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bookdancerfics · 4 years

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climb a mountain (hold his hand)

Rated: T Word Count: 2.5k+ words Characters: Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard, Aaron Minyard Relationships: Andreil Warnings: Car Crash, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse Summary: Neil gets into a car crash; Andrew is the mountain he can lean on. Wherein I asked myself what would happen if Neil said those particular words again, i.e. “Thank you. You were amazing,” and it all spiraled from there.

Thanks to my beta, @queenofmoons67!

on AO3, ff.net

Neil wakes up with his vision sideways and gravity on the wrong side of the car. His chest feels tight, and he can’t take a proper breath; the seatbelt digs across his neck and down his chest, riding high because of the strange position of the car.

It’s the only thing keeping him from falling on broken glass, the passenger seat’s window shattered from when it crashed on concrete.

“Andrew,” Neil groans, the name struggling up his throat until it spills from his lips, lays broken in the quiet air around him.

No one answers, and Neil gazes at the empty passenger seat for a full minute, his chest aching for a whole new reason, before he remembers that Andrew was never in the car in the first place.

“Oh,” he says, and his head hurts. He can see trees through the windshield, a winding mountain path that looks familiar, but he can’t remember what happened. He was at the apartment. At their apartment. Neil stares at the car keys still hooked into the ignition, his apartment key hanging on the same key ring, in an attempt to remember more.

He was at home.

He was at home, he was at home, he was—Kevin was there. As soon as the other striker’s face crosses his mind, he sees the scene clearly. They were going over the opposing team’s data for their next game. They were crowded on the couch, Neil just barely brushing up against Andrew’s arm. He thinks there may have been ice cream. Kevin… Kevin left before dinner, to meet Thea. Neil and Andrew decided on take-away.

Neil breathes in, as deeply as his seatbelt allows him to, and catches a whiff of vegetable lo mein. He’d been on his way home.

He doesn’t expect the stab of pain that follows. It breaks from his chest, and suddenly the low ache becomes a harsh pulse, every breath digging fire into his lungs.

“Andrew,” Neil calls again, attempting to curl into himself, but the seatbelt and gravity combine to make his efforts useless. He doesn’t know why he keeps asking for his boyfriend. Dimly, he wonders if it’s the concussion, or if asking for Andrew has become a pain response.

He instinctively flinches, as if waiting for his mother’s hand, because relying on someone else when he’s in pain was something she should have beaten out of him long ago.

Nothing touches him.

Thinking of his mother wakes him, though, and Neil struggles even more to escape the fog that drifts through his mind. Definitely a concussion.

Neil tries to think of Andrew, of Kevin, of Dan, of Renee, of all his old teammates who could have had a clue about what to do in this situation.

Aaron.

They’re not friends. Not really. No matter how many times Nicky brings them together with a smile on his face, they just haven’t been able to click. Allison said they’re both too anti-social, and promptly started a new bet. Fifty bucks they’ll never say anything nice about each other face to face. Not even ruining Allison’s win streak gave them any motivation to do that. Neil couldn’t even think of anything at the time.

But here. Nicky used to help Aaron study for nursing exams all the time. Always out loud, always bothering Neil and Kevin as they tried to review other exy games.

“I need to say it for it to stick,” Aaron used to say.

I’m never saying thank you to your face, Neil thinks, but simultaneously tries to take stock of his situation.

The car rests on its passenger side, the darkening sky visible through the driver’s window. Neil is only still in his seat because of his seatbelt, but the same thing that saved him digs into his chest and throat, making it hard to breathe. Every breath sends jagged pain through his ribs, and Neil thinks about all of Aaron’s old med diagrams and hopes he isn’t in danger of puncturing a lung. He thinks it’s too late to hope he’ll get out of this without a broken rib.

The smell of vegetable lo mein still hangs in the air, and Neil wonders if there’s noodles all over the backseat of Andrew’s car. He’ll have to apologize later. He laughs at the thought, because when has he ever apologized to Andrew, but Neil’s laughter only shakes his head, reminding him that he shouldn’t be moving it. Pain courses through his head, and he tries to move his other limbs in order to focus on something else.

Bad idea.

As soon as Neil moves his left leg, he has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from screaming. It won’t budge, caught on something under the steering wheel, and Neil tries to remind himself that he’s felt far worse. Tears won’t help him here.

His whole body aches and throbs now, piercing pain jolting his chest, leg, and head every time he even thinks about them.

Neil thinks back on Aaron’s study sessions, but he doesn’t want to try touching any of his injuries right now. Aaron, as usual, turned out to be useless.

“Fuck Aaron,” Neil whispers.

Instead, he turns to a different problem: Not staying in the wrecked car all night when the sun is going down. It’s late fall, and although his jacket is enough right now, Neil doesn’t think his body can handle exposure on top of everything else.

There’s not much he can do except use his phone to call someone, but that introduces yet another problem.

Using his phone means moving.

Neil doesn’t think of his mother here. He almost does, at first, because when he was running she was the only one to keep him going from town to town. But that’s not how he runs. Not anymore.

Neil pictures Andrew slipping a hand into his front pocket, possessive, and chases his boyfriend’s hand until he touches his own phone.

He punches in Andrew’s number, then struggles to lift the phone high enough. Finally, though, he gets it into his left hand and just rests it on his ear, the dialing noise coming through clearly.

“Neil,” Andrew answers, and Neil’s whole chest throbs.

“Andrew,” he says.

“Where are you? You should have been back already.”

“’m sorry,” Neil says, and he thinks his voice may be slurring.

“What?”

“Th’nk you,” Neil interrupts. His vision blurs, whether from tears or dizziness he doesn’t know, but he feels faint. He doesn’t have long before he passes out, so he just says the first thing that comes to mind. “You w’re ‘mazin’.”

“Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil would laugh if he had the breath to, because it almost sounds like Andrew is worried. “Where are you? What—”

Neil closes his eyes and lets his arm drop from where it rested by his head.

His phone falls, the tinny sounds of Andrew’s voice fading until Neil won’t be able to hear them.

It doesn’t matter; Neil isn’t awake to listen anyway.

***

In the end the sound of a car door slamming wakes him, forcing his eyes open. The world lays shattered across his vision. He blinks, and the world becomes darkness only to break again. When Neil focuses he realizes that he’s staring at the passenger side window, in pieces against the pavement.

“Andrew, wait!” someone calls, and Neil’s head jerks on instinct.

Andrew?

“Fuck off,” someone else says, their voice rough, and heavy, and Neil automatically knows that it would smell of cigarettes.

“There could be a gas leak,” the first voice says. Whoever it is apparently hasn’t stopped trying to block Andrew’s way, so either they’re very ignorant of who Andrew is or they’re an idiot. That or they’re Aaron.

Neil would bet all the earnings of every previous bet he’s won with the foxes that it’s Aaron.

“My car doesn’t leak,” Andrew snarls, and Neil snorts.

The sound stems from his chest but jostles his whole body, and suddenly everything hurts.

“‘n’drew,” he says, barely managing to moan out the name through his pain.

“Neil?” the first voice says. “It’s Aaron.”

Bingo.

“We’re standing in view of the windshield, can you look up?”

“Fuck,” Neil says.

“I bet,” Aaron says, and Neil rolls his head so that he’s holding it up. he stares out the windshield to see the twins illuminated in a pair of headlights, the world dark around them.

“150%,” Andrew says. Neil can’t help but smile at that, and Andrew scowls fiercely.

“Andrew,” Aaron says. “Go call 911. I’ll take it from here.”

“I thought I told you to fuck off?”

Aaron frowns at his twin. “Who knows more about what to do in this situation, Andrew? If it’s you then I’ll gladly step aside. But we both know it’s not.”

Andrew stares at Aaron, then turns.

“I hate you,” he tells Neil.

“I know,” Neil says.

Andrew flips Aaron off and walks away, aggressively pulling his phone out. As he punches in the numbers and greets the emergency operator, he keeps his gaze on Neil. On anyone else it would feel like being pinned down, unable to move. Neil feels it settle on him like a weighted blanket, and he lets it wrap around him. Safe.

“Can you smell gas?” Aaron asks, and Neil barely keeps himself from shaking his head.

“No,” he says instead.

Relief crosses Aaron’s face.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s good. I can’t see any spills but I wanted to make sure.”

Finally, Aaron approaches the car. His gaze skim over it, no doubt looking for ways to get Neil out.

“How’s your breathing? Anything blocking your airways?”

“No,” Neil says. “My breathing’s fine. I’m fine.”

Neil’s also impressed, he manages to make out Aaron’s eye roll even through the windshield and several feet away.

“No need to lie about that, idiot. You obviously have a nasty concussion and who knows how many other injuries. How about the truth?”

Again, Neil barely stops himself from replying physically.

“The seatbelt’s a bit tight,” he says instead. “You can see the head injury. I’ve broken at least one rib, but my lungs should be fine.” He’s quiet for a second, but he meets Andrew’s eyes and then looks back at Aaron. “Also my leg’s stuck.”

“Okay,” Aaron says, and then turns to Andrew. “Did you get all that?”

Andrew nods, short and sharp, keeping his gaze on Neil, and relays the information to the 911 operator. Aaron turns back to him.

“I just need to ask you some more questions, okay? In case you pass out again.”

“Haven’t passed out,” Neil protests, and Aaron stares at him, obviously exasperated.

“Yes you did, while you were on the phone with Andrew earlier. Andrew heard everything, you can’t deny this, Neil.”

Neil shrugs, and then hisses. Maybe Aaron isn’t so useless after all.

“What’s your name?” Aaron asks.

Never mind. He’s clearly delusional.

“You already know that,” Neil says.

Aaron sighs. “Not for me, for you. I’m making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. It’s also a concussion check, even though yours is pretty obvious. What’s your name?”

Neil grumbles. “Neil Josten.”

Aaron nods. “Do you know where you are?”

He glances around. “The forest. On a road. I’m in Andrew’s car.”

“Obviously,” Aaron says dryly. “Do you know what you were doing in Andrew’s car?”

“Driving.”

“Neil.”

“Getting…” Neil blinks, hard, as he tries to jog his memory. He thought for sure he knew this one. Didn’t he already figure this out?

“It’s okay if you can’t remember,” Aaron says. “Do you know what day it is?”

Neil takes a long, deep sniff.

“Vegetable lo mein,” he says.

“What?”

“There’s vegetable lo mein in the car,” he says. “Was I getting take-out?”

Aaron glances back at Andrew, who nods before yelling something into the phone.

“Yeah,” Aaron says. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Thursday,” Neil says instinctively. He’s not quite sure why, but it feels like a Thursday.

“Good,” Aaron says, and finally the relief returns to his face. “Do you know the specific date?”

Neil pauses, thinking. “Yesterday was July 14th. So today… July 15th.”

“Nicely done,” Aaron says. He turns back to Andrew. “You can tell the emergency operator that he’s out of it, and he took some prompting on a few of the questions, but he answered all of them.”

Neil just frowns. There’s something about that date. July 15th. Why would July 15th matter?

Suddenly it clicks.

“Exy!” he says, the word coming out in a gasp. July 15th, he has a game the next day. It’s summer: The middle of their season.

“Junkie,” Andrew spits.

Neil frowns at him, but struggles to reach his seatbelt. He needs to get out, needs to heal in time for the game. Needs to keep his deal with the Moriyamas.

“Neil, no,” Aaron says, instinctively stepping towards Neil only to find the car in his way. “You’re only going to make it worse.”

“Moriyamas,” Neil says, and finally makes contact with his seatbelt.

