. For you.”

Lance spluttered out a laugh, shaking his head. When he looked back up, Shiro was watching him. Not in surprise, or irritation, but just…watching. Gentle. “It’s okay,” Lance promised. “I miss her. Of course I do. We all do. But I…”

His eyes drifted again, falling on him, on the way Hunk was trying to teach him the wobble, of all fucking things. His hair was disheveled, suit jacket gone, top of his shirt unbuttoned. He was grinning, eyes sparkling.

Shiro spun so fast Lance barely registered the change in direction until he was watching Veronica and Nadia dancing on the opposite side of the room. Shiro’s lips curled into the most mischievous grin Lance had ever seen on the man. “Oh. OH. Lance.”

His cheeks were burning again, and he lowered his gaze. “I’m…”

“Do it.”

Lance looked up, somewhat embarrassed. “What?”

Shiro’s smile was softer, now, as he took in Lance’s anxiety. “Do it. He’ll say yes. I promise you that.”

He stepped back, pushed him gently in Keith and Hunk’s direction, hand lingering in Lance’s. Shiro squeezed, once. “I promise,” he whispered.

He walked away, then, stepping in and taking Curtis’ niece from him. Lance turned back to Keith and Hunk. Hunk was gone, helping Pidge with a technical issue. Keith was sitting alone, punch in hand.

He glanced up at the night sky, crystal clear and glittering with stars. “Allura, give me courage,” he muttered.

His marks burned as he walked.

Keith looked up when he approached, eyebrows raising, and Lance held out a hand, trying for a genuine, careful smile. “Would you like to dance?”

Keith studied him for a long moment, lips parting and eyes softening into something that Lance found magical. His hand settled in Lance’s with a tension that Lance could feel in his whole body. “I’d love to.”

#klance #my writing #klance fanfiction #past allurance #voltron: legendary defender #vld fanfiction #voltron #takashi shirogane #katie holt #lance #hunk #keith #allura #writing commissions #coran and iverson are a cute and underrated couple and i will go down with that ship #i hope you enjoy !#!!!!!

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thewayofthetrashcompactor · 6 years

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For Day 6 of @reylo-au week! I went with Harry Potter.

Prompt for this was: "Ben and Rey sharing their taste in music, and like idk that could be a date or the first time they meet."

It expanded a bit from the original prompt, but today Ben gets to hear Rey's taste in music, and tomorrow she hears his! First comes the angst, then tomorrow comes the fluff on Day 7 for free day.

also on ao3

Words: 2718 Rating: T

(A/N: Yes, jizz is a real type of music in the Star Wars universe. (Poor Rey))

Rey taps her foot as she waits, bobbing her head to the music. The DJ in the club keeps a good energy going, and she feels the beat of the latest song in her veins, keeping pace with the pounding of her heart. She doesn’t know much about music, but the song is loud with an edge of anger, in a way she could let herself get lost in if she wasn’t already busy. She has to keep herself from checking the wand tucked into the waistband of her low-riding jeans. She’s supposed to be undercover, in a place where no blood-conscious wizard would be caught dead.

She glances around the dark room where multicolored lights flash over the crowds of bodies, hordes of young people out to take what they can from the night. It isn’t a place where the remnants of the Death Eaters would be hanging out. The smells of alcohol and sweat have seeped into walls and sticky floors and the air of the room clings to her, humid and warm. Rey idly stirs the fruity drink dripping in her hand. She’d gotten one for appearances, wincing at the price, but doesn’t intend on drinking any of it. She leans against the small table shoved against the wall that she’d claimed for her own and scans the room again for her informant.

A man she’d noticed hunched over another table nearby keeps watching her, likely considering his chances if he approached her. He’s not bad looking, a little odd but tall and broad, with soft dark hair that falls over his face. She has a mission though, and it’s not to get laid. He wears a black leather jacket over his black shirt, conveniently matching his black pants, and she wonders how he's not dying of heat in the crowded space. She's grateful for the lightness of her low-cut top, even though it has to be long enough to cover the suspicious bulges of the gear she's packed away.

(continued under cut)

She tries to mentally convince the man to stay away. Unfortunately, her legilimency skills are still lacking. He drags himself up from his table, revealing he’s even taller than she’d thought, and strides lazily over to hers.

“You actually enjoy this garbage?” he says, gesturing vaguely at the DJ as he leans next to her, interrupting the way she’d been swaying to the beat.

