#as outside of that she just serves as forcing the stupid 'what happened between hook and peter'

[thetimelordbatgirl]

All I got to say is after having watched Peter Pan And Wendy with a mate...if you make a film called ‘Peter Pan And Wendy’, maybe actually focus on them instead of focusing more on Hook.

#if you wanna make a hook film....well i wouldnt encourage it cause of how cruella turned out #but like its still better then taking over a film meant to be about peter pan and wendy and the other characters #like wendy barley has ANYTHING in this film #let alone the one plot she has being rushed to conclusion #as outside of that she just serves as forcing the stupid 'what happened between hook and peter' #and peter himself somehow gets sidelined in favor of hook despite him and hooks backstory being explained #and if the main two leads got sidelined in favor of hook dont be surprised to know so did the others #just so much interesting stuff introduced as concepts...and none explored cause of hook

[gvbejvmesmichaels]

Task 14: Genderbent

Legal Name: Gabriella Antonia James-Michaels Usually Goes By: Ella Michaels Why: She only kept the James-Michaels because she didn’t want the James name to end with her. She’s never felt as though she was a James or a Conrad. Michaels is the only last name that’s ever felt like hers. Former Names: Gabriella Antonia James (maiden), Gabriella Antonia Conrad (first marriage) Nicknames: Ella (everyone), Briella (Jocelyn) Relationship Status: Married to Jocelyn James-Michaels Past Relationships: Nathan Conrad (ex-husband) Children: Andrew Conrad, Constance Conrad, Arabella James-Michaels (by adoption) Occupation: Professional Tattoo Artist and amateur sculptor. She co-owns a tattoo shop called The Collective with Kaia Johnson where they specialize in Skin Artistry. Higher Education: B.A. in Art History from California State University Los Angeles (prisoner education program), the required certifications to become a professional tattoo artist Tattoos: She honestly doesn’t know how many tattoos she has. She can tell you that all of her tattoos have been done by herself, by Kaia, or by one of the apprentices at The Collective. Her two prized tattoos are 1) her first tattoo she ever did: a crude rendering of her brother’s name on her inner left arm done by stick and poke, 2) the tattoo on her ring finger she talked Joss into giving her. Her wife had been uncomfortable with the idea, and she definitely went too deep in places, but Ella is beyond proud of the shaky Joss printed on her finger. Quirks: Growing up Ella wasn’t allowed to wear pants, which of course means that now she lives in pants and shorts. Ella refuses to wear dresses or skirts. She even wore a fitted pantsuit to her wedding.

Ella James was born and raised in Roswell, New Mexico to extremely conservative parents. Her father was incredibly religious and forced his religious beliefs on his family. He had very strict rules about how Ella was to dress and behave. Her mother was one of those women that wanted nothing more than to be a homemaker. She was more than happy to go along with all her husband’s strict rules because she liked the idea of rules and structure. That was also probably why Ella’s parents only had two children: Ella and her younger brother, George. On the outside, the family appeared to be the American ideal: Husband, wife, and a pair of kids. On the inside, it was hell.

Life in the James household for Ella meant that she was supposed to dress modestly, speak only when spoken to, and only engage in activities that were becoming of women. If her father had it his way, Ella wouldn’t have even gone to school. The only places she was able to go to were school, the family antique shop, and church. So, she took advantage of every opportunity to get out of the house. She signed up for extra art classes, extra home economic classes, and even multiple bible study classes -- anything to get out of the house. Her only saving grace was her little brother, George.

George and Ella were attached at the hip. While Ella’s world outside of the house was art, her brother’s world was aliens. He lived in his own extraterrestrial world, which often brought bullies his way. The worst of the bullies was a boy in Ella’s grade: Nathan Conrad. As much as Nathan harassed George, all it took was a smile from Ella for Nathan to completely forget any bad feelings towards George. It didn’t take long for Ella to figure out that if she dated Nathan, George wouldn’t get picked on any more. As an added perk, her father loved Nathan, which meant Ella was allowed out of the house if she was out on a date with Nathan. So she went with it.

For as long as she could remember, she knew she was a lesbian. She has a very distinct memory of watching Smokey and the Bandit, seeing Sally Fields changing out of her wedding dress in the car and being very jealous of Burt Reynolds. She knew right then and there that she liked girls. The problem was that her family would never accept her sexuality, and she knew it. She’d sat through enough bible study classes to know that her parents believed homosexuality was a sin. So, she knew she needed to play straight until George was out of high school, and they could get out of town. Of course, life had different plans. 

When Ella got pregnant her senior year of high school, she knew she was screwed. Lesbian or not, she knew the only option that didn’t end with her losing custody of her child to her parents would be to marry Nathan. Having a kid at 18 and marrying her high school sweetheart, wasn’t the life she wanted for herself, but it was the life she’d been given. Nathan was very similar to her father so she knew what was expected of her. She was supposed to stay at home and raise their son. It was a miserable life, but it gave her the opportunity to build sculptures as much as she wanted. Besides, as soon as she realized that she was pregnant, she knew there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for her son. She’d never loved anyone as much as she loved George, until she gave birth to Drew. 

As much as she hated being a housewife, she absolutely adored being Drew’s mom. She took to motherhood like a duck to water. Being a mom was the only thing that made life worth living. So when she gave birth to her daughter, Connie, her whole life revolved around her kids. Motherhood gave her purpose, but there was still something missing in her life. So, she started going to parties that the women in the neighborhood used to host: Tupperware, Mary Kay, Avon - housewife parties. Or at least, that was the cover. In reality, they were hook-ups for women needing more attention than what they were getting from their husbands. They would mess around with each other, and go back home to their husbands like nothing happened.

Ella’s life went on like that until 2002. It was just any other normal Thursday. She’d been at a party, and wound up falling asleep. It was two in the morning by the time she stumbled home to a horror show. Her ten year old son, Drew, was sitting in the corner, covered in blood. She followed the trail outside where her brother, George, lay in a pool of his own blood. Immediately, she dropped to her knees and checked for a pulse, but he was long gone. By the time she looked around to see what had happened, it was too late. Nathan had called the police, and Ella was sitting there covered in her brother’s blood. No matter what she said, the police refused to believe her, and she was arrested for her brother’s murder.

The truth was that George was helping her get enough money together to leave Nathan. Her husband was just as terrible as her father had been. All Ella wanted was to escape with her children and start over somewhere she could be herself: like San Francisco or New York. Somehow Nathan had found out, and well… staged George’s murder to frame Ella for a crime she didn’t commit. He could have given a shit about the kids; it was controlling Ella’s life that he wanted, and he got his way and then some.

Her trial ended just as quickly as it started. All the evidence pointed to her, and no matter what she said or what her public defender tried to sell, the jury was primarily made up of men -- and all they saw when they looked at her was a killer. She never had a chance.

Once she was in prison, life got worse -- Nathan filed for divorce and full custody of the kids. As soon as it hit her that she was never going to see her kids again, she sort of gave up. She let herself slip away in prison. She took classes to get a degree in art history, and did tattoos on the girls for cigarettes and juicy romance novels. Ella didn’t exactly take life seriously. As far as she was concerned, she was a lost cause that had nothing to live for once she got out of prison. So, she fucked around where she could and lived in her own world.

Then her stupid cousin, Annie, had to get involved. Annie didn’t believe for one second that Ella would have killed her brother. So she did what she did best: she meddled and needled until 1) Ella was transferred from New Mexico to a prison in Los Angeles County closer to Annie, and 2) she found a lawyer who was willing to reopen Ella’s case -- and that was how Ella met Jocelyn Michaels.

Meeting Jocelyn was the last thing Ella had wanted to do, but hell, was she glad that she’d taken the meeting. Jocelyn was hot as hell, the smartest person she’d ever met, and stubborn as all fuck. Once she heard Ella’s story, she was invested and Ella found herself invested in Joss.

Somewhere between working on the case, they fell in love. If Ella was honest with herself, she never stood a chance with Joss; she’d fallen for her that first time they met. Ella was handling her feelings well enough. It wasn’t like she was acting on her feelings towards the other woman. She’d never actually been in love with anyone before; it was all new for her. And then… she managed to piss someone off in prison. She wasn’t sure what she did, but she’d always been real good at running her mouth, especially back then. One minute she was fine, and the next minute, there was a sharpened spoon sticking out of her side.

There’s not much she remembers about getting stabbed, but when she woke up in the hospital, Jocelyn was there. She knew right then and there that she was going to marry that woman one day. In fact, she must have said that part out loud because then Joss was kissing her, and not even two weeks later, they were married. 

The new trial was probably the most terrifying month of Ella’s life. If they lost the trial, if she lost Joss… She didn’t know what she’d do with herself. But by some miracle, Jocelyn was able to win the case and after serving 8 years for a crime she didn’t commit, she was found innocent, and for the first time in her life, she was free. 

Once she was out of prison, there were still a lot of things that needed to be handled and taken care of. As far as she was concerned, the most important thing was getting back custody of her kids. Drew was 18 by the time she was out of prison, but he was a senior in high school -- it didn’t make sense to have him leave New Mexico when he was so close to graduating. And Connie… She was 14 and wanted nothing to do with her mother. Even if Ella had tried for custody, Connie wouldn’t have gone with her. So, she gave both her kids her number and moved to New York with her wife.

Life in New York took getting used to. It was the first time that Ella had the freedom to figure out who she was, and what she wanted to do with her life. The first thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to be a housewife again -- that had been awful. So, while her wife settled back into New York like she had never left, Ella took it upon herself to figure out what she wanted to do. At first she was so overwhelmed that everything seemed like it was too much. So, she started taking long walks around Central Park, just enjoying naturing and exploring. That was how she met Zak. 

Zak was going to Central Park for the same reasons as Ella - he was trying to figure out his life. The difference between them, however, was that Zak had recently transitioned from having HIV to AIDS. He was dying, and he was trying to figure out a way to ensure his partner, Kaia, wouldn’t lose their self in his death. Throughout their short friendship, they figured out a solution. Kaia was a tattoo artist who loved creating pieces of artwork that took over their client’s backs. With Ella’s self-taught tattoo skills from prison, it made sense for the two of them to open a tattoo shop together. Sure, Ella still needed certification and training in styles other than stick and poke, but it gave both herself and Kaia a purpose and something to focus on.

Once Ella and Kaia officially opened the Collective, it was like the second half of her life had begun. For the first time, Ella was making friends she wasn’t related to or sharing a cell with. It had taken her a long time, but she’d found herself. She had a career, she had her wife, and she had multiple dogs. Her life was finally coming together, but there was something missing -- something that had been missing from the beginning: her kids.

When he was twenty, Drew moved to New York. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do in terms of school, but he wanted to be near his mom. Ella was, of course, thrilled. Jocelyn was a little standoffish about the whole thing, but having Drew staying in the guestroom made Ella happy so Joss warmed up to the idea of having at least one of Ella’s kids around. Or so she thought. 

It was around 2013 when Ella’s biological clock started ticking out of control. She wanted a baby, and more importantly, she wanted to have a baby with Joss. If they wanted to have kids with their DNA (in Ella’s head she wanted Drew’s sperm and Joss’s egg), they needed to have a baby now. As much as she begged, and begged, Joss was in the middle of running for DA so it wasn’t a good time to add a baby to their life, but they were 39 so… after many discussions, they froze Ella’s eggs at least. It helped soothe Ella’s ticking clock, but the desire never fully went away.

Instead of a baby, Ella put all her effort into her career and her marriage, but Joss’s career had taken off and her wife typically was swamped with work. Her wife must have realized how unhappy Ella was becoming because when Ella brought up having a baby again in 2017, her wife said they could make an appointment to potentially begin the process of surrogacy. Except… the meeting never happened; not really. Sure, they went, but Joss was so busy with work that nothing ever came of the appointment. So, Ella stewed and flashed back to her first marriage and then, after a particularly bad fight about Joss never being home, Ella left her wife and moved in with Kaia.

As much as she still loved her wife, she’d been unhappy, and if she was honest, she’d jumped from one marriage right into the next, so she did some soul searching. It was during their separation, that Ella refound her first love: clay. There had been a time where she thought she was going to be a world famous artist instead of a tattoo artist that people booked appointments for 6 months in advance. And she’d loved working with clay. So, now that she had free time, she found a local studio and began sculpting again.

After filing for divorce in 2018, Ella got a surprise. Her daughter, Connie, had been living in New York for about a year and had been convicted on a distribution charge. As her daughter’s closest relative and blood relation, she was given custody of her granddaughter, Arabella. Once Bella was put in her arms, Ella knew she was meant to raise Bella -- this was the baby she’d been yearning for. Much like the first time, she took quickly to motherhood, even though it had been decades between children. Unlike the first time, she was a single parent, which was a totally different experience.

By late 2019/early 2020, Ella more or less had her life together. She knew who she was, the shop was flourishing, she had an insane amount of YouTube followers who liked to watch her sculpt, and she finally had the single (grand)mom thing down. It was then that she realized that the one thing that was missing from her life was her ex-wife. The problem was that it looked like Joss had moved on, and yet, Ella still found herself trying to reconnect with her ex-wife. 

Falling back into a relationship with the other woman had almost been too easy. It was like going home again. Working on their relationship and getting back together had been great and fine until they were quarantined together with a two year old, and Ella found out they were still technically married. Joss had never filed the signed petition for divorce. If there was anything that could have fouled up their reunion - it was that. But somehow (and with the help of an annoying marriage counselor via Zoom), they were able to reclaim their marriage.

October 13, 2021 will mark one year of being remarried (okay, vow renewal). Ella has no idea where the time has gone, but she knows two things for absolute certain: one - she’s the person she was always meant to be, and two - she’s married to the  absolute love of her life. Things in her life may have been rough, but those things led her to where she was meant to be, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She hadn’t suffered through the bad, she never would have been able to appreciate the good.

#ES Tasks

[silverhandy]

House call - chapter 2

Chapter 1 I ao3

    Through his career, he’s been to a lot of places of varying degrees of decay, from the long-abandoned hotels subjected to evergoing gang disputes to the city’s garbage dump stretching miles upon miles outside of the city, a sea of trash and metal, often twisted into unrecognizable shapes, piling up into mountains, where every step meant a very real risk of slipping and impaling himself on a rust-bitten shard. Hidden in between were those unfortunate enough to end their journey in a place like this, abandoned by their rivals or hitmen too lazy to attempt hiding a body within the guts of the city. If they had a working car, and almost all of them did, it was way easier to just drive whatever was left of their target and dump it to be devoured by rats and whatever else evolved enough to survive in a place like this. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to check if the person they were leaving there was actually dead, hence the reason why he’d sometimes get calls begging him to fish a guy (or lady) down on their luck out. He found himself digging through trash more often than not, futile in his attempts to pinpoint his awaiting patient’s location. When he was starting out, the thought of giving up his search wouldn’t even cross his mind, he’d spend hours looking, even dragging along metal cutters with him, figuring they’d come in handy. They probably would’ve if not for the fact that he often wasn’t even able to find the person who called him, localization data too patchy to give him a solid lead on where he should even start.

    After a while, when he established himself and lost some of his rookie idealism, he put in a disclaimer that he wouldn’t go trash diving anymore, no matter the pay. A small step, but even at the beginning he tried to have standards.

    V’s apartment was far from Night City’s biggest trash dump, but something about the chaos within it reminded him of that when he switched on the lights. As if the hurricane had swept through the place, some of the furniture was tilted over, a pile of clothes, dangerously balanced on an overfilled laundry basket, threatened to collapse and spill over at any moment. A half-finished box of noodles laid abandoned on the counter, accompanied by a mosaic of pills from a knocked over bottle.

    Viktor found V curled up on the floor next to her bed, wearing a washed-out Samurai t-shirt and sweatpants, covers dragged along with her halfway between the linoleum and the mattress. He could barely see her face from the way she was bundled up. V didn’t move upon hearing his footsteps, didn’t even flinch when he kneeled next to her and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

    The ripper dropped the heavy bag at his side and gently cupped V’s face in his hands, wincing at how burned up the woman’s skin was, and turned it so he could take a quick glance. V’s eyes were rolled far back into her skull. Viktor started to have an idea of what he was dealing with here, has seen the wreckage that offensive hacking can cause many times before. They usually started out slow, identical to a bad case of flu but then, if dismissed, proceeded to stir fry one’s brain until not much was left.

    Viktor opened his bag and pulled out a small, remote biomonitor. It took a few seconds to fully calibrate, but eventually, the screen lit up.

    ‘V, can you hear me?’ he asked, not counting on her to answer. 'I’m going to connect your personal link now and see what’s going on in there, okay?' he reached for her wrist, already feeling her racing pulse, and connected it to the device. While it was loading, Viktor propped it up on the wall and grabbed V to lay her on her back to make the job easier for himself, and pulled out a few small gel-filled Ice-Pax. He knew she probably needed more, but those will have to do for now.

    Just as Viktor placed two under her arms and another on her groin, the monitor beeped. He reached over her to grab it and swiftly ran a basic diagnostics program, but save for the things he already knew, it didn’t spew out anything interesting. She was vastly overheated and her blood pressure shot up to a point where an angrily red window kept popping up to inform him of a 72% percent chance of an incoming cardiac event, but he dismissed it for now. Instead, Viktor chose a different angle and ran a more advanced version of the program, letting it comb through V’s frontal cortex and RAM.

    ‘There’s the rub’ he hummed to himself as the program kindly highlighted the results. He let out a long sigh. If V had come to see him a day earlier, he’d fix it in five minutes and she wouldn’t even notice, but now she’ll be out of commission for at least a week before she can even get out of bed. He’ll have to tell her a thing or two about responsibility, not that she’d listen to him anyway. Patients never did, but it still might be worth a shot.

    Viktor typed a few commands to enclose the scrambled code from her RAM and before pulling out V’s personal link, copied her real-time vitals chart onto his interface. After it appeared within his field of vision, he pulled out a worn-out connecting cord that he’s been promising himself he’d replace for ages now and inserted it into the neural port at V’s nape to get a better working field, now that he knew what the problem was. RAM damages were problematic in their very nature but pretty easy to fix once caught, not much of his medical knowledge needed. Viktor simply fired up what ripperdocs tended to call a “palate cleanser” and let it do the work, putting back together what the bug has managed to break.

    While the program was fixing up V’s tech, Viktor got to work on her body. Flipping the ice packs, he took a quick glance at her temperature and was glad to see that it had started to slowly go down, followed by her pulse and blood pressure, all three leaving the life-threatening territory. None of them were quite to his liking just yet, but at least now Viktor was sure V would pull through. Reaching into his bag, he eventually found an IV set, but decided it’d be better to move her onto the bed first, sparing himself all the gymnastics with the tubing and cables. Minding the biomonitor still plugged into her, Viktor leaned down to lift V and put her on the bed. She was quite heavy, the dead weight of her limp body adding to the feeling, but he didn’t even break a sweat carrying her. Taking the covers from the floor, he put them on her, straightening the wrinkled material intuitively.

    Having done that, Viktor grabbed her arm and carefully inserted the needle. To his relief, it went in on the first try. Glad he didn’t need to poke her any more than necessary, Viktor looked around and realized that V didn’t have anything even remotely resembling an IV stand, but when he looked up, he noticed a small hook, probably remains of a poster frame, conveniently placed over the bed. Stepping up on the edge of the bed frame, he placed the bag there, and after making sure that everything was in place, let it drip. That should do the job, maybe paired up with a shot of dopabenzamine if she won’t improve in the next few hours.

    Viktor let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling as if he’s been holding his breath ever since V called. Biomonitor’s estimated time kept shifting but eventually settled on six hours and twenty-three minutes. Viktor nodded to himself and turned around to take another look at the mess that V’s apartment has turned into. He leaned down and reached under the covers to grab the unpleasantly warm ice packs, and throw them in the freezer, wondering if he should clean up, just a little bit. Would V get mad at him for snooping around? Then again, she’ll need a few days to recover and this ever-growing mess around her surely won’t help. Or should he ask Misty? They were closer, he was pretty sure that she’s been over at V’s place at some point.

    Maybe he shouldn’t be overthinking this. Just a little bit, he told himself as he gathered the pills spilled on the counter, inspecting the label while he was at it. Strong shit, impossible to get by simply waltzing into a pharmacy. Viktor made a mental note to ask about it later, just to make sure that V doesn’t swallow these like candy. Of course she doesn’t, he reprimanded himself. She’s an adult, a stupid, reckless one, but an adult nevertheless. It still won’t hurt to bring it up, though.

    He put it back into the medicine cabinet and returned to the kitchen to deal with the noodles, and since they were on the verge of no longer being edible, he just tossed them into the trash can, along with other unfinished takeout he found in various places around the apartment. He didn’t want to snoop through V’s things, so he just folded the clothes that were sprawled all over the floor and couch and put them in a neat pile. When he was done, the place looked somehow presentable, so he settled on the couch opposite V’s bed.

    She appeared to be sleeping, although far from soundly. No longer completely unconscious, she kept tossing and turning, her face grimacing as her recovering brain no doubt served her a concoction of fever dreams.

    Just as Viktor leaned down to relax a little, he heard a ping of an incoming text message. He pulled it up

Misty

>that lady from Biotechnica is here to see you again, but you don’t seem to be in, what should I tell her?

                                                                                              >Tell her to fuck off

                                                        >I’m at V’s and have to stay for a few more                                                              hours, she screwed herself up real bad this                                                            time

>oh no what happened>

>?

                                                         >I’ll tell you all about it later, I got it covered                                                             for now

    He fully expected Misty to call him, alarmed, but apparently, he managed to reassure her just enough. He leaned back and closed his eyes, just for a second, but must’ve dozed off at some point, exhausted after over twenty hours without a chance for a shuteye. When he woke, a groan escaped his lips as the stiffness of his neck hit him with full force.

    That’s what you get for sleeping sitting up, old man, he told himself as he reached to grab his glasses off the floor. They must’ve slipped off at some point during his nap. Viktor stood up and stretched until he heard his joints crack. Still tired, he rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to wake himself up and walked up to V’s bed to check on her. When he reached for the biomonitor to check the progress bar and see how long he’s been sleeping, V moved slightly. She opened her eyes and scanned the room, looking right over him, and furrowed her eyebrows. Finally, she looked up and saw Vik standing next to the bed and her expression went from blank to confused.

    ‘Vik? What…’ V cleared her throat. ‘What are you doin’ here?’

    ‘You don’t remember calling me?

    ‘Not quite’ she bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘It’s a bit of a blur. I was feeling like absolute shit after that last job, thought I could just sleep it off.’ she said quietly, propping her head upon her elbow. ‘I didn’t expect it to grow into...whatever that was.’

    “A neurogenic cybervirus is what that is. Invisible until it starts to fry your brain. You gave me quite a fright.’

    “Fuck. I knew something was off about that netrunner, after she...eh, nevermind. Vik..how long have you been here anyway?

    ‘Uh,’ Viktor took a quick glance at the biomonitor ‘seven hours, give or take?

    ‘Fucking hell. I’m..’ she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’m gonna pay you back. What’s your house call fee again? I don't remember it being listed…’

    ‘Nah, it’s okay. I usually don’t do house calls, so consider that a favor. Just promise me that when you feel something’s off after a job, you’ll come to see me right away. There’s a lot of real vile stuff out there and you won’t even know until it gets you. That’s what you have me for.’

    ‘Sure, dad. You can spare me the lecture' she chuckled. ‘But for real, Vik. Thank you.’

    ‘No problem, really.’ he grabbed the biomonitor. Four minutes left. ‘You’re gonna feel like you were hit by a truck for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. I’ll check up on you in a few days and send in Misty or Jackie in the meantime to help you out since I’d rather you didn’t get out of bed more often than necessary. Next time you see me, consider getting that new set of optics and a gun grip. Might save your ass next time someone attempts to do you dirty like his.’

    Something akin to a smile appeared on her face. ‘Doctor’s orders?’

    ‘Doctor’s orders.’

#viktor vector #female v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fic #victor vector #my writing

[sapphiretsuki]

Surprise! Gift Time!

This is something I wrote while sitting next to the intended receiver. I took incredible joy in answering her questions about what I was writing with a smug “None of your business” when it was in fact very much her business. I’m kinda proud of this beast. I got a little out of control with the word count but whatevers clever right? So, without further ado, @channiesmixtape​ , this is a gift for you. I’m SO proud of the leaps and bounds you make with your writing every day and with your undying belief that I’m some sort of incredible writer. It means so much to me. (Please don’t hate me if I didn’t do your baby justice, I TIRED!) It’s untitled as of this very second, because I’m just not witty enough at this hour, but I’ll add one later when the inspiration returns.

Pairing: Bang Chan x Y/N (neighbors, enemies to lovers)

Word count: 6511 (I swear I didn’t mean to!)

Smut, masturbation, oral (m/f), unprotected sex, talk of condoms, wine, comedy, sass. If I forgot anything particularly bothersome, lemme know and I’ll fix it. Cr. to google for the lovely pic also.