“Neil!” Aaron protests, and Neil sees Andrew start forward.

The seatbelt unclicks, and all of a sudden the pressure keeping him in place falls away. His whole body jerks sideways, headed for the ground, and the sight of broken glass reminds Neil why removing his seatbelt was a bad idea.

Then his left leg catches under the steering wheel again, and Neil screams, the sound ripping from his throat until it breaks.

He passes out.

***

He wakes for the third time to the feeling of someone pressing their fingers to his wrist.

“Fast but weak heartbeat,” the person reports. “And he’s clammy. Irregular breathing. Definitely in shock, someone get a blanket over here.”

“Hhhrrrgg,” Neil groans.

“He’s awake!” someone else says.

“Sir?” the first person asks. “Can you hear me?”

“Andrew,” he says. The second person repeats the name, this time as a question. The answer comes in the form of a soft touch on the back of his hand, so soft that Neil knows it must be Andrew. No one else has the ability to make the barest touch feel like a mountain he can lean on.

“Neil,” Andrew says, and Neil blinks his eyes open.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and Andrew’s hand curls around his, then squeezes.

“Hi, Neil,” the first voice from before says, and Neil follows it to a tall looking paramedic with blue hair. “You’re doing great, but we’re going to take you to the hospital, okay?”

“Mm,” Neil says. He tugs on Andrew’s hand, and Andrew lets him pull it to his chest. “Andrew?”

“I’m coming with you,” Andrew says, and if the paramedics have any doubt about that they only need to look him in the eyes to see otherwise.

They don’t run the siren in the ambulance, which Neil is a bit disappointed in because they do in all the movies and TV shows that Matt has made him watch, but at the same time Neil guesses it’s a good thing. No siren equals no dying, right?

He says so, and the second paramedic, this one with freckles and ginger hair, laughs and nods in confirmation. Andrew squeezes his hand tighter.

“You’re a mountain,” Neil tells him, and Andrew makes a face. Neil laughs.

“Probably the pain relief,” the ginger paramedic says.

“No,” Neil insists, “Andrew’s a mountain. Strong. Sturdy.” He pauses to laugh again. “But short.”

The ginger paramedic covers her mouth with one hand. Andrew’s face twitches.

“Andrew,” Neil says, and tries to pat Andrew’s hand only to find that he’s already holding it. He rubs his thumb over the side of Andrew’s hand instead.

“Junkie,” Andrew deadpans, but his eyes are locked on Neil’s, he looks paler than normal, and he’s been habitually checking his phone every few minutes.

“Andrew,” Neil says. He can’t remember what he wanted to say.

Andrew just sighs, long sufferingly, but his shoulders don’t look as tense so Neil counts it as a win. He falls asleep like this, to the steady feeling of Andrew’s hand in his.

When he wakes up again he’ll be in a hospital room with two bouquets and a box of chocolates. Andrew will have already eaten half, but he gets Neil water when he asks and when he turns the TV on it’s already at the exy channel. Neil’s phone has been filled with text messages from the Foxes and his current teammates, all wishing him some version of “get well soon.” One of the bouquets is from Katelyn, the other signed “Kevin” but clearly in Thea’s handwriting. Neil will wake later to Aaron reviewing his chart, and he’ll close his eyes to Aaron’s startled glare.

His leg is broken, and so are two of his ribs, and he has a concussion that will keep him out of play until the All-Star Break, if not longer. Ichirou Moriyama calls him personally to assure him that as he doesn’t lose money for not playing, he will still be expected to pay the agreed upon amount.

Wymack calls to check in, and his coach visits in person, and Andrew stays by his side the whole time.

When Neil falls asleep, it’s to Andrew’s hand in his, a mountain underfoot.

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reminiscing-writer · 5 years

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The Past 2/2

Prompt:

Part 2 to The Past mini story I wrote earlier :)

Warning:

Kidnapping, sexual and physical abuse, crude language, violence.

—————

-Readers POV-

Your head feels like it’s so much heavier than it should be, and you try to open your eyes. You try and recollect what had happened. How you were in the position you are.

And then you remember.

You remember seeing him. He broke into your apartment, and he had kidnapped you.

You look around at your surroundings and yourself. You were still in the T-shirt you fell asleep in, and your hands were bound behind you, zipties from the feel of it. Your body was tied to the corner of what seemed like a dingy old basement.

You hear the door open and He came down them, stepping very loudly, making sure knew of his presence. You stare at him with disgust. He stops at the bottom of the steps, looking directly at you.

“What. The. Fuck. Do you want?” You spit, venom dripping from every word. He stays silent and begins slowly walking towards you. Your body instinctively starts to move back as he approaches, “I told you to leave me alone, Alexie.” You hiss, not breaking eye contact with the man you once feared.

Three years ago, when you left him in the middle of the night, you had just left a note. A note telling him that you never wanted to see him nor speak with him, ever again. Why would you. He beat you, and groped you. He set out rules, and kept you locked in your bedroom if he was upset. You walked around eggshells with him, and the moment you met Spencer, you remembered, that’s not how you’re supposed to treat someone you love- that’s not how you treat anyone.

Alexie keeps walking towards you. He bends down and gets on one knee before you. Looking intently in your eyes, he strokes your cheek, “You’ve forgotten everything I’ve taught you, haven’t you?” He whispers. Before you can react, he uses the hand on your cheek and pulls it back, slapping you hard. You fall to the side, and a rush of memories flood your brain, as well as tears in your eyes. “You ungrateful little bitch.”

You shuffle back to sit up, only to have him grab a handful of hair, and pick you up, causing a burning in your scalp. You cry out, “Alexie, please,” You try and stand on your feet to ease the pain, but he kicks you in the shin, causing your legs to give out.

Pulling your face in close, he growls, “You’re all mine. I’ll fix you back up. Don’t worry, y/n.” He smashes his dirty lips to yours before throwing you back down.

You hit the floor hard, crying out. Curling up in a ball, you bite your bottom lip, trying not to cry. But, it’s all too much. The memories. The pain. The fact that, you were in fact all his.

Spencer sat in his chair in the Bearau, a small blanket over his shoulders, and his eyes glazed over. The once scortching hot cup of coffee, still full, but now completely cold, and untouched, sitting in his hands.

“Spencer?” He heard JJ call for him. He didn’t look up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, whipping his head up.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “we, um- we got back the lab results for the blood on wall.” She spoke softly, kneeling before him, “It wasn’t y/n’s.”

He releases a small breath of relief. He hadn’t spoke a word in hours. When he got to your apartment, he called Hotch barely getting enough words out to make sense. Hotch and Morgan both came to your apartment within a few moments of the frantic call. They saw the mess of the apartment as well as the mess your boyfriend was. Kneeling and crying into a sweater of yours.

Seeing the scene, they called the CSI team and they bagged and tagged anything they could find for DNA.

Deciding that the apartment wasn’t the best place to be, Hotch called in the rest of the team and that’s where they were all now. In the office, trying to peice together why someone would break into your apartment at 3 in the morning to take you.

“Spencer,” Garcia tries for the hundredth time, “please, we need anything you can tell us. You knew her. She must’ve said something.”

“Play the call again.” He repeats, just wanting to hear his girls voice. The team looks at one another, unsure if it’s a good idea. When Rossi nods to them in assurance, Penelope pulls up the file, and plays it back.

-Spencer’s POV-

“Hello?” You hear your voice answer her call.

“Spencer, please, help.” Her voice squeaked in desperation.

“Y/n?” You had asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer,” You hear sniffle, the thought of her crying making your stomach turn, “there’s... there’s someone here.”

Your girlfriend had frequent nightmares, “Baby, it was probably just a nightmare, I’m su-“ that’s all it was. A bad dream. It had to be.

“No, no it’s not. He’s here. I can see him. He’s looking for something, I’m hiding.” Your heart drops.

You throw your duvet off yourself. Getting out of bed, you throw on a shirt and sweats, “Y/n, stay exactly where you are.” You grab your keys. “I’m coming, just...” Leaving your apartment, you quickly run down the steps to your car, “just, stay hidden.”

“Please,” you hear her sob desperately,“please, hurry. And please, don’t hang up on me.”

You shove your keys into the ignition and rush towards your girlfriends home. Thoughts running a million a minute, you remember running a red light. Your phone was still up to your ear, and for a minute you hear her just breathing into the phone.

You think, maybe the intruder will leave. Maybe he was just a robber and he got what he wanted. Maybe she’ll be fine.

But you were proved wrong the moment you heard the blood curdling scream from your girls mouth. The scream that made your eyes widen, and your other hand tighten so hard around the steering wheel that your knuckles whitened.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you stepped harder on the gas. You can hear her. Y/n is struggling against this man, while you speed to her house.

The call ends. You’re forced back to the present. You’re breathing is shaky. You’d been crying, as you did every time you listened to the recording. All of the teams sympathetic eyes are on you.

Emily comes in front of you. She kneels down and puts one hand softly on your knee. “Spencer,” she speaks softly, “did y/n ever mention anyone in her life who would want to hurt her?”

You blink hard, and shake your head while rubbing your eyes.

“Think, Pretty Boy.” Morgan pushes, also coming into view. “She’s the type of person who would’ve shared this stuff with you. She trusts you.”

You think hard, racking your brain for previous conversations.

“She...” you start talking slowly, “She, um, once told me about this ex of hers.” Penelope readies her fingers on her keyboard, “They had dated in college, and the way she spoke about him,” you shifted in your seat, feeling uneasy, “she talked about him like he’s hurt her before.”

The teams eyes light up with the new information.

“Did she ever say his name?” Morgan sits down next to you, happy to be finally getting information.

“She once mentioned him as an Alex.” You recall.

Penelope starts clacking away at her keys. “There are... over a hundred Alex’s in all of Penn State.”

“Did they date her first year there, or...?” JJ asks, looking over Garcia’s shoulder.

“Um,” you think back, “I think she was a sophomore, but he was older than her. She said they had watched a movie once,” you finally look up at your team, “21 Jump Street. She had liked it. He didn’t.”

“That’s a 2012 movie.” Penelope keeps typing away, “Okay. So, searching for... Alex, from Pennsylvania State University, who was attending in the year 2012.” She waits for something on her screen for a moment, “We’re down to 36.”

“Check for any with petty offences, maybe, peeping Tom, or theft.” Hotch speaks up.

“20.” Penelope updates.

“He had a dog.” You remember, “Y/n once said he had a dog, but she hated the way he treated it.”

Penelope grins ear-to-ear, “Yes! Okay, we’ve got an Alexie Mason.” she reads off her laptop, “Graduated PennState In 2013. Had a pet dog, that died in an accident, may God rest his soul.” A scowl forms on her face, as she peers at the next bit, “And, would you look at that, he was with y/n for an ER visit.” Her eyes fly across the screen, processing information, “A broken rib. That son of a-”

“You don’t think-” you start, “he wouldn’t have. How could anyone hurt her?” You shrug the shawl off your shoulders.

“We got him, Kid.” Morgan puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “We’ll find her too.”

“She’s strong,” JJ nods, “I’m sure she’s fine.”

But, something was still bothering you. Something was eating away at you. It was probably just a feeling, but it was a damn strong one.

“Derek, when you get your hands on him,” Penelope starts ranting, “don’t you dare spare him. That asshole hurt the only innocent woman in this entire office. And, who knows how long he’s been stalking her. Oh, my poor child, she’s far too frail. He’s already broken her rib once, who knows what else-” you start to zone her out.

You slowly turn your head around, and look at your girlfriends desk. “Penelope,” you grab her attention. When she looks up to you, you put a finger to lips, shushing her.