Rey’s mouth falls open, the polite but firm insistence that she’s waiting for someone she’d prepared for him falling from her mind. “So what if I do?” she finally demands.

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, facing the writhing crowd filling the rest of the club with an expression of distaste. “Seriously?”

She crosses her arms. “Yes.” She’d just enjoyed it before, but now she’s ready to defend it to this asshole like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

He snorts. “So much for taste.”

“I’m sorry the club isn’t playing fucking Mozart for you,” she snaps.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not asking for an orchestra. I just don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to listen to something that doesn’t consist entirely of bass and autotune.”

“Let me guess. You don’t listen to anything that wasn’t hand carved onto a rock by true artists who’ve never willingly touched anything electronic in their lives.” She wonders if kneeing him and walking away would call too much attention to her.

“Actually, I enjoy some good jizz,” he says, completely straight-faced.

Rey chokes. She can’t tell if that was the worst pick up line ever said or if he actually means it.

“The new stuff too, not just the classics,” he continues, apparently taking her reaction as disbelief.

“What --” she starts to ask, and then realizes she really doesn’t want to play into whatever punchline he’s set up. “That’s...nice,” she says instead.

He frowns at her. “I know most people think it’s old fashioned, but if you really experience jizz in person…”

“Look,” she interrupts, not wanting to hear where this is going. “I’m waiting for someone. So if you --”

His frown deepens. “I know, Rey.”

She goes completely rigid, hand planting itself over where her wand is hidden before she can stop herself. “How the fuck --?”

He digs into his dark jacket and pulls a silver coin out from a hidden pocket. Her eyes widen. “I’m waiting for someone too,” he says dryly.

She reaches into her pocket and takes out a matching coin. When they move the two together, the coins glow gently, confirming their authenticity. They both shove them away and regard each other.

“Kylo,” he says, introducing himself.

She knows. “How did you know it was me?” she asks.

His lips quirk. “It wasn’t hard to pick out a wizard in this crowd.”

She bristles at that. “Between the two of us, I don’t think I was the one who had trouble blending in.”

“Between the two of us, I’m the one who recognized you,” he says, shrugging.

She glares. “You still haven’t said how you figured that out.”

“It wasn’t so much that you’re a witch,” he says, straightening. “Just that you clearly aren’t here for the same reasons as everyone else. You’re too on edge, like you’re about to pounce. Even if you did make a good show of actually enjoying the headache they call music here.”

“I do enjoy it,” she says, scowling.

His eyes widen. “Really? This?”

“Yes!”

He shakes his head. “Next time we’re meeting in a jizz bar so you can see something real.”

“We’re not doing that,” she says decisively. “And you’re getting ahead of yourself. You haven’t given me anything to make this meeting worthwhile yet, let alone another one.”

“Right.” His face turns drawn and shadowed and he takes a step into her, closing most of the space between them. She nearly protests, but then he speaks in a low tone, just loud enough for her to hear over the music in their close quarters. “Snoke is building up to something big. He sees the defeat in Europe as an opportunity to expand, not a loss. He’s brought in two Death Eaters from the fight over there, and they’re angry and ready for revenge. He’s not going to stop.”

She leans back enough to be able to look up at him, something she’s not used to having to do. “How do we know that any of that is true, and it’s not just a scare tactic to put us on edge?” she hisses. “You’re one of them. How can we possibly trust you?”

His warm brown eyes meet hers intently, and something nudges at her, telling her she’s seen that look before. “What other choice do you have?” he asks, and Rey gasps as the familiarity clicks.

Leia had said those same words to her, when Rey had demanded to know why they were even considering trusting one of the enemy. That same tone, the intense eyes with their cast of sadness, the curves of his face -- there’s no denying it.

“It’s you,” she breathes.

He frowns. “I thought we established that.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s you. You’re Leia’s son.” His face closes off completely at that, body angling ever so slightly away from her, and she knows she’s right.

Rumors of Leia’s son that she’d lost years before were whispered through the Resistance out of their leader’s hearing, though Rey wasn’t stupid enough to think that Leia didn’t know. Poe had shown her a photo once, when she’d gotten curious enough to ask, of him, his parents, and the general with her husband and son. Rey had found it unbearably sad at the time: Poe’s mother, Leia’s family, all lost to the First Order. But the resemblance between the happy couple she’d seen in the photo and their dark haired child to the brooding man in front of her is undeniable.