It had been such a bad day all you wanted to do was go home and curl up with some wine and pet your cat and not emerge from your comfort cocoon for days if you could help it. Your boss was a total thunder cunt. People apparently lacked any form of common sense. Basic decency was no where to be found from anyone at all today. You missed a package because the tracking info was incorrect, so now you were going to have to squeeze that into your Monday somehow. Great. Thank fuck it was Friday.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and chucked the keys in the general direction of the kitchen as you were slipping your black pumps off. Your cat, Whispurr, was doing his daily dance around your ankles now that you were home and could tend to his kingly nature. Oh you loved that little butthole. Even though he threw up on the floor and started your days spiral into the land of what in the actual fuck when you stepped in it. He was still basically all you had and asshole or not he was there for you in his weird catty way. "Hey buddy, I'll get you some food in just a sec. Lemme just slip out of these terrible hose and I'll be right back." You leaned down and gave him a little scratch under his chin for good measure before nodding and heading to your room.

Once in your room you wasted no time at all peeling the awful pantyhose from your legs. Somebody had decided that full on business attire was a must today for the outings to meet with clientele and so you were forced to leave the comfort of your pants and blazer for something 'more feminine' as your boss had put it. She had absolutely no idea and it killed you every time she opened her mouth. The amount of time you spent covering for her and cleaning up behind her with clients all day since she'd decided to leave the office and 'tag along' to 'express her thanks' was exhausting. In the midst of peeling off the hose you decided that a nice scalding shower would be the start of your fix-it list for the evening. You finished undressing and threw a robe on before tiptoeing back to the kitchen.

Cat and then clean. That was absolutely the correct order, because your cat would most certainly do something heinous in retaliation if you neglected to feed him in a timely manner. You're sure his level of sass would put actual royalty to shame. He showed up on your balcony one night a few years ago as a drowned puff that you were both unsure how he got there or if he was going to make it. A few vet visits and some paycheck to paycheck living for a bit and here he was. A permanent resident. The freeloading roommate as it were. You put his food in his bowl and added a little extra something just because. You had a feeling he was gonna need some buttering up to be your cuddle buddy while you downed wine and watched terrible Netflix.

You traipsed down the hallway and made your way into the bathroom, neglecting to grab anything to change into since you figured the robe was more than enough for a session on the couch with the remote and a glass. You cranked the shower to scalding and decided you were going to unwind in the tub after you scrubbed off. Bless the water heaters in your complex, you paid enough for the damn utilities, that knob also got turned to hot and you tossed in a bomb and some dry flower stuff your friend swore by. It smelled good and thats really all your tired body cared about in that moment. After stepping into the shower and relishing in the heat meant to melt the skin off lesser mortals, you lathered up your loofah and scrubbed like there was a fire in the building and you needed to get out. The same speed was applied to your hair, which left you free and clear to melt into the tub and not move until the water was cold if you chose.

Feeling moderately better than you did when you walked in the door, you decided music was an excellent companion for a good soak and set about cranking the volume on your phone and hitting the shuffle button before laying it on the counter. The tenor voice of the man singing that began pouring out of the phone speaker immediately had you feeling the pangs of need and you squeezed your legs together as you pursed your lips in thought. It had been quite some time since you'd had a casual lay. Partly because your last friend with benefits turned into some sort of possessive psycho and partly because your newish neighbor was insufferable and somehow always managed to ruin your recent date situations. You were convinced the universe had conspired against you and the root of it was your stupid and ridiculously hot neighbor, Christopher. He hated when you called him that and it served him right.

Resigning yourself to the fact that you were just going to have to be your own relief tonight, you sunk into the tub and let the silky water wash over your tired and needy body. One song melted into another and you couldn't resist the urge to reach down and take care of your sudden desire. You knew if you let it be you'd just be miserable later and the whole mission this evening was following the theme of fix it. Not one to be anything less than straightforward, you began to slip your fingers into your doubly slick folds and stroked a little before you felt entirely too impatient to drag the process out. You hooked your fingers into your warm channel and began to stroke and scissor your fingers while your thumb pressed firm circles on your clit. You hoped the music and sloshing sounds from the water were enough to cover the sounds of what it was you were doing since the walls weren't the greatest in the bathroom area in terms of thickness. Shared plumbing and all that. You were so close to completion, right on the precipice of sweet release when you heard a loud crash in your apartment the general direction of your living room.

You quickly wrap a towel around your body and then make your way as swiftly to the front of your apartment as wet feet would allow. You skipped flipping lights on in favor of the element of surprise. Heart just about thumping out of your chest, you round the corner and turn on a single light, but don't see anything apparently out of place. It dawns on you at that moment that you are still essentially dripping wet and flew to the scene of some nonexistent crime practically naked. What if someone had been standing there waiting? You heart rate spikes at the thought and you felt anxious again. So much for your relaxing bath. Deciding you'd investigate the cause of the sound more closely after you felt more secure, you turned to make your way back down the hallway to put some clothes on, there was no way you were just going to be lounging in only a robe after that ordeal. The idea crossed your mind that perhaps you should double check the lock on the door at the very least, and ever the indecisive individual, you turn again and head towards the door instead. As you near the door you hear something and stop dead in your tracks. It sounded like feet on the concrete and now your heart was ratcheting it's way into your throat.

Completely convinced now that someone had in fact been in your house, you began to hatch a wild plan. With a burst of courage that was probably completely unfounded, you grabbed a vase off the console table nearby and in a rush flung the door open with a shout. "Who the fuck are you and what were you doing in my home?!" You screeched as you made to throw the potentially deadly item at the perpetrator. Much to your dismay, you hadn't remembered your current state of mostly undress and as you went to throw the vase your towel decided it had had enough and fell. What happened next could only be something from a terrible comedy and as you attempted to snatch at the only barrier between you and semi public indecency you somehow got tangled up and not only failed to throw the vase you ended up on the floor sans towel and with your bare ass exposed to whoever was standing there, glass all around you.

"Woah sweetheart, woah!" You'd know that accent anywhere. Of all the people that could have been on the other side of your door, why him? Why the man that in equal measures infuriated you and was the star of many restless nights and wet dreams. Anger was at the forefront and as you scrambled to retrieve your cover you spat at him "Christopher you have less than five seconds to explain yourself, and for fucks sake quit gawking at me! What in the hell are you doing here? Were you in my apartment?"

"Slow down little lady, I was not in your apartment." He said while waving his hands in front of himself to signal that he wasn't a threat. Those same hands that you found your eyes fixated on on more than one occasion, including now. Shaking the thought away you asked "Then what the hell are you doing? And don't try to tell me you weren't outside my door, I heard you pacing." He had the decency to look a little sheepish at that, and while you secured the towel around yourself he said "Your lights were all off but I heard a loud crash and worried that something happened here." It made sense, but you were still angry. And embarrassed. Not only had he seen you completely naked,  he looked completely unbothered while you were still contemplating his long fingers and stupid beautiful face and body and damn it you were staring again. Of course he showed up in a pair of grey sweats that left you sweating yourself. And was he shirtless? Could this day get any worse? You just wanted to get to that bottle of wine and curl up into a ball and hope that the earth opened up and swallowed you whole. Shaking off the stupor once again you remembered your second problem, namely the glass that was now all around you from your valiant attempt at thief catching. You were going to have to ask for his help up.

Gritting your teeth you prepared yourself for the inevitable smug look you knew he was going to sport when you opened your mouth to ask him for something. "Christopher, would you mind helping me up, I'm kind of, uh, stuck here."  You knew it was coming, but nothing could ever prepare you for the damn dimple. Stupid attractive man. "Now sweetheart," he drawled, "Is that really any way to ask someone for help? And I believe I've told you many times to call me Chan."  Fine if he was going to be stubborn, you could also be stubborn. You looked up to him standing in your doorway and in the most saccharine voice you could muster, you cocked your head to the side and said "Channie, I really need help up. Can you help me please?" He audibly gulped and you counted that as two wins because finally the bastard was showing something other than a ridiculous level of cocky charm, and now he should have no qualms with helping you.

He took too long to move and you figured he was plotting again, so being the headstrong brat that you were you started to move yourself. As you were about to plant your palm on the ground next to you he suddenly snatched your arm with  warning, " That's dangerous, just let me help you foolish woman." It was your turn to flounder as the feeling of his palm wrapped around your slim arm felt like fire and suddenly there were no more smart comebacks because you felt breathless. In one swift motion he pulled you to your feet and and then swept you literally off your feet. He had you in a firemans hold and began to make his way into your apartment, carefully dodging the shards of glass. Was your heart going to catch a break tonight? What was with this turn of events. He must have noticed your shiver because he picked up the pace and set you down gently on the other side of the disaster zone. "Go put some clothes on you must be freezing, I'll sweep this up. Where do you keep your broom?"

You wanted to protest. You really wanted him far away because you were on fire and didn't think you could even begin to have a normal interaction in your current state without being a complete mess. Breathless is how you felt, and the only saving grace is that he thought you were cold, not terribly turned on. Hell, you were still trying to process the feel of being pressed against that body almost nude yourself. Instead fuckery appeared and logical words came out. Well you weren't stuttering at least. "It's in the kitchen in the closet. I really appreciate your help, I was going to have a glass of wine to take the edge off my bad day, would you like one also? As uh, thanks for your help?" You sounded meek and you wanted to kick yourself. All of the adrenaline was gone and you were left with a weird mixture of relief and panic for a completely different reason now. He must have misunderstood because all he said with his back to you, already on a mission to help you again, was "Y/N. Go put some clothes on." You must have sounded weak to him when you said okay because he turned and his features softened. "I'll still be here when you come out, it's okay now, you're safe."

You didn't feel safe though as you padded back to your room in search of clothes. You felt rattled and hot.Your own body was set to betray you. Did the air conditioner break or something? It was just your neighbor helping you out. Your gorgeous neighbor. With a voice that should have been relegated to hotlines. Neighbors were friendly, right? What were you expecting anyways, it's not like you guys were the nicest to each other regularly. That's right, he himself must revel in your pain since he constantly was the source of dates ending on your doorstep and never amounting to more. His timing was something else. You realized you'd been standing in the middle of your room for too long and moved to put clothes on. Digging through your drawers you grabbed a super lacy pair of panties along with some shorts and a large t-shirt. You weren't trying to impress anyone, but underwear should always be beautiful was your policy. there was nothing wrong with a little self indulgence.

Perhaps you could call it a new beginning of sorts with him tonight. The extension of an olive branch in the form of a friendly glass of wine should aid that. Yes, friendly. You needed to pull yourself together and get your head out of the gutter. It didn't matter how wet he made your panties since there was very obviously no way that was ever gonna go anywhere. Shaking all thoughts of risque situations away, you took a towel to your hair and gave it a quick rub down before grabbing your brush from the vanity and tackling your tangles. Feeling a little less hot and a little bit more brave you made your way back down the hallway toward the kitchen to assess the damage and test your newfound bravery with the man who starred in a lot of your fantasies. You weren't going there. Nope. Nuh-uh. Olive branches. That's what you would focus on.

You quietly approached the kitchen granting yourself one tiny moment to enjoy the view of Chan's back muscles as you saw him putting the broom back in the closet. He really should put a shirt on. "So, whats the damage?" You called out to get his attention. He spun on his heel and looked you up and down. You could swear you saw something in his eyes, but refusing to play into any delusions, you pressed onward, "everything okay in here? You didn't happen to see what the mysterious crash was all about did you?" He rubbed the back of his neck and dammit his abs, and that delicious v that trailed down into those wretched sweats he was wearing, and were you drooling? What the fuck. You quickly rubbed your mouth with the back of your hand and hoped he hadn't noticed. "Well a bit of bad news, sugar, your cat, quite charming little guy by the way, or maybe thats just his drunk showing?" He scratched his chin and made a face that reminded you of that stupid thinking emoji and you bit back a smile. "Well, your cat appears to have acquired a taste for the red, bit of a lush it seems. He either knocked your bottle down or it fell. Either way, he's been in the booze." Your eyes darted to where he was pointing and sure enough there was your little asshole sitting in the middle of the kitchen licking the purple off his white tipped paws. He had bits of purple around his mouth and was he swaying? "WHISPURR!" you shouted and the little jerk just gave you a look like he couldn't be bothered.

Totally frustrated now, you threw your arms in the air and let out a sound of pure exasperation. Chan must have found it funny because he let out a little chuckle before you shot him a glare that could freeze fire. "It is absolutely NOT funny. This day has been one bad thing on top of another and now my damn cat is even in on it. I was really looking forward to that damn glass of wine" You felt like you were genuinely on the verge of tears and Chan started to approach you. He put his hands on your shoulders and said, "Hey, hey. It'll be okay. I have an idea. While its probably not as nice as what your cat had a taste for, my little sister left a few bottles of wine over at my place the last time she was fighting with her boyfriend and took it upon herself to come crash there. How about I go grab one or two and we can watch something and you can forget all about your day?" You felt drained and could do nothing but nod. His body in proximity to yours was doing things to your sanity. Part of you thought this was a bad idea and you should just thank him and send him on his way, but there was another part of you that was excited at the prospect of spending some time with him without animosity involved. Hopefully the bastard put a shirt on before he came back.

You told him you'd just leave the door unlocked if he was going to be quick and set about making some popcorn. You were gonna coat it in butter and too bad if he didn't like it. If this night was going to be full of bad decisions the least you were going to allow yourself were the extra calories. You grabbed two glasses and the bowl of popcorn and set off for the living room to set up the streaming services while you awaited his return. After you got everything powered on you went to the linen closet to toss some fluffy blankets at the couches. As you made it back to the living room he had reappeared with a bottle in each hand. Much to your dismay he still lacked a shirt and now you began to wonder if you were going to be able to focus on whatever you decided to watch at all. Whatever, it's not like you were taking a test on the content. He had a bottle of red, and a bottle of white, so you took the white off his hands and headed to the kitchen. You threw the bottle in the fridge and grabbed the corkscrew before making your way back to the living room. You expertly popped the cork on the bottle and then turned to him and asked, "So any preference to what we watch? I realize I know very little about your likes." He seemed to get a kick out of that but answered anyway "Can we watch something action? I've kinda had a long day and don't want to fall asleep. Bonus points if it includes Chris Hemsworth, he's my mancrush." He threw a wink at you and that smile that made that cursed dimple pop and now you found yourself on autopilot and typing the franchise name into the search bar. Did he realize how dangerous his behavior was?

"Okay sit wherever, I threw tons of cushions and blankets and junk around, make yourself comfortable." He nodded and made to sit on the couch you were hoping he'd avoid. Like hell you were going to sit anywhere other than front and center though so your stubborn popped out again and as nonchalantly as you could, you plopped down next to him and covered your legs with one of the throw blankets you had laying around. Scooting your ass to the edge of the couch you leaned towards the coffee table and poured a glass for each of you. You turned to hand one to him and could have sworn he was staring at your ass. You disregarded the thought and raised your glass his direction to toast. "Thank you for all your help this evening." He raised his glass to meet yours and added on "It was really not a problem sugar." The way the word sugar rolled off his tongue. Sugah. You gulped and raised your cup. Clinking glasses you both took a swig and you snatched the remote up to hit play.

As the movie rolled you found yourself sneaking glances every so often, even though you swore that you were going to leave well enough alone. Maybe it was the wine finally letting the tension leave your body, but you didn't feel as on edge as you had and maybe thats where the bravery was coming from. Your best friend often told you you didn't think things through. You hadn't been paying attention to the movie and a loud blast made you jump and suddenly his attention was on you. Busted. "Baby girl, am I really so interesting? You've been looking at me an awful lot." And there was that smug look you were so accustomed to again. This man was so infuriating. It was your own fault though. As usual you couldn't leave well enough alone and found yourself in the spotlight. Self preservation attempted to kick in and you scoffed. "You're insane. Don't think so highly of yourself, I just wanted to make sure you weren't actually falling asleep since you said you were tired," you attempted feigning ignorance. "Well yeah, lets say I'm a little crazy. Sugar the fault is all your own though. I'm trying my very best to be a gentleman here and you're doing everything in your power to make that impossible."

Movie long forgotten you let your emotions get the better of you and out came the word vomit. "Look, I'm well aware that you hate me, but you don't get to come in here and be rude. I'm trying to patch whatever this THIS is between us," you say as you swing your hands between the two of you to convey the things words are failing to express. You continue, "Don't think that just because you're stupidly attractive with your stupid dimples and your stupid abs and your stupidly sexy voice that you can just oomf-" Suddenly his mouth was on yours swallowing the words you  were endlessly spewing and you froze as he wrapped his muscular arms around you body and pulled you closer. You gasped as you realized his mouth was actually on yours and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Throwing all caution to the wind and keeping true to your typical do first ask later nature, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the passion you could muster. Long held frustrations coming out, you explored his mouth like it was an oasis in the desert and you were a weary traveller seeking respite.

Breathing heavily you broke away from the kiss in need of oxygen and searched his face for any sign of regret. Instead you were smacked with such a look of lust that the air in the room felt heavy again and before you could screw it up by opening your mouth you decided to put it to better use. You climbed on top of him straddling his lap and kissed him again. This time he froze, but undeterred you felt around for his arm without breaking the kiss and raised his hand to your chest. You felt relief when he squeezed your breast and he gasped. "You're not wearing a bra," he panted out. "Of course you're not wearing a bra. Are you literally trying to kill me Y/N? I already told you I was trying to be a gentleman, and look at what you're doing to me. Baby girl I'm not going to be able to stop if this goes any further." You were suddenly aware of just how rock hard he was as he shifted in discomfort and his cock grazed your clit though the layers of clothes between you. "So don't." you said, "Don't stop Chan. Show me just what I'm supposedly doing to you." He growled and flipped you off his lap and was on top of you in an instant caging you in between those gorgeous arms of his. He leaned in and his hot breath on your ear made your already ruined underwear feel like a dam about to burst. He whispered in your ear, "Baby girl, I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk tomorrow, but you're far too dressed for that right now." He nipped at you ear before moving to take your shirt off.

You were in awe of his rippling abs as he pulled himself upright when your face reappeared from the inside of the gigantic shirt. Brushing his bangs out of his face he leaned down and began pressing open mouthed kisses from you hipbone up your stomach and to the valley between your breasts. He enclosed his lips around one of your nipples, sucking fiercely, and began to rub the other between his thumb and forefinger. You felt your nipples tighten to the point that it was almost painful and began to squirm with need. He reached down and stilled you with a hand on your hip, "Ah ah, we'll get there sugar, but I' gonna take my sweet time. I'm supposed to be showing you right? Where's the fun if it's over too fast?" He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your tiny shorts and in one swift motion slid them down your legs. Taking a moment to appreciate you in nothing but a pair of sinfully sexy panties you could swear he growled again as he roughly pulled the crotch of them aside and slid those illegal fingers of his through the incredibly wet folds hidden within. "Look at how wet you are. What exactly has you so drenched Y/N? Hmmm?" He made to wipe his fingers off on his sweats but you snatched his wrist and brought the digits to your mouth. Slowly swirling your tongue around them, the taste of yourself foreign, you watched his eyes widen and his incredible smile appeared again. He peeled the panties off you and took another moment to appreciate your fully nude body. You suddenly felt exposed since he still had clothes on and you were completely naked. "It's not fair if I'm the only one naked Chan," you pouted.

He let out a lighthearted laugh and stood up to take his pants off. He was smirking at you when he looked your direction, you must have been staring but the anticipation was killing you at this point and you didn't care. "You still have too much on." you stated matter-of-factly. His boxer briefs were barely containing the tent and you were pretty sure you could see a wet spot on the front of them. He gave a shrug and went to remove them and his cock sprang free of the confines. Okay now you were definitely salivating. Was it okay to call a cock pretty? His was beautiful and you found yourself wanting to devour it whole. You're sure he picked up on your increased desire but you were completely uninhibited and shameless now and the words were out before you could think twice. "Can I taste you?" He moved to stand in front of you and you sat up greedy and impatient. You wrapped your hand around the base of it and took a moment to appreciate the large vein running up the underside. It reminded you of the veins in his hands and arms and you licked your lips before wrapping your mouth around the head and sucking down the length of it. You could see his hands clench into fists as you began to bob your head up and down and hollow your cheeks as you swallowed around the girth of him. There was drool running down your chin and he was so big you couldn't take all of him so you gripped what you couldn't and stroked in time with the motion of your head. You could hear him panting and feel the twitching and pulsing as you picked up the pace. He pulled away and your lips left his cock with a pop. "As fantastic as your mouth feels wrapped around my cock, I have some other things in mind babe, I wanna cum buried inside that sweet pussy of yours"

You clamped your legs together tighter as the thought of his dick confined inside you had you feeling like you were a faucet. You were sure there was a large puddle on your couch you were going to have to deal with later but you couldn't be bothered to care just yet. Standing, you grabbed his hand and proceeded to move down the hallway towards your room. Once you cleared the doorway you spun on your heel and on tiptoe pressed your mouth and body to his. You were in need of friction and figured the best way to facilitate that would be to ruffle his feathers a little. "Christopher, I thought you were going to fuck me until I couldn't walk. I'm not a very patient woman." Before you could run your mouth anymore he marched you backwards towards your bed and when the back of your knees hit the mattress he lightly shoved you and you fell backward. The fluffy comforter cushioned your fall and he was there immediately sucking bruises into your neck, his hands wildly exploring your body. He began to stroke your folds and inserted one finger and then another easily due to the overwhelming amount of fluids you were producing. He hooked his fingers and brushed that spongy spot inside that made you tremble. As he continued his assault on your neck and pussy you could feel the burning tension begin to build up in your abdomen and knew you were finally, finally close to cumming. The walls of your pussy were clamping around the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers and he also knew you were close. He abruptly pulled his fingers out and the sense of emptiness and you moaning in frustration. "Please oh my god, I'm so close, please please." you whined.

He dropped to his knees and wrenched your legs wide apart and before you could question anything at all mis mouth was on your clit and your first instinct was to clamp your legs around his head. He kept your legs spread wide and continued fucking you with his mouth. He flattened his tongue and licked a few long stripes up your pussy "I'm going to let go of your legs, I need you to be a good girl and not thrash okay?" You were so desperate for release you would have agreed to anything. "I'm not hearing yes sugar, can you do that for me?" You mustered up your voice and choked out, "Y-yes Channie," and that was all it took. He wrapped his lips around your clit and began sucking on it again while simultaneously ramming his fingers back in your dripping channel. The tension was back and you were trembling from trying to keep your legs spread. Your orgasm washed over you in waves of white hot pleasure and you came all over his tongue and fingers. He worked you through it and when the overstimulation became too much you couldn't stay splayed out any longer and let your legs fall. He pulled back with a smirk and pressed a kiss to your temple before kissing you on the mouth. You really thought you could learn to love the taste of yourself if it came from a mind blowing orgasm like that every time.

"Do you have any condoms baby girl? I'd hate to have to go next door." he asked. Your head lolled to the side, still drunk off your post orgasm high and you said, "In the drawer beside the bed, theres a brand new box. I uh, haven't gotten to use any of them. I'm also clean and on the pill." He smirked at this and you were more alert than a moment ago as you wondered what that look was about. "I know," he said cockily. "I've seen how many dates left you wanting. Pathetic excuses and all that. I've also heard you take care of yourself in the bathroom Y/N. If you've wanted me for as long as you've been using me to get off, all you had to do was say so."

You were suddenly very aware of what had been going on and didn't know whether to feel angry or embarrassed or to just take what you were finally being gifted. You decided all three were appropriate. "You little shit! You sabotaged my dates on purpose! I knew your timing every. single. time. was just too coincidental! And so what if I used you to get off?! I can throw your words back at you, if you've wanted me for that damn long how come you never said anything?" He looked like he hadn't expected your outburst, but it was going to take more than a mind blowing orgasm to make you stupid enough to not address the elephant that was now sitting in the room. "You're you. That's what. You're so funny and attractive and sassy. So sassy. It's not like you've ever given me any reason to think you actually liked me. I finally figured you out a little better tonight though, your rough exterior is definitely hiding something incredibly sweet. You don't have to be embarrassed, or hide yourself from me. I'd already fallen your your stubborn ass a long time ago."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. How was this even possible? You were both idiots. Total fools. "You stupid man." You said and he looked like you'd kicked him. "No, no, you're not stupid. We're stupid," you sighed, "if we both weren't so stupid we could have been not dancing around each other a long time ago." He looked up again and had this stupidly endearing and hopeful look on his face. You decided to show him mercy and squash the awkward situation "If you don't get over here and keep your promise to fuck me until I can't stand, I might have to reconsider my stance on this." You smirked at him now and the look of challenge on your face had him covering you again in an instant. He kissed you deeply before lining his cock up with you entrance and dragging it through your pussy lips before he entered your slick heat. The feeling of being so full after so long left you breathless, but also oddly complete. He rocked into your core slowly at first and then picked up the pace as your moans became louder. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and moans echoed throughout the room and you could feel another orgasm building. "Feels so good Chan, mmmm right there," you breathed out as he shifted and this new angle had him brushing against your g-spot with every pass. He reached down to rub circles on your clit and you completely fell apart around his dick as you moaned his name. His strokes becoming sloppy with his own impending release his hips stuttered to a stop as your pussy milked him for every drop of cum he had and he painted your insides.