A very offended Garcia stares at you, mouth agape, as you get up and walk towards y/n’s desk. You grab the large bear off the floor and plop it onto her desk. Staring at it for a bit, you zone out your co-workers whispers and look the bear dead in the eyes.

Bingo.

“Garcia, come here.” You don’t take your eyes of the stuffed toy. She gets up after getting a shrug from Morgan, and stands next to you. You open a drawer, knowing where y/n keeps all her things, and take out a pair of tweezers.

Taking the steel pliers to the bears face, you twist and tug at its’ beady eyes. Plopping them both down in Garcia’s hand, she gasps.

Morgan clears his throat to grab our attention, and Garcia runs to her laptop, “Boy Genius, you just saved the girl.”

“Just for the record,” Emily pipes in, “we’re still clueless.”

Garcia turns her laptop around to show the group, and their eyes widen. The bears eyes which you had removed were tiny cameras. Whoever had given y/n that gift, had been watching her. Watching all of you.

“I can trace this back to where the feedback is being sent,” Garcia turns her screen back around, “we’ll know exactly where they are.”

For the first time in hours, you had felt a weight being slightly lifted on your shoulders.

-Reader’s POV-

You say in the corner of the basement, your knees brought up to your chest. Hugging your bare and bruised legs, you chant to yourself, “They’ll come for you. They’re looking for you. He loves you.”

The door to the basement creaks open, and quickly scurry into the position Alexie had trained you to be in for him. Kneeling, with your head down. Only to speak when spoken to. He never, ever, untied your hands.

You couldn’t tell time in the hell you were in. It felt like days, maybe even weeks had passed. And, in all that time, Alexie had groomed you right back into the scared little girl you tried so hard to run away from.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and smiles as he sees you obeying him. Approaching you, he pets the top of your head and strokes your hair. “How did my Sweet sleep?”

“Well, thank you.” You spoke, very rehearsed, very quiet.

He cocks his head to the side, confused, “Sweet, look up at me.” You oblige. “I said, look up.” Your heart begins racing, as you feel his hand grow heavy in your head. “I said,” he growls, yanking your face up by your chin, “look up, Bitch.”

Instantly you start to shake, trying to verbally defend yourself, “Please, Alexie, it was nothing. I promise.” You plead. You had cried earlier and your eyes were bloodshot red. He hated when you cried.

“I do so much for you,” He growls, lifting you by your jaw, “and, you... you’re just an ungrateful whore.” You’re sobbing, begging him, knowing exactly what the outcome will be.

He throws you down, and kicks you in the stomach, causing you to yelp and curl into a ball. With your hands already tied behind you, he has nothing to hold down as he pushes you down onto your back, and pulls your legs towards him.

Ignoring your screaming, and crying, he smirks, sitting on top of you.

You felt dirty. You felt forgotten. But worst of all, you felt as if even Spencer could love you no longer.

You layed in the corner of the room, your eyes too dehydrated to form tears. Your mouth was dry from begging him again and again. Pleading with him that you were sorry. Sorry that you cried. There was a pain between your legs, but that was obvious, because you could feel the dried blood on your thighs from just a few moments ago and also the blood from yesterday, when the same incident occurred. You could feel his semen on your thighs. You could feel more bruises being born on your neck from when he choked you to keep you quiet. You could feel everything physically. It was mentally and emotionally that you were long gone.

You stared at the empty wall infornt of you, not a thought in your mind and not a chant on your lip.

Any little bit of hope you had, was all gone.

Maybe you had fallen asleep. That had to be it. Because you were awakened by a slamming of a door. Afraid it was the basement door, you quickly sit up, ready to be positioned. You look up, but don’t see your door open. Instead, you hear voices from upstairs. Which was odd, because Alexie lived alone. You hear shouting, and then one person running, and then a rush of people behind.

While you’re still processing all of this, Alexie rips open the basement door, a butcher knife gleaming in his hand. He points it towards you, walking down the stairs, “YOU! YOU DID THIS! YOU CALLED THEM!”

You cower back into the wall behind you, “No, no, no, Alexie, I didn’t,” you choke your words, scared out of your mind, “I was here with you the whole time, I didn’t. Oh god, I swear, Alexie, I didn’t do anything.” You plead, crying as he approaches you.

You don’t see the people in FBI vests get to the top of the stairs. All you see is Alexie and his angry eyes. He pushes you down and sits on your thighs.

“Alexie Mason! Put the knife down, and stand up.” You hear a man shout loudly. You’re so busy crying to Alexie, you don’t realize it’s Hotch. You don’t realize that JJ and Emily have their guns trained on him also. You don’t realize that Morgan holding back Reid so he doesn’t rush and tackle your ex.

“You’re my perfect little girl now,” Alexie coos, brushing the tip of the knife on your tear stained cheeks. “This might hurt now, but we’ll be happy after, I promise. I love you.” You shake your head, sobbing, your useless hands bound behind you.

He raises the knife into the air and plunges it into your chest. Everything slows down for you. You feel him pull the knife out. You hear someone scream and one more person shout. You hear a loud bang of a bullet leaving it’s chamber. Alexie falls off of you, and to the side, and the knife falls to the floor. Your head falls to the side, and your eyes are tired. So, so tired. You’re breathing is wheezy, and your boyfriend runs and falls next to you. He pulls you onto his lap.

Your ears are ringing, so you can’t hear anything he’s saying. You can barely lip read I’m sorry, don’t close your eyes and you’re going to be okay.

“Spence,” you say, your lips barely moving, “tell me you love me.”

“Y/n, we’re getting you out of here. You’re going to be f-”

“Please. I can’t have him be the last to say he loves me.” You beg, you’re eyes barely staying open.

Your boyfriends tears fall on your face before he buries his face in your neck, “I love you. I love you, I love you.” He cries, “I love you, y/n.”

You nod slowly, with a small smile, “I... I love you too.” You breath out, before you can’t keep your eyes open any longer. Your head falls heavy into his chest, and he quickly jerks his head up.

“Hotch!” He calls out, “Where’s that Medic?!” He holds his girlfriends body in his arms, hugging it close. Still repeating his love to her, still apologizing to her.

You swallow hard, your mouth still dry. Shifting, you feel yourself in a bed. Under blankets.

Maybe Alexie was just a big nightmare.

You open your eyes, and are greeted by a dimly lit room. A hospital room. You try and sit up, but quickly wince, feeling a sharp pain- well, everywhere.

You didn’t notice Spencer’s head on the side of your bed, near your hand, so he alertly awoke, confused for a moment. He sees you, awake, and throws a soft arm around your shoulders, and places kiss on your forehead.

“Thank goodness you’re awake,” He whispered, “they were scared we were too late.” He helps you sit up, and props pillows behind you.

“How long was I out for?” You ask, opening your mouth for another spoonful of jell-o that your boyfriend insisted on feeding you.

“Two days,” JJ answered, smiling at the sight of Ried feeding you, “You kept getting cold, so we just piled blankents on you.”

You motion to Spencer you’re full, but he opens a third cup anyways, “How long was I taken for?” You ask looking at JJ and Emily.

“Two days.” Em answered.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer whispered an apology to you for the twentieth time. He fully and completely believes that your kidnapping was his fault.

Every bruise, and cut on you. Everytime the doctor says you were raped, or starved, or beat. Everytime you wake up crying from a nightmare.

He blames himself for every single bit of it.

You put your hand on his cheek, “It’s not your fault, Baby, please.”

He turns slightly and kisses your hand, “I love you. Please, don’t forget that.”

“I won’t. I love you, too.” You whisper back, kissing him on his forehead as he comes in close to feed you again.

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 5 years

Text

The Devil in Disguise, Pt. 3

Dean Winchester x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?

A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 3 of 5 written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)

Warnings: (Part Three): Language, Mild angst, Hints of abuse, Drinking, Smut (18+ only)

WC: 5.7K

*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.

Dean didn’t say much to her for the next couple of hours. After [Y/N] helped set him up in the bathroom so he could take a makeshift shower, he made his way to the kitchen without any assistance, albeit very slow. She tried to help him hobble his way along, but he insisted on doing it himself. Once he was clean and his wound was tended to, she placed down a big bowl of chili and a hunk of cornbread, warmed and oozing with butter. He thanked her and as the fragrant spices filled his nose, his stomach rumbled fiercely. Dean dove in and greedily ate every bite until the bottom of the bowl was so clean it was hard to imagine there was much in it, to begin with.

“I guess it was good?” she asked with a half-amused grin.

Dean leaned back in the chair and groaned along with the wood. He smiled, satisfied, and patted his stomach. “So good. I feel like I haven’t eaten real food in, well, forever.”

“Can’t imagine your meals at Green River were exactly gourmet. Then, living on soup and protein bars the last couple of days couldn’t have done much for your taste buds…” she trailed off and shrugged, rising from the table and clearing his dish.

She seemed different, like something in her was changed by the earlier encounter. Despite their close moment after Derek left, Dean felt like she was holding something back; maybe it was the need to cry or just the urge to rage, but even he could feel the shift in her mood without her saying a word about it.

He sat quietly and watched her move around the kitchen, cleaning dishes, putting away the rest of the food. Silently going about her business, and yet, he could almost see the wheels in her head-turning. His own thoughts kept going to what he overheard while in the closet, but also, to the closet itself. A lock on the outside, sure, why not… but one on the inside could only mean trouble. But, was it trouble for [Y/N] or someone else? Unable to keep his thoughts to himself, Dean leaned forward on the table but didn’t look in her direction at first. “Can I ask you something? And, I don’t mean to pry, but... my curiosity is piqued.”

She stood at the sink, and just when he thought she wouldn’t say anything, [Y/N] turned around and he could already see she knew the questions he wanted to ask. She still didn’t speak, just used her expression to grant permission for him to ask.

“Alright…” he started then turned in the chair and did his best to stand with a bit of weight on his injured leg. He didn’t wobble this time, though held onto the table for support and now that he was secure, his gaze focused on her. “Why is there a lock on the inside of a closet door in your bathroom? What were you trying to hide from?”

[Y/N]’s gaze fell to the old hardwood floor, but that half-amused smile stayed on her lips as she considered her answer. Finally, when she lifted her (y/c) eyes, Dean saw years’ worth of pain and heartache in them. It didn’t make him sad for her, but instead anger at the people who were the cause of it.

“My father used to hit my mom. She put it in there one day when he wasn’t around so I could have a place to hide if I needed it.” Her reply was so matter-of-fact and calm, that Dean had to take a moment to process what she actually said.

“He what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“He hit her, a lot. We lived here for a few years when I was very little. He had been asked to leave his prior parish, so my mom fixed this place up for us to live in until he found a new one. It was her grandfather’s cabin. So, she loved the place and was thrilled to live here for a while.”

“Guessing your dad didn’t care for it,” Dean spat, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth just as the impression of her father did.

“Nope. Not even a little. He drank, got violent, took all his frustrations out on her. You know how it goes. Eventually, the offer from Green River Baptist came through and here we are. We moved out of here and down into the house adjacent to the church, and she installed one there, too.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Dean’s question had more of a punch than he intended, which didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“No. Well, once, but not like he hurt my mother. Once we were moved into the new church, his outrages stopped for the most part. ”

Dean shook his head and inhaled slowly, trying to still the rage he felt towards her father. “Your mom… where is she now?”

“Residing in Green Valley cemetery. Remember I said I had family there?”