“Of course, she didn’t mention that little detail,” he says bitterly. His hand wraps around the edge of the table, gripping hard enough that the cheap plastic creaks.

Rey’s mind races. “How can you work for the Order? After everything they’ve done?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he says defensively, but it’s obvious the words aren’t convincing even to him.

“Wasn’t it?” she asks, crossing her arms again, ignoring how they brush against his chest with how close they still are.

“I don't need to justify myself to you,” he snarls, lashing out like a wounded animal.

“Fine.” She shoves away from the table, fully prepared to leave. She'd known the idea that one of Snoke's own trusted leaders would turn on him was too good to be true.

“Wait.” His hand clutches desperately at hers, hot and sweaty. One sharp look from her and he drops it, though he doesn't relent.

She stops, but doesn't relax. “I'm waiting.”

“It… made sense, at first,” he says, haltingly. She pauses, still ready to turn on her heel and leave, though something in the raw vulnerability of his expression convinces her to stay, at least to hear this.

“I believed in my grandfather's work, that we shouldn't have to hide, that all this secrecy only leads to destruction.” The words tumble out faster as he continues, and she wonders if he's ever said this to anyone before. “Magical and non magical share this planet, and we need to accept that, not bury it until it comes back to bite us all, again. Snoke made it sound like that's what he wanted too, made me feel valued, like I belonged.” He takes a deep breath, shuddering on the exhale. She shifts on her feet. It makes sense, she knows too well the kind of conflicts that have come from the Statute of Secrecy, and the kind of loneliness that makes a person ready to accept the first welcoming hand to come along.

“It was… easy. Too easy. Snoke leads the Order because he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to use the people around him. Everything we did, he explained how it was necessary, that it was for the good of everyone. It felt right.” He ends in a snarl, all anger turned inwards. The words come out like he's dragging them out of a morass deep inside of him, wiping them off and presenting them, still dripping, to her, in a desperate hope for her trust. His tone speaks to the bitter taste of them on his tongue. She swallows, acid burning the back of her throat.

“They killed your father,” she says. Anger and betrayal towards the only family she's known war with her sympathy.

His broad shoulders hunch inwards, like he can collapse into himself. His voice comes out in a whisper. “I know.”

Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow pants as the tangle of emotion rises to choke her. “They killed your family and you let them brand you!”

His hand grasps his arm where she knows Snoke's mark is burned into his skin. His nails dig into his jacket. “I know,” he says again, louder, angrier. “I'm reminded every single day that this is a part of me.”

“You're not the only one,” she says viciously. “Can you even imagine what you've done to your mother?”

For the first time since they've met, she has the fleeting fear that he might hurt her. It passes in an instant, the rage twisting his features pressing in and collapsing into misery. “I'll answer for that to her,” he says quietly. “Not to you.” He draws himself together, though the cracks where she can push and break him apart again remain obvious. “I can't change what I've done or what the Order has done. I want no part of what they have planned, but I know it's too late for me. I'm only here to tell you what Snoke intends. If you don't believe me, he will succeed.”

She can feel the tension surrounding them as she balances on the paper-thin edge of the choice he's given her. She wishes she knew what waited on either side.

“Do you… regret it?” It's the one thing she needs to know.

He looks down at the table, as if the answer will rise up out of the mess of stains and spills. “So much,” he says finally, barely audible.

She nods. “Okay.” A deep breath, centering herself. “Tell me what you know.”

His head jerks up and he meets her eyes with the kind of shock that comes from a foregone assumption that he won't be believed. She steps closer to him so their voices won't carry and then reaches out to rest a hand on his hip in an awkward attempt to blend in with the couples around them. He jumps at the contact, eyes going wide. She meets his gaze steadily, even as her heart pounds so hard she can barely breathe.

“What's Snoke planning?” she asks quietly, head tilted up to his.

The words jolt him out of the bewildered trance he'd slipped into at her touch. He clears his throat and angles himself in towards the table, distancing his front from hers. “He’s building his forces,” he says, matching her tone. “I told you about the fugitives he brought in from the remains of the order over there. I think he wants to use them to start expanding, create a base he can call on when the time comes.”