Breathing heavily you admired the strength he demonstrated in not collapsing on you and as you felt him soften and slip out you suggested you guys maybe get cleaned up a little. "Mmm I don't think I wanna" he said as he nuzzled into your neck affectionately. He was impossible, and adorable, and apparently maybe yours now. "Let's at least lay in the bed the right way then, yeah?" He appeared to think about that for a moment before he stood up and pulled you to your feet. He turned down the comforter and climbed into the bed and with his dimples on full display pat the spot next to him beckoning you to join him. You shook your head and laughed but climbed in beside him. He wrapped the blanket around you both before proceeding to wrap himself around you like a koala. You can take the man out of the land, but not the land out of the man you supposed. True to his word before the night was over you were thoroughly tended to. Several times. When morning came and you truly couldn't walk very well, he brought you breakfast in bed. It was definitely the perfect turn around for the travesty that yesterday was and you were looking forward to not hating your neighbor anymore.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #neighbors #e2l #gift fic #for the bestest bestie #love you beech #you inspire me every day #i hope you love it

[fortitudinem]

                    ISLE POLITICAL/SOCIAL HIERARCHY

This post is about the social structure of The Isle of the Lost, especially in relation to Maleficent and focusing mainly on the villains instead of the VKs. 

 Maleficent rules the Isle. This was accepted by everyone and came into being at roughly the time of her rebellion. Maleficent was the one responsible for rallying the villains together to try and fight back against Auradon and even when they lost the rebellion, she kept her spark. She is seen as the most powerful being on the Isle who wants control and even without magic, she commands legions of goblins and other minions. Very little happens on the Isle that she doesn't know about. It is considered that her word on a matter is law and her judgement is final, as in the case of Queen Grimhilde and Evie being banished. Maleficent gets final say in whether someone deserves respect. Respect is generally offered on the basis of crimes and magic. The worse your crime, or the more magical you are (usually both) determined the level of respect you can expect to receive.

 Under Maleficent there is, Mal, first and foremost. Not exactly considered her right hand, but as her daughter Mal is offered protections that other Isle residents are not. She gets away with a lot more and it is generally considered that she 'rules' the Isle from the ground, where Maleficent is hardly ever seen. Mal's presence is a very clear threat of Maleficent hearing about something and it is treated as such.

Maleficent also has goblin minions and some troll-like henchmen that accompany her everywhere, as a show of power. no-one has been stupid enough to try and pickpocket her, or worse, but it wouldn't look good if she did get harmed or stolen from and it might show a weakness that she can't afford, so Maleficent surrounds herself with these henchmen and they are also a more visible presence in the streets. People know to steer clear of them.

Maleficent's close company is considered to be Jafar, Cruella and the Evil Queen (now all the birthday party business is dealt with). These villains are considered to be some of the worst, and therefore the best by Isle standards. The actual level of respect they get from the younger generation, however, is limited only by their own physical abilities. Jafar's store is stolen from, and unless he catches the thieves this crime usually goes unpunished and uninvestigated by anyone but him. Cruella is openly mocked by most, kids will dare each other to play pranks on her. Cruella gains respect by being afraid of no-one, though, she shows no mercy for anyone, regardless of their own status or parentage. She's known for doling out harsh punishments. To some, that just makes it more of a challenge. The Evil Queen was a social pariah for many years and most people have long forgotten any status she might once have held. Their affiliation with Maleficent is tangental, they are closer to allies than friends.

Outside of Maleficent's close personal friends there are also other villains who are deemed worthy of respect. The list contains; Maleficent, Mother Gothel, The Evil Queen, Shan-Yu, Claude Frollo, Lady Tremaine, Jarfar, Chernabog, Governor Ratcliffe, Madame Medusa,  Ursula, Gaston, Scar, Stromboli, the Big Bad Wolf, Prince John, Hades, Cruella De Vil, Captain Hook, Aunt Sarah, Amos Slade, Kaa and Shere Khan (mal's spell book). These are people who have allied themselves with Maleficent, most are business owners, or are powerful in some other way, like commanding a large group (the huns, the pirates). Some have simply chosen to bend the knee in exchange for respect.

Outside of this list, there are a number of villains who have deemed themselves worthy of respect and strongly enforce it, but who do not come up on Maleficent's list. A lot of these villains are ones who believe that they should have a larger share of the pie, so to speak. The Queen of Hearts, Bill Sykes, Madam Mim, The Horned King, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, Rattigan, Yzma and Doctor Facilier are all excluded from Maleficent's list but all command a certain amount of respect regardless. 

Facilier is the headmaster of Dragon Hall and also owns the arcade, which is the only business of its kind on the Isle as fun is not often considered a priority. This encouragement for people to take time off and even feel happy for short periods of time is something considered strange on the Isle, as such he is placed on the outskirts of society, despite being a powerful magic user and an influential figure in the lives of the Isle children. 

Madam Mim is in charge of the 'witch faction', which isn't looking to take over the Isle, but is instead committed to teaching the would-be magic users how their powers will eventually work when the barrier is gone. They mostly keep to themselves and are deemed worthy of respect mostly due to their volatility. They have sectioned off their own area of the Isle, Maleficent pretends like it was her idea all along. Most people who aren't magic users don't enter the witches' quarter. 

The Queen of Hearts, The Horned King, Bill Sykes, Prince Hans and Yzma all consider themselves to be in charge of their own section of the Isle, under their terms. Hans and Yzma do not have gangs, but have merely claimed their own buildings and operate out of them without much desire to intermingle with the rest of the Isle. The others, however, have loftier expectations. 

The Horned King has a handful of Cauldron Born at his beck and call, he owns a shop at the furthest end of the market, as far from Maleficent's tower as he can get. The Cauldron Born are unliving, they patrol around the Isle, especially at night, and are some of the scariest things to meet in a dark alley. They are hard foes to fight. Luckily, they mostly stay inside the cauldron repair shop. Being on the Isle, the magic that holds them won't sustain, so if they are smashed to pieces, they will perish, this has stopped the Horned King from taking over completely. 

Bill Sykes has made a name for himself as something of a businessman on the Isle. He has built a small empire, though he has little desire to control the Isle as a whole, he prefers to manipulate from behind the scenes. His chop shop is the only place on the Isle to go for scrapped metal goods. He melts down scrap. It can be turned into wiring, metalware and most importantly, coins. (currency post here). Sykes is responsible for all metal coins created on the Isle and as such he is in a perfect position to also operate what is essentially a bank of sorts. He has influence all over the Isle and everyone trades with him, but he has not sworn loyalty to Maleficent and therefore is under his own protection. But that protection is usually very good, so he doesn't have much to worry about. His reputation as ruthless and violent precedes him in most instances. He has close ties with the Hearts. 

The Hearts are exiled from Wonderland and the Queen still thinks of herself as such. She strives for the day she can be returned to her seat of power. But while on the Isle she refuses to accept Maleficent's rule and lives in her own corner of the Isle, the only place where plants really grow. The family have set up a lot of different trades, a hair salon, a tea shop and they sell tonics and tinctures. But on top of that, they also have a close deal with Sykes where they create playing card money, which act like bank notes, backed by his currency. (see currency post above). Respect for the Hearts is demanded and taken by force if necessary. (Edgar Balthazar serves as runner between Sykes and The Hearts and also has been taken on as a butler in the Heart Household.) 

Rattigan has a gang that runs the transportation links for the Isle, they're known as the daredevil crew. the transport on the isle is most goblin rickshaws, but there are also humans who attack similar rickshaws to rebuilt and repurposed bicycles as a faster way to get around. They are considered an essential service, but are loyal to no-one in particular. 

These are, of course, just the villains. Amongst the villains, each has their own sidekick, who is afforded only as much protection as they themselves are able to generate, with the added benefit of having the name of a major villain added to their list. A well liked sidekick is more likely to be well taken care of, but one who shuns their villain or distances themselves without joining up with a new or secondary villain is likely to struggle on the Isle unless they can prove themselves. It for this reason people like Horace and Jasper are still following Cruella’s orders, even though they have publicly denounced her previously.  

Below even the sidekicks are the minor criminals, people who have no magical powers, who are attribute to no meaningful story. Murderers, thieves and ruffians of all varieties who were indiscriminately thrown onto the Isle who have little protection but what they can give themselves. These make up the majority of prisoners on the Isle.

As times move on and the children of the major villains (and minor criminals) begin to grow into their own, this creates a new power dynamic. Some of these children want to grab territory and power for themselves, like Uma. After twenty years a lot of the villains have become jaded and a lot of them are using their children as extensions of themselves, those who fall out of favour with or choose to denounce their parents (Uma, Harry etc) are forced to make their own way, but the new blood and a renewed sense of spirit can lend themselves to becoming a force to be reckoned with. Especially when the older generation are old, unhealthy and slowing down (for those who are human).

The gangs of the villain’s children are more likely to clash with each other, creating in-fighting and turf wars that the parents simply aren’t involved with and don’t care about. Ruling over an island of garbage is looking less and less enticing by the day and if the kids want to argue over trash heaps, the consensus is to simply let them. Ultimately, no-one is besting Maleficent or kicking her off her throne. Until, of course, Mal does.

Following the defeat of Maleficent and the disappearance of her cronies, the potential factions quickly fall to fighting, each trying to grab up as much territory as they can. The six months following Maleficent’s defeat is full of battles for land and resources, by the time Mal returns to the Isle, most people have succumbed to one leader or another.

After Uma leaves there is a grab for her territory that is swiftly beaten back by her crew, lead by Harry Hook. The next year is spent fighting small battles for the edges of constantly shifting territory, until the removal of the barrier, whereupon everyone who was fighting for territory leaves the Isle in order to try and return themselves to their former glory. The Isle is left for the taking. ( i subscribe to the uma as queen of the isle after d3, but that’s entirely up to personal preference. )

#ABOUT | THE ISLE OF THE LOST. #HISTORY | THE ISLE OF THE LOST. #descendants #disney descendants #disney's descendants

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Skies on Fire

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2905 Alternate: AO3 Summary: "'Okay, Mister ‘I don’t like the 4th of July.’ What’s your opinion on fireworks?' Chim asks.

Eddie shrugs and scrunches up his nose in that way Buck finds adorable. 'They’re loud.'"

It's the 4th of July and Eddie hates fireworks. Warnings: 

PTSD

Mild Hurt/Comfort

Eddie Diaz has PTSD

Author's Note: I can’t believe no one has written a 4th of July Buddie fic (that I could find using the search function at least. If there is one, please send me a link because I would love to read it.) So, obviously I had to write one myself. Enjoy!

Buck loves the 4th of July. He loves the excitement that it instills in everyone, he loves the celebration of it, the food that is served during the cookouts, and most importantly, Buck loves the fireworks that are set off at night. Overall, the day is usually filled with good spirits and lots and lots of food.

 The first year Buck was in L.A. for the 4th of July, Bobby had hosted it at the firehouse, cooking for the entire team. The second year, Athena had hosted it at her house, inviting Buck, Hen, Chimney, Maddie, and Eddie over for the cookout in which, again, Bobby was cooking. Eddie, however, had declined the invite, claiming he was going to spend it with his own family but when Buck asked Christopher about it later, Christopher had informed him that Eddie had not gone with him to his Abuela’s and that Pepa had brought Christopher there. When he then questioned Eddie about it, the man had completely avoided answering. Buck filed it away as an Eddie Diaz mystery he’ll probably never get an answer to and moved on. This year, they all are scheduled to work.

Buck struts into the station, clothes bag slung over his shoulder. It’s going to be a long 24-hour shift but Buck isn’t going to let that ruin his mood. Bobby had promised to cook for everyone again and he’s honestly looking forward to it. Plus, if they’re lucky, they’ll be out on a call, outside, when the fireworks start. Of course, Buck doesn’t want a life-threatening call to happen just so he can watch the fireworks, but if there’s a scared cat stuck up in a tree then he’ll take it.

He walks into the locker room where Hen, Chimney, and Eddie are already halfway through changing. Buck tries to not watch Eddie as the other man gets dressed, approaching his own locker to get into his uniform. “Who’s ready for the 4th of July rush?” Buck asks enthusiastically, giving a quick glance towards Eddie who is currently shirtless.

Eddie gives him a wary, curious look. “What do you mean?”

“People are dumb on the 4th of July,” Hen answers for Buck as Buck forces himself to look away from Eddie and opens his locker to start changing. “There’s always more calls than on a usual day because people like to set off fireworks that they got illegally or play with firecrackers that end up blowing up in their hand or in their face or in their pants.”

Eddie’s head tilts at that last statement, blinking in confusion. “Their pants?”

Hen shakes her head. “You don’t want to know.”

Buck chuckles, shucking off his pants and pulling on his uniform bottoms. “I love the 4th of July.”

“More like you love Cap’s cooking,” Chimney states from behind him, shutting his locker a little too loudly.

“I do,” Buck agrees, pulling his shirt off and turning to Chimney. “But I also love everything else to do with the 4th of July.”

“Here we go,” Hen mumbles.

Buck turns to her, smile in place. “Come on Hen, you have to agree that fireworks are awesome.”

Hen gives him a small smile. “Okay, the 4th of July isn’t that bad but I just hate how stupid people get during it.”

“Well, I’m with Buck,” Chimney says. “I love the 4th of July. It’s one of the few days you actually have a valid excuse to get absolutely drunk off your ass.”

Buck turns to Eddie. “Eddie?”

Eddie looks up from where he was studying his button up to his uniform. “Hmm?”

Buck smiles at him. “Do you like the 4th of July?”

“I hate it.”

All of them look at Eddie with surprise. Buck’s eyes go wide in shock. “What! No, Eddie, no one can hate the 4th of July!”

“I’m pretty sure other countries hate it, Buck,” Hen comments.

“Okay, if you’re an American, you can’t hate it,” he amends. “You’re, like, obligated to like it.”

Eddie watches Buck as he slides on his button up. “Sorry, Buck, but I just don’t like the 4th of July.”

“But why?” he asks but Eddie just shrugs. “Okay, what about fireworks? Everyone loves fireworks. Hen?”

Hen finishes tying her boots and stands. “They’re pretty, I guess.”

“Come on, Hen!” Buck pouts at her. “I love fireworks! They’re amazing, you know! With all the colors and how big they can get.”

“They do have a certain appeal to them,” Chim mentions with a small laugh before turning towards Eddie who is staring absently into his locker. “Okay, Mister ‘I don’t like the 4th of July,’ what’s your opinion on fireworks?” Chim asks.

Eddie shrugs and scrunches up his nose in that way Buck finds adorable. “They’re loud.” He quickly looks at all of them before turning back to his locker to dig around in it.

Buck’s heart drops as realization starts setting in while Hen huffs a laugh, heading towards the door. “Yeah, and they scare animals all over.” She leaves the room, Chimney following her with an amused smile, both apparently oblivious to what Eddie is implying.

Buck watches them go, frown now set in place on his face. Turning back to Eddie, he watches silently as the man continues to dig through his locker, looking slightly panicked. Buck thins his lips, deep in thought, before reaching into his own locker and picking up a small packet of earplugs. He walks over to Eddie and holds them out. “Here.”

Eddie looks down at them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His eyes lift to Buck. “How’d you know?”

Buck shrugs. “Good guess.” Eddie gives him a thankful smile and takes the earplugs, fiddling with the package.

Eddie gestures towards his locker, not meeting Buck’s eyes. “I thought I had brought some but I guess I forgot. Why do you have some?”

Buck smiles at him reassuringly. “I wear them when I try to get some sleep here. I can still hear the bell if it goes off but not everything else.” Eddie nods at his explanation and Buck wishes he could make this easier on Eddie. He’s obviously feeling a little embarrassed. “What did you do last year?” Buck tries, hoping he won’t be shot down this time.

Eddie sighs heavily and shuts his locker, shoving the earplugs into his pocket for later. “I closed all the windows in the house, turned on the TV full volume, and blasted music in my ears.”

“Did it work?” Eddie just shrugs. “Are you going to be okay? I’m sure Bobby wouldn’t care if you went home.”

Eddie shakes his head, walking past Buck. “I can’t let this dictate my life, Buck. You guys need me today so I’m going to be here.”

“But Eddie-”

“No, Buck,” Eddie stops him. “I’ll be fine.” He walks away then, clearly ending the conversation there.

*~~~*

As Hen had predicted, it’s a busy day. Since eight in the morning to eight at night, there have been fifteen calls. From fires to car accidents to people having firecrackers blow up in their faces, everything that is going to happen seems to be happening. They are just getting back from their last call of a child stuck up in a tree that the nine-year-old decided to climb up, when they get another call of a possible drowning in a pool.

Buck has noticed how on edge Eddie has been all day; quiet, more so than usual, and hyperaware of his surroundings. He can’t seem to relax and as Buck sits next to him on the firetruck, he can feel just how stiff Eddie is holding himself. He wishes he knew how else to calm his best friend down but knows that anything he says won’t help in the slightest.

Buck nudges Eddie’s shoulders, getting his attention. “Hey, you might want to put the earplugs in now. The fireworks are going to be starting soon.”

Eddie nods and reaches into his pocket. He frowns, removes his hand, and reaches into his pocket on the other side. This hand also comes out empty. “They must have fallen out at some point.”

Buck is frowning now as well, full of concern. “You going to be okay?”

Eddie nods curtly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Buck can feel Bobby’s eyes on them from the front, the older man glancing over his shoulder. Neither he nor Eddie acknowledges Bobby’s look. Buck figures Bobby has probably figured out the problem already anyway.

It doesn’t take them much longer to arrive on the scene. Hen and Chimney pull the ambulance around, parking it in a way that will make transporting the injured party into the vehicle easier. They all rush over to the scene, following the wife of the man who almost drowned.

They get to work right away, Chimney doing chest compressions as Hen and Eddie work on hooking him up to fluids and air. The husband comes back quite quickly to everyone’s relief and coughs up water. Moving him onto a backboard and then to a gurney, they all make their way over to the ambulance, loading the man in and letting the wife follow. She says her thanks and Chimney shuts the back doors, Hen driving away with the sirens blaring. Overall, it’s a smooth mission and nothing goes wrong.

That is, until the first firework booms in the air, bright and loud.

Eddie flinches so violently, that he knocks into Buck, and, Buck not having expected that, they both go tumbling down to the ground. Buck lands on his bottom, catching himself with his hands and causing pain to shoot up into his arms from his wrists. Bobby is crouching in front of them, asking them if he’s okay and another firework soars in the night sky and explodes in a beautiful hue of blue.

Buck ignores Bobby’s questioning and turns to Eddie who is also sitting on the ground except that his legs are drawn up close to him and his head is dipped between his knees with his hands covering his ears. He’s stiffened up even more than he has been all day and Buck can see tremors running through his body. Buck scrambles up, reaches out to touch Eddie, but then stops short. He quickly pulls his hand back.

“Eddie?” he begins gently. “Eddie, it’s Buck. Can you hear me?”

Eddie doesn’t give Buck an answer, doesn’t even look up at him, but Buck can hear Eddie’s heavy breathing and quiet sobs. Bobby places a hand on Buck’s shoulder, getting his attention. “I need to get back. You got this?” Buck nods. “When he’s back, bring him home. You two can end your shift early.”

“Are you sure?” Buck asks.

Bobby nods towards Eddie. “Take care of him.” He then gets up and leaves, giving Eddie one last concerned look. Buck knows that if Bobby could, he would stay too, but he can’t. Not on one of their busiest days.

Buck watches Bobby leave before turning his attention back to Eddie. “Eddie? Can I touch you?” Still, he gets no answer. “I’m going to touch your knee, okay?”

More fireworks are shooting up in the sky, getting closer to the grand finale. He knows they aren’t helping the situation at all. Another loud and bright firework makes Eddie flinch again and his entire body shudders as a whimper escapes from his mouth.

Buck slowly stretches his arm out, gently placing a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie doesn’t react to it, doesn’t look up at Buck but also doesn’t jerk away from the touch so Buck figures it must be fine to do so. He continues to talk to Eddie, keeping his voice low and calm. “Eds, you’re out on a call. You’re in someone’s backyard, near the pool. What you are hearing are fireworks. They are not bombs, you’re no longer in Afganistan, you’re safe.”

The finale to the fireworks starts up and Eddie curls into himself more, pulling away from Buck’s hand. Buck doesn’t try to touch him again, waits the finale out, and then tries again when everything settles.

“Eddie, it’s still Buck. Can you hear me?” A small nod. “Okay, listen to my voice. Again, you are not in Afganistan anymore. You’re in L.A. and those were fireworks, not bombs. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re not in danger.” Eddie lifts his head some but doesn’t look at Buck. His eyes are far away, not really focusing on anything. “Can I touch you again?” Another small nod. Buck crawls a little closer, places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Can you feel the ground?” Eddie nods. “Can you feel my hand?” Again, a nod. “Okay, what do you see? What do you see around you, where you’re safe?”

It takes Eddie a few tries and Buck repeating the question again before he can answer him. “You.”

“What else?”

Eddie swallows and lifts a shaky hand to wipe the tears away. He’s still not very focused, blinking rapidly. “You.”

“Okay,” Buck says, moving on. “What can you hear. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“What else can you hear? What else can you hear in this backyard where you’re safe? Where you’re safe with me? You’re safe.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut and his face scrunches in agony. “Open your eyes,” Buck tells him and he does. “Can I hug you?” Eddie nods and Buck maneuvers himself so he’s sitting down at an angle to Eddie, wrapping his arms lightly around the smaller man. He wants to be sure Eddie can still see him but also ground him more in the present by giving him more physical touch. “Now what can you hear besides my voice?”

Eddie is still shaking but his muscles relax. Still he doesn’t answer Buck, staring off into the distance. “Eddie?” Eddie snaps back.

“The pool. I can hear the…” a long pause as Eddie blinks. “The pool.”

“Okay, good. Can you hear the water in the pool?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you still hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“What can you smell?” Buck asks, moving onto the next sense. “What do you smell around you, here and now?” He carefully rubs a hand up and down Eddie’s bicep, gauging Eddie’s reaction. He doesn’t reject the movement so Buck continues doing it.

“I can smell…” Again, Eddie quiets, staring at the ground. His body is relaxing though so Buck decides that what he is doing must be working at least a little. 

“Eddie, what do you smell?” he asks again.

Eddie blinks, doesn’t answer, and Buck asks for the third time. “I smell your cologne or… or deodorant.” He sinks into Buck, blinking slowly. “I smell… I can smell the pool. Freshly cut grass.”

“Good, now I want you to describe to me, if you could choose any place, where would you want to be at this very moment?” Buck chuckles. “It doesn’t even have to be attainable.”

Eddie licks his lips, rubs a hand slowly over his knee, and looks like he might dissociate again but then he starts talking, voice slow and slightly slurred. “At home with Christopher and you.”

“Yeah?” Buck smiles. “What would we be doing?”

Eddie does dissociate again, staying quiet for several minutes before Buck can get him back and ask the question once more. “Watching a movie.”

“What movie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Describe to me the scene you’re thinking.”

Eddie’s hand rubs over the ground and he lifts his hand to look at his palm. He stares at it for a few seconds before placing it down on the ground again. Buck repeats what he said. “Christopher would be sitting on the floor in a heap of blankets. You and I would be on the couch, sitting close.”

“Like this?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. One of us would be holding the other and…” he trails off.

Buck runs a hand through Eddie’s hair, deciding to end it there. “Can you stand?”

Eddie swallows and nods. They both stand up, Eddie swaying in his spot. Buck can tell he’s not entirely back with him, the other man looking around his surroundings as if confused as to where he is. Buck orders an Uber and when it arrives, he carefully guides Eddie inside it.

They arrive at Eddie’s place and Buck immediately transports Eddie to his bed, helping him to undress and lie down in it. “You’re home now, Eddie. Do you know where you are?”

“Home,” he answers. “I’m home.” He’s coming back now, getting more alert. Still, he looks exhausted with his eyes droopy and slow movements. “Thank you for helping me, Buck.”

Buck sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a hand through Eddie’s hair. “I’ve got your back, Eddie.” He shrugs. “And next year, we’ll be more prepared. No more losing the earplugs.”

Eddie chuckles at that, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal.”

They stare at each other for a long time before Buck finally asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No.” Buck nods, accepting that answer. “But I would like it if you stayed.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll stay.”

“No, I mean in the bed.”

“With you?” Buck asks.

“I feel safer with you.” Eddie is avoiding eye contact but the statement makes Buck smile nonetheless.