“Oh,” Dean replied awkwardly and shifted weight off his bad leg, “yeah…”

“Here, come on,” [Y/N] said, and quickly dried her hands on a dishtowel before moving to help Dean. “Come sit in the living room. There’s a fire going and then I’ll put the kettle on for hot chocolate.”

“Got any booze to throw in there?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I do, but you can’t have any. Not while on those meds. I need you clear-headed as you can be.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Awesome, thanks Nurse Ratchett.”

“Yeah well, you’ll be thanking me should Derek show up again. Cause I guarantee the next time he does, he’ll have a shotgun in hand.”

“Peachy,” he mused and rolled his eyes as he slung an arm around her shoulder as she helped him walk into the living room.

Once in the living room, she let him go so he could sit on the couch then turned to tend to the fire. That was when he really watched her closely; from the glow of the flames against her face, tracing the lines and curves of her body, right on down her tight jeans to her wool-socked feet. He was so curious about so many things--including how she would look sans the layers of the thermal and flannel she wore--but had no idea whether he should or could even bring himself to ask. She was a stranger to him, but yet, he felt close to her in a way that even surprised him.

Dean watched every move she made and studied her face as she seemed to be lost in the dancing flames. When she snapped out of it and turned back to him, he didn’t try to look away or pretend he hadn’t been watching her.

“What?” she asked nervously, “why are you staring at me?”

“Just watching you work the fire,” he replied casually, though they both knew it was much more than that.

“Ok, weirdo,” she snarked and turned to go into the kitchen.

“So, can I ask you something else?” Dean called out to her, and when she didn’t respond, he twisted his torso to see her moving about the kitchen.

She just finished filling the kettle and gently rested it on one of the burners then turned it on. “Ask me whatever you want, Dean. I have no secrets.”

“You got me,” he replied, his wide, toothy grin made her chuckle.

“Other than you… what do you want to know?”

“What the HELL are you doing with that guy?”

“Derek?”

“Yeah, Derek. Derek is a douchebag.”

“Well aware, thanks.” She continued on making the hot chocolate, and when she retrieved the bottle of rum from the pantry, Dean couldn’t help but smile when he saw her pour a small shot into each mug.

She was quiet for a while, long enough that the kettle began to whistle and he assumed it was her way of avoiding the question. Dean wouldn’t push her, not when she was doing all she was for him, but he couldn’t take his focus, or his eyes, from her. Nor could he understand how such a beautiful woman, with skills and balls of steel like her, would stay with an overbearing shithead like Derek and that being based on only hearing a few minutes of their lives together.

[Y/N] came back into the living room a minute later with two steaming mugs that smelled heavenly of chocolate and liquor.

“If you end up having a reaction to your meds with that shot of rum, it’s your own damn fault,” she said and handed him a mug before sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her.

Dean smiled smugly and sipped at the piping hot liquid. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

She stared into the fire for a beat, and when she finally turned back to him, he realized that she wasn’t just being quiet, she was thinking; most likely trying to phrase her answer to his question.

“I met Derek in high school. My mom had died by then, the incident in the church with Deacon had happened, and I was a wild kid. Summer before sophomore year, I met Derek at church. His family just moved here and my dad set me up on a date with him… a good Christian boy.”

“Oh, I bet that date was gads of fun,” Dean mocked and licked the chocolate from his lips.

“It was, actually. Derek wasn’t as good of a Christian boy as he pretended to be. We went out drinking at the pits in the woods, and had a great time.”

Dean raised his brow in surprise. “I certainly didn’t expect that answer.”

[Y/N] chuckled but it was flat and sad. “It didn’t last. We dated for two years, and by the time we were about to be seniors, in his head, my father already had us walking down the aisle. The second I graduated, he wanted to marry me off and get rid of me. By then, Derek wasn’t exactly the guy I thought he was and I was so ready for it to be over.”

“So, why are you still with him all these years later?”

She shrugged. “When you are mentally beat down and told you’ll never do better than what you got after so long you start to believe it.”

Dean swallowed hard and felt his teeth grind together in an attempt to bite back words he had no business saying to her. As they sat there in the heavy silence following her words, he was seething in anger that anyone could think of her as anything but wonderful.

“That’s horse shit, you know,” he said softly, raking his teeth over his bottom lip in frustration.

“Yeah, well… tell that to eighteen year old me who was getting kicked out of her house and forced to live with a guy who I didn’t want to be with, or be homeless.”

“Well okay, but you're clearly not eighteen anymore. You work? Right? Have money… why stay?”

“It’s just not that simple Dean. I wish it were, but it's not. Besides, what do you care? In a few days or two, you’ll be able travel and I will somehow get you back to your brother. Speaking of… I guess we should talk about that. How do you wanna--”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Change the subject. I’m not letting this go, [Y/N]. That guy is a massive dick. I have known plenty of guys like that in my life. Bullies, all of ‘em. Chances are if he hasn’t raised a hand to you yet, he will.”

She raised her brows subtly and didn’t look him in the eyes. He knew what it meant, but didn’t want to press her. Truth was, he didn’t have any right to get into her business, but yet…

“[Y/N], I’m not trying to--”

“I know,” she interrupted, but it was quiet, almost a whisper.

Dean moved closer to her, ignoring the burst of discomfort it caused in his leg. He left a bit of breathing room, but reached out and placed a hand on the bend of her knee. He waited a moment to see if she would recoil, or react negatively to his touch. She didn’t.

“No, you don’t know,” he said. “I won’t tell you what to do, but sweetheart, you do not need that guy. Not for a damn thing.”

Her eyes slowly came up to meet his and he could see the conflict brewing in them. Despite the temperature, she gulped down the hot chocolate and placed her mug on the small table beside her. Without saying anything, she got up, Dean’s hand falling back to the couch, and went into the kitchen only to return a moment later with the bottle of rum. She sat down in the same position, only much closer to Dean; close enough that her knee was gently pressing against the side of his thigh.

[Y/N] took a quick pull of the brown liquor and winced as it trickled down her throat. She passed the bottle to Dean, who looked between it and her with uncertainty.

“My very beautiful nurse said it would screw with my meds,” he shrugged, flashed her his most charming smile.

“She’s an idiot. Get drunk with me, wouldya? Cause honestly, after these last few days I could use it.”

Dean placed his mug of hot chocolate down on the other table and took the bottle from her. The taste of the rum was like heaven on his tongue, but he knew he had to pace himself. She wasn’t wrong about keeping a level, clear head, yet the allure of getting drunk with her was something he didn’t want to pass up, either. After spending the last few days down with an infection and fever, Dean knew he couldn’t be too carefree with his actions.

Passing the bottle back to her, she took a shot from it, her (y/c) eyes intently watching him. “I don’t want to talk about Derek. Tell me a story, Dean. Tell me about what you and your brother do. What other creatures or monsters have you killed?”

Dean scoffed and stammered a moment before he could formulate an answer. “I--Well… why? Why would you want to hear those stories?”

“Because,” she shrugged and drank from the bottle again before passing it to him, “at least what you’re doing seems important… meaningful. Me… I am a bored soon-to-be housewife who likes to pretend I write important things when really it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“I doubt that,” he replied, keeping his green eyes locked with hers as he raised the bottle to his lips. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly; could feel it coursing through his veins and an overwhelming need to touch her rose with it.

“Just tell me a story,” she laughed, “I don’t want to think… I want you to distract me, please?”

“Alright,” Dean nodded and gave her back the bottle. She took a healthy pull from it, placed the cap back on and reached over to leave the bottle on the floor beside the couch. The fire crackled and popped in the background while Dean tried to think of a case to tell her about; one that wouldn’t be too dark or heavy, but he was struggling because they all were like that. She thought what he and Sam did was important, and maybe it was, but it certainly came with a hefty price.

“This one time Sam and I had to join a traveling circus,” he shrugged and felt his heart warm as she broke into a disbelieving smile.

“Seriously? What was going on there?”

“A killer clown, or so we thought. Thanks to a little help from a friend, we found out it wasn’t so much a clown but a rakshasa--”

“A what?!” she snorted, the alcohol clearly affecting her as well as she tried, and failed, to repeat the word. “A rakssha--rakeis--a what?!”

“A rakshasa… a spirit, shapeshifter of sorts that likes to feed on humans. This one had set up shop in a traveling carnival. Passed itself off as a clown, got kids to let it in the house and then would eat one of their parents.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “gross.”

“Yeah, very,” Dean chuckled, his tongue darting across his lips while looking at her. It was an involuntary response, but he could see her watching him closely now, too, and he didn’t hate it.

“What else, tell me more,” she requested and leaned forward enough that he could see a spark of life returning to her eyes.

Dean recounted a few other cases he and Sam had worked over the years, keeping them short and sweet, and mostly ones where there was a happy ending. He left out the demon stories or the time when Sam had to put down a woman after he’d fallen for her because she had been bitten and turned into a werewolf. He went more in-depth about the case they worked for Deacon, too, and other times he’d been in their lives. [Y/N] listened attentively, her eyes never leaving his face and the more he talked, the closer she got.

What felt like hours later, she moved off the couch and once again tended to the fire. From the corner of the room, the CB radio crackled to life again, making both Dean and [Y/N] freeze, then catch the other’s nervous gaze. They waited silently through the unintelligible voice mixed with static, waiting to see if one would make sense; if Dean’s name was the topic of the call or if--

“[Y/N].... you…*static* ...up. Now! Over.”

Dean saw her face fall the minute the voice was clear enough to understand. Her whole body stiffened, a coating of fear mixed with anger taking hold of her expressions and forcing her to walk towards the CB. He realized as she got closer that she still had the fireplace poker in her hand. Even from across the room Dean could see how tightly she was gripping the iron weapon, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white.

[Y/N]’s free hand darted out and snatched the handle from its base and gave a quick look over her shoulder. Dean nodded, his way of agreeing to be quiet. She drew in a deep breath and pressed the button.

“I’m here. Over.”

It took a minute, but the voice came back clearer this time. “What the hell you thinkin’, girl? You better get your ass back to town... *more static* ...ing. Storm’s …. *static* ...for days! Over.”

There was another moment of hesitation on her part before she pressed the button and spoke again. “I’m not a God-damned child. I’ll tell you what I told Derek. I’m fine. I will be back when I am back. Over and out.”

Without hesitation, she turned off the power to the radio and gently placed the handle back in its cradle. [Y/N] stood motionless, still holding the poker with a fierce grip as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to use it or not. She finally moved, turned back around to face him and that’s when she noticed the poker in hand. Paying it an absent glance, she gently laid it back on the rack and shook the haunted thoughts from her mind.

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but maybe turning that off isn’t a great idea,” Dean suggested carefully. “It’s kind of our early warning system, you know?”

“You’re right,” she replied, and went back to the radio to switch it back on, then maneuvered a few of the controls so music began to play through the small speaker on the unit. “There, at least that’s better to listen too. And it’ll flash when something’s trying to get through.”

“Who was that?” Dean asked, unable to quell his curiosity.

“My father. Derek probably left here and went straight there. They’re always conspiring something,” she muttered.

Dean nodded and tried to think of something he could say that would change the sudden change in her demeanor. Seeing how her father’s voice alone affected her, made him just as disgusted as he had been when he saw how Derek’s presence changed her. [Y/N] was a special kind of woman, how she was so mistreated by the men in her life left him baffled and angry.

Before he could think of something to say, she spoke up first as she knelt down by Dean’s injured leg. “I should check your wound…”

“You’re just surrounded by douchebags, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied and began to pull up the bottom of the sweatpants when he leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder.