Rey nods. This is about what they’ve expected from Snoke, though the addition of new blood could be a problem. He continues. “That’s not all he’s bringing over either. There are creatures, dangerous ones, that he’s had people fetch for him, some from overseas, big shipments coming into the port. The kind of things he doesn’t have to worry about giving directions to, he’ll just let them loose and take advantage of the fallout.”

Shipments coming in. A sense of foreboding pushes against Rey, and her instincts rarely fail her. “Is that what happened to Han at the docks? He got in the way of one of those?”

He closes his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he says, choked.

She lets out a slow breath. “What kind of creatures?”

He collects himself, chest rising and falling in measure breaths. “I’m not sure. Yet. I haven’t gotten a clear look. After...that, I got in a disagreement with the new general and Snoke’s been keeping me on the edges as punishment. But I’ll find out.”

“Okay,” she says, tapping her fingers on the table as she thinks. “We need to know what to prepare for.”

“I know.” He glances back at her, letting her see the determination in his features. “As soon as I can.”

Some instinct guides her to squeeze her hand over his hip before she lets go. “Thank you.” She wipes her sweaty palm on her jeans. “Anything else you can tell us?”

He shakes his head. “Not right now. Just that you need to be ready. Things are moving quickly.”

“We will,” she assures him.

He watches her carefully. “Will you meet me again?”

She can’t help but feel that he’s asking for more than a chance to pass on whatever intel he can gather. “Yes,” she agrees quickly. “Same place?”

“No.” He frowns. “Even if we think they won’t come here, we shouldn’t count on it. We need to keep moving. There’s another club two blocks over on 23rd, do you know it?”

She thinks. “Maybe. I’ll find it. How long do you need?”

“Not more than a week,” he says decisively.

“Next Friday?” she suggests.

He nods. “I’ll see you then.” He pauses, like he wants to say something else, but then nods again and turns away.

Rey watches as he disappears into the crowd, tracking his dark hair over the dancers until she can’t see it anymore. Impulsively, she grabs her now watery drink from the table and takes a gulp. She doesn’t know what it is about Kylo, but she’s left feeling like she’d missed something. She takes another sip, not even noticing the taste as her mind plays over every detail of their interaction. He’s left her with plenty to think about. And she’ll be seeing him again. Next week.

She finishes off her drink and heads to the bar for another.

(hope to have part two posted tomorrow!)

#reylo #benrey #rffa writers #reylo au week #reylo writing den #crylo weekend #my fic #harry potter au

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growningupgeek · 7 years

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Bitch of the Trees

Word Count-3,293(It might have gotten away from me just a little)

Characters-Sam, Dean, Elaina(OC), Crowley

Warnings-implied smut, runaway Moose, drinking, Crowley being Crowley.

Prompt-Dryads

A/N-This one is for @sisterhoodofsam Rejects of Supernatural challenge. There was a surprising lack of lore to be found on the subject of dryads, so I took what I found, made some up and borrowed a couple of things from David Eddings. Hey, you do what you have too. Title is taken from a bit I did find online that dryads were know as the “ladies of the trees.”

Tags under the cut, as always if you want on or off drop me a message or an ask.

-JediCat

Sam cleared his throat to get my attention. “I think I found us a case, Laine”

“Really,” I asked. “Or is it a thin lead that will get us away from gimpy?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and gave a lopsided smile. “A little of both.”

“I heard that, bitch,” Dean called from his bedroom. He’d dislocated his knee about a week before while he’d been chasing a werewolf and stepped in a hole. He could walk again but wasn’t up to a hunt quite yet and he was getting restless. At this point Sam and I just need to get away from him.

“Jerk,” Sam called back to him by reflex.

I leaned over his shoulder and looked at the screen. “So what have you got?”

It seemed like a whole lot of nothing at first, until I noticed the pattern. A man would disappear without a trace in the woods near a little town named Fredrick. His body would turn up a few weeks later with no trace of foul play just after another disappearance. For close to four years it had been going on through the spring, summer and early fall only to stop in the winter. Definitely our kind of thing but it was like nothing either of us had ever heard of. Sam’s eyes met mine and I nodded.

“Let’s go pack,” he said as I was already heading for our room.

As we were putting clothes in our duffel bags I could hear Dean’s limping steps coming down the hall from his room. I braced myself, knowing what was coming next. And I was right.