“I’ll stay, then.”

Eddie smiles, small and soft, eyes closing slowly. “Thank you.”

Buck leans down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “Always.”

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: And there you have it. Though I do think fireworks are pretty I also think they are obnoxious and loud, and, since they are literally bombs going off in the air, I can’t imagine Eddie not having some kind of reaction to them.

Thank you to this website that helped me write what Buck should do for Eddie during his flashback.

Thank you for reading!

#Buddie #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #911 #911 on Fox #Buck #Skies on Fire #My Fanfiction

[quant-um-fizzx]

Relenting

Synopsis: James Barnes had always been sweet, until he wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, your mutual attraction took a turn. Now, you can’t tell if he’s playing with you or playing you. Then, fate forces some honesty.

Warnings:  Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader. Smut, Dub-Con (Sex Pollen, my friends), Language, (some) Angst, elements of stalking & emotional manipulation. Explicit, rough sex, slight anal play. Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written.

Word Count:  5900

If you’ve come here expecting the comedy erotica or angst I write elsewhere, this is not for you. 

This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s writing challenge from the prompt: “Just a little more, baby.” (How we got here from there, I’ll never know.) 

I’ve labeled this Dark!Bucky, but he’s probably more gray than dark. But not the soft, uses-all-the-bath-salts-when-you’re-out-of-town Bucky I’d consider more canon.  

 *****

No one can pinpoint when, nobody’s ready to say it out loud, but Barnes came back different. Off. 

Wrong.

Might’ve been that mission in the Midwest (of all places to find that kind of cult) or when someone got it in their fool head to send him to verify exactly what the stone status was on Vormir. Your money’s on the veiled gateway rift that sucked him in but spit two out; he’d beaten his wild-eyed spare and flung it back into the void the moment it’d lunged for you. 

Chances are it’s not a solitary event, but the culmination of everything. One could hardly blame him if it were. 

Whatever, whenever, he’s not the same. Speech now often sly, maneuvering. Manners slipping into predatory where they’d always been soft.

Sometimes, you think you’re imagining it - cold glint like metal chips in ice eyes - that maybe you only see him differently because of failed romance. 

Now, he delights in flustering you. Taunting and near cruel one moment. Playful, protective the next.  Makes it nearly impossible to get a read on him. 

You find, in spite of your better judgement, uncertainty is its own kind of clever seduction. 

“Hey, I know this isn’t really my business, but whatever happened there?” Bruce inclines his head toward where Barnes stalks by outside the lab windows. His second pass since you started to prepping vials for transport. Dark, rough strides. He slips out of view and the lab seems colder. Sleek, sterile.  Your mind conjures up memories of sandalwood on fleece, in stark contrast to the lab’s xylene and bitter almond air. “Everyone thought you two were a good match.”

You smile, wistful. Mourning. “I had hoped so, too. But,” you sigh, “what makes good theory does not necessarily work in practical execution.”

Banner tsks. “Shame. Ever since you came on board, you both used to get along so well. Even now, he still looks at you like you ought to be picking out curtains.”

You scoff. “‘Used to get along’ until he...never mind. Whatever Sergeant Barnes might really want, it’s not that. And definitely not that with me.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard you - but he shouldn't have, couldn’t have - Barnes pauses outside. His glance locks on your eyes. You fumble and clink the glass against the tray’s edge. 

Bruce shakes his head, gently using a tremendously large, green hand to steady the tongs you hold. “Careful there. Breaking that in here? Could’ve been ugly.”

“Doctor Banner,” you say, placing the final vial in its slot and trying to shift your attention from the man outside, “your report indicated that universal precautions were sufficient for international transport of these ‘classified contagion’ samples. As I have committed to hand-carrying them, despite possessing insufficient clearance to be privileged with details, if it would be best to utilize hazmat gear and airborne pathogen protocols, not only would I appreciate a full disclosure I would consider it your due diligence to do so.”

He nods. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s really an unknown at this point. I’m just being cautious. Using any iteration of the Hulk as a guinea pig is a scenario I strive to avoid.”

“Fair enough.” You click the lid closed, the half dozen tubes of churning red haze goo nestled securely inside. “Do I wait there for test results?”

“Nah,” Bruce says, already on the way back to his microscope. “Thorough runs could take longer than we can spare you here.”  

Smiling, you return your lab coat to it’s hook, smooth your hair, and give the station a once-over, making sure everything has been completed properly. This also serves as a welcome delay to going out those doors and encountering the long-haired enigma who has plagued your thoughts for longer than you care to admit.

“On second thought,” Banner says, peering up over the eyepiece. “She could have a prelim synthesis to send back in no time. Their tech is so different.” 

Taking a deep breath, you gather your gear and subtly check if Barnes is still nearby. Being off-kilter around him, while handling what you suspect is more dangerous than Bruce is letting on, is the last thing you need. 

Being around Barnes doesn’t feel cordial the way it used to. Warm banter that had felt safe.  

You can’t get a read on him, aren’t sure how you feel around him, about him. 

You don’t love him. Probably easily could.

You might fear him. Probably, definitely should. 

You do...care.

Lately, day in, day out, he’s there. Stalking along the periphery, a shuck peering out from woodlands.

He’s charming, affable enough for everyone else’s comfort. He used to be with you, too. 

Even in a crowded room, he  - sullen growl of a man - used to seem alone. The kind of alone that oozes off a person, rolls out from his shoulders. Used to it. Accustomed to it.

Trust only it. 

When you first tried - heart in your throat and skin gooseflesh - when you first stepped up to that guy, part matinee idol, part drive-in backseat rogue, he’d turned in on himself. Tried to force his large frame to disappear. Behind his barriers, he’d just watched you. Wary. Accessing.

But the next time he’d been holding the wall up, ale bottle in loose metal grip, you didn’t have to look for an opening. He’d lifted his chin and inclined his head toward chairs.

After that, the pair of you could be found engaged in long, private conversations. Content to let whatever ruckus go on around you. Foreheads nearly touching. Fingers not-so-casually brushing together. Your stomach flutters at the memory.

Now, his attention makes the hair on your neck stand up at least as much as it travels down your belly, between your thighs. Puts you on edge, mouse batted between paws. 

When you exit the lab, he’s waiting. Leans his back against a column, arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles, pants taunt were they wrap around his thighs. His eyes flick to you, his only perceived movement. “Whatcha got there, Red?”  He draws each word out as if puffing smoke.

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them. Left corner of his mouth ticks up, goal met. 

The nickname startles you for a moment. It always does. He dusts the name off, digs it out once in awhile, just when you’ve almost forgotten. When you’ve let your mind scab over that single, awkward date. Forgotten how once upon a time, even his team thought you’d “be good together” and made that final push to fix you up. 

It had been right after the rift clone incident. If you’d not been so caught up in him - that red warmth that unfurled in your chest - you should’ve known. Paid attention to his shift, his change. The tragedy of it all.

You’d worn a crimson silk column dress, French twist, Replique dotted on pulse points. 

He’d worn black jeans and blood-dirt under his nails.

Peering at you over his menu, he’d dropped it down and motioned between you both. “You took this seriously, huh?”

Only just enough to have waxed everything reasonably prudent. 

Crestfallen, your shoulders dropped. Clearly, you thought, you’d misread the prior conversations, his lingering looks, mistakenly thought he returned your interest.

Cheeks on fire, you’d started to fold your napkin and push your chair back. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. I won’t take up any more of your time. You may return to the Olympic-level brooding of which you are so fond and I will retire for the evening.”

He’d thrown his head back, barked what might’ve been a laugh. “You’ll ‘retire for the evening?’“ Shook his head. “Red, you’re too much.” He grabbed a waiter - not ours, but Barnes didn’t let that stop him - “Bring us that special and a bottle of whatever makes uptight dames spread their legs these days.”

You sat still, mouth open, staring at your fork. 

He reached out, took your hand in his. Seemed to apologize with his eyes. They held yours, sky fading into sapphire. Held you without touching you. 

You look up behind lashes. “Dinner is just...we can have a good time. Talk.”  

“Yeah, let’s have the Blue Plate. See how it goes.,” he said. 

Then, the air had shifted, when he seemed...vulnerable...he pulled away. 

By the end of the night, the pulse pounds in your ears. You’d talked and laughed and when he walked you home, you knew you’d invite him in. You’d always known.  

He’d walked you to your door, eight-to-ten now-uncharacteristically chivalrous inches between your bodies on the way up the steps. Single bulb buzzing overhead. The key had proven elusive. Always on its ring and placed in the back pocket of your purse, your shaking fingers had let it slip down somewhere in your bag. 

He stepped in closer behind you, looking over your shoulder, breath passing over the shell of your ear. “You need a hand there?”

You jolted up straight, back bumping into his chest. “Thank you,” your voice cracked, “but I think I can manage unlocking my own stupid door.”  You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Excuse me,” you said, sounding mousy even to your own ears. “I didn't mean for that to sound so rude.”

“You didn’t, hmm?” He hums, breath slipping down your neck and he wrapped his right hand low around your waist.

“No,” you swallowed hard. Your skin on fire under his palm. 

“So, you’re saying you would like a hand...” He whispered, smoothing cool fingers down along the space between your hip and thigh. 

Limbs shaking, desire and curiosity and confusion swirling in your veins. You tried to find your voice, leaned against his chest’s blister strum. Shuddered as another warm breath huffed over your skin. 

“Y-yes.”

He spun you and you found your back suddenly against the cold, wooden door. His face hovered, lips barely an inch above your own. 

“As much as I think you think you want this.” He traced your collarbone, eyes burrowing into yours. “As much as I enjoy hearing your heart race.” His finger dipped inside your neckline, under the edge of your bra, skimming pebbled flesh. You shuddered, worried some neighbor might be looking, but unable to tear your gaze away from his. 

“Today’s your lucky day, Red. I am gonna leave ya jus’ the way I found ya.” He pressed himself against you, thigh wedged between yours. “‘Cause, if I stay here on this porch one more minute, with you an’ your wide eyes, smelling like sins you don’t begin to understand…” Stubble grazed your cheek. He hummed, words hot and heavy in your ear. “I think I’d ruin you.”

You wanted to grab his hand and hold it there. To ask him in and show what he did to you, to prove to him...to yourself...that this could be good. Special. Right.     

“You wouldn’t ruin me. I - I trust you, ” you squeaked, instead. Tentatively closed that fractional space, brushed your lips against his. 

He didn’t let it become a kiss. “You misunderstand me.” He moved back a bit, pulled his arm free and ran knuckles down between you, tracing your chest and then grabbing tightly around your waist. Pushed you, a quick snap, deeper into the door.

“I want to.”

Then, he’d bound off the porch and down the steps before the night air had even cooled your skin. Calling out behind him as he cut across the grass, “You aren’t ready, little girl.”

His words play back every night as you fall into fitful sleep.

Now, he looks at you knowingly. Like he knows where your mind was, that shared flickering old film reel memory.

You hold up the vials and manage a small laugh. It’s short. Belies your nerves. 

“Oh, I - I have some things to deliver to Shuri. To Shuri’s lab.” 

“Shuri’s lab.” He says, mouth moving as if rolling around an invisible hay straw. He still leans, unblinking, trained on you. 

A moment of silence as he considers you. Electricity buzzes across your skin. Words rush out of you to fill the void. “Shuri’s lab. In Wakanda. Shuri’s lab.”

His eyes crinkle, pleased as you stumble over your words. “Yeah, I’m familiar.” 

Of course he is. You’re supposed to be smarter than this. 

**

Across the hanger, Clint performs his pre-flight checklist. 

“Change of plans,” he calls out, back still turned to you. “Laura’s got me roped into filming a play tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to fault her for wanting to keep Clint as retired as possible. “I need to put these samples back on ice then.” You start to head back when a shadow emerges from inside the jet. 

Clint says, dryly, “You’re going. Looks like I'm still the only one around here who doesn’t have a Wakanda stamp on my passport.”

Barnes peers down from the quinjet ramp, takes the checklist, and winks. Your stomach drops. 

Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to those damn goats for me.”

Once inside the jet, Barnes gestures toward the insulated box you carry. “That it there? What did Barton call it? Funky Cold Medina?”

Of course. Yes, naturally. That’s exactly what it would be. Aphrodisiac Pheromones. Sex Pollen. 

The mystery of why evil organizations frequently leave a cache of screw-or-die juice sitting around abandoned complexes for wandering bands of Do-Gooders to uncover is as baffling as why they consider rampant libido to be a great offensive strategy in the first place. 

Nodding curtly, acting unruffled by the news, you brush past him and secure it in the cooler. 

**

The plane is at cruising altitude before either of you speak again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Wakanda?” You venture, throat tight.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, never looking away from the sky, then answers, “Haven’t been back since Strange showed up.”  He pauses, then continues, “Used to have a nice place there. Best view. Sunsets over still water.” Leans slightly out of his seat in your direction. “I think I wanna take you there.”

A smile comes over you, wide and almost hurting your cheeks. This glimpse of how he’d been, hope tingles along your arms. 

“I’d love that.” And you would. Have him let you in, return to where he’d been and who he was.

“Sure thing,” he says, voice lilting out on a devil smirk. “I could take you there. It’s...secluded. Make you scream.”

“Why do you do that?” The tingles take on a different tenor. 

“Do what?” He sounds believably innocent in the way a prostitute dresses up like a nun. 

You fidget, nails scratching a foreign itch on your palms, and chastise yourself, reminded again why it’s better when you don’t get your hopes up. Don’t act on your urge to spend time with him.  Your once almost more-than-friend...your wishful thinking...seems gone for good. Now, when he comes around, it feels like finding yourself suddenly teetering on a high ledge when you’d expected grass between your toes. 

“Why must you be so...so, crude?” 

“It is. I am. That’s the point though, isn’t it?  You like it,” he says matter-of-factly, looking you up and down, “Hell, you crave it. And that’s what’s got you confused, all tied up in knots.” He turns in his chair, arms bent and leaning on his knees, casual, is if he was discussing new coffee in the common room or a cell phone plan. “Because you’re stuck thinking the goal is a fella wife-ing you up,” he snorts.

“Hell, Red, you’re still stuck thinking you want a guy grunting on top of you Tuesdays from 9 to 9:10 with a meatloaf pan soaking in the sink.” He shakes his head. ”You have hangs-ups and I’m not gonna play along with them like that boring ass agent you wasted time on.”

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop trying to scare me.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “It doesn’t scare you. That I could just take it. That I could have you - have you in all the ways that you won’t let yourself think you want. The thoughts you kill before you can admit them in the back of that beautiful mind of yours. I could have you every one of those ways. But, that’s not how I want it. Not how I want you. What scares you,” he says, leaning in. “What scares you is, that I won’t. I won’t let you keep fooling yourself about what you really want. 

“You know, deep down you know, that’s not how it’s gonna happen. You gotta admit what you need.”

He inches a little closer. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

Your heart stops, eyes unblinking. “You’re wrong.”

“No,’ he says, returning to the controls and beginning your descent. “No, you’re wrong - and I’m a different kind of wrong. I’m so wrong that I’m the only thing right.”

Your head pounds. Stomach lurches as the plane breaks beneath the clouds. “You used to be my friend,” you half-mumble, staring down at your knees. “Sweetheart,” he punches the word out, saccharine-sweet, “I was never meant to be your friend.”

**

Silence stretches out for several more minutes. Only the engine’s hum, lull and dense, barely bats at the thoughts raging in your mind. Barnes’ words, his presence, suffocates you. Even strapped securely in his pilot seat, it feels like he’s crushing your lungs.

The plane lands in an outlying region. 

“I should be back by four,” you spit, container swinging wildly from your fist. The walk is probably twenty minutes from here and you relish the idea of having the quiet to process things.

“Orders are I make sure you’re safe.” He falls in step.

You spin and push a single finger into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Your services are not needed, Barnes.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snaps, serious. “Just because you’re pissed at me for saying shit you don’t wanna hear, don’t put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? I think I’m infinitely safer out here. It’s Wakanda, the most advanced place on the planet!” You sweep your arms wide toward the city in the distance, towers like exclamation points jutting out of fields. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the plane could have flown directly to the palace but you’re the one who elected to land way out here.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, holding it up and off his neck. You notice the curve, the warm, inviting color of his skin. He looks out toward the trees, calm as anything, like your outburst never happened. “Guess I can check out the old stomping ground.”

Fighting the urge to flip him off, you march down the ramp, leaving him standing there. “By all means. Go have congress with a goat for all I care.”

**

Mid afternoon, as soon as you break the tree line on your return, he emerges from the woods. Appears freshly bathed in the river, mane wet and loose, shirt clinging to his frame. 

“After you,” he smiles, wolfish, and bows exaggeratedly, inviting you to go first up the ramp. 

Your eyes narrow, but you climb inside anyway. 

Suddenly, coming around from behind you, his hand reaches for the biohazard bag containing the single tube Shuri had sent back.

“What are you doing?” You snatch the bag away, crushing it to your body.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Begging your pardon. Just trying to be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

“Knock it off, Barnes. If you’ve got a predilection for hearing every woman throw themselves at your feet, you can satiate it someplace else.” 

“Oh, I can. Just don’t wanna.” His eyes narrow on the bag and he wrenches it out of your grasp, tosses it unceremoniously into the cooler and slams the door 

You watch the cooler as if the door might burst open and the horny wrath of Hell take flight about the cabin.  When it remains undisturbed until Barnes completes the pre flight rituals, you finally allow yourself to breathe a little deeper and turn away from it.  

“And you wound me,” he croons, spinning his seat into position. “It’s not every woman.”

You roll your eyes, strap in, and swear you’re never giving him the satisfaction of hearing you speak again. 

That resolve, among other things, breaks over the Atlantic.

The air fills, flowery. Like a florist’s shoppe - oh. Oh, god no -  so many scents it feels fake. Cloying and sweet. 

“Wha-What is- we need to land!”

He holds his hand up toward the windshield, water as far as the eye can see. “No problem. Just shout ‘ahoy’ when you spot some dirt.”

You fling aside the belt and run toward the cooler.  Viscous sludge flows slick as mercury on the floor around it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barnes yells from the cockpit. 

You start rummaging through cabinets, looking for something, anything. “Maybe I can dilute it, cut the effects.” You open the cooler and pull the bag out. It’s ruptured, the vial broken and plastic cut, or eaten away by the chemical, it’s hard to tell at this point. 

“By touching it?!” He punches in codes hard enough the key clanks echo. “Stop, just - just wait. Wait two seconds until I can find out what’s what.”

You fling the near empty bag at the back of the plane. “You! You did this on purpose!” The plastic thumps, hollow against the metal door. A roaring, mute thing.

Barnes shakes his head once, hisses between clenched teeth, “You’re the one who smashed it against their chest.” 

Then, he cleanly switches tone - deep and clear - speaking into his earpiece. “Banner. Yeah, we have a situation here.

“The package Shuri sent back has been compromised. We’re mid flight, no safe place to put her down. Need to mitigate effects. Please advise.”  He pauses, presumably listening to Bruce, then purses his lips. “Nothing? Banner, are you sure?” Turns again, gives you a gauging look.

This can’t be happening. Can’t. You start to shake, knees going out from under you.

He keeps his eyes on you, touches the earpiece. “Nothing. Understood. Barnes out.” Then rips it off and throws it hard enough to shatter.

A thousand thoughts swirl at once. Is it really going to work? How long do you have? What if you go at it like rabbits who just got out of prison and then have to face him day-after-day? What if it works on you both but he resists? 

Preemptive humiliation, clawing feral behind your ribs, the terror of possibly being rejected if you, if you...finally admit...

Then, Barnes is there, crouched down beside you, offers you his hand. You wave it away. 

“Doll,” he says, soft, like one might coax a fawn to take berries. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffling, you shake your head. 

“C’mon,” he says softer yet and backing up, giving you space. “Get out of that. Come, sit.” 

You look down and realize the liquid is seeping toward you. Some on your leg. Scrambling past him you make it to the other side of the cabin and slump back down to the floor. He moves away from the spill, but keeps his distance, placing himself on the other side of the aisle. 

“Why?” Betrayal pours out of you.

He sits down on the floor opposite you. Legs bent and knees up, hands clasped and hanging between. “You gotta believe me, the very last thing I want is something happening between us that’s not real.”

You stare at him. He seems so genuine in this moment. But, you force focus, because this is how he always is, right before he pulls the rug out from under you.

When you don’t reply, he breaks the silence again. “Besides, maybe it doesn’t even work. Hasn’t kicked in already. That’s a good sign. I’ve been around that type of shit before,” he pauses, looking off to the right, unfocused on something that isn’t really there, remembering some horror you don’t want to contemplate. “It’s not always so bad.” He shrugs, picks a string off his pants. “Even if it is, if it is...bad, I know I can hold off.”

You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is soft and his words are kind and he reminds you so much of the man you fell...the man you...

dammit.

He gets up slowly. Checks the autopilot. Eases back down where he was. Boots scuffing out in front of him along the metal floor.

“Did you mean what you said?” You venture. He just raises his eyebrows. “When you said you wanted something real with me-with us?” You elaborate, barely audible. 

He clears his throat, rearranges himself on the floor. Stares off at nothing. “Why else would I hold off all this time? At first, sure, I thought you were interesting enough. Probably good for letting off steam.” He looks to you for a moment, then away again. “Then, you just sorta snuck in. Took over. You and your little button up sweaters.” Gives a little chuckle. “Fucking seduced me with your cardigans and ‘Nova’ recaps.” 

Mulling it over, you start to ask, “Then, why do you-”

“You know why.”

He blows out a lungful of air.  “Because I’m not settling for half-ass. Never had much. But they always find a way to take even more.” 

So torn up in your own stupid fears - selfish, petty girl - you never thought about his lot in this. A sob punches out of you. Made and unmade. So many times. Here’s another time, one more damned time, he faces control of himself being torn away.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into your hand. Eventually, he swipes a tear from your face. 

He scoots back away. But his touch...lingers. He watches you trace where he’d been, little lightning strikes that turn and shift, then burn. Burns past your skin, thrums in your veins.

“It’s happening.”

“Nah, Doll. We’re halfway home, we’re not gonna do anything we don’t want to do.” 

His voice, coffee rich and smoke, settles in your belly. Your hips clench, rock. You think, this must be the cusp, there’s more to come, but you want to tell him, show him...feel him before you’re so far gone it’s a blur.

Hazy want swirls around him, poppies and violets and jet fuel in the air. Your hand sneaks up under your shirt, the rough outline of it juts out over your breast. He’s sitting up now. Licks his lips. 

“I can’t - noooo,” you say, breathless. It’s scorching now. Boiling, latent want bubbling up. You pull your shirt off, burning.

“I can’t wait,” you plead. He looks so good, always looks so damned good. “I don’t want to wait.”

His back goes straight. Muscles tense. Ready to pounce. 

“Not like this.” His breath has picked up. “Not if you think you can tell yourself later that it was chemicals talking.”

“You want real, Barnes? I’ll give you real,” you purr. Stretch out lythe before him. It’s not so bad, but you know it will be. “I do want this. I want you. Always have.”

He smiles, crooked, but doesn’t move. “That’s nice. Real nice to hear.” Watches your hand go under your clothes, between your legs. “That’s not enough. I could’ve had you back then. Back on your porch. Had you a couple times. Taken the edge off. Maybe gotten it outta our systems. But,” he stops for a moment, seeming to reconsider when you moan as you slip between your folds. He palms the hard length of him. “that’s not enough. I want all of you.”

Electric yearning rolls your shoulders, pressure between your legs frustrating. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” He shifts again, watching you, sweat forming on his brow. Fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to date you, Red. Don’t wanna be your boyfriend or any fucking trivial thing like marriage.” Stares you down, blue boring into your soul. “I want more than that meaningless shit.”

Your mind is nothing but the want of him - broad shoulders, his gravel-tired voice, the thick of him. 

Skin on fire with tremors. “Anything you want, Bucky. Everything. Please. I just, just-” you moan, a twisted mess on the floor before him. Voice a shuddered breath.  “You’re right. I want you everywhere. Mark me up. Show me - show me you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Then, he’s there. Hands holding your jaw, angling you open, tongue a deep slide. He breaks free, swallows your breaths, presses his head to yours. 

He’s out of his clothes while you fumble with what’s left of your own. They start to rip. “Shush. Let me.” Deftly, he undoes them, sets you free. “You need to wear these later. No one gets to see but me.” His eyes sparkle mischief until the thin sky edge gives way to black.

Cool fingers slide inside you. One, then two. Curl and pump, wet and obscene. Moments and, you’re there. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come.”

He doesn't let up. “Yeah you are. Give it to me.”  Your head falls forward, clinging, hanging on through a silent scream, wet rushes past his wrist.

“My turn,” he snarls. Towers over your, pushes a finger past your lips, hooks it around you cheek, and pulls you to his cock. Pressure and he angles your face up, finger replaced by thumbs at each side pulling your mouth wide - drool pooling - and pushes the tip onto your tongue. 