“My leg is fine,” he said. “I mean, if you’re just looking for a way to get me to take my pants off, I can think of better ways, sweetheart.” He knew he was being blunt, and while he certainly wouldn’t turn down the mysterious beauty, he was only trying to get her back in that light-hearted, easy-going way she was before the CB had gone off.

[Y/N] laughed but then caught his gaze, and in it, he saw that maybe his comment wasn’t as laughable to her.

“Is that so?” she asked and stopped pulling up his pant leg, but didn’t remove her hand from his ankle. He could feel her feather-light touch on his skin and desperately wanted her to touch him everywhere. “And just what way would that be?”

Dean chuckled and needed to decide how far he could, or should try to take this. He was injured, after all, and she was a stranger with two very aggressive men in her life. Getting involved with her in any way was only going to mean trouble. But then she looked at him, challenging his comment with nothing but the tick of her brow and the pout of her lip; subtle, but sexy. He knew there was only one way it could go.

“Well, you could come back up on the couch and let me show you…”

Dean’s heart was pounding, unsure of how she would react. When [Y/N] slowly rose from the floor and stood before him, he sat up straighter on the couch silently praying she would take him up on his offer. Everything in the room seemed to shift at once; the fire popped and hissed as it caught a new log ablaze, the song on the radio ended, the first few notes of Unchained Melody started on some distant AM station, and [Y/N] was slowly removing the flannel she wore over her thermal shirt, and tossing it to where she had been sitting on the couch.

“You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean it,” she whispered, her expression unreadable, but intense.

Dean reached out for her hands, pressed his palms into hers, then laced their fingers together before gingerly pulling her forward and gauging her resistance. When she didn’t fight him at all, he continued guiding her closer which forced her to straddle his lap, or she’d fall on top of him. She did so without any hesitation, but hovered over his lap and kept her eyes locked with his. He wished he could read her, get a feel for what exactly she was thinking. Though he had been with plenty of women over the years, she made him nervous; more surprising than that was that he liked it.

“Who says I don’t mean it?” he breathed, more taken with her with every inch closer she came. “If you’re uncomfortable, or you want to--”

“Shut up,” she huffed and leaned into him, her lips pressing to his while his hands released hers and immediately went to her ribs, sliding down to her hips and holding onto her tightly.

Her lips were soft and sweet and heavily laced with the taste of rum. She kissed him with a tempered need; he could feel her wanting more, just as he did. Yet there was still a hesitancy to how she pressed her mouth to his. Wanting her to feel comfortable, he let her set the pace and happily followed with every step further she took it. [Y/N] sank down lower on his lap, her hands sliding up his chest, towards his neck; her fingers locking together behind it as her thumbs gently rubbed against the sensitive spot behind his ears.

Dean moaned softly into her kiss and wrapped his arms around her back, slowly lifting the back of her shirt and lacing his fingers together against her skin. She parted his lips with her tongue, her need beginning to overcome the shyness of their first encounter. [Y/N] didn’t stop Dean when his hands moved up her back and unclasped her bra; she didn’t protest when he began to lift the thermal shirt up just enough for him to feel the bottom curves of her breasts. Through all this, she only kissed him deeper. For as much as he wanted her, and as much as he would hate himself should this derail their momentum, Dean pulled back from her suddenly.

[Y/N] was surprised, her breath coming in short spurts, her hands still clinging to his neck.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, desperately searching his face for a reason. “Is it your leg? Are you in pain? Is it me?”

“No! No, absolutely not… you… you are…” Dean exhaled heavily and licked his bottom lip as his fingers kneaded into her skin and his dark, lustful eyes drank her in, “... you’re perfect. It’s just that, you don’t know me, not really. This… this can stop if you want, I don’t want you to blow up your whole life because of one night.”

“Dean, if I am going to implode my life, I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to do it with. Besides, how is this any different from if we’d met in a bar and had a one night stand? Hm?”

Dean considered her answer and shrugged. “I guess it’s not.”

“It’s not. And right now, I don’t care about anything outside those doors. I just want to feel good. Can you make me feel good?” she whined softly.

“I think I can help you out there,” he smirked, his tongue again running along his bottom lip as he sized her up and imagined the things they could really do if not for his bum leg. “But, huh, I’m not playing at full capacity here, so…” he trailed off with another shrug, but she didn’t miss a beat.

“Well then I guess it’s up to me then, isn’t it?” she breathed and leaned in to kiss him again.

Within a minute, Dean pulled off her thermal and her bra with it, her chest bare and glowing in the light of the fire. He trailed his mouth in soft, lingering kisses across her neck and down to her chest, while his hands traced the lines of her skin delicately. He could feel himself getting harder as she moved in the slightest bit against his lap. By the time his mouth had found her nipples and her hands were pressing his face into her chest, he was fully erect and desperate to feel more of her.

[Y/N] must have felt the same because her hands unlocked from his neck and roughly ran down the length of his torso, coming together between her legs, and palming his erection through the thin layer of cotton sweatpants. The moment he felt the pressure of her hand against his dick he inhaled sharply and growled low, relishing in her touch. They continued that way for a minute, kissing and touching and rubbing and grinding deeper, until [Y/N] couldn’t take it anymore.

She suddenly rose from his lap, quickly unbuttoned her jeans and took them off, tossing them aside with the rest of her clothes. She stood in front of him, slotted perfectly between his knees in only her pink cotton panties. [Y/N] slowly knelt in front of him and ran a finger along the waistband of his pants, carefully peeling them back over his engorged member. She took him in one hand, the flesh on flesh contact causing him to exhale slowly. It was when she brought her mouth to his dick, and lightly kissed the tip did he close his eyes and roll his head back against the couch. Letting her tongue linger on along the shaft, she licked down to his balls before lifting her head and gently removing his pants all the way; taking special care around his wound.

[Y/N] again stood in front of him, but Dean couldn’t wait for her to resume her place on his lap. He gripped his dick and began to massage himself as she watched, and the way she watched made him want her even more. Just as she removed the last piece of clothes, he sat up and with his other hand reached out for her. Neither of them spoke, as he once again guided her on his lap and as she hovered over him, he dragged the tip of his cock through her warm, wet folds and felt himself go weak at the sensation.

Her breathing became shaky as he continued to pushing and pull himself through her sex, brushing her clit delicately at first. But after a few times, even he couldn’t take the teasing anymore.

[Y/N] bent her head down into his neck, her teeth nipping at the lobe of his ear as she begged him in a needy whisper, “Please, Dean… don’t make me wait another second.”

He complied, gladly. Dean let go of himself, and grabbed her hips, rocking her in a way that he could slip into her and filled her with the first thrust upwards. She cried out, but not in pain. It was as if the instant euphoric feeling of him inside her needed to be released so she could concentrate on the rush that followed.

Dean rocked her slowly on his lap, while his mouth toyed with each of her nipples, taking turns lavishing each with attention. His moans were muffled by her chest and he found himself completely lost in how good it felt to be inside her. Her hands were wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, then his shoulders, pressing him as close to her as she could. Her hips moved in rhythm with his, as her mouth fell open and her eyes closed.

The sounds of heavy breathing filled the room, muffling the Righteous Brothers pouring from the radio, and even drowning out the sound of the fire.

“Fuck,” Dean grunted, his lips snarling into a smiling as she moved her body faster when he cursed. He used the pad of his thumb to rub her clit, the instant he touched her there, she whimpered, her whole body melting at his touch.

“Oh… GOD… fuck, Dean! Feel so good…” she panted, her head rolling back then around so her chin fell to her chest. She was riding him with speed and purpose, the need to climax so great and so close she let go of him to grip the couch for better leverage.

“Damn, baby,” Dean mewed, unsure of how much longer he could go before he would cum. She felt so good on him, and even though that final push towards orgasm was downright euphoric, he didn’t want it to end yet.

He finally released her clit and grabbed her hips tighter, pushing and pulling her into him as roughly as he could. One last time and he felt her walls flutter and spasming around his cock as her body began to tremble and his name didn’t just fall from her lips, but rang out like church bells, followed by a string of expletives that would easily get her sent to Hell.

It was all he needed to cum, and though he tried to move her off him before he did, she finally resisted him, intent on taking his release inside her and crashing her lips to his as he did.

Dean held onto her for dear life, his mouth falling away from hers as he buried his head between her breasts. She held him there and slowed her movements against him, finally coming to a stop and letting her body relax, but still not moving from his lap. He lifted his face to see her, she was sweaty and beautiful, her hair falling around his face, causing some of her features to linger in the shadows of it. He reached up and tucked a hair behind her ear.

“Well? Feel better?”

[Y/N] absently licked her lips, then revealed and small, impish little grin. “Dunno… I think maybe we should go back to the bedroom and try again. Just so I know for sure…”

“Well I am absolutely good with that, but--”

“But, what?” she asked, an ounce of doubt moving into her eyes.

“But, as much as I wanna be the romantic guy and carry you in there, I’m gonna need you to help me hobble that way. I do believe you just drained any strength I had left in my leg.”

“Oh,” she said and moved off him, clearly panicked.

“No… sweetheart… I meant that in a really, really good way. Whatcha say you help me up and we take this back there,” he smirked and nodded towards the bedroom off the kitchen.

“Happily,” she grinned and moved off his lap.

Standing in front of him, she held out her hand and helped him rise from the couch. The pain in his leg was noticeable, but not nearly as much as it had been before. She left her clothes behind and slung an arm around his waist as he slung his over her shoulder.

“Just one request,” she said as they made their way to the bedroom.

“Anything.”

“This needs to go,” she demanded, tugging at his shirt. “I want to feel all of you this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complied and quickly discarded the shirt he’d been wearing, tossing it behind him, not caring where it landed. “For you sweetheart, anything.”

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson// @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss// @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader insert #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fics #dean x you #spn fan fics

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onceuponakdrama · 3 years

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So I Married an Anti Fan KDrama Review

—

Bingo Card for So I Married An Anti Fan

Synopsis: Hu Joon is a top star. Geun-Young is a magazine reporter. For potential news material, Geun-Young decides to attend an opening ceremony for a club. There, she witnesses top star Who-Joon's violent behavior and she also vomits on him by accident. This leads to Geun-Young losing her job. Geun-Young believes Hu Joon was behind her firing and she decides to do something about it. Every day, Geun-Young demonstrates in front of Hu Joon's management office. She begins to receive media coverage on her demonstration and soon Geun-Young becomes famous as an anti-fan. A PD approaches Geun-Young about participating in a reality TV show. The concept for the show revolves around a top star and their anti-fan living together. Geun-Young is in financial difficulties and accepts the offer. Meanwhile, Hu Joon is offered the same reality TV show and he accepts to improve his image.

Overall Main Plot: Rating - 7 out of 10

I feel that this a drama with a simple plot line. For this drama, I think the main plot would be considered Hu Joon’s career, along with how it overlaps with Geun Young and with the whole romance aspect into consideration. I think I was fairly invested in it because it was also about an idol’s life and how that affects others in their life, from a company perspective and in the perspective of the people. It felt kind of generic though, in the sense that I was more interested in the romance than anything else because this is a romance drama. I think I started tuning out as things were escalating to be too much and Jae Joon was slowly starting to take over the plot line. There was also too much of a focus on their past as trainees and, while I get that it’s important, why were there so many flashbacks about it? I also didn’t understand why Jae Joon was so obsessed with Hu Joon when he had his own business to run. I have more notes on him in the next section on the characters, but his motivations and role in the main plot didn’t make much sense to me. There’s also a couple of other notes on the main plot that I did not like.