“I’m coming with you.” Dean said. It was probably meant to sound firm, but given that he was white with pain and leaning against the doorframe, it just sounded like a little boy demanding to not be left behind.

Without turning from packing Fed suits I replied, “Sure. If you can walk to your room and back here without the knee brace and still stand up.”

I heard Sam snicker under Dean’s groan, “Oh, come on-”

“You aren’t at 100%,” I scolded him, turning around. “What if something goes wrong and someone gets hurt because you couldn’t move fast enough?’

Dean’s face fell. “But I can stay…”

I shook my head. “Don’t say you’ll stay in the room. I’d believe Crowley before I’d believe that.”

I walked over and put my hand on his forearm. “Dean, you’re white and sweating so don’t even try to tell me that you aren’t hurting. Sam and I can take care of ourselves, just this once.”

I watched the emotions play across Dean’s face, until he finally came to the conclusion he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way onto this trip. He turned away and headed for his room growling, “Fine, but you guys had better check in every night.”

“Yes, mother,” Sam laughed as I turned back packing. We finished up quickly and headed for the garage before Dean could come up with any more arguments as to why he should come with us.

We were in the process of loading up my jeep when we heard Dean come into the garage. Sam turned around and drew in a sharp breath that made me turn to see what was going on. Dean was standing there with a determined look on his face, holding out the keys to Baby.

“Take her.” was all he said.

Sam started to protest, “Dean,-

“Don’t argue with me,” Dean snapped. “The only way you’ll get me to stay here is if you take Baby.”

It took me a second to understand but when I did I got choked up. This was his way of protecting us if he couldn’t be there. I touched Sam’s arm with one hand as I held out the other for the keys. Dean dropped them in my hand and limped away without a backwards glance. Sam gave me a puzzled look, but loaded the bags into Baby’s trunk while I climbed into the car. Sam slid into the driver's seat, started the engine and the two of us were off.

Sam stared at his computer screen; we’d been at this a week and we were no closer to finding an answer than we’d been when we’d left the bunker. The local sheriff had been more than happy to turn the case over to us and the county coroner had given us the reports on the three victims from this year, all of whom had died of heart failure and malnutrition. There was nothing else wrong with them; no signs of demons, sirens, poltergeists, ghosts or any of the hundreds of things that go bump in the night that we were familiar with. I sighed as I put my laptop to sleep, attracting his attention.

“What’s up, baby,” he asked.

I ran my hand through my hair, “I’ve got eye strain, I’m tired of looking at that damn screen and I’m hungry. Let’s take an hour and grab some food. That bar is supposed to have good food and if Dean asks we can say we were talking to the locals.”

His face clouded a little and for a moment I thought he was going to squash the idea, but it seemed like he had enough research tonight too. “I think we can even spare two hours and have a drink.”

I was out of my chair and had my jacket in my hand before he finished his sentence. I could hear him laughing at me as I ran for the car.

It was a typical small town dive bar, decorated in neon with a jukebox that had a playlist from the last century. There was a small dance floor over in the corner with one side raised to form a small stage for a live band or DJ booth. In our flannels, jeans and leather jackets we fit right in and it didn’t take the locals long to forget we were supposed to be Feds. One guy even got up the nerve to approach me while Sam was up at the bar getting us some refills. He was nice enough and I got a little information out of him about the latest disappearance before Sam came back and chased him away with a scowl. I hid my smile behind my drink, watching the man scurry away.

“You didn’t have to scare the poor guy to death,” I said giving Sam a smile.

He mock growled at me, “He was making a move on my partner.”

I leaned over and kissed his cheek, running my hand up his thigh under the table. “You know you’ve got nothing to worry about, love.”

His arm snaked around my waist as I cuddled a little closer to him and he kissed my temple. We sat like that, people watching and drinking our beer for about half an hour, and that’s when she came in. I noticed her as soon as she came through the door because she was dressed way too high end for this bar and that set off my warning bells. She was wearing a brown dress that looked like it was silk with matching heels. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head and seemed to have a slight green tint to it; leaf green eyes were highlighted by Egyptian style make-up. The way she moved towards the bar could only be described as slinking. She placed her drink order with the bartender, who made a face as I nudged Sam and pointed with my chin.

He eyed her and I saw the same suspicion form in his eyes that I had. I reached for the empty glasses. “My round.”