You give a tentative lick. Try to work the girth of him while he holds you open. “Look at me,” he says, hair a veil framing his face. “You can do better than that. Don’t hold back.”

You keep your eyes on him, nudge his hands away, work him halfway down, salty musk on the back of your tongue. 

“This ain’t about you being passive, Sugar. Come on. Show me what I do to you. Fucking treat me right,” he growls, grabs your head and shoves as you gag. “I didn’t spend months coming in my own hand, thinking about you, biding my time - waiting to do this right - for you to barely-” 

Fast, determined, almost angry, you swallow him down as far as possible, eyes wet and blurred.  Find the spot behind him, between his legs, warm, heavy, and rub in tight ovals. “Fuuuck - yesssss.” He twists your hair in his hands - holding you in your place. 

“That’s it. Oh god, Sugar, you didn’t just come up with that. What else you got hiding, waiting to show me? So fuckin -“ he shudders as you massage him more, pinky brushing farther back. 

He laughs, surprised. “Dirty girl.” He pulls out, then wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing himself there as he pushes back in. “You got the sweetest goddamn throat.” Thrusts while you run your circuits until he empties himself, head thrown back and thighs straining.

He moves faster than should be humanly possible, unfurls his jacket over the floor grid, and pulls you over it. Wads his shirt under your knees.

“Floor’s hard,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I only want you feelin’ me.”

“Spread.” He smacks your ass with a sting.

You obey, arch your back, offer yourself. He dives in with his mouth, tongue in deep. When he starts to thumb your clit, constellations bursting behind your eyes, you stop him. “In me. I want to come with you inside me. Only with you inside me.”

He smiles, face slick with you. Straightens, grabs your hips and pulls you to him as he starts his slide in. 

You mewl, palms flat and fingers splayed. Try to relax through the stretch and drag, strain to take the rest of him.

He runs his hand over your spine. “Just a little more, baby,” he coos. “Fuck. Look at you. Takin’ me so good.

“You’re mine. The moment I heard your heart race, you were mine. When I made you wait, you were still mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine.” He makes a final push, fully seated, sharp spark at your end. Holds you there, pulsing. Then, pulls out long, begins again. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. He was so right. So, so right and you can’t believe you waited for so long and you really need to thank Shuri for not inventing vibranium test tubes. 

“When that bastard wearing my face looked at you, looked at you like he had the right, that’s when-”  He moans long and low, makes a particularly full stroke, air sucking through his teeth. 

“That’s when I knew. No other man could have you. Even if that man was me.”

His hands dig into your hips. Anchoring you. He holds you open, watching. Cold thumb follows the line down the center of you. Stops above where you meet. Pad runs over where you’re tight and untested. 

“Pleeeease,” you keen. You need him. Need him everywhere. 

His hips falter, finesse sacrificed to curious need. 

“Has anyone been in here before?”

“No,” you mewl, debauched, wanton. 

His pace picks up. Harder, slamming, sting against cervix. “I need in there. Fuck. Sugar, let me in.”

Beyond words, you tilt your hips and push back, forcing him in knuckle deep.

“Only me,” he roars. “Promise me. Swear.” He angles over you, spreads you out, chest crushing to the floor. His free hand finds your neck. Pins your down. Breath harsh beside your ear.

“You. Only you.” You come, crying and clenching around him in all the places he is within. 

He pulls out. Kisses your face as he lifts you, turns you to him.

He settles between your waiting thighs - surrounds, nuzzles in, taking in your scent - until there’s nothing you can see, or feel, think, that isn’t him. 

Then he stills. Then watches. Then breathes.

Brushes his warm hand along the curve of your face. Presses a kiss, pillow soft. Weight pinning you down. He pushes fully back in, his head breaking skyward as you take him. 

Hips rolling full - the drag and curve brings him to your chest. His tongue slips along you breast, seeks and teases. Licks and pulls you in. 

His hands wrap around your thighs, anchors you, opens you up. Kisses deep and pushes in, until you’ve run out of you and he’s run out of him.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good. I knew you would. Thought about you every fu- every fucking day.” 

He stops for a moment, beaming down at you. You realize you were the one talking.   

“That’s my girl.” 

Then, he’s moves, ruts, whispers faint praise into your skin. Low. Can’t quite hear.

And you want to hear.

You want to taste his secrets and feel his sounds and listen to his mouth on you.

You push up into him, hard, matching him. You explode again, suddenly. 

“Fuuuuck.  He swells. Rhythm falters. Marks your walls. 

After, you tuck into his side, both of you curled up on the floor. His face is finally relaxed, serene. You press your lips above his heart.

“Bucky, I want you to know, I wanted this, I will always want this. I am yours. It wasn’t just the chemicals.”

He kisses the sweat and tears from your face. Tucks your hair behind your ear. “I know, Red, I know,” he says, eyes sparkling, voice sincere, “Bruce said there was ‘nothing’ to worry about. That wasn’t the pollen - that was just the antidote.”

#dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!fic

[lesbianshinobus]

meet ugly ;

okita & reader, gintama. it had started off as a normal work day. then a shinsengumi officer took a bazooka to your workplace. things only go downhill from there.

i recently got into gintama and i’m loving the series so far, so i had to write something for it. out came this scenario. please excuse any inaccuracies or out of character...ness. or don’t and point them out to me, that works too!

oh, and feel free to request headcanons/scenarios for the gintama characters. i’m itching to write more for this series. :^)

It had started off as a normal work day.

Business at Hokuto Shinken has been booming, thanks to the publicity it had received from the infamous Kotarou Katsura conducting a (disastrous) interview there, so Ikumatsu had hired you as a server on a full-time basis.

It’s only been a week, but you’ve thrown yourself into your work. Hell, you even enjoy it. After months of failed interviews and shitty part-time gigs, you finally hit the jackpot. The customers are chatty but well-meaning, your boss is strict yet fair, and the pay is good. What more could you hope for?

Apparently, for the Shinsengumi to not destroy your workplace.

The dirty dishes in your hands clatter noisily as you stare, wide-eyed, at the smoking crater that was once the counter. Customers race outside, their arms covering their heads, screaming bloody murder. A few of them have yet to pay for their meals, which are left abandoned and half-eaten on their tables.

Ikumatsu just stepped out for a break. How will you explain this to her once she gets back?

“Oops,” comes a deadpan voice. “Looks like Katsura isn’t here after all. That’s too bad.”

Your head slowly swivels towards the Shinsengumi officer. He stands in the entryway of the store, one hand tucked into his pants pocket while the other rests a bazooka of all things on the curve of his shoulder. A plume of smoke leaves the weapon.

“Oops? Too bad?” you repeat, stupefied. Then your eyes narrow dangerously. “That’s all you have to say? I might lose my job because of you, asshole!”

Instead of apologizing, he just blinks lazily at you. “Huh. You aren’t the old lady who owns this place.”

“How dare you! Nishiki-san isn’t old!”

He continues to ignore you. “Say, did that bastard Katsura drop by recently?” He casts a glance around, using the muzzle of the bazooka to scratch his head. Your eyes bulge at the sight. What is wrong with this guy?! “His ugly mug was spotted here.”

Katsura had been here, actually; just an hour ago, he’d ordered soba and chatted with your boss for the duration of his stay. Though she was gruff with him, it was clear there was something between them. Before you’d been officially hired, Ikumatsu warned you that the rebel leader visited often, and you assured her that you didn’t mind.

While you don’t approve of their violent actions, you understand why rebels so vehemently oppose the government. Apparently Katsura has turned over a new leaf and is advocating for peaceful rebellion, too, so you don’t mind serving the man. You’ve only seen him about two times since you got this job, but you’ve found that he’s more weird than intimidating, nothing like what his reputation makes him out to be.

Which is why you adopt a neutral expression and say, “Nope. Didn’t see him. At all.”

From the way the officer assesses you, silent, you’re certain he doesn’t believe you. You expect him to call you out on your lie. Instead he sighs deeply, his shoulders dropping. “Man, talk about a waste of time.”

That’s all he has to say about destroying a store and endangering civilians for no reason?!

You level a severe frown at him. “Oi, don’t think you’re off the hook. You’re paying for the damage that bazooka caused.”

“Hmm? What damage?”

“Do your eyes not work anymore or something! Look at that hole your weapon left in the counter!”

“Oh, that? It gives the place character.”

“Character? Are you fucking kidding me?” You could spit fire, you’re so enraged. “What about the customers who left screaming at the top of their lungs without paying, huh?”

“Every restaurant has to deal with people who dine and dash. If you ask nicely, I might look into it for you.”

You scoff, shaking your head. If he really thinks this is going to work on you, he’s got another thing coming.

“Listen here, pretty boy.” You drop the dishes on a nearby table and stomp over to him. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. He just cocks his head to the side, appraising you coolly. “You might think that uniform protects you from the consequences of your shitty actions, but it most certainly does not. Do you know how hard it was for me to get this job? I’m not getting sacked because of a mistake you made, got that? So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna apologize for making a mess, then you’re gonna pay for the damages, and then you’re gonna walk politely out of here. Capiche?”

You’re pushing your luck and you know it, but you’ve always had a temper and a dislike for authority. Plus, something about this guy just rubs you the wrong way. It might be his devil-may-care attitude, or the rude way he referred to your boss, or the fact that he nearly killed you by firing a bazooka into the store. All of the above, probably.

As you stand there, fuming and waiting for his response, he just stares. Then a slow, sly grin forms on his lips. “Aww. You think I’m a pretty boy?”

You freeze. Huh? That’s all he got from your spiel?

“I’m flattered, really, I am,” he continues, “but I’m on duty right now. Also, you’re not my type.”

“Wh-What?” To your horror, you feel your face heat up. “That’s not what I— I don’t— That was just a slip of the tongue!”

“And now you’re denying it because I turned you down.” He sends you a pitying look, then sighs. “This is getting awkward. You know what, I’ll save you the further embarrassment and just go.” He turns to leave, giving you a lackadaisical wave over his shoulder with the hand that isn’t holding the bazooka. “See ya around.”

You’re left sputtering, a mess of emotions brewing within you. It’s only when you force yourself to pick up the plates you discarded that you realize he never paid for the damages. He sidestepped the entire matter by mentioning your non-existent feelings for him. (Okay, maybe he’s cute in a rat kinda way, but so what? So what?)

Your knuckles clench so hard around the plates, you’re surprised they don’t crack from the force. That fucker. If you ever see him again, it’ll be too soon.

✧

Some time later, your boss returns from her break. She pauses at the entrance of the store, taking in the destruction. “What in the...”

You stop dusting soot off the ruined remains of the counter and bow your head. “I’m so sorry, Nishiki-san! A Shinsengumi officer came in with a bazooka, looking for Katsura-san, and this happened! Please don’t fire me.”

“Ah. I see.” You sneak a peek at her. Ikumatsu looks calmer than you expected. “They tend to come here often to track him down. Sorry, I should’ve warned you about that.”

“Th-They do?” She nods, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. You won’t be fired after all. “So, um. What will you do now, Nishiki-san? The officer left without paying.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” A shadow falls over Ikumatsu’s features. “The Shinsengumi will pay, if they know what’s good for them.”

You gulp at the dangerous aura emanating from your boss. You have no doubt in your mind that they will. Then you think back to her previous words.

The Shinsengumi drop by Hokuto Shinken often? Maybe that asshole had meant it when he told you he’d see you around. You resist the urge to do something stupid, like shout incoherently or snap the duster in your hands in half.

It looks like you will run into that guy again, and sooner than you’d like.

#gintama imagine #gintama scenarios #gintama headcanons #okita sougo #gintama x reader #sougo x reader #okita sougo x reader #gintama #m writes #reposted because i wasn't happy with it so i edited it #and added about 400 words #i'm happier with it now thankfully! #here's hoping y'all like it x

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 8

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 3,835

A/N: Totally self-indulgent, but when Sinatra is mentioned, this is the song I hear playing (though almost any would do): Nice ‘N’ Easy

Also, a big thanks to @harmonioussolve​ for reading this chapter before I had the courage to post anything!

Arthur paced in front of the door to Y/N’s apartment. His shoulders lifted as he sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t stop fiddling with the collar buttons of the red sweater he wore (one of the few pieces of clothing he had that fit him properly). A rose was in his hand, one he’d grabbed at a vendor on the way over. He’d gotten it on a lark - women were supposed to like flowers. Now he was on the verge of worrying off the leaves.

It’ll be fine. It’s only Y/N. Only Y/N - what a joke.

Forcing himself to stand still, he slowly raised his hand to trace the apartment number, 4A. Then he swallowed hard and knocked.

“Just a minute!” she called.

At the sound of her voice, he leaned forward to listen to her slight shuffling. As her footsteps brought her nearer, he screwed his eyes shut, trying to calm his pulse. Hearing the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked, he straightened. The door swung open.

There she stood, beaming. His breath stopped. That smile was for him. Because of him. It was hard to take-in. His eyebrows lifted and he held out the flower. “Hi.”

“Hi, Arthur. You look wonderful.”

His cheeks burned and he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Thanks. So do you,” he said.

Y/N took the rose from him and gently ran her fingertips over the petals. “This is lovely. Thank you.” She stepped back, then, and extended her arm to guide him inside. “Come in, come in.” After closing the door behind her, she darted back to the kitchen. “You can put your coat on the hooks by the door.”

He did as she instructed, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up next to hers. He felt his throat clench and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. Don’t fuck this up. Letting out a long breath, he stepped further into the apartment and peeked around.

It was different than he’d imagined. The white walls were sparsely decorated, with a calendar here or a print there. The cream colored carpet was plush, but struck him as a pain to keep clean. The living area was larger than his own, maybe by ten square feet. In the low light of the side table lamp, he could see there were no knick-knacks anywhere, no photos. Two doors were connected to the room, which he deduced were for the bathroom and bedroom. A third, glass door led outside. His eyes went to the kitchen, which was in the same spot as in his own apartment. It was somewhat longer, with a dining nook at the end.

He knew he was out of place. The freshness, the newness of the apartment was a stark contrast to his own, aged home. It was nice to be here, though. Different, but nice.

Y/N interrupted his reverie. “Did you have any trouble finding your way here?”

Arthur approached her, leaning against the kitchen entrance and folding his arms over his chest. “No, you gave good directions.”

She cocked her head at him. “I was thinking the other day how it’s funny you live so close by. Well, relatively close by.” Stirring slowly, her attention back to the stove, she continued. “I wonder how often we passed each other without noticing,” she said.

The words, spoken in her usual casual tone, landed with him, hard. He didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. Instead, he tried to focus on her easy manner. So far, it had always helped him relax.

He let his eyes rove over her form, noting that her conservative heels complimented the curves of the back of her calves. Her knee-length skirt prevented him from checking out her thighs, but it accentuated the feminine silhouette of her backside. The blue sweater she wore was snug, and he could make out the curve of her breasts. Her hair looked soft, and he alternated between wanting to touch it and breath in her scent.

The moment she looked at him, he averted his eyes to what she was cooking. He didn’t recognize it. “That smells good. What is it?”

“Beef stroganoff. I can’t take too much credit. My crock-pot did most of the work. I’m just boiling the egg noodles now, which is about the height of my cooking skills.” She huffed and shook her head at herself. “I’m selling myself well, aren’t I?”

Arthur met her gaze, then pushed himself to verbalize what came to mind. “I’m already sold on you.” He froze for a split second, then smiled in relief as her eyes warmed and he realized he’d said the right thing. As she retrieved a colander, he saw that she’d put the rose he’d brought in a glass of water. Emboldened, he stepped next to her. “I’m actually okay around the kitchen, taking care of my mother… Maybe I can help?”

She placed the colander in the sink as she fished a noodle out of the pot. After testing it, she handed him oven mitts. “Yeah, would you drain these? The pot’s heavy and I messed up my wrist at work today. Too much typing.”

He put them on and picked up the pot. “Are you all right?” he asked. Dumping the noodles into the sink, he watched her take out plates, cutlery, wine glasses, and a bottle of red wine.

Shit. Maybe Gary had been right.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, placing the silverware on the table. “Happens sometimes. Occupational hazard.” She grabbed the wine corker and opened the bottle, then held it out to him. “Here. You pour and I’ll serve.”

“Um, okay.” He took the it from her and furrowed his brow at the glasses. He’d drunk occasionally, but wine was new to him, and he was trying to figure out how much to pour. Half a glass? A full glass? He went with the latter.

Y/N’s hand was on his bicep in an instant and he stiffened. “Arthur, that’s too much,” she laughed. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

He flinched and put the bottle down. Did she really think that? “No, I wasn’t-.”

Her hand moving down his arm to the back of his hand stopped him. “I’m teasing you,” she said. She gave him a little squeeze. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”

The smile she was giving him, the glint in her eye, her close proximity. For a moment, he could see himself clearing the counter with his arm, lifting her onto it, stepping between her legs, pulling her mouth to his -

A nudge from her elbow caught his attention. “Is this enough?”

He blinked down at the portion. It was more than he usually ate in a day. “That’s plenty.”

After serving herself, she grabbed both plates and brought them to the small, round table at the end of the kitchen. He followed her lead, wine glasses in his hands. The corner of his mouth turned up when he saw he was supposed to sit next to her, not across from her. She sat down and put a cloth napkin in her lap, and, taking his cue from her, he did the same. “Well, enjoy.”

Arthur watched her movements for a few seconds before starting. He wasn’t used to sitting at a table and eating with someone, even though he’d often wished for it. It had always been more casual: TV dinners on the couch, or alone at his table as he wrote in his journal. He observed the way she held the knife and fork, in her right and left hands, respectively. He was used to cutting his food with the side of his fork. He tried to hold the cutlery in the same manner she did, but it felt unnatural. He could feel himself tense up. A short laugh forced its way through his throat. Wincing, he instinctively covered his mouth.

Y/N lightly put her hand on his shoulder, caressing him soothingly, then gave him a tender squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m a little nervous, too.” She hummed softly with a blush. “And I didn’t invite you here to be uncomfortable or someone else. Eat how you want.”

His eyes watered but he managed to blink it back, hoping she didn’t notice. She had no idea how often he wished to be someone else, away from this city, his conditions. But not tonight. He was glad to be here tonight. With her. Lowering the hand from his lips, he nodded. Taking his fork in his right hand, he took a bite. He chewed it slowly and mulled over the texture. “It’s very good,” he said. “Thank you.”

“It’s great when the weather’s this chilly.”

A few mouthfuls later, he tried the wine. It was surprising, a little dry, but he decided he liked it. He cleared his throat. “I know we talked about this before, but I still don’t understand how you could choose Gotham to live in. There are other cities.”

She took a drink herself. “I needed time to save up enough money to move. I was doing legal work at home, too. Once I’d put away enough and could leave, I applied to every paralegal job in a big city. Metropolis, Toronto, Central City. I didn’t care where it was. And I got work in Gotham.” She looked pleased. “I’m glad I did.”

Bashfully, he smiled back. “Me, too,” he said.

Looking ahead, she chewed thoughtfully. “I never felt at home in Boonville, you know? It’s such a small town. Nothing to do, not much opportunity. I thought I’d be able to settle down there and be content with my ex-husband, but that didn’t happen.” She squinted then and her eyes pierced his. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? That I’m divorced? I know it’s unusual, but I got married twenty years ago when we were both young and stupid.”

He wouldn’t have minded if she’d been locked up in Arkham with him. Arthur shook his head. “Does it bother you that I’m not?” He could see her shoulders loosen at his answer.

Chuckling, she continued to eat. “You seem to hate it here.”

He paused, pondering what to say that wouldn’t put her off. For reasons he would never understand, she loved Gotham. “People can be awful.” Bitter memories starting surfacing. “They’ll cut you off in line like you’re not even there. There was a homeless guy once, who died on the sidewalk near where I live. People were just stepping over him. Like they didn’t even notice.”

His voice lowered as he poked at the food on his plate. “What happened on the train?” he said. “That wasn’t the first time. You’re the only reason I got out of there all right.” He brought a hand to his forehead. “It’s tiring. And embarrassing.”

Y/N’s hand touched his and he let her pull it away from his face. “Don’t be embarrassed because others are assholes. Just don’t be one yourself. That’s all anyone can do.” She finished the last few bites of her food. “There are awful people everywhere.” A short snort escaped her. “At least here it’s in your face and you know where you stand.”

They continued in silence for a few moments, Arthur finishing his meal. “Oh, I haven’t told you yet.” He perked up, a wide smile on his face. “I have a stand-up show next Tuesday at eight. Maybe you should come see me?”

She stood, grinning down at him “Of course I’ll be there. Just tell me where.” Bending slightly at the waist, she picked up their plates. “Would you like seconds?”