Geun Young’s Hardships: I did not like how often Geun Young got the short end of the stick. Throughout the beginning, she kept suffering and, while it made me feel bad for her, I kept wondering why she had to keep suffering. I also did not like how the writer and PD of the show kept making her look like the bad guy when she was justified in her anger. While I know it wasn’t totally Hu Joon’s fault for Geun Young getting fired, he definitely did push it. After she did the show too, she wasn’t as protected after the episode airings and then that just piled on her frustrations with his so-called fans. I just felt really bad for her and I felt like there should have been a balance for the both of them to talk about why things went so wrong for her to be deemed the anti-fan and how he keeps stirring the pot.

Concept of Fans and Anti-Fans: this gets to my second point. I didn’t like how they grazed over the fans attacking Geun Young. I get that they would be mad that she tried to “poison” him, but it was old vitamin packets.... that wouldn’t really lead to death, but more like stomach problems. She really didn’t want to physically harm him because she has enough human decency. On the other hand, I also hated that Hu Joon didn’t really protect her from his fans. Even though, they were deemed as enemies, it’s basic manners to defend her from that because she really didn’t deserve it.

Characters: Rating - 6 out of 10

↣ Lee Geun Young [played by Choi Sooyoung]: if I’m being totally honest, I only watched the drama because I found out our girl, Ms. Sooyoung, was in it. And I loved her character. I think I just empathized with her a lot and felt bad for the bad things that kept happening to her. Her character was one that I was able to root for and wish that things would be better for her. I just really wanted a good ending for her and hoped that she would be able to stomp on those who kept trashing her. There wasn’t anything major, I just wished better for her and I thought it was great how she turned out to be a writer rather than a reporter.

↣ Hu Joon [played by Choi Tae Joon]: I actually did not like him for a while. He felt so two-faced and I was afraid that this would be a drama that he would treat the main female lead badly and would continue that way as they were dating and have it be labeled that tsundre behavior. I think I started to warm up to him as the drama progressed (prob episode 7-ish) and he became so affectionate and loving and trusting (and clingy) towards Geun Young. I felt bad for him too, realizing how his past kept coming back to haunt him—whether it was Jae Joon, In Kyung, or trying to find his father. Even as things progressed, it wasn’t his fault for the way things turned out. I think one note I had about him was just that I wished he had been more sympathetic towards Geun Young as she was expected to be to him and everyone else.

↣ Choi Jae Joon [played by Hwang Chansung]: oh my god, his character felt so unnecessary. I think the only time I liked him was when he got along with Geun Young to hate on Hu Joon; it was a cute platonic relationship. Other than that though, there was nothing worth redeeming him. There was supposed to be this character arc, but I couldn’t get over the fact that he hit In Kyung and did all this insane possessive stuff. I wanna say it’s almost like he was mentally ill, but it seemed more like toxic masculinity. Sure, there were abandonment issues and he saved In Kyung from getting hit, but that did not excuse any of his actions. I don’t think the two should have ended up together because it felt too much like a toxic relationship and they needed to heal away from one another.

↣ Oh In Hyung [played by Han Ji An]: I think I just felt really bad for her character. There were so many hardships she went though: her career, her relationship with Hu Joon and Jae Joon, the lack of support from her company, etc. She just felt like a victim of emotional abuse and I hate that she went back to him because she had nothing. I wish there was more perspective on her and why things many have turned out the way that they did. She was the one who had the least amount of development and it was hard to understand her and the things she did. While I get that she’s a side character, I felt like there should have been more.

Personal Notes: I feel like this is another drama with a good main couple, but everyone else feels problematic. Other than the manager, I wasn’t really interested in the others and their b-plots. I couldn’t feel bad for the CEO because he was acting so shady. The writers and directors of the show were also kind of shady because they kept making Geun Young look bad and didn’t understand why there was so much backlash against Geun Young. This is a more light-hearted drama, so it did feel much fluffier between the main characters.

Romance: Rating - 9 out of 10

Okay, the romance for this drama was actually top tier because I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers, but only the ones that make sense and don’t include things like bully/victim dynamics. This was a slow romantic development, but when it happened, it was so easy to root for them and their happiness. There was a lot of miscommunication, but that was before they started dating—after they started dating, they trusted one another and were able to communicate and wait for one another. Once they got together, I anticipated the scenes they were in and I’ve seen so many gifs of their cute moments together. They are absolutely adorable. The reason why it isn’t a 10/10 is probably just how sad Hu Joon is—in the sense that he doesn’t really have other friends and it really seems like he depends a bit too much on Geun Young and it was kind of cute but also kind of sad. Other than that, I loved watching their relationship blossom and their moments together as a couple because they are a good demonstration of a healthy relationship where they talk things out (when they can) and trust one another, despite what other people might say.

Second Plot/B-Plot and Secondary Characters: Rating - 7 out of 10

I wasn’t super interested in the sub-plot. At first, I was curious with the whole past with Jae Joon and In Kyung, but, like I said, as it progressed, I lost interest and started skipping around their scenes. I didn’t like how the drama kind of shifted the focus towards them and they made their way into the main plot as the drama was ending. It just felt like too much. I was a bit surprised at the side romance of the writer and the PD, but it was pretty cute to see. I did like Geun Young’s friends and how supportive they were. I liked how they kept those ties throughout the entire drama too because some of those tend to dwindle in some dramas. They were cute and they tried their best to be there for her. I also mentioned the manager in an earlier section and he’s probably my favorite secondary character. I just felt bad for him third wheeling, but he did seem to be entertained at the whole situation.

Additional Notes:

This drama was a pleasant surprise. I watched the movie (the one that starred EXO’s Chanyeol) and it was (in my opinion).... so bad. I felt like this was a better adaptation of the why this story is told. I rooted for the couple more; I liked the character development; there was a better way of incorporating things about an idol life without feeling forced.

I was reading through the blogs and they were all making fun about the OST and how they kept using one song by “Hu Joon.” I was also thinking about that throughout the drama because his company kept saying new release or something, but we never heard those songs and it felt like he only had one song. It was just something that made me laugh, especially since it’s kind of like a meme for those who watched this drama. There’s also the off-sounding flute that plays when Hu Joon does something stupid and I thought it was funny.

Overall Rating: 7 out of 10

Recommended?

↣ Yes: this is a good romantic comedy drama (if you ignore the subplot with Jae Joon and In Kyung). The romance is great, in which you would really root for the couple and they have such a good relationship; it’s a bit more of a slow burn, but it works since it’s an enemies to lovers trope. This drama is also a good and entertaining adaptation, whether or not you were a fan of the movie. This drama also has interesting side characters that aren’t super antagonistic; again, it’s a bit more fluffy and feel-good in comparison to other dramas.

↣ No: this is a drama that is very idol-centric and it includes a lot of “trashing” of the female lead. There’s a lot that the female lead has to deal with and it’s really unfair until the second half of the drama. Because this is a bit more of a slow burn drama, you could also get frustrated easily with the romance. There’s also the toxic side characters that feel like there’s no real purpose to them. The side plot also twists in a way that focuses on the side character and male character’s relationship towards them and it gets kind of complicated. It’s also a bit more old (in a cliche way) because it was filmed earlier and released later.

#so i married an anti fan #kdrama review #kdrama recs #spoilers #mine

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 5 years

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This week on Dear Television:

Let Aaron Bady and Sarah Mesle sing you a song of love and war, friendship and betrayal, ICE and FIRE. In association with Home Box Office Productions, we bring you a saga like no other. Travel with us to the mysterious, ancient land of Westeros, where nothing is as it seems. THRILL as beloved characters disappear before your eyes! CHILL as your worst nightmares come true! TWEET whenever you see continuity errors! TEXT YOUR FRIENDS when these dudes yet again blow it with their garbage gender politics! Unsullied beware: many of the deepest secrets of the Seven Kingdoms and the dramatic conclusion of this song of ice and fire will be revealed in these essays. As the world turns, we know the bleakness of winter, the promise of spring, the fullness of summer and the harvest of autumn — the game of thrones is complete.

Previous episode: Season Eight, Episode Five, “The Bells”

But Why, Though?

by Aaron Bady

Dear Television,

This show long ago backed itself into a corner in terms of how it could end, and, last night, smashed its face in the corner, smiling. Someone had selected Jon kills Daenerys, the dragon melts the Iron Throne, and Bran is the new king on their bingo card: congratulations, you won the prize!

If you strain, there’s an underlying logic to it: even enlightened despots are bad, we’ve decided, and democracy is hilarious, obviously, but since all the real power-brokers are dead, the remaining half-assed aristocracy has decided to shift power a rung down the ladder (with a place-holder semi-king), which gets something like the status quo ante back, though it’s unclear why this outcome would be better or worse than a variety of alternatives. It requires a very generous reading even to deduce that that is what’s happening. But it could have gone a half-dozen ways just as easily, and nothing about how it actually went last night felt more surprising, inevitable, or satisfying than the multitude of scenarios that people had dreamed up. Ideally, a good climax would have taken you by surprise in the moment, but as it sank in, you would have realized how it had been earned by what came before; and after the show was over, you’d have been satisfied by what it all added up to and meant.

The show has pulled that off before: Ned Stark’s death and the Red Wedding (and Cersei’s big victory) are obvious examples of successful climactic moments. The show’s ruthlessness was shocking, but made sense as you thought it through. Those surprises reinforced an essentially tragic tone and message: the Game of Thrones had winners and die-ers, and, since valar morghulis (all must die), even winning just buys you time until you die and someone else can win. Power is treachery, and treacherous; the Game of Thrones is The Wheel, endlessly turning (or the astrolabe from the title sequence) with its heartbeat the accompanying theme music, the show’s true MVP, a song that never ends and never changes.

I hoped the show had another shock like that in its back pocket. The more fool I; Jon killing Daenerys was, to put it bluntly, not it. There was no element of surprise since other major characters were begging him to do it, and neither actor did anything interesting in the scene except look as surprised by what was happening as we were supposed to be. It also wasn’t earned, and didn’t feel like it meant anything: if Daenerys’ tragic flaw was the self-justifying cycle of “killing the bad guys,” why was killing her the solution to her turning bad? Why didn’t Jon Snow seize the throne afterwards (wasn’t everyone’s argument that he would be the best King?) How did he get imprisoned? Did he confess? Grey Worm’s actions make no sense; he had literally been executing soldier nobodies who had surrendered, just because, but the guy who killed his queen he just tosses in jail? And then accepts the jurisdiction of A Random Collection of I Guess These Are The High Lords and Ladies of Westeros Now when they free him? Offscreen? Why does Jon Snow go to the Actually There Isn’t A Night’s Watch Anymore So I Guess We’ll Just Roam North Epically? I mean, Tyrion can just walk out of prison and become the Hand of a king who he also just happened to appoint? Why did Grey Worm accept any of it? Why didn’t all the lords and ladies follow Sansa’s example and declare independence? Why is Bronn in charge of four castles or whatever, just because TYRION promised it to him?

WHY DID ANY OF IT, in short. What are the peasants up to? Which gods ordained all of this?

(The outcome was so beyond baffling that I found myself fixating on little things. When the Iron Throne was melted by dragon-fire, it should have been grand and dramatic and terrible, and instead it was just funny; did the dragon burn the chair-made-of-swords because he saw his mother murdered by a sword and blamed the chair? Can we really blame him for jumping to that conclusion, given what nonsense the rest of the plotting was?)