His nod had a double meaning and I headed to the bar finding an empty space next to the woman. The bartender set her drink in front of her and at the slight shake of my head turned to take an order from another customer. I gave an exaggerated sigh that caused her to look at me with no little curiosity.

“Perils of being an outsider,” I said with a half-smile. She returned the smile sympathetically.

“I know how you feel,” she replied. “I’ve lived here forever and still feel like an outsider.”

Her voice had a slight accent that I couldn’t quite place so I turned on my phone's voice recorder under the guise of checking my messages. “They always serve the locals first and then the outsiders.”

She nodded and took a sip of her drink. “So are you here on vacation?”

“Mixed with a little business,” I not quite lied. “We own a curio shop so we’re always on the lookout for things we can make a profit on.”

She nodded politely and put out her hand, “I’m Xelina.”

“Elaina Simmons,” I replied shaking her hand firmly.

The bartender returned and took the beer glasses to be refilled, quickly placing them in front of me. I nodded to Xelina and returned to Sam. Under the guise of kissing his cheek, I whispered what little I’d learned into his ear. Instead of replying he kissed my jaw, nipping just enough to leave a pleasant sting behind. It didn’t take us long to finish off our beer and leave the bar; Sam’s arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist heading for the car. Before he went around to the driver’s side he pushed me against the car, took my face in his hands and kissed me.

I leaned into it, getting my hands up into his soft hair and pulling myself up closer to him, brushing my tongue against his lips. Sam’s mouth opened with a soft moan as he let me in for just a minute before pulling back. “Let’s take this back to the room.”

I nodded, too breathless to speak, and got into the car. When he got in I slid across the seat so I could be as close to him as possible while he was driving. He looped his arm around me, untucking my shirt and sliding his hand under the fabric. His fingers absently made lazy circles on my skin leaving goosebumps and sending heat straight to my core. I began running my hand up his thigh reveling in the feel of his muscles under his jeans, not stopping until my hand rested on the bulge of his cock. Softly I moved my hand along the bulge putting just enough pressure on it to tease him.

Sam growled low in his chest and his fingers changed their pattern from circles to sliding across my stomach underneath the waistband of my jeans. With each pass his hand went a little lower until he could unfasten the button with his thumb. I moaned softly his fingers slid under the elastic of my panties and began to tease my lower lips. He echoed my moan as he felt how wet I was already.

Thankfully it was a short trip back to the motel because we’d have had to pull over. As it was Sam barely let me get the door closed before he was pressed up against my back. “You are so going to pay for teasing me on the way here.”

Morning sun through the window blinds woke me to a body that ached in the best way possible. Sam was curled against my back snoring softly one arm around my waist. After a few minutes of gentle wiggling I managed to get out of his grasp without waking him up. I stopped for a minute to stare at Sam. Asleep and relaxed he looked ten years younger, though the scars on him told a different story. Part of me wanted to crawl back into bed with him, but there was work to do. I started the coffee pot and headed for the shower to get cleaned up and do some thinking. As much as I’d enjoyed last night something felt off and I wouldn’t relax until I found some answers.

I let the hot water run over me as I let my mind drift where it would. I went through every memory of the night before with an eye to the details until it hit me. The only thing that had been different last night had been Xelina and some things about her tickled some very old memories of Grandma and her stories of the creatures that shared the world with us. I dried off and grabbed a cup of coffee on my way to my laptop, if I was right we might need to call in some reinforcements. Sam wasn’t in bed when I came out of the bathroom, I assumed that he was out for his morning run and went to work. The first thing I did was send off emails to family and friends still involved with the more gentle side of the supernatural world, then I buried myself in the internet.

A dozen emails, three phone calls and a pot of coffee later, I had my answers. We were dealing with a dryad and one that was relativity young. Judging from the size of the trees in the area she could be upwards of a hundred years old, but look no older than twenty-five or thirty. I also learned that by killing her conquests she was breaking an ancient pact with the white witches. I looked around only to realize that Sam still wasn’t back and a glance at the clock on my computer made my heart freeze. Two hours had passed; even Sam couldn’t run that long which could only mean that he had been called to her. I couldn’t call Dean; even if he could get here in time I’d just put him in danger and Cas still didn’t have his full mojo back so I didn’t know if she could affect him or not. That left me with one choice; it wasn’t one I was very happy with, but I was going to need help and Crowley was the only one who could get here fast enough.