He observed her, the closeness of her face. Suddenly, he was hungry again. “Please.”

~~~~~

Nicotine soothed what remained of Arthur’s nerves as he stood on the fire escape, cigarette in his mouth. He’d been craving a smoke since entering the apartment building. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he went over the evening so far. He was feeling pretty good, which was new. He hadn’t made a mistake, except with the wine, which Y/N didn’t seem to mind too much. It was nice to be around a person who so comfortable with themselves. He hoped it would be contagious - it seemed to be when he was around her.

At least partially. Part of him wondered what she saw in him, anyway. A professional woman like her interested in a high-school dropout like him? He hadn’t minded leaving school at the time. It had been difficult, with his laughter and black moods. And quitting had eventually become a necessity so he could take care of his mother. Working odd jobs and concentrating on comedy and performing had helped him get out of his own head, at least for a time. Y/N was such a contrast, having gone to college and made something of herself. He hoped she never realized he was worthless.

He closed his eyes against the musings worming their way into his brain, wishing his mind would let him enjoy himself. He felt himself slipping sometimes, though he still mostly managed to push through the negative thoughts. They were recurring more often, however. Two of his medications had run out. He only had enough of the rest to get him through Sunday. The effects of suddenly stopping them wasn’t something he knew much about, having been on them for so long. And now he had no one he could go to to ask. So far, the most obvious change had been the shortening of his refractory period from a few days to a few hours.

Though Y/N might have also helped with that. He blushed, feeling a little shameful, thinking about it with her maybe twelve feet away.

As if on cue, he heard her open the glass door behind him. “The ad for the apartment said this was supposed to be a balcony,” she giggled. When he didn’t reply, she loosely put her arm around his back at his waist. “Arthur, you’re so tightly wound. I want you to have a good time. You need more wine.”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth turning up as he blew smoke through his nose.

Her voice was apologetic when she spoke again. “I’ve noticed when I touch you, you sometimes tense up.” Y/N stroked his side, softening her words. “Should I stop? I don’t want to, but if you-”

Arthur turned to her, grasping her hand desperately. “No. Please.” He entwined their fingers, savoring her smaller palm against his own. It was odd to voice what he craved as if it mattered. “I want you to touch me. I think about it a lot.” He scoffed at his own vulnerability. “I’m - I’m just not used to it.”

She nodded in understanding, tightening her hold on him. “It’s been a couple years for me, too.”

He flicked his cigarette off the ledge and watched it as it fell. It’s only been thirty-five here.

“Come back in,” she said, turning and pulling him inside. “It’s cold out and you could do without the cancer sticks.”

The notes of music coming from a radio in the corner caught his ear. Sinatra was playing. After closing the door, she stood in front of him expectantly. When he gave her a crooked smile but didn’t move, she extended her hand to him. “Mr. Fleck, you told me you were a good dancer,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Show me? Quick, before the alcohol wears off and I change my mind.”

He grasped her hand tenderly, then, and stepped closer. “Change your mind? About me?”

“No, silly. Embarrassing myself.” She gripped his shoulder.

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t think that’s possible.” It took him a couple seconds to steel himself before he could place his hand on her side. Gently, he started to move, leading her to the song’s beat and rhythm. He longed to look into her eyes, and did so for a few moments before self-consciousness took over. When that happened he pulled her closer, his eyes shutting as his jaw grazed her cheek.

After a few minutes, her forehead fell forward onto his shoulder. She moved her hand to his chest and sighed contentedly. “Where’d you learn how to dance?”

His hand went over hers. “My mom taught me when I was little. That’s when I started. And I’ve listened to a lot of Jackie Gleason Orchestra records.” He dipped her, then, not too far, but enough to feel her weight on his arm.

She laughed. “Those records are so cheesy. I love it.” When he brought her back up, she put her hand to her forehead. “I gotta sit down. My head’s spinning.” At his disappointed groan, she waved dismissively and sat on the couch. After taking off her heels and pouring a third glass of wine, she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about you and your mother. You’re in a tough situation. I’ve been there.”

“You have?” he asked.

Y/N swallowed hard, taking a drink. “One of the reasons I had to stay home for so long was my father. He had dementia.” Looking up at him, she added, “Is that what you deal with?”

His brow pinched and he sat next to her. “I’m not sure. She’s been sick a long time. She focuses on strange things.” He rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “Lately, she’s been obsessed with Thomas Wayne.” Sighing, he said, “She keeps writing him letters asking for help, because she worked for them thirty years ago.”

She nodded and turned her body to face him. “My father got like that, too. Always obsessed with the mail. Thinking someone was stealing from him.” She sniffled once and swiped at her nose. “My mother had passed away. My sister - I have a sister - she tried but she has her own children.” Tucking her feet under herself, she leaned against the back of the sofa. “In the end, the worst thing was the emotional back and forth. Most days he was a shadow of who he used to be. But there were days when he knew who I was.” She clicked her tongue. “You keep hoping for more of those, but they don’t come.”

Arthur saw her lip tremble and her eyes gloss over. Pressure formed in his chest. He wanted to comfort her and make her smile, but he didn’t know how to do it. He settled for putting his hand on her forearm and turning to her.

Staring into the distance, she continued. “You get to the point where you don’t recognize yourself. All you want is to be alone with your thoughts instead of…” She blinked a couple times and looked at him, as if realizing she wasn’t alone, and grimaced shyly. She put down the wine glass. The heel of her hand went to her eyes to wipe away unshed tears. “Whew. I shouldn’t have started that third glass. I’m sorry. I’ve ruined our beautiful evening.”

“No,” he answered quickly, moving his hand to her shoulder, the way she had comforted him at the dinner table. “You didn’t.”

She stood, still seemingly embarrassed. “You’re too kind.” She held her hip and looked down at him. “You’ve asked a couple of times if I was real. Are you sure you are? You seem too good to be true. How are you not married with five children or something?”

He widened his eyes and studied the surface of the coffee table, laughing quietly. Good thing she couldn’t read his mind. Or his journal. “Now I know you’ve had too much to drink,” he said.

She continued to stand there, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “It’s possible.”

He smiled wryly. Sensing the evening was winding down, he picked up the glasses and brought them to the kitchen. He put his hands on the edge of the counter, grasping until his knuckles were white. Even though he thought it would be the correct thing to do, considering she was tipsy, he didn’t want to leave.

Y/N followed. Her hand touched the small of his back as she moved to rummage in a bottom cabinet. “Let me pack some of this up for you and your mother.” She pulled out a few Tupperware dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

Not heeding his words, she started to fill each dish with a separate part of the meal. “I’m one person. It’ll go bad before I eat it. Plus, I want to.”

Arthur slowly went to the door and pulled on his jacket. When he turned around, she stood before him, a grin on her face, bag of leftovers dangling from her fingertips. “Thank you for coming over, Arthur. It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.” She leaned forward, stood on her toes, and gave his cheek a tender kiss.

He let out a long breath, then, staring at the floor before meeting her look. Before the moment passed, before he left, he had the urgent need to do something, anything. His voice cracked slightly. “Y/N, I…” For one of the first times in his life, he followed his instinct, placed his hands on the sides of her face, and leaned in to kiss her.

Y/N’s lips were soft, so soft, against his own, and her short moan warmed him. He could feel her pull him closer, her hands going across his back as his own slid down to her sides. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, one of her palms going to the nape of his neck, her fingers in his hair. When her fingernails met his scalp, a groan escaped him and he grasped her hip. It happened so quickly. He felt himself hardening in his pants as her lips sought his.

She broke the kiss first, gasping and giggling. “I’ll be at your show next week, all right?”

Arthur was lightheaded; she was still hanging onto him. His voice was unsteady when he answered. “Yes. Okay.”

She finally released him from her arms and handed him the food. He took it gratefully, a sad smile breaking out as he turned to leave. She tempered the blow by giving him another quick kiss when she opened the door. “Get home safely.”

He nodded, voice raspy when he answered. “I will.”

She slowly started shutting the door, whispering, “Good night” before it closed completely.

Arthur stood in the hallway. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he attempted to quiet his heart. Did she know what she did to him, how quickly and hard he had already fallen for her?

With a sigh, he started down the hall, stretching his arms in front of him to expel the energy built up in his wiry frame. After the elevator opened, he entered it with a little spin, and chuckled, thinking about he was going to need a new journal after writing tonight.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​@clowndaddyfleck​ @stephieraptorr @rommies @sweet-nothings04​

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x female reader #watchwhathappens

[unavenged-robin]

Leaping and hopping on a moonshadow

or, the one where after a long, long time the Batman and The Red Hood meet on a rooftop. 

(Also on AO3 bc this stuff is long)

-

He had known from the very start of this particular mission that there would be very little need of secrecy involved, but the years of training under Batman and the League had shaped the way his body moved in such a deep manner that it was just too unnatural not to try to blend in with the shadows around him. Instead than controlling that impulse, it would be easier to go in the opposite way and make himself known; he could do it too: after all the Red Hood has not a common sight in Blüdhaven for some years now, but he isn’t a secret either and criminals usually have a long memory.

He still finds himself hesitating. And it’s not because of the Batmobile approaching on the street just across from the building he’s currently on top, no. Batman knows he’s here, it’s a legitimate assumption that he’s always aware of the Red Hood’s movements. He finds that he doesn’t mind it that much. Before, when he was still a kid, that constant surveillance had bothered him like nothing else had, but in time he’d got used to it. Now their paths had been severed for too long for it to be a problem or even a nuisance anymore. It’s just a reminiscence of that what was once done out of love and is now done out of suspect, fear, maybe anger. He, himself, had stopped caring a long time ago, he just finds it sad that the old man could not let it go.

Several floors beneath him, in the yard outside the antique shop he's keeping his eye on, three masked men start moving the crates from the storehouse into the back of a black van. The man he's here for tonight hasn't shown up yet, but he isn’t surprised about that, Owain Dorsey had a reputation for being a hard one to locate, and as much as it pains him to admit it, hearing about this operation was more of a stroke of luck than the result of months of hard research. Luck was also a debatable term in this case, since he would have very gladly avoided coming back on the continent, let alone on this very city. Sure, Gotham would’ve been worse, but given the circumstances, not even that much so.

He picks up the binoculars from the floor and scans the west side once more. Batman would come in from the north, unless he decides to go around the store, in which case he would have to find a way to distract him long enough to make sure he wouldn't go after Dorsey before him. He has no reason to believe Batman knows anything about his operation, but better be careful anyway: he knows there are other eyes around, and he knows they are no longer on his side (if they ever were, that’s it).

He checks the gun strapped to his left leg, making sure that the holster is unfastened, then he runs his gloved fingers along the edge of the katana at his other side. He’s not nervous about having to use either of them, but he’s not looking forward the discussion he’s going to have with Talia if any of this goes wrong. Not to mention the one he’s going to have with the asshole that is the new Demon’s Head, who’s never agreed with this plan to start with.

He sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes for the split of a moment and, finally, he jumps.

*

Batman gets there before him, which was somehow expected because if there’s a talent he can recognize to the man, it’s his timing: never there when you most need him, always in your way at the least opportune moment. He’s not too worried, though. Tonight should not be hard, there will be no killing involved and no moral conflict about what needs to be done. What he needs is one single information, and a bit of violence was never frowned upon too much, not even when he was a kid and the adults around him were so, so busy settling an example for him.

The back of the van spews out three more masked goons the exact moment Batman lands in the middle of the yard, and he smiles behind his helmet, looking at their guns. One of them is holding a gold plated Desert Eagle, and that’s what he was looking for: the stupid and very distinctive little quirk that had made Dorsey instantly identifiable, linking him to a series of robberies targeting antique shops and jewellery stores.

Batman doesn’t even look at him as they fight back to back against the small group of thieves. He tries to hold back enough not to cause serious damage, but all in all he doesn’t worry too much about the punches he’s landing: as long as the gun stays where it is, Batman shouldn't have anything to complain about. He keeps an eye on Dorsey, but doesn’t show too much interest in him either, merely knocking him back a few times.

“On your left”, Batman growls, and he ducks immediately, his body so trained he doesn’t even give himself the time to discuss the order. It upsets him a little that the instinct to obey that voice is still so strong in him, like it hadn't been years since he'd worn the Robin's costume, like all the blood and betrayal that has happened between then and now means nothing just because they’re together again. And he hates that a part of him really believes that, he hates that this feels so familiar it makes his heart hurt, he hates finding out that he had missed this.

“Think about yourself”, he growls back, and he takes advantage of the clumsy attack of one of his opponents to grab the man by the arm, twirl around on his feet, and throw him against Batman's back. Low blow, he knows, but if the old man hadn't seen it coming, it's not his fault.

Batman goes down on one knee for just one moment, and that’s all he needs. He grabs Dorsey by the collar of his jacket, pulls out his grappling hook and shoots it above their heads. They’re both gone in a matter of seconds, and Batman shouting behind him only adds some sweetness to his victory. He won’t be able to follow them right away, not with five other men trying to keep him on the ground.

He lands on the roof of the building that had served him as a point of observation all night long. The bag he had purposely left open is still there, sporting a few tools that would come quite handy in the unlikely event this discussion should not go down the way he wants it to. He makes sure Dorsey understands this by throwing him down on the concrete just next to the bag, his nose almost touching one of the sharp tips poking out of it.

“Where is it?”, he asks, the helmet warping his voice into a metallic rasp.

The mask on Dorsey’s face is long gone: small eyes stuck into a lump of fat vaguely shaped like a human face look up at him, bloodshot and scared.

“I don’t know what-”

He doesn’t give him the time to finish and pushes his right foot right into the man’s trachea long enough for the man's lips to take on a vague bluish tinge, as Dorsey wriggles underneath him and tries, without success, to get rid of the combat boot that is crushing him.

“The book”, he repeats in the same even, scary voice. “Tell me where it is, if you want to be still able to talk about anything ever again.”

He removes his foot, allowing the man to take in two quick breaths, and then, before Dorsey even tries to answer him, he thrusts the tip of his boot under the man’s chin, as a warning.

“If your next word is not the one I want to hear, I'll make you swallow your teeth”, he informs him. One thing he doesn’t dislike about his costume is the look on his opponents’ faces when they look at him and see nothing but their own reflections. He doesn’t need this kind of tricks to make sure they believe him when he threatens them, but surely it doesn't hurt.

Dorsey licks his lips, then swallows down, evaluating the chances that the Red Hood could maybe be bluffing. He’s not. They all should know that by now.

“Dishna”, he whispers.

“Egypt, then”, the Red Hood says. It makes sense. They already have a small contingent of people looking for the asset there. Talia will be happy to know she was right: cowards and traitors, when they don't know where to go, they always go back home.

The rustle behind him warns him of what’s about to happen. He’s quicker than the old man this time, and he gets to knock Dorsey unconscious with a well placed kick before the batarang flies so close to his face it actually make a small cut into his neck.

He rolls on his feet and takes himself to the other side of the roof before standing up to face his old mentor.

“Good evening”, he salutes him, making sure to sound as sarcastic as possible. “There are nicer way to say ‘welcome home’, you know.”

He brings a hand to his neck and withdraws it covered in blood. Not much, but still enough to annoy him. He had pointed out the flaw of an uncovered neck under a full-face helmet several times: that strip of naked skin is practically an invitation to be beheaded, but his predecessor had retorted that no one else was ever supposed to wear that costume apart from him - he least of all. Stupid Todd.

“Did you kill him?”, Batman asks.

“Unless you’ve gone blind in your old age, I’m pretty sure you can see he’s still breathing”, he answers coolly. “And you can take him and tie him up with the others, if you want, I have no use for him anymore.”

Clearly distrustful of that immediate hand-over, Batman takes a step closer to him.

“Then why did you take him?”

“That’s none of your business, I’m afraid. He’s alive and I’m not going to fight you for him, it should be enough for you to be happy”, he retorts. “It's definitely an improvement compared to the last time we saw each other, Grayson.”

That makes Dick stop, physically and mentally: he can see it. It’s been years, yes, but they can still read each other so well, it’s frankly unnerving.

“Take off that helmet”, Batman says. “Please, Damian.“

Damian pretends that the please is what persuades him to comply. The truth is that he’s never liked the constriction of that stupid thing all over his face, dulling his senses and forcing him to rely only on its technology - and as advanced as the League had made it, he still doesn’t entirely trust anything outside himself. The truth may also be that, after all these years, he wants to look at Grayson with his own eyes, and maybe, at the same time, he wants Grayson to look at his real face.

“Take off that cowl”, he still demands in return.

Grayson hesitates, but only for a moment. He pushes the Batman’s mask back with a sigh almost as satisfied as Damian’s. Before this moment he had never considered the fact that now both of them are wearing a costumes they never wanted in the first place. The irony of a vigilantes life, Damian supposes.

There are grey strands in Grayson’s hair now, and wrinkles around his eyes. Damian’s surprised to see him so old, to find out that time has left such an evident mark on him. Not that he expected to find him identical to how he remembered him but… almost, maybe. Not so similar to Father, that’s for sure.

“You look just like Bruce”, Grayson says softly, mirroring his thoughts. “I mean, you look more like him than before. It’s scary.”

Jason and his mother use the word unsettling instead of scary, but they say it in the exact same way as Grayson.

“It's not a pride of mine”, Damian answers sharply. “And I'm sure the feeling is reciprocated.”

Dick shakes his head.

“He misses you”, he answers, almost smiling, and he uses that gentle voice that Damian knows so well. “And so do I.”

“The feeling is not reciprocated.”

Dick takes another step towards him.

“Don’t”, Damian warns him, and his brother stops again.

So many times Damian had wished for this moment, and so many times he had imagined a reconciliation that he was not possible, but, more than that, so many times he had feared that Grayson would never even try to make it happen. Knowing that he was wrong is a small victory he doesn’t intend to share, not even with Grayson himself.

“How’s Jason?”, Dick offers after a moment of quiet.

Damian shrugs, feigning indifference. He could lie, or say anything else, but he doesn’t see the reason to do hide something that’s not going to be a secret for more than a few days.

“Sitting on Grandfather’s throne, last time I checked.”

It's a pretty hard blow to take, but Damian has to admit that Grayson cashes it with a certain grace.

“Is it true, then?”, Dick only asks. “Is he the new Demon’s Head now?”

“That’s what my mother has decided.”

And what a conversation that had been. Damian had never seen Jason so angry or Talia more unyielding. A clash of titans indeed.

Richard looks at him like he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to do so. Maybe because he doesn’t want to hurt him, maybe because he knows it’s not his place anymore.

“Are you okay with it?”

“He’s the one who killed Grandfather”, Damian answers. “And I owe him enough not to kill him right away to take what's mine, at least.”

In truth he hasn't wanted his grandfather's throne since he was eight years old, but neither Grayson nor Todd need to know that, even if they had probably known even before Damian himself had realized it. He’d still like to keep both of them on their toes, if he can, and Talia would never forgive him for that unnecessary admission of abdication anyway.

Grayson doesn’t answer him right away, instead he kneels down next to Dorsey’s inert form and ties the man’s hands behind his back. He does it slowly, as if it were a difficult task that required a lot of his attention.

“Is it what you think?”, he asks eventually, when the last knots is tied, in a calm and almost curious tone. “That you owe Jason for what he did?”

Damian stiffens, immediately aware of the turn the conversation is going to take. This is what he had always wanted to avoid.

“He saved my life.”

“I know”, Dick answers.

“He saved my life when you and my father refused to.”

It hurts him to say it out loud. He hopes it hurts just the same for Richard to hear it.

Still on his knees, Dick looks up at him with a plea in his eyes.

“Don’t say it. We tried, kiddo. You ought to know that.”

Damian shakes his head, feels the sting of the cut on his neck and the deeper ache down in the pit of his stomach, that quiet rage that still tightens his throat like a knot on fire.

“You were never going to kill Ra’s”, he argues. “Neither one of you has ever even considered the idea.”

“That’s what you think.”

“That’s what I know”, Damian almost yell.

Grayson sits back on his heels, a position of surrender Damian doesn’t really want to see him in right now.

“Todd did what neither of you could”, he continues, cruel and honest. “And I owe him my life for it.”

Dick’s mouth twitches in a grimace that Damian is not able to identify. Could be guilt, could be anger, could be something else entirely.

“Is that what he told you?”, Dick asks.

Damian doesn’t like that implication at all.

“No. He never told me anything about it.”

It’s not completely true. It’s, in fact, a blatant lie. Jason had only spoken about it once, and Damian still remembers what he’d told him. It was his life or yours. It wasn’t a hard choice. And the simplicity of those words was the thing that had hurt him the most, at the time. Because he had known, right here and right there, that it was the same thing he would have done, and just as easily as Jason had done it, if it had been his choice, if it had been Richard’s, or Father’s, or even Todd’s or Drake’s life on the line. He would’ve killed for all of them, but only Jason would - and did - kill for him too.

And even at seventeen Damian had known that that limitations wasn't a proof that they didn't love him enough. They just loved him differently. But that only meant that the problem was not them but him, Damian, and how better solve it than by not leaving? Stay in the court where his Grandfather had dragged him, away from the family that had not come after him, claim the altar where his body had almost been sacrificed to the Demon’s Head glory as his own new throne. Back then it had made more sense to him than the idea to go back, like Jason had wanted him to.

So he’d stayed, and Jason had stayed with him, and Talia had made it work. And it had broke his heart to leave one family for the other, but he’d already learned oh so long ago that he could survive that particular pain, after all. And Talia was not Bruce, and Jason was not Richard, and Alfred was long gone by then, but Cassandra shows up at the new League’s quarters sometimes, and Drake and Brown still call him every now and then, and always, always, on his birthdays.

With Father and Richard there had been no other option but to cut ties, because anything else would’ve just hurt a lot more. And he had known from the very first time he had stolen Jason’s old Red Hood costume, that going around into the world with that helmet on his head was going to keep them away. He had wanted it. And that, he regrets sometimes. All these years gone by in silence, with this affection that still burns his anger to ashes. And all it took was seeing Batman once, for Damian to want to run into Dick’s arms just like he used to do as a kid, to want to see Bruce too, and to feel the warm weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder just one more time.

But a wish is only that, a whim of the imagination, and reality is quite a different thing.

Richard stands up and the Batman’s cape behind him twirls into the wind. Instinctively, Damian takes a step back.

“Stay”, Dick says, and it’s so out of the blue Damian almost believes he’s misheard.

“What?”

“For the night”, Dick adds. “Let’s go home, Bruce will be so happy to-”

“I’m here on a mission”, Damian interrupts him. “And Gotham is not my home anymore.”

When Dick moves again Damian senses immediately what's about to happen. So he raises his hand to ask for one more moment of truce.

“If you try to stop me, we’ll have to fight”, he starts. “And whatever way it ends, I can promise it won't end the way you want it to.”

He can see the struggle behind Richard’s eyes, he can actually feel it like it were his own, and in some ways it is. Damian’s always had very few certainties in life, but Grayson’s love had always been one of those. He knows exactly how much his brother’s hurting right now, he knows what his instincts are yelling, what he wants to do, the things he wants to say. Because this fracture between them is not beyond repair, and they both know it. But what would a fight and then forgiveness bring at this point? Nothing but more pain.

And Dick knows this too, and that’s why he pulls the cowl back over his eyes.

“Say hello to Jason for me”, he says, as he lifts up the unconscious man over his shoulder.

“Will do”, Damian agrees.

He watches him jump then, and follows him with his eyes for a minute or two. It doesn't escape his attention that Batman doesn't tie up Dorsey with the other men - left in plain sight near their missed heist for the police to find - but that he pushes him inside of the Batmobile instead. Damian knows Grayson’s going to interrogate him, and he knows Dorsey will talk. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way they can stop them now, and ultimately, there’s no reason either for them to meddle with League’s business anymore.

He picks up the red helmet and pulls it over his head, hiding his face again.

It’s time to go back home.

#damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #I know people are gonna yell at me for this one #but YOLO #future au #shari writes

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (11)

The scar on her lip is kind of a pain.

It feels strange for one thing, tough and bumpy, making her aware of its presence every time her mouth shifts or when she gets too excited while talking or when she yawns too widely.

Of course, once she’s reminded that it’s there, she want to fiddle with it. But for some reason whenever she gets bored enough to do so, Naruto or Sakura or whoever’s sitting closest to her will grab her arm and say “No.” in a Very Stern Voice.

It almost feels a little demeaning. Not quite, but almost.

What is demeaning is Uchiha glaring at her, and demanding, “Are you some kind of coward?”