For me, the best example of the sort of thing that I’d foolishly hoped the show might do, last night, was the season six revelation of Hodor’s name. Not only shocking, earned, and tragic, but narratively productive, opening up a new dimension in the show’s temporal fabric. Through the head-fuck of Bran accidentally changing the past (or, rather, what the past had already always been), the show suggested a lot of new narrative possibilities, most interestingly, that Bran was himself both the Night King and “Bran the Builder,” my personal favorite missed opportunity: while mortals fought their petty wars, the cosmic backdrop could have turned out to be one guy’s transhistorical war with himself, building walls to stop himself from killing himself, and ruining so many lives by accident along the way.

Instead, it was all downhill once the show killed off the Night King. Without him, Bran’s plot didn’t make much sense and it seemed clear that the showrunners neither knew what to do with him — since he was functionally omniscient and no one ever asked him any questions — nor would there be much for him to do. So, of course, they made him King, and made his kingship the endpoint of whatever crazy hand has been guiding the plot. Was it the Lord of Light? The old gods? The new? The many-faced God? The show’s entire religious structure seems to have had a hand in saving him to become King, but what Tyrion and the rest of them seem to value about him is that he’s an ego-less cipher. Going a step beyond Douglas Adams, the only person who can be trusted with power is someone who not only doesn’t want it, but who isn’t even a person. And yet, who made Bran king? As ludicrous as Tyrion’s speech is — and as ridiculous as it is that Grey Worm and the lords and ladies accept it — an awful lot of deus ex machina had to happen to make this outcome possible. “Why do you think I came all this way?” is a goddamned good question, Bran, and we’d like some goddamned answers.

We got no answers. If we aren’t satisfied — and I’m not — one reason is that the show wanted to stick the landing and there just wasn’t a landing to stick. It shouldn’t have tried. They wanted to have it both ways, an ending that would be “bittersweet,” the showrunners said, probably imagining something like putting sugar in chocolate or coffee. Instead, it was like pouring lemonade into beer; yes, there was some bitterness, and yes there was some sweet, but there was also just so much that it ultimately tastes horrible.

At its best, this show could have it both ways on a lot of things because there was always more to the story. The weird mix of the Hollywood sensibilities of the showrunners — who loved them some Good Princes and Evil Zombie Hordes — and the (somewhat) more interesting genre-bending agenda of the anti-Tolkienesque author could work because the resolution of that weird emulsion was deferred, still working itself out. There was so much yet to be revealed and explained, and the game kept going on, that the presumed possibility of an ending that would work was in the back of your mind the whole time. And so the show got to live firmly within the genre’s expectations — princes, prophecies, apocalyptic doom, and heroism — while also subverting them with a grounded cynicism about politics. All the contradictions became riddles to be explained, a map filled with empty spaces; red herrings could be not-yet-revealeds and plot holes were wait-and-sees. Any character abuse could seem to be in service of some larger narrative that wasn’t yet completed, and thus, couldn’t yet be judged a failure. As long as the prince that was promised never came, we could keep waiting; the moment he did, and the show reached its conclusion, we could suddenly look at what it had done and judge it, and for the first time, the emptiness of the show was unavoidable. Like a shark, the moment it stopped moving forward, it started to die.

Obviously, the show and the showrunners don’t understand this. They went down a list, giving endings to each story which seemed to them to be plausible and appropriate, which they superficially all are. But the reason they don’t add up to anything larger is that there is nothing larger in the show: democracy is laughable because no one else exists in this show except characters with names. Most of them are now dead, but the few who remain — including long-lost second-stringers like Robin Arryn and Uncle Edmure — showed up at the end to collectively Fortinbras our way back to whatever passes for normalcy in this world. The totalitarian threat is dead — and the democratic one is inconceivable — so we’re back to the same old small council chairs.

And this, in a way, is the real problem: even after the ending, the world has to go on, and when it does, it undoes the finality of everything that happened in the finale. The story continues (even as it ends) because at some point in the future, it won’t anymore: Bran will die without children, and a new political order will be born. But this new way to defer the show’s resolution — picking a non-King for the Iron Throne that doesn’t exist anymore, the solution to hereditary kingship because he’ll be the last of his name — only works to the extent that we’re not going to see it happen. And so we don’t: the show ends, so that it can continue.

Yours, walking somewhere, forever,

Aaron

The post Game of Thrones, “The Iron Throne” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/2HFpGxW

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supernatural-fangirl1967 · 4 years

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Through the Fire - Part 8

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean x Single Parent!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Mentions of domestic abuse, Little bit of angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 4,084

Square Filled: Slow Burn (Genre Bingo)

Square Filled: Slow Burn (Dean Bingo)

A/N: This is part 8 of Through the Fire. Let me know what you think! This was written for @spngenrebingo, and @spndeanbingo.

Series Masterlist

"Why can't I stay here and watch a movie?" Evie complains. You lay your hair brush down onto the dresser before turning to face her.

"Because I am going with Dean tonight, and you are going to stay with his brother until we get back, okay?"

"No," Evie huffs as she crosses her arms. You sigh before walking over and kneeling down in front of her.

"Listen, baby girl," you tell her. "You know how you like hanging out with Mommy, but you still want to play with other kids sometimes?" Evie nods her head. "Well, the same goes for me," you explain to her. "I love being with you, Evie, but sometimes I need another adult to talk to. You understand?"

"Yeah," Evie says quietly. "Can I go play outside?"

"You can until we get ready to go," you tell her. "But stay in the front where Mommy can see you, okay?"

"Okay," Evie smiles before taking off outside. You immediately follow behind her, poking your head out the front door to see her approaching a group of kids that she's taken to in the short time that you two have moved in.

You see one of the other mother's watching the kids, and she gives you a thumbs-up when she sees you, letting you know that she'll watch Evie for you. You mouth a 'thank you' before going back inside to get ready.

You peak through the window every now and then to see Evie shying away from the others as the older kids try to join. Soon, Evie is by herself, riding her bike back and forth in front of the steps that lead to your apartment. You want to stand by the window to watch her, but your stomach begins to roll and sends you running to the bathroom instead.

When Dean pulls up, the first thing he sees is Evie sitting on the steps with her head hung down.

"Hey," Dean says as he kneels down in front of her. Evie looks up, immediately reaching for Dean. He picks her up, standing up straight and settling Evie on his hip. "What's wrong, firecracker?"

Evie looks over at the group of kids, and Dean notices one of the boys riding a pink bike that's way too small for him.

"That yours?" Dean asks. Evie nods her head. "Why don't you take it back?"

"They won't listen to me," Evie says softly.

"Well, they'll listen to me," Dean assures Evie as he sits her back down on the steps. Dean begins walking over to the group of kids, but they all run off when they see him.

"Woah, where are you going?" Dean asks as he grabs the boy by the shoulder.

"Let me go!"

"Not so fast," Dean says. "Who do you think you are just taking a little girl's bike away from her?"

The boy looks up at Dean with a mean expression on his face. "It was my turn!"

"Okay, first of all, she's half your size. You don't just..."

"Is there a problem here?"

Dean looks up to see a woman about your age walking towards him. "Yeah," Dean begins, "he yours?"

"Yes," she replies. "I'd appreciate it if you'd get your hands off of him."

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd teach him not to take things that aren't his."

"Dean, what's going on?"

He turns around to see you coming out of your apartment. "This little brat thought it would be a good idea to take Evie's bike."

The lady reaches over to grab her son before giving Dean a murderous look. "Don't touch my kid again," she says as she begins to walk off, calling out to you over her shoulder. "Keep your guard dog on a leash!"

"Teach your kid not to take what doesn't belong to him!" Dean hollers back.

"Dean," you bite back your smile as you walk over to stand in front of him. He goes to take a step forward, but you place a hand on his chest. "Dean, calm down."

"That little punk..."

"I know," you say, laughing softly. "Dean, trust me, I know. But let's not get into a fight with a kid, okay?"

"He had no right to..."

"I know," you repeat. "Dean, one thing you're going to learn really quick about the other Mom's around here is that their kid's are perfect and everybody else's are horrible. You just have to overlook it, no matter how infuriating it is."

Dean sets his jaw before turning to pick up Evie's bike by the handle bars with one hand. He inspects it to make sure it's okay before walking it back over to Evie.

"Here you go, firecracker," Dean says as he sets the bike down in front of her.

"Thank you," Evie smiles up at Dean as she runs over to wrap her little arms around his leg.

Dean smiles as he runs a hand over her head. "Anything for you, sweetheart," Dean replies. "Maybe one day I'll teach you how to ride it without the training wheels."

Evie's eyes light up. "Really?"

"Of course," Dean chuckles as he nods his head.

"Evie, why don't you go put your bike up for now, baby?" you tell her.

"Okay, Mommy," Evie replies before beginning to roll the bike off the sidewalk and up to the front door. Dean turns to look at you, grimacing a little bit.

"I'm sorry if I..."

"Stop," you tell him. "Dean, you just stood up for my kid. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I was just trying to keep you from getting beat up by an angry Mom."

Dean huffs. "I could've taken her," he says. "Maybe."

You laugh at him and shake your head. "I'm gonna go lock up real quick."

"Okay," Dean replies. You walk into the apartment to grab your keys, only to find Evie trying to fit her bike in the small closet.

"Munchkin, what are you doing?"

"I don't want anyone to get it while I'm gone."

"Honey, you're getting dirt and grass all over the floor," you tell her. "Listen, why don't we put it in the closet by the back door, okay? It'll fit in there, and you won't get the entire floor dirty."

"Okay," Evie nods. "But I don't want it to be outside no more."

"That's okay," you tell her. "You put your bike up while I grab the keys."

"Yes, Mommy," Evie says before rolling her bike away. You walk over to the hook on the wall and grab your keys before picking up your purse from the couch.

"I'm done," Evie says as she comes running into the room. "I'll clean the mess up when we get home."

"Thank you, baby," you smile before following her out of the apartment, making sure the door is shut and locked securely before walking over to where Dean is strapping Evie into her carseat.

"You ready to go, firecracker?" he asks her. Evie shrugs her shoulders.

"I wanna go with you and Mommy."

"Maybe next time," Dean smiles before shutting the door. He turns around to face you, and you don't miss the way his eyes look you up and down.

"Look at you," he breathes out. "You were right the other day when you said that you're starting to show." You look down at the ground as your cheeks heat up. "I didn't mean anything bad by that," Dean says quickly. "I just meant that you look... good. Healthy." Dean reaches out to cup your chin, gently turning your head up to look at him. "And you look happy, (Y/N)."

"I am," you smile softly.

"Can we go?" Evie asks loudly as she thumps her little fist against the window. You laugh and bite your bottom lip as Dean steps away.

"We should..."

"Yeah," you nod before starting over to the other side of the car. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean reaches across the table and grabs your phone. You look over at him, and he smiles.

"She's fine," he tells you. "She might as well be here if you're going to stare at your phone all night."

"I'm sorry," you tell him. "I know she's okay. She seemed to like Sam as much as she does you."

"Yeah," Dean chuckles. "Right after she got used to him being a giant."

You laugh at the thought of Evie clinging to Dean's neck the first time she saw Sam.

"Thought the kid was gonna choke me there for a second," Dean laughs. "She's got a grip for how tiny she is."

"I know," you smile. "I'm surprised that she didn't tear into that boy earlier."

"You mean the little punk?" Dean asks, causing you to smile again. "(Y/N)?"

"Hm?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," you reply quickly as you shake your head.

"Sweetheart, you're distracted," Dean tells you. "I know you're worried about Evie, but I also know that's not the entire issue here."

You look at him and take a deep breath. "I just haven't done this for a while."

"What?" Dean asks. "Eat?"

"Very funny," you smile as you roll your eyes. "I haven't been alone with a guy in a while."