He answered his phone on the third ring, “What can I do for you, Lark?”

“I need your help,” I managed to get out. “I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”

“Now why would you want to do that, darling,” he said from behind me.

Quickly I outlined my theories. “You’re my only option at this point. You owe me for helping with the rogue angel that came after you last year. You wouldn’t want word to get out that you had to call a human, and a hunter at that, in for help would you?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, then narrowed them. “And what would Moose and Squirrel say if they knew you helped me?”

I had known that this would be his hole card. I gave him my best smirk. “What makes you think I didn’t tell them?”

Another eye roll as he sighed, “You tell that Moose everything don’t you? I guess I’m in, but this clears my debt to you.”

“Until the next time you need a hunter for something, Gramps,” I said, knowing how much it would annoy him to be reminded that I was the only hunter he could completely trust.

I gave him a quick rundown of my plan and he agreed that it might work, if Sam had his phone with him and it didn’t have a dead battery. The luck goddess was with me because when I tracked his phone down it was working. I quickly transferred the location to my mapping app, because it was deep in the woods. After a quick stop at the gas station Crowley and I were off.

We followed signal from Sam’s phone deep into the woods surrounding the town. It took nearly an hour to walk from the road to the coordinates from Sam’s phone. If I hadn’t been so worried about him I might have enjoyed the hike, Crowley was clearly not happy with it though. I could hear him behind me muttering about his suit and shoes, like he couldn’t fix them with a snap of his fingers.

The forest finally opened onto a glade surrounded by oak trees and what I saw there almost broke my heart. Sam was leaning against one of the trees with Xelina in his lap and a goofy smile on his face. As I watched she leaned over and kissed him that was the straw that snapped my temper. I pulled my gun and fired a round into the tree behind them, well above their heads. Two sets of eyes turned my way; Sam’s fogged with the spell she’d cast on him, Xelina’s full of malice. She got off of Sam and started towards me and I wasn’t waiting to see what she intended on doing. I reached into my shoulder bag, pulled out the king size Hershey bar I’d bought and tossed it at her. She caught it when it hit her square in the chest, her whole face lighting up when she saw what it was. Greedily, she tore through the wrapper and took a bite of the chocolate, chewing it with a look of bliss on her face.

I kept one eye on her and the other on Sam; I could gauge the effects of the chocolate on her system. When he had some sense back in his eyes, I crept around Xelina and made my way to him praying that he was recovering quicker than it looked like.

I finally reached him and put my hand on his shoulder, whispering his name. When he turned to me I could see he was still a little foggy but fighting it. He reached for me and I grabbed his hand with a reassuring squeeze.

“Can you stand,” I asked in an urgent tone.

When he gave me a tentative nod, I draped his arm around my shoulder and helped him up. Sam wobbled like a newborn baby moose and leaned most of his weight on me so I was basically carrying him. We struggled along but hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when a wall of branches sprang up in front of us.

“Naughty, naughty, little girl,” Xelina giggled. “Trying to steal my new toy.”

I shot her the dirtiest look I could muster up. “Sorry, he’s spoken for. And I’d rather not have him broken like your other toys.”

She meandered over to us, not even able to walk a straight line at this point. As Xelina’s control of herself slipped so did her hold over Sam who was carrying more of his own weight now. He glanced down on me with questions in his eyes.

“Dryad,” I said softly, hoping she wouldn’t hear me. “Chocolate acts like booze on them.”

Xelina giggled, “Smart too, girly, you figured me out.”

“It’s not hard with my connections,” I smirked at her. “You broke your people’s pact with the Mason Clan, Xelina. I claim my rights as the injured party.”

I pushed Sam to the ground, probably the only time that it would ever be easy, and shouted, “Now, Crowley!”

Crowley appeared near the tree that Sam had been leaning against and snapped his fingers. The tree exploded in a shower of splinters as Xelina vanished in a flash of flame and a puff of pollen that left Sam and I both coughing.

Crowley strolled over as we got our breath back. “Now that you have your Moose back, I trust this discharges my debt to you, Lark?”

I waved him off. “Yeah and we’re just fine, thanks for asking.”

With that he vanished leaving behind a slight smell of sulphur.

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#sos rejects challenge #sisterhood of sam challenge #dryads #sam winchester #elaina mason #dean winchester #crowley #sam x oc #sam x elaina #bitch of the trees

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