She blinks, thermos of miso halfway to her mouth. “Beg your pardon?”

He eyes her disdainfully. “We’re going to be ninja. We fight to kill our enemies—”

“I’m going to be a pirate, actually.” She interrupts.

Naruto snorts softly into his rice.

“—Pirates kill people too, shut up.” Uchiha hisses.

“Wait. Is this about the biting thing?” She asks, incredulous. Surely not. Uchiha is a clan kid. He should know how this works—

Uchiha sniffs imperiously. “You’ll just drag me down if you always need Sakura to save you from a fight.”

Apparently not.

Robin give her strength.

“Hey!” Kiba yells. “Sakura beating up Ami was totally badass. Mizuki-sensei shoulda given her a medal instead of detention!”

Sakura goes as pink as her hair as Akamaru yips in agreement, mumbling something about it not being a big deal around her second stick of dango. She does return the fist bump Kiba offers though.

“That’s not the point.” Uchiha retorts dismissively. “The point is we’re going to fight and kill as ninja— don’t.” He stabs an accusing finger in her direction and she raises her hands in mock surrender. “And Ketsugi never fights back. She says stuff, but then she runs away, or lets other people take care of it, or hurts herself. It’s weak, stupid cowardice.”

The last word is said with such vehemence that it’s hard for her not to flinch.

“Well, it’s not like I have any choice.” She snaps, irritably.

Uchiha scoffs. “What are you talking about?! The only thing stopping you is your own stupid, cowardly ideas about pacifism!!”

She blinks, trying to process that last bit. “What? What on earth are you on about?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know!” He screams, all but jumping out of his seat, “It’s just like him! I’m not watching another one—not when I can stop it!!”

Uchiha looms over her, glaring down, chest heaving from the force of his yelling.

She has no idea what he’s talking about. She feels more worried for him than insulted at this point.

“Hey Shino.” Chouji cuts in, munching on his second onigiri. “There are insects that don’t get along with your bugs, right? Ones that weren’t born in your hive?”

Shino tilts his head, letting his insects eat bits of strawberry from his daifuku off his finger. “That is a technically true statement. Why? Because while my kikaichū do not have natural enemies in the way ants and termites are opposed to one another, there are several species of insect and arachnid that would prey upon them, which have been utilized by imitator clans in other hidden villages.”

“Right.” Chouji continues. “So, let’s say you found one of these bugs that eats them had injured one of yours. Not killed, but injured. What do you do?”

Shino stiffens, but replies, “I would exterminate it. Why? Because it has proven itself a viable threat to my colony.”

“Wh-that doesn’t mean anything!” Uchiha interrupts. “It’d have to be one of Aburame’s bugs attacking another of the same hive, since Ketsugi was born here, so—”

“No I wasn’t.”

Uchiha actually has the gall to shoot her a disbelieving look. “Yes you were.”

“No I wasn’t.” She hisses, leaning forward. “I was born in Iron, like my father. One of my earliest memories is him and my mother leaving the country, on the run from something that made it better to drug their baby rather than let me cry and have whatever it was find us.”

A hush falls over the table.

“That would explain why you’re here, in Konoha.” Shikamaru says slowly. “Even if it’s not the closest to Iron, it’s one of the strongest hidden villages, so pursuers would have trouble trying to get through our defenses.”

“And guess what happens if the village decides me and mine are too much trouble to live here anymore?” She snaps, taking a swig of her miso.

It’s gone lukewarm.

Uchiha’s turned pale, staring blankly down at his bruschetta. He slowly sits back down.

“So...” Kiba says, feeding Akamaru some pork belly. “Are you, like, some kinda lost princess or something?”

“What? No, of course not.” Ino and Sakura’s eyes take on a worrying gleam. “I said no. I’m not. No. Stop that. Stop it right now, the pair of you.”

“We’re not doing anything~” Sakura sing-songs, hands clasped against her chest.

She squints at them, lips thinning. “Lies.”

“Hey hey, Mayu-chan,” Ino says, leaning forward. “If you just happened to be a lost princess or daimyo’s daughter hiding from a usurper’s assassins, you’d totally hook your best besties in the entire world up with some hot princes, right?”

“Does Naruto even like princes?” She replies, bracing herself against Sakura’s playful assault on her shins and Ino’s tossed napkins. “Ow, ow, I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“Aw, what! I wanna meet a prince, believe it!” Naruto whines, though his playful tone sounds a little strained.

“Tough.” She sticks her tongue out at him. He blows a raspberry back in response.

“So who were your family in Iron?” Chouji asks, passing her an apple slice.

She shrugs, handing him her cookie. “Just one of the many, many samurai clans who serve the Iron daimyo. Like the Kiryuuin, the Kurogane, the Kishi, the Kageyama, the Kihote, the Kikuchi, the Kaname, the Koremune, the Kusakabe, and loads of others.”

“Do all of these clan names start with ‘K’ sounds?” Hinata asks.

“...No.” She says.

“Could you give us an example one that doesn’t?” Hinata asks.

“...The Okashi.”

“What the heck, that doesn’t count! They just slapped an ‘O’ in front of the ‘Ka’!” Kiba complains, Akamaru barking his agreement.

“You’re the last person to say anything about ‘K’ names.” Shikamaru replies.

“You’ve not got much room to talk either, Shika-kun.” Chouji ribs, nudging his friend.

From there it devolves into a debate about how many “k” sounds are in whose names, and who has the right to criticize an excess of “k’s” based off of that. So far, only Shino and Hinata are awarded that honor.

Naruto isn’t as active in the conversation as he usually is, only responding when addressed directly, staring into space when not.

Uchiha doesn’t say much at all.

Naruto goes straight to the swing-set outside the Academy once the day ends.

She follows him, watching curiously as he clambers up to stand on the swing, looking up at something behind her with a solemn expression on his face, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

She goes up to the tree and sits between its roots to wait.

Lee comes out of the Academy, and come striding towards them. “Greetings Mayu-chan! Naru—”

“Ssh!” She hushes, jerking her head towards Naruto.

Lee instantly clams up, a quizzical expression on his face.

She shuffles a bit to the side and pats the ground next to her, and he plops down to sit cross-legged beside her.

“What’s Naruto doing?” He whispers to her.

“I don’t know.” She whispers back. “But he’s concentrating really hard, so I didn’t want to disturb him.”

Lee nods in understanding, then waves silently but with great enthusiasm at a girl with her hair in buns who passes them.

She seems like a nice girl, because she waves back.

They play five rounds of rock-paper-scissors, four of which Lee wins, and one of which results in a hushed debate about whether “gun” is a “youthful” option in this game, before Naruto finally speaks.

“I’m gonna be the Hokage, believe it.”

They look up at him, standing on the swing, jaw set in determination, hair swaying in the breeze that swirls a few leaves past his face.

“...Okay? Weren’t you always going to be Hokage though?” She asks, not quite seeing where he’s going with this.

“Wh—yes, but s’more than that.” Naruto says, exasperation evident in his tone.

He lets go of one of the swing’s ropes, and gazes down at his clenched fist. “I wanted to be Hokage ‘cause old Jiji’s the most respected person in the village. Everyone loves him, an’ he protects everyone, because everyone’s his precious people.”

He looks at them, eyes bright and painfully earnest. “But even though everyone in the village is precious, some’ve them’re still so mean to you, and to Otou-san and to Okaa-san, just for being from somewhere not here, f’r bein’ different, an’ that’s not fair. So I wanna be Hokage, so I can tell them not to be mean. I’m gonna be Hokage so you don’t have to bite yourself anymore, and so we can all always go home to Okaa-san and Otou-san and Gai-sensei an’ eat tortoise bread. So everyone can be happy, and understand I’ll protect everyone, no matter what, believe it. What foods we like is more important than where we’re from, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

She swallows around a lump in her throat. “Right. T-that’s exactly, exactly right.”

Lee gives a great sniff, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “Your resolve is highly youthful, Naruto! I am sure you will even surpass the Yondaime when you become Hokage!!”

Naruto rubs the back of his head, grinning widely.

Then a stronger gust of wind rocks the swing and he teeters dangerously, arm windmilling as she and Lee lunge forward to catch him, try to cushion his fall somewhat.

She’s partly successful as Lee’s lunge ends up knocking Naruto off the swing entirely, the pair landing on her with a thud that drives the air from her lungs and leaves her wheezing.

“Ow.”

They end up half-limping home.

Otou-san is dozing on the couch, and he blinks awake drowsily at their chorus of “we’re home,” only to tilt his head in sleepy confusion.

“What happened to you three?” He asks, nodding towards her dust and bark covered dress as he picks a few leaves off of Naruto’s clothes, before pulling aside some of Lee’s hair to see the faint bruise where the swing swung back and clocked him in the head. “Did you all get into a fight at the Academy?”

They share a glance.

“N—” Lee starts.

“Yes.” She hastily cuts in, “Big fight. Very nasty.”

Naruto nods vigorously along with her. “Yeah, there were loads of missing nin with huge swords an’ killer laser jutsu an’ stuff.”

“That does sound scary,” Otou-san says, gently ruffling Lee’s hair with bandaged hands. “Lee, why don’t you go get an icepack from the freezer for that bruise? They’re on the top shelf.”

As Lee nods and trot off to the kitchen, her father shifts to sit more upright on the couch. “What were missing-nin doing at the Academy anyway?”

“They thought Mayu-chan was a lost princess, so they were tryna steal her for ransom.” Naruto replies, kneeling next to the couch so he can receive hair ruffles as well.

“Ah, I see.” Otou-san smiles, obliging him. “Mayu-chan, your mother is waiting in the back yard to do that.”

“Already?” She grimaces. She’d forgotten— thought she had more time...

“You don’t have to.” Otou-san urges softly. “There’s no shame in not doing it. I never did when I was your age. We could tell—”

“No.” She says firmly, fists clenched. “I-I want to do this too. Just—let me go prepare, alright?”

Her father nods slowly, his face solemn. She turns and climbs the stairs, ignoring Naruto’s worried stares or his queries about what was going on.

Sanji and Brook give her courage. Let it be over quickly, at least.

“Done.” Okaa-sama says, and she can barely contain her shudder of relief.

Her mother hands her a mirror, brushing stray bits off her shoulders. “Just as it always is, see?”

She keeps her gaze on her newly trimmed fringe and the Nico Robin cut brushing her shoulders, pretending she doesn’t see the shorn, wet slivers littering her clothes and the ground around her.

“Thank you, Okaa-san.” She smiles weakly, gratefully accepting the hug she receives and trying to ignore the pit of guilt in her stomach.

“I don’t get it.” Naruto says, sitting on the threshold of the back door. “What’s so bad about a haircut?”

“Well, for samurai, long hair is a mark of honor.” Otou-san says, hands folded into his kimono sleeves. “To have it cut off is a sign that you are no longer a samurai, which is highly dishonorable for lots of people in Iron. Mayu-chan has the spirit of a true samurai, so she hates having her hair cut.”

“Is that why you still have long hair, Jirou oji-san?” Lee asks, sipping on a cup of juice while holding a half-thawed ice pack to his head.

Otou-san tries to do an overdramatic flip of his braid, making the two boys giggle when it just ends up smacking him in the arm. “My hair is far too lustrous to be cut by the likes of sword or scissors!”

“Care to prove it, dear?” Okaa-san challenges, brandishing her scissors playfully.

Her father retreats back into the house in mock-fear. “You’re one of the lights of my life, darling! Even in the Pure Lands, my love for you will burn brighter than the sun!”

Her mother shakes her head. “And mine for you will shine brighter than the moon. Now inside, all of you, so we can begin making dinner.”

The discussion about hair continues through the preparation of hamburger steaks with sautéed greens.

Naruto and Lee are suitably amazed by the idea of women in Iron wearing their hair practically down to their ankles. Her brain just keeps conjuring up a mental image of Kumadori from CP9 in a woman’s kimono, with his long pink hair and kabuki poses.

“Doesn’t their hair get dirty, Mayu’s Okaa-san?” Naruto asks, almost dropping the patty he’s throwing between his hands.

Her mother shrugs. “I’m sure it must do— I was just as surprised as you when I saw it after I married your Otou-san and moved into the clan compound. I must confess, I never really understood the fascination for long hair that a lot of people in Iron have.”

“Do they not wear it like that in Kiri, Chie oba-san?” Lee says, depositing his chili flake-and-paprika-filled hamburger into the hissing frying pan.

“Oh, they can.” Her mother says, finally taking Naruto’s hamburger off him when he fumbles it again. “My baby cousin Mei had hair down to here.” She wiggles an elbow as she deposits the patty into the pan. “But since her hair was so thick and wavy, she found it a headache to deal with. Mayu-chan’s lucky she got her father’s fine hair, even with my color.”

“I love this color.” Otou-san declares, leaning over from stirring the spinach to plant a loud, wet kiss on Okaa-san’s cheek.

She pretends to gag as Naruto snickers, while Lee watches the display of affection with bright, shining eyes.

“Anyway.” She interrupts loudly. “Otou-san, what are we going to do for practice with the bokken? We were gonna move into fighting opponents before—”

There’s a moment of awkward silence as everyone tries to avoid thinking about what “before” signified.

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that, Mayu-chan.” Her father says, smile a touch too wide and gleeful. “I’ve made arrangements so we shouldn’t be thrown off our planned course too much. You may even pick it up faster!”

She understands the reason behind his glee the next morning.

She wishes she didn’t.

“You can’t be serious.” She says to her grinning father.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He beams. “This is the perfect way for you to get used to fighting an opponent. You need to learn how to adapt what I’ve taught you to counter a variety of fighting styles, given that it’s unlikely every opponent you face will be playing by the same rules you are.”

“Yosh! Well-said, Jirou-san!” Gai-sensei cheers, far too energetic for someone who’s just made them to do thirty laps around Konoha on one leg.

He finishes warming up and takes up opening position for Strong Fist style. “Now, Mayu-chan! Your aim for today will be to land a single blow on me before I disarm you! When you succeed, we will move on to landing two consecutive blows, then three, and so on until you are able to spar against me properly. Are you ready?”

The feeling of imminent regret is an old and familiar friend by this point.

She tries to make sure her grip on the bokken is as solid as possible. “Ready.”

By the time her mother opens the back door, she’s lying on her back, panting from the effort of trying to stand, and the bokken is lodged at the top of the neighbor’s tree.

She hadn’t even landed a hit once.

Even with her father yelling “helpful” advice like “Go for the hands!” once chakra had come into play.

“You have a visitor, Mayu-chan.” Okaa-san says.

“Ah, greetings young Uchiha! How are you this most youthful morning?” Gai-sensei asks cheerily, like he isn’t half-way to scaling the garden fence to get her weapon back for her.

She turns her head to the side, just in time to catch sight of Uchiha staring at the green-spandex-clad wonder that is Gai-sensei in silent stupefaction.

She wishes she had a camera so she could capture his expression.

Uchiha shakes his head, as though to disperse the shock of acknowledging Gai-sensei’s existence, then looks around until he sees her on the ground.

“What are you doing?” He asks, brows drawn down like he’s personally offended by her presence.

“Dying.” She tells him flatly. “Lee gets Habu-san, and Naruto gets all my cookbooks. He’ll eat way too much ramen otherwise.”

Uchiha glances between where Gai-sensei is making a lot of rustling noises and at her, considering. “Can I have the sword?”

She snorts. “Like shit, that’s Sakura’s. You get the all purpose flour.”

Her father sighs and kneels down to offer her an arm up. “Language, young lady. You did very well today.”

Her legs wobble under her and it’s a fight not to collapse right back down.

Gai-sensei leaps from the tree with a yell, rolling and neatly popping up in front of them with a thumbs up. “Yes! Once you stop freezing up in the face of jutsu, you’ll land a blow on me for sure, Mayu-chan!”

Uchiha shoots her a look that is extremely judgmental. “You couldn’t even land one hit?”

“Shut up Uchiha.” She says, taking the bokken back from Gai-sensei with a tired nod. “Why are you here, anyway? Is there a problem with cooking today?”

“We’re not doing that.” Uchiha drops his voice a few octaves. “I’m giving you the opportunity to prove your fighting spirit. You versus me. No politics, no cowardice. No holding back.”

The wind picks up, a cold draft that swirls leaves between them.

“Do you want me to die? No.” She says, leaning on the bokken. “I’ve spent all morning getting my a—”Her mother clears her throat pointedly. “—My butt kicked. I need a rest. And food.”

“Wh—I’ll give you food!” Uchiha blusters. “A-and it’s not just you! I’m fighting everyone!! You can rest while I fight Lee or Shino or something!”

“SUCH YOUTHFUL SPIRIT!!” Gai-sensei bellows, throwing an arm over Uchiha’s shoulders. “You truly are a paragon of your clan’s sense of camaraderie, young Sasuke! I would be honored if you would allow me to witness your battle with Lee!!”

“Young Sasuke” cringes away from the spandex’d arm. “No. No adults allowed. They’ll just hold us back.”

Gai-sensei wilts.

“Mayu can take some pictures of the fight for us!” Okaa-san adds quickly. “She’ll be happy to do it, won’t you Mayu?”

Gai-sensei immediately perks back up. “What a youthful idea, Chie-san!! Mayu-chan, be sure to capture these expressions of Youth as best you can! We’re counting on you!”

He shoots her a vigorous thumbs-up as her mother goes pink and swoons.

“Ah, I think our camera’s in a drawer over here—” Otou-san darts into the house, muttering under his breath about where he last saw it.

She stares blearily up at them. “Can I have a shower and some breakfast first?”

By the time she comes back down from her shower, the atmosphere feels very...awkward.

Lee’s arrived, and has been armed with their family camera on a thick cord around his neck. It’s what she’d consider an old one, big and bulky, that prints out its photos from a little slit on the bottom.

He waves to her, his mouth full of rice. She gives him a little wave back.

Uchiha is sitting stiffly in Naruto’s chair, staring down at an untouched plate of tamagoyaki like it’ll hold all the answers to the universe.

Okaa-san is washing dishes, back tense. She hands her a plate without a word.

Otou-san’s mouth is drawn, bandaged hand curled into a loose fist. He doesn’t even seem to notice Gai-sensei’s hand on his arm.

Gai-sensei smiles at her, but it’s strained. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost say it was worried.

She wants to ask what happened in a cool, sneaky way that wouldn’t make the situation get worse, like Robin or Nami or Sanji or Brook can. But she’s not smart enough for that.

So she shovels egg and rice into her mouth, trying to eat as quickly as possible.

She wishes Naruto was here. It’s not fair the Hokage gets him for practically the whole two days on these weekends.

She kicks Uchiha’s ankle under the table. When he yelps and glares at her, she nods towards his plate and mouths “EAT”.

He scowls at her, but finally takes a bite, chewing aggressively.

They clear their plates in silence.

“I guess we’re heading out.” She says, after putting their dirty dishes in the sink. Uchiha just grunts and heads straight for the door.

Even Zoro has better manners than that kid.

“See you later Gai-sensei, Jirou-oji-san, Chie-oba-san!” Lee yells, holding the camera tightly. “Mayu-chan and I will fight with all of our youthful spirit today!”

“Lee!” Gai-sensei cries, tears streaming down his face. “You’ve worked so hard in training...I know all your youthful efforts will allow your strength to blossom!!”

“Gai-sensei!” Lee yells back, beginning to cry himself.

“Lee!”

“Gai-sensei!”

She chuckles despite herself. “I’ll make sure to get a lot of good pictures, Okaa-san, Otou-san.”

Her mother catches her face in a soapy hand, thumb stroking over her cheek. Her eyes are impossibly sad, for some reason.

“We love you, Mayu.” She says. “You know that, right?

She smiles. “Of course I know. I love you too. Even more than Luffy loves meat.”

The worry on Okaa-san’s face melts into fondness. She leans forward to plant a kiss on her forehead, then steps aside so Otou-san can wipe the soap off her cheek with a tea-towel and plant a noisy kiss there instead.

Uchiha makes an impatient noise in the hallway, so she and Lee shout their goodbyes as they follow him out of the door.

Lee really likes the camera.

It took him a little bit to work out the settings to keep the photograph from being under or overexposed, but now he’s merrily snapping away at anything that captures his attention.

Which, so far, has included a bunch of pink flowers, a dog, a bird in its nest, a couple of ninja outside a weapon shop, an old lady in a pretty kimono who called him “a very nice boy”, and three babies in matching ninja-themed prams.

“Can you stop that and get a move on?!” Uchiha snaps. “There won’t be any film left at this rate.”

“Ah! Not to worry, Uchiha-kun!” Lee digs around and pulls out three black capsules of the stuff from...somewhere. “Jirou-oji-san was nice enough to insist I take extra!”

Uchiha groans and slaps his hands over his face as Lee catches sight of a curry restaurant and snaps a shot of its sign.

“Aw, lighten up Uchiha. Let him have his fun.” She ribs gently. “Where’s the harm?”

He stops in the street. When she looks back at him, he’s trembling slightly, fists clenched.

“Fun doesn’t make you stronger.” He sneers, “It’s a weakness that sets you up to be killed.”

He strides forward and body-checks her out of the way, stomping off down the road.

She stares after him, more than a little disquieted, scratching at her scar before following.

She stops and stares.

Along the top of the Uchiha compound there are katana, naginata, sai, spears, daggers, arrows, knives, staffs with kunai tied to the top, even what looks like a fishing pole.

All of them have been bound to the top of the exterior wall by copious amounts of black wire and tape, rusting or ornamental blades jabbing at the sky like a hedgehog’s spines.

Lee lifts the camera and snaps a picture.

The rest of their lunchtime group is standing near the entrance to the compound, also gaping at the wall’s spiky additions.

“Ah, Sasuke-kun!” Sakura says. “Um, what’s all this?”

Uchiha scoffs. “I know you’re a civilian, but even you can recognize traps, can’t you?”

“Aren’t traps supposed to be hidden?” Kiba mutters, Akamaru whining on top of his head.

Uchiha pushes open the door, pausing to unhook what looks like several tripwires and other mechanisms. “Even that man wouldn’t be able to get past all of this. He wouldn’t even dare chance it!”

They all begin trooping inside, only for Uchiha to quickly turn and say, “Step exactly where I step if you don’t want to die.”

There’s a veritable web of tripwires crossing the path through the compound, spidering haphazardly up trees and the sides of buildings. Several of the abandoned stores have been rigged with what looks like the sharp things Uchiha couldn’t mount on the wall, alongside what she thinks she recognizes as rudimentary explosives.

Usopp preserve us, she thinks as they gingerly pick their way through the tangle after the last Uchiha, who may have gone off the deep end while they weren’t looking.

Shikamaru mutters “Troublesome,” like an oath.

#my writing #but i like one piece #naruto #one piece #reincarnation #isekai #naruto uzumaki #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #chouji akimichi #nara shikamaru #ino yamanaka #shino aburame #hinata hyuga #rock lee #maito gai #itachi uchiha #one piece sanji #one piece brook #one piece robin #kumadori #naruto oc #haircut #sasuke’s trauma

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Hell House (1.17)

ʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ... ᴮᵃᴮʸ ,,, i’m SOFT

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: John’s gone, and the siblings are itching for a hunt. They call on the Richmonds for an extra hand. Sam and Dean start their own war, and Olive is left in the middle once more. Things are not what they seem.

Warnings: cursing, blood, bloody mouth, mentions of suicide, murder, gross old man flirting, etc

Word Count: 10,100

“What are you doing?” I asked Dean through a yawn.

I had fallen asleep on his arm the minute we hit the road, but now he was reaching for something, and it had woken me up. Jinx shuffled around in the backseat.

“Shh. Go back to sleep.” He kept his eyes on the road as he dug around in the backseat.

I let my eyes fall shut as I leaned back into his side. The Daeva had left a nasty gash on my thigh, one that we wouldn’t be able to explain to a doctor. Dean stitched me up, which was fine because I trusted him with my life, but it hurt like a bitch the whole time. Sam had to take Jinx out for a walk because she wouldn’t stop crying.

“Do you reach my phone?” Dean whispered.

I huffed as I dug through his jacket pocket and flipped his phone open. He took it, aimed it at Sam, and snapped a picture. I groaned at the noise and looked up to see Sam asleep with a plastic spoon hanging out of his mouth. Dean tossed his phone in my lap before blaring the music and singing along. Jinx let out a bark.

“De!” I whined, covering my ears.

I had been feeling weak and cranky for the last week. Sam shot up at my voice, or the thump of the bass, and spit the spoon out of his mouth. It landed on my knee and I swatted at it, letting it fall to the floor. Dean grinned as Sam leaned forward and turned the music down.

“Sorry, bug. Didn’t mean to spit it out on your knee.” He cooed as he put his arm up, inviting me to curl up against him.

I only grunted as I leaned over and pulled my feet up onto the seat, making a deliberate effort to hit Dean’s knee with my toes.

“Haha, very funny.” Sam glared at him.

He chuckled, ignoring my prodding. “Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man, we’re not kids anymore, Dean. We’re not gonna start this shit again.”

“What shit?” Dean asked.

“The prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates.”

“Aww, what’s the matter, Sammy? Scared you’re gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again?” Dean teased.

“Alright.” Sam shrugged. “Just remember, you started it.”

Dean snorted. “Bring it on, baldy.”

“Please, no.” I fussed. “I always get caught in the middle of your stupid prank wars.”

“Swear we’ll leave Olive out of it.” Sam put a pinky up, and Dean side-eyed him.

“Do I look like I’m gonna pinky promise you anything?”

I shoved my pinky into his face, coming dangerously close to his eye.

“Fucking pinky promise to leave me out of it, you prick.”

Dean scoffed as he hooked his pinky around mine. “Fine, fine.”

“Where are we anyways?” Sam asked with a yawn.

“A few hours outside Richardson. We’ll stop in a bit to let Jinx use the bathroom. Gimme the lowdown again?” Dean glanced between us and the road.

“Uh, hold on.” Sam took his arm back and sat up straight, digging through his bag. “Alright, about a month ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?”

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit. Legend says it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters.” Sam explained.

“Right, which is why we called on the Richmonds. Hunter will be our temporary Olive.” Dean spoke, then faked a gag. “God, I hate the sound of that.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back into my seat. “Why can’t we just do this like any other job? Why’d we have to bring the Richmonds along?”

Dean eyed me. “Relax, short-stuff.”

“We’re not letting you walk into a death-trap, Ol.”

I snorted. “Oh, please, Sam. We’re hunters. You do realize we walk into death-traps for a living, right?”

Sam and Dean shared a look over my head. Dean said nothing, and Sam huffed.

“Anyways, this group of kids sees this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?”

“Well, that’s the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains.”

I yawned. “Maybe the cops are right. High school kids are fucking idiots.”

“Ollie, you are a high school kid.”

“No, I’m a hunter who happens to be high school kid aged. There’s a difference.”

“Either way, I read a couple of the kids first hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere.”

“Where’d you read these accounts?” Dean asked, skeptical.

Sam cleared his throat and looked out the window, his tell of embarrassment. I giggled. He must’ve gone onto some pretty stupid websites.

“Well, I knew we were gonna be passing through Texas, so um… last night, I might’ve surged some local… paranormal websites.” He pushed out quickly before clearing his throat again. “And I found one.”

“Uh huh.” Dean looked over with a face that read ‘that’s ridiculous!!’.

I snorted. “And what’s it called?”

“Hellhounds lair dot com.”

“Oh, lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom’s basement.”

Sam cracked a grin. “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed. “Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit them in the persqueeter.”

I giggled, and Sam groaned.

“Ah, grow up, Ol.”

“Oh, come on, Sams, it’s a funny word.”