Dean raises an eyebrow at you as he looks around the crowded restaurant. "We're not alone."

"You know what I mean," you smile softly.

"(Y/N), I hope you know that I'm not looking for anything to come of this," Dean tells you.

"I know," you reply. "It's just that with everything that's happened to me... I trust you, Dean, and I know that you're not going to hurt me. But it's going to take me a while to adjust to knowing that and be able to completely relax," you tell him.

"I understand that," Dean nods. "I was just afraid that I was making you uncomfortable."

"No," you reply. "Dean, trust me, it is not you."

Dean nods again before nodding towards the wooden bracelet on your arm. "Where'd you get that?" Dean asks as he reaches over to gently pull your arm closer so he can get a better look at it.

"My Dad made it for my Mom, and I kept it after they passed," you tell Dean as he looks at the designs carved into it.

Dean gets a shocked looked on his face. "This survived the fire?"

You shake your head. "I left it at the diner," you tell him. "I wear it all the time, and for some reason, I decided to take it off that day and I didn't think about it when I left."

"Wow, you got lucky," Dean says. You nod your head a bit.

"Dean, how come you never talk about your family? Well, other than Sam anyways," you ask him. "I mean, I know that I don't talk about my parents constantly, but I've told you a bit about them. What about yours?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "Not much to tell."

"Oh," you say softly. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"No, no," he says quickly. "It's not like that. They're alive, but we just don't talk much."

"Oh," you say again. "Is there a reason?"

"That's a story for another day," Dean says, immediately shaking his head. "No, you know what? It's not fair to you for me to keep bottling these things up when you've been so open about everything."

"I wasn't meaning to pry," you say quickly.

"I know," Dean replies. "It might do me some good to talk about it." You nod your head, and Dean takes a deep breath. "My parents haven't been too happy about certain choices I've made."

"Like what?" you ask him.

Dean shakes his head. "Sam's the one who's always known what he's wanted in life, and I've always just kind of went with whatever was thrown at me."

"Not really one to make a plan?"

"No," Dean replies. "So my parents made one for me."

"Let me guess," you begin, "being a firefighter wasn't in that plan."

"Nope," Dean shakes his head as he stares down at the table. "I mean, I get it. It's dangerous, and they worry about me, especially Mom." Dean looks back over at you. "But that's no reason for them to put me down everytime they see me."

"You're kidding."

Dean shakes his head again. "Whenever I'd go around them, the first thing they'd do was talk about how proud they are of Sam, and if he wasn't with me, they'd ask me how he was doing. The next thing they'd do is ask me if I've come to my senses yet and found another job.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Dean says quickly, "I'm proud of the kid too. It's not his fault they're like that. Well, I keep saying they but it's more my Dad. I'm sorry, (Y/N), you don't wanna hear about my problems."

"Yes I do," you tell him. "You've heard about all of my issues. It's only fair that you get to vent too."

Dean smiles a bit. "Well, I didn't bring you here tonight so you could listen to me complain."

"That's okay."

"Yeah, but that's not going to help you get your mind off of everything."

"That's kind of hard to do right now anyways."

Dean raises an eyebrow at you. "Has he tried something else?"

"No," you shake your head. "That's just it. It's got me a little on edge wondering when he's gonna strike or what he's gonna try next."

"Well, this just won't do," Dean says.

You laugh a bit. "What just won't do?"

"You worrying about this all the time," Dean replies. "You done eating?"

"Yeah," you reply.

"Come on," Dean says as he stands up out of his seat.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Dean smirks as he holds a hand out for you.

"Are we going on an adventure?" you ask dramatically, sounding like a kid, as you take Dean's hand, letting him pull you up.

"Shh," Dean says as he brings a finger up to his lips. "It's top secret."

You widen your eyes before giggling. The big grin that spreads across your face sends Dean's heart fluttering in his chest.

"Well, then," you say. "Lead the way, Winchester." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is this legal?" you ask Dean as you walk side by side along the wooden pier.

"Of course," Dean answers. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Maybe because we passed like four no trespassing signs on the way in," you reply.

"We did?" Dean asks, as if he didn't see them. He chuckles at the look you throw his way. "Don't worry," Dean smiles as he shakes his head a bit. "This place has been abandoned for years."

"How do you know?"

"Used to come up here a lot," Dean tells you. "Like I said earlier, me and my parents, especially my Dad, haven't always gotten along so well. I'd get mad, take off, and come up here for the day. Usually I'd fish in the lake, or just sit here and stare at the trees or something."

Dean stops walking to lean up against the creaky, wooden railing, staring out ahead of him. The surface of the water is illuminated in the glow of the dim moonlight, and you can't help but notice how everything is so...

"Beautiful," you say.

Dean nods his head in agreement. "You should see it in the daytime," Dean says before looking over his shoulder at you. "It's peaceful out here too. Really helps you to forget about things."

"Is that why you brought me out here?" you ask Dean as you walk over to stand beside of him.

"Figured it might help," he replies. You fold your arms across the railing, leaning on it like Dean is.

"It is," you reply. Dean reaches over to lay a hand on your back, and you automatically lay your head over onto his shoulder.

"I don't get to do stuff like this a lot," you tell Dean. "I'm always doing something, that I never have time to just stop and... and just be." You look up at him and smile. "Thank you for this."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Dean says softly before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You move your head to look up at Dean, and he smiles at you. Dean brings his free hand up to push some hair out of your face. His fingertips linger on your skin a little longer than necessary as he tucks the stray strand behind your ear. You stare at each other for a moment, Dean's eyes slowly drifting down to your lips before he begins moving his head closer. Everything happens all at once.

Just before Dean's lips meet yours, you hear a loud snap. You're pushed back onto the pier, landing hard on your hands and knees, as the railing gives and Dean topples over into the lake with a loud splash.

"Dean!" you call out as you quickly jump up to your feet. You look out on the water, but you don't see him. "Dean!"

He gasps as his head breaches the surface, his eyes wide as he looks around a moment trying to re-orient himself. You can't help but to start laughing once you know he's okay.

"Are you alright?" Dean asks as he starts swimming his way back over to you.

"I should be asking you that," you smile as you reach down to give Dean a hand. He shakes his head and waves your hand away. He gives himself a moment to catch his breath before hauling himself back up onto the pier.

"I pushed you pretty hard," Dean says as he stands up. "I didn't mean to. I wasn't trying to hurt you, (Y/N). I just... I felt the railing start to give, and I... I didn't mean..."

"Dean, it's okay. I'm fine," you smile. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Dean breathes out before letting out a small chuckle of his own. "You know, this normally would be the part where I'm supposed to throw you in anyways for laughing at me," Dean tells you. "But I'd better not because I don't want to take a chance on hurting the little one, or you catching pneumonia."

"And this should be the part where I push you back in for making a comment like that," you giggle. "But I think you've been through enough today."

Dean smiles at you before taking a deep breath. "Come on," he says as he begins to walk off. "We'd better go before this entire thing comes crashing down with us."

"Smart idea," you reply as you follow Dean back to his car. He walks around to the trunk, opening it and pulling out a clean shirt. "You know that was gonna happen?" you tease.

"I keep a change of clothes in here for after work," Dean replies as he holds the shirt out for you. "That way if I have to go somewhere when I get off, at least my clothes won't be smelling like smoke."

"What's this for?"

"To put on," Dean replies as he raises an eyebrow at you.

"Why?" you ask him.

"Because you got wet."

"Dean, you fell in," you remind him. "I just got splashed a bit."

"It's like I said earlier," Dean begins, "you don't need to take any chance on getting sick."

"Dean..."

"(Y/N), please just take the stupid shirt."

You laugh as you finally accept it. Dean goes around to the driver's side of the car, turning his back to you so you can change.

"Okay," you say to Dean, letting him know that you're done. He turns back around, a smile almost instantly spreading across his face.

"Looks a lot better on you than it does me," Dean says, causing your cheeks to turn red. "What do you say we go on and pick Evie up so I can take you two home?" Dean suggets. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I've had a nice time tonight. It's just that you look like you're getting tired."

"Yeah," you nod. "And as much fun as I've had, I am ready to see my kid."

Dean smiles. "Then let's go." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm going to kill your brother," you tell Dean as you look over at him from the passenger's seat. He chuckles and looks in the rearview mirror to see Evie practically vibrating in the backseat.

"She's not stopped talking since we picked her up," Dean laughs as Evie continues to babble, basically talking to herself at this point.

"I mean, seriously," you say. "What did he do? Hand her a bag of sugar and say 'have at it?'"

"You should've seen her when Sam opened the door," Dean says. "She was just running around in circles for absolutely no reason."

"I would've loved to have seen that," you laugh. "But someone told me not to get out of the car."

"Yeah, because Sam gave me enough grief for showing up smelling like a lake. He would've never shut up if he had seen you wearing my shirt," Dean says. You feel your cheeks heat up, and you turn your head to look out the window so Dean can't see.

"Mommy!" Evie hollers.

"Honey, I'm right here. You don't have to yell," you tell her.

"But I'm happy."

"We know," you smile. "But you need to calm down a bit, okay?"

"Okay," she giggles.

"Now, what do you want?"

"Can we watch a movie when we get home?"

"We'll see," you reply.

"You hoping she'll crash before too long?" Dean asks.

"Absolutely," you laugh as you look over at him. By the time Dean pulls up in front of your apartment, Evie has gone silent and is on her way to falling asleep.

"Hey, firecracker," Dean says as he unbuckles Evie's carseat. "You awake enough to walk?"

Evie nods her head. "Will you still carry me?"

Dean smiles. "I wouldn't care to, sweetheart, but I don't want to get you wet, okay?"

"Okay," Evie sighs as she scoots out of her seat. She starts walking up to the front door, her little legs barely functioning.

"Is that the same kid from five minutes ago?" Dean asks, causing you to grin.

"Well," you begin, "she looks like Evie. Walks like Evie. But definitely much quieter than the same Evie who was talking our ears off in the car."

Dean chuckles as you unlock the door. Evie walks inside, collapsing on the couch, and you smile at her as you turn to face Dean.

"I really did have a good time tonight," you tell him truthfully. "It really did get my mind off everything for a while."

Dean smiles softly. "Glad I could help," he says.

"And I guess since Evie's sugar rush didn't last all night long, Sam is safe. For now."

"Good to know," Dean chuckles.

"I'll get your shirt back to you," you tell him.

"Don't worry about it," Dean smirks. "It gives me an excuse to stop by again."

You smile shyly and nod your head. "You know, you don't have to have an excuse."

"I know," Dean replies. "I'd better go so you can get some rest." He turns to leave, but you stop him.

"Dean, wait," you say as you reach out to put a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head to face you, and you use his shoulder as leverage to help pull you up on your tiptoes before pressing a kiss to his cheek. You feel Dean's fingertips lightly pressing into your back as you pull away.

"You'd better go home and warm up," you tell Dean. "We can't have you getting sick on us either."

"Will do, sweetheart," Dean smiles. You turn to walk away, smiling at Dean before you shut the door behind you.

"Mommy," Evie said softly from where she's laying on the couch. "Where's Dean?"

"He just left, baby girl," you tell her as you pick her up.

"Why?" Evie whines sleepily, barely noticing that she's now being carried upstairs by you.

"He had to go home," you reply as you lay her down on her bed.

"Why can't he stay here?"

You can feel a blush spread across your cheeks again. "Why don't we worry about that some other time, okay?"

"Okay, Momma," Evie replies, nodding off the second you tuck her in. You lean over and kiss her forehead, hoping she'll forget about the question by the time she wakes up.

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