Sam shook his head with a sigh. “Look. We let Dad take off, which was a mistake by the way, and know we don’t know where the hell he is. So, meantime, we’ve gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There’s no harm in checking this out.”

“Right, right, except that if Olive steps foot in the house she’ll probably die.”

I rolled my eyes again before turning to Sam. “Where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

                                                            ***

“If she blocks me in, I swear to god.” Dean grumbled as Everett pulled in next to us.

She parked so close that Dean couldn’t open his door. He cursed under his breath, and Sam rolled his eyes as he opened the passenger door. I turned around and smiled at Jinx.

“We’ll be right back, girly.”

“Make sure you leave the windows down for her.” Sam reminded us.

“Alright, come on, De.” I tugged on his sleeve.

“Total bullshit.” He mumbled under his breath.

“I know, I know.” I climbed out through Sam’s side. “You coming?”

He let out a sigh as he climbed out, fixing his jacket.

“You really need to learn how to park, Winchester.”

“Bite me.” Dean spat.

“Alright, alright. Come on.” Sutton pulled her sister along.

Hunter stifled a yawn as he climbed out of their car, pulling a hoodie on. 

“Nice dog.”

“Name’s Jinx.” I latched onto Sam’s hand and yawned, too.

“So how are we handling this?” Sutton asked.

“Reporters.” Dean called over his shoulder. “Come on.”

                                                           ***

“It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life, I swear to God.” The boy sitting outside tells Sam and Dean.

Dean tries hard not to roll his eyes. He focuses on Jinx instead, who had barked so loud they had to take her out of the car. The little dog is on her side, head on Dean’s shoe. He smiles as she looks up at him and wags her tail.

“From the moment we walked in, the walls were painted black.” The second boy speaks to Everett and Sutton through the serving window.

“Red.” The first boy says.

“I think it was blood!” The girl hisses at Hunter and Olive, who are sitting inside with her.

“All these freaky symbols.” The first boy shudders.

“Crosses and stars.” The boy at the serving window shakes his head.

“Pentecostals.” The boy outside says, and Sam and Dean share a look. Even Jinx tilts her head.

“Whatever, I had my eyes closed the whole time.” The girl smacks her gum.

“But I can damn sure tell you this much. No matter what anybody else says…”

“That poor girl.”

“With the black-”

“Blonde-”

“Red hair, just hanging there.”

“Kicking.”

“Without even moving!”

“She was real.” The girl reassures. Hunter and Olive sigh at each other.

“One hundred percent.” The boy nods at Dean vigorously.

“And kinda hot. Well, you know, in a dead sorta way.” The second boy smirks. Everett and Sutton look at each other, eyebrows shot up high.

“And… how’d you find out about this place anyway?” Sam, Sutton, and Olive ask.

“Craig.”

                                                           ***

“Just stay separate.” Dean snapped at Everett.

“Relax, jackass.” I hissed as we stepped into the shop.

“Fellas.” The guy at the counter looked up. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, are you Craig Thursten?” Sam asked.

“I am.” He looked hesitant.

“We’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News. I’m Olive, this is Sam and Dean.” I smiled.

“No way.” He looked me up and down, and I cringed.

He was definitely Dean’s age, if not older. I could physically feel Dean struggling not to take a step forward and shove me behind him.

“Well, I’m a writer too. I write for my school’s lit magazine.”

“Well, good for you, Morrissey.” Dean hissed.

The bell rang, and I turned to see the Richmonds walking in.

“Oh, excuse me.” Craig sauntered to the edge of the counter, eyes honing in on Sutton.

Dean pulled me to stand between him and Sam.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no, we’re just looking. Thanks.” Hunter forced a smile as Everett glared, moving to stand in front of Sutton.

I smiled. She and Dean were more alike than they realized.

“So, what can I do for you folks?” Craig came back to us, again staring at me.

“Um.” Sam cleared his throat as Dean stepped ever-so-slightly in front of me. “We’re doing an article on local hauntings and rumor has it you might know of one.”

“You mean the Hell House?”

Dean sighed. “That’s the one.”

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story.” Craig chuckled.

“Why don’t you tell us the story?” I tilted my head.

“Well, supposedly back in the thirties, this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end.”

Sam and I glanced at each other, and he turned back to Craig. “How so?”

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quickly, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop, but he just strung them up, one after the other. And when he was all done he just turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside.” He eyed me again. “I’d steer clear if I were you, Ol.”

Dean’s nostrils flared and I shook my head. “Don’t call me that.”

“Where’d you hear all this?” Dean all but growled.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it from. Ya gotta realize, I… I didn’t believe it for a second.”

“But now you do.”

“I don’t know what the hell to think, man. I, I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

Dean nodded, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me away from Craig. “Thanks.”

Hunter immediately went for me, taking me from Dean and throwing an arm around my shoulders. “What’d he tell you?”

I shivered. “Enough to know that it’s probably just a spirit. Simple salt and burn should work. Just have to find where he’s buried.”

Hunter looked over our shoulders at Craig and sighed. “He better not be caught up in this. And he better never look at you like that again.”

I snorted. “I can take care of myself, ya know.”

“I know.” He looked back at me. “And so does Dean. But just in case.”

                                                           ***

“Can’t blame him.” Sam scoffed as we walked up the muddy road to the house.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal.” Dean snorted as Jinx tugged at her leash.

“Got an-”

“Yeah.” Sutton cut Everett off and pulled out an EMF reader.

“Come on, let’s circle the house.” Dean reached out a hand for me.

I giggled and took it, swinging our hands back and forth like a little kid. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress the smile growing on his face. Jinx yapped, pulling us around the house.

“Don’t laugh at me, kid.”

I giggled again. “Sorry. You’re just… so protective.”

He snorted. “You’re not allowed to turn this into a chick-flick moment.”

I smiled. “I love you too, De.”

He rolled his eyes again, this time with a huge grin on his face. “I love you too, sweetie.”

“Hey, De?” I swung our hands again.

“Yeah, pumpkin?”

“Would you ever do that?”

“Do what?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

I looked up at him with puppy eyes. “Mercy kill me.”

He blinked, shocked. He stopped walking, and I had to stop with him. Jinx practically choked on her leash, confused as to why we weren’t still moving.

“Baby girl, I would never.”

A small smile grew onto my face. “Make me fight it out to the end?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Side by side, wouldn’t give you a choice.”

I squeezed his hand and started walking again. “Thanks, De. I wouldn’t mercy kill you either. Couldn’t stomach it.”

“Anything?” I asked Sam as he held the EMF out.

“Yeah. A little bit.” Sam squatted to scratch Jinx behind the ears.

“They won’t be any good.” Dean sighed.

“Why?” Sam and I looked up at him.

Dean nodded up at the powerlines. “I think that thing’s still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing all the readings.”

“Yeah, that’d do it.” I sighed.

“Yeah. Come on.” Dean tugged me back to the front of the house.

“So what’s the deal here?” Everett asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Sam sighed, and Sutton shrugged at him. Did middle children have a way of communicating with each other or something?

“You guys stay out here, make sure Olive sticks with you. Keep Jinx with you, too. We take Hunter in there and make sure we know what we’re dealing with.” Dean instructed as he walked me over to them, placing me between Everett and Sutton.

I sighed. “I still think this is stupid.” I took Jinx’s leash from Dean’s hand.

Dean smiled at me. “I still don’t care.”

“Alright, you ready?” Sam asked Hunter, hand on his shoulder.

I smiled. Sam was a big teddy bear.

“Yeah, I think so.” Hunter nodded as Dean gave him a rough pat on the back.

“Guys.” I called as they began to trudge up the steps.

All three boys turned back, Dean in attack stance and Sam with big puppy eyes. I ran up the steps and threw my arms around each brother’s waist. Jinx jumped around, pawing at the boys’ legs.

“I love you guys.” I whispered into Dean’s jacket.

They both sighed and hugged back.

“We love you too.”

“Be careful.”

“Always.” Sam kissed the top of my head before I backed away, stepping back down the steps.

“Hey, Winchester.” Everett growled.

Dean rolled his eyes. “What?”

“If my kid brother comes out of there with a single scratch-”

“Yeah, same goes for you. I want my baby back in mint condition.” Dean snarled at her.

Everett snorted. “Can’t give her back in mint condition if she’s already a disaster.” She mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. “Just go.”

The boys headed inside the house, flashlights up. I sat down on the curb with a sigh. Jinx snuggled onto my lap as Sutton sat down next to me.

“You alright?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t like the idea of my boys going in there without me.”

She nodded. “I know. I wasn’t too sold on Hunter going alone, but I know he’s in good hands with Sam and Dean.”

I snorted. “Look, I love Hunter, but I don’t trust him to keep my brothers safe.”

She nodded again. “I get that, too.

I closed my eyes with a huff. Jinx let out a small bark. A floorboard creaked, and I shot to my feet, confused.

“Olive? What is it?”

Another floorboard, and then a giggle. It wasn’t Sam’s, it wasn’t Hunter’s, and it most definitely was not Dean’s. Something that sounded like an EMF meter went off, and I turned to the house. Jinx started to go crazy, barking like there was no tomorrow. A bark turned into a growl.

“Shit.”

“Olive?” Everett waved her hand in front of my face.

“There’s someone else in there.” I tore past the siblings and up the steps.

“Dean?” I hissed, blinking to adjust to the dark.

They didn’t answer, but the same floorboards creaked. I cursed under my breath and went down the hallway. I heard Jinx howl from outside.

“Olive.” Dean hissed, and it came out like a strangled bark.

“What the-”

“Shh.” I cut them off, holding a hand up.

Something in the next room thumped, and the boys looked at each other wide eyes. Hunter went for my wrist, and I pulled away from him, standing in front of the door with my shoulders squared. Sam and Dean looked at each other, and Dean sighed. He looked at me. I nodded, and so did Hunter. Dean busted through the door, and a bright light hit our eyes.

Danger.

Blood began to drip from my mouth, a drop landing on my shoe. I bared my teeth.

“Oh, cut! It’s just a couple of humans.”

My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I threw my head back with a growling scoff. Dean snorted, looking at me over his shoulder. Two guys were standing in front of us, one holding a camera, and the other holding… an EMF meter?

“What are you guys going here?” The one with the EMF meter asked.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean hissed.

“Uh, we belong here. We’re professionals.” EMF meter laughed.

“Professional what?” I asked through gritted teeth, swallowing blood.

“Paranormal investigators.” EMF shoved business cards into Sam and Hunter’s hands.

He tried to give one to Dean, but my older brother only stared with arched eyebrows. He turned to me, and I shook my head, trying to ignore the blood that had made its way down my chin.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Dean groaned.

“Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler?” Sam read off the card.

“Hellhounds Lair dot come.” Hunter sighed. “You guys run that website.”

“Yeah.” EMF grinned.

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Dean nodded. “We’re big fans.”

I closed my eyes, trying to hold back an annoyed laugh.

“And uh, we know who you guys are too.”

My blood ran cold and St. Louis ran through my head.

Dean.

My mouth began to bleed again, and my eyes began to water.

“Yeah?”

“Amateurs.” EMF scoffed, and I suddenly felt lightheaded. 

Dean watched me go pale and came to my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him with a sigh, and a second stream of blood went down my skin. Dean sighed and wiped at it with the sleeve of his flannel.

“You alright?”

I nodded. He gave my arm a squeeze and gestured to Hunter.

“Keep her standing.” He whispered as he handed me off and turned back to EMF and camera boy.

“Gonna be okay?” Hunter asked in a hushed tone.

I nodded again. “I think so. Just a lot of back and forth.”

“St. Louis?” He asked.

I took a breath, closing my eyes. “Yeah.”

“So if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here.”

“Yeah, and whatcha got?”

“Harry, why don’t ya tell them about EMF?” Idiot One grinned.

I leaned my head back into Hunter’s shoulder and groaned.

“Well…”

“EMF?”

I smiled, knowing Sam was playing dumb and knowing he was biting back a grin.

“Electromagnetic field? Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here.” Ed flicked the EMF meter on.

Dean turned to me with a shit-eating grin, and I turned my face into Hunter’s neck, struggling not to snort.

“Whoa, whoa! It’s 2.8 mg!”

“2.8. It’s hot in here.”

Dean let out a low whistle, and Sam mumbled something.

“Huh.” Dean huffed. “So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…”

“Once. We were, uh, we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table.”

“By itself.”

“Well, w-w-w-we didn’t actually see it, we heard it. And something like that, it uh… it changes you.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, a serious look on his freckled face. “We should go, let them get back to work.” He looked over his shoulder at me.

I nodded, feeling sick.

“Yeah. You should.” Ed snipped.

“Sam. Hunter, Olive.” Dean ushered us out the door.

“Yeah, work!” Ed called after us as we made our way down the hallway.

“Why did you run in?”

“Why didn’t you bring a shotgun?”

“Are you gonna stop bleeding any time soon?”

I giggled at Hunter, but Dean cut me short, grabbing me by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder.

“De!” I squealed, hitting his back.

He dropped me in front of the steps of the house and glared at me.

“Why the hell did you come inside?”

I sighed, shoulders dropping. “I heard something.”

Sutton and Everett ran up, Jinx on their heels. She yapped, jumping at the boys.

“I’m so sorry! We tried to stop her!”

“I told you-”

“Stop.” I cut Dean off as he went for Everett’s throat. “Stop, I ran out.”

“Why?” Dean barked at me.

I shrunk back with a flinch, and Sam pulled him back. Hunter grabbed his sisters and dragged them away. Jinx sat at our feet with a whine.

“I could hear them moving inside the house.” I whispered.

“What?” Sam tilted my head.

“I could hear them. The floorboards, EMF’s giggle. The EMF meter itself. I could hear them from the curb, De.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

Sam sighed too. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was just worried. I wasn’t sure what it was.” I pouted, my head feeling tingly.

They sighed, and Dean brought me into a hug. “I know. It’s okay. Just try to take care of yourself too, baby.”

I nodded, letting my head drop against his chest. “Okay.”

“Go to sleep, Sammy’s got ya.” He gave me a squeeze.

I nodded again. Sam picked me up by the waist and set me on his hip. I yawned and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Love you.”

Sam chuckled. “Love you too, bug.”

                                                           ***

“Hey.” Sam sauntered down the steps.

“Hey!” I called Dean as he met us halfway.

“Whatcha got?” He asked.

“Well, we couldn’t find a Mordechai but we did find a Martin Murdoch who lived in that house in the thirties.” Dean let go of Jinx’s leash, and she came running.

“He did have kids, but it was two boys. And there’s no evidence he ever killed anyone.” Sutton finished as Sam picked Jinx up.

“Huh.” Dean huffed.

“What about you?” Hunter asked.

Everett turned back to the cars, and we followed her.

“Well, the kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl but I did hit up the police station.” Dean sighed.

“No matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed.” Everett shook her head.

“Look guys. We did our digging. This whole thing’s a bust. For all we know, those website freaks made this whole thing up.”

“Yeah, he’s got a point.” Sutton put her hands on her hips.

“Alright. We can split then, I guess.” I shrugged.

Everett grinned. “I’m fine with that. Let’s go!”

“I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals.” Dean winked.

Sam wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me away from Dean as he made his way to the car. He held Jinx to his chest with the other arm, tucking her under his jacket.

“Wh-”

“Shh.” Sam whispered.

I waved to Hunter and Sutton as Everett started their car. Dean got into the car, and Sam pulled me toward the window with a smile. Dean turned the key, and latino music began to blast. Dean hit the radio, but the wipers began to go off instead. He tore the key out with a jump. Jinx barked, scared.

“What the fuck?”

Sam giggled as he held the door open. I stared with wide eyes as I climbed into the car. Sam licked his finger and marked a ‘one’ in the air before pointing to himself. He got into the car and I inched closer to Dean, still a bit startled. Jinx circled between me and Sam before laying down, and I stared at him. I thought for sure that Sam knew better than to mess with Dean’s car.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Dean gave him a dirty look. “Weak. That is bush league.”

I curled my arms around one of Dean’s.

“Can we go home now?”

He smiled down at me. “Of course we can, sweetpea.”

                                                           ***

“Hello?” I asked as I flicked my phone open.

Sam and Dean had left me sleeping in the motel room while they went to a diner to pick up dinner. Jinx was asleep at the feet of Sam’s bed. She loved him the most.

“Olive, have the Richmonds left town yet?”

“No. I just got off the phone with Hunter. Everett is asleep and Sutton went out to get them dinner. I thought maybe you guys would run into her.”

“Well, we haven’t. Look, call him back. We missed something. We’ll call Sutton, tell her to meet us back at the Hell House.”

“Okay… De, what happened?”

He sighed. “A girl’s dead.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. We saw her. It was real.”

I sighed again. “Does this mean I’ll have to hold onto your belt loop the whole time?”

He snorted. “You bet your ass it does.”

I scoffed. “Okay. Love you guys. Be careful.”

“Always. You too. Love you.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” Dean made an obnoxious kissing noise before hanging up.

I sighed as I dialed Hunter’s number again. I put the phone between my ear and shoulder as I got off the bed.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Hunt.” I sighed and dug through our communal bag.

I had already changed into my pj’s and shoved my clothing into the duffel.

“What’s up?”

“Look, Sam and Dean said we must’ve missed something. Dean wants you guys to meet us at the Hell House.”

Hunter sighed. “What happened?”

“A girl’s dead, and he sounded agitated.” I put him on speaker and tossed the phone aside.

“Alright. Everett is still out, she’s probably hungover. But I’ll wake her up and make sure she gets ready.”

“Make sure she doesn’t cut your head off.” I tugged off Dad’s old sweater and yanked on a black shirt.

“Haha, very funny. Are those website guys still suspects?”

I pulled on leggings and snorted. “I kinda hope so. I’d love nothing more than to cut EMF freak in two.”

“I still can’t believe you barged right in there without a gun. I’m surprised Dean didn’t shoot you on the spot.”

“Oh, shove it.” I laced my boots up. “Dean loves me. Would never shoot me.”

He snorted this time. “Yeah. Right, sure. Alright, I’ll let you go. I’ve gotta wake Everett up.”

I giggled. “Good luck. See ya.”

“Bye, Ol.”

                                                           ***

I shushed Hunter as we crouched in the bushes.

“I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around in there.” Sam whispered.

There was a cop car parked on the curb, and they were standing around the porch.

“Yeah, but we still gotta get in there.” Dean sighed.

Somebody else whispered, and I turned to glare at Everett. She wasn’t talking. I looked around, slowly edging out of our hiding spot. Jinx would’ve barked, so we left her at the motel. Lucky for us, she was still sleeping when Sam and Dean picked me up.

“I don’t fucking believe it.” Hunter growled.

“What?” I looked at him, and he helped me move forward without being seen.

The two idiots from earlier. Hunched over, wearing stupid gadgets, whispering and shushing each other. I inhaled to let out a snort, and a hand clapped over my mouth. I looked down to see that it was Dean’s hand, and I licked him. He flinched, pulling me back to sit.

“Ohh, De.” I turned to him with a huge smile. “I got an idea.”

He smiled. “Go ahead.”

I shuffled to rest on my knees. I cleared my throat before cupping my hands to my mouth.

“Who ya gonna call!”

Idiot One and Idiot Two stumbled, confused. The cops spotted them, and began shouting orders. The idiots ran back the way they came, and the cops followed.

Everett chuckled. “Nice move, Winchester.”

I grinned as Sam pulled me onto my feet. We followed Dean up the sidewalk and into the house. We were laughing, and I let out a snort.

“Alright, alright.” Sam tried to quiet us down.

“Everyone settle.” Sutton smiled.

“Okay.” Sam swung the duffel bag off his shoulder and onto the floor. “Olive.” He handed out rifles as he did a head count.

Dean was next to get a rifle, then Sutton. Hunter, and Everett last.

“Where have I seen this before?” Dean shone his flashlight at the walls. “It’s killing me.”

“Alright, come on. We don’t have much time.” Sam called.

He led the way down to the basement. Him first, then Dean, and me, of course, stuck behind Dean. Hunter, then Sutton, and then Everett.

“Oh, look at that. That’s funky.” Hunter pointed at a shelf full of jars.

“Oh, nice.” I strayed from the group and went straight for them.

Dean followed, picking up a red one. He sloshed it around and turned with a grin.

“Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this.”

“What the hell would I do that for?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

I grinned up at Dean, and he mirrored it.

“I double dare you.”

Sam shook his head with a snort. I looked through the jars, seeing one that looked like it had an eyeball in it. I pushed it away with a groan of disgust. Hunter laughed from beside me, and something thumped in the cabinet in the corner. Hunter stood in front of me and clutched his rifle. Sutton positioned herself behind Sam, and Everett behind Dean. Dean and Sutton’s rifles went up as Everett’s flashlight turned on. Hunter squared his shoulders and glanced at me. I stood on my toes, resting my head against his shoulder. Dean nodded, and Sam yanked the door open.

A few rats squeaked and ran away from the light. Dean groaned and lifted his feet.

“I hate rats.”

“What, you’d rather it was a ghost?” I giggled.

“Yes, actually.” Dean squinted at me.

I dug my fingers into Hunter’s arm as a figure appeared behind Sam.

“Ev!”

“Sams!”

The four older hunters turned around. I shoved Hunter out of the way and cocked my rifle. Mordechai rose an axe above his head, aiming at Sam.

“Duck.” I ordered before taking my shot.

Nothing happened, and I shot him again. Someone else shot at him, and he finally misted away.

“What the fucking hell?” I hissed, running to Dean.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and looked around.

“What kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam asked as we moved.

Dean and I ducked behind the shelves of jars, confused. I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.

“I dunno, but we should get outta here right now.” Everett grabbed Hunter by the wrist and yanked him toward the door.

Mordechai came back, and his axe came down on the shelves. The jars shattered at our feet, and one hit my head.

I crawled out from under the metal as the Richmonds pulled the shelf up.

“Fuck.” I hissed, hand going to the back of my head.

“Go!” Sam shouted as he took on Mordechai. “Get out of here!”

“Hey, cunt!” I screamed, waving my arms and aiming my rifle.

Mordechai turned to me, and I felt my chest clench. He swung at me, and I ducked and rolled. Sam plucked me off the ground as the axe slammed an electrical box. Sparks flew everywhere, and Sam tossed me over his shoulder.

Everett led the way up the stairs, and Sam and I brought up the rear. I yelped as we ran through the hall and out onto the porch. Sutton fell first, and it was a domino effect. I ended up on top of Sam, legs caught under Hunter.

“Ow!” I howled.

My arm cracked as I shifted, and I felt my bones throb.

“Go, go, go!” Sam shouted, trying to untangle himself from the mess.

Hunter rolled off of us and helped me to my feet. I yanked at Sam, then at Dean. Dean grabbed my arm, and I yanked away with a yelp. Idiot One and Idiot Two were standing there, camera on us.

“Get that fucking thing outta my face.” Dean smacked them away.

“Go, go, go!” Sam shouted.

“Sweet Lord!”

“Of the rings! Run! Go!”

“Come on.” Hunter grabbed my hand and yanked me along with him.

                                                           ***

“Hey, baby girl.” Dean shot up from the bed as I opened the door.

“Hi, Deano.”  I smiled.

“How you feeling?” Sam looked up from his laptop.

I shrugged a shoulder. “Fine. Hurting, but fine.”

Sutton sat down next to Sam as Everett shut the door. “She’s gotta take these for the pain, and the cast has to be changed in a month, maybe two. You’re gonna have to be on top of her doctor’s appointments, because Dean’ll forget.”

“Hey!” Dean scoffed. “I would never forget about my baby’s health.” He turned to me. “C’mere.”

I sat down next to him with a huff. Jinx padded over to my side and gave me sad eyes.

“My arm is itchy.”

He laughed. “Sorry, Babes.”

“Can you sign it?” I looked up at him with puppy eyes.

He smiled and nodded. I pulled out a sharpie and handed it to him. He threaded his fingers through mine and signed his name onto the plaster.

Dean Michael Winchester, written in ugly, scratchy handwriting. Below that, Olive, my baby. I love you so much. Sorry your arm broke 🖤🖤

“So, what’ve we got?” Hunter asked, sitting on the couch.

“Not much.” Sam scratched the back of his neck. “Haven’t really started.”

Everett scoffed, and Sutton shot her a look.

“We were worried about Olive!” Sam defended himself.

“What the hell is this symbol?” Dean groaned, picking up a pad of paper from his side. “It’s buggin’ the hell out of me. This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks.”

“It does.” Sam snorted.

I pulled out my laptop and started it up. I stood and stretched, groaning at the dull pain in my arm.

“Alright. Well, I mean that explains why he went after Olive, and you. But why me?” Dean leaned back.

“Hilarious.” Sam rolled his eyes. “The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those wrists?”

“Yeah.”

“What about them?” I asked as I got onto the Idiot2 website.

“They were slit.” Sam threw his head back with a groan.

“That doesn’t make sense.” I scrunched my nose up and settled next to Hunter.

“The axe doesn’t either, actually.” He noted, throwing an arm over my shoulders.

“I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over again.” Sam sighed.

I made a grabby hand at him, and he moved to sit on my other side.

“But this mook keeps changing.” Dean scoffed.

I got onto the and refreshed the page on Mordechai Murdoch. “Okay, the story definitely said… wait a minute.” I blinked. “What the fuck?” I asked, turning my laptop to Sam.

“What?”

“Read.” I pointed.

Dean looked up at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Someone added a new post to their site. Read it out loud, Sams.

“They say Mordechai Murdoch was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.” Sam squinted.

“What the hell?” Everett tilted her head.

“I don’t know. But I think I might’ve just figured out where it all started.” Dean tossed aside the pad of paper.

                                                           ***

“Hey, Craig. Remember us?” Dean asked as we sauntered into the shop.

He looked up with a sigh. He looked depressed. The Richmonds followed us in.

“Guys, look. I’m not really in the mood to answer any of your questions, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Dean waved him off. “We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all.”

He flicked through a stack and picked one out. I eyed it and looked up at him with a smile.

He was a genius.

He slung an arm around my shoulders and walked us toward the counter. “You know, I couldn’t quite figure out what the symbol was, and then I realized that it didn’t mean anything. It’s the Blue Öyster Cult logo.” He turned to Craig. “Tell me, Craig. You uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?”

“Why don’t you tell us about the house again?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Without lying through your ass this time.” Dean pulled a bitchface.

Craig sighed. “Alright, uh… my cousin Dana was on break from TCU. We were just bored, looking for something to do…” He sighed. “So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be cool to make it look like it was haunted.”

Hunter snorted from behind me.

“So we painted symbols on the walls, some from albums, from Dana’s theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdoch used to live there, so we… we made up some story to go along with that. So we told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own.”

Sutton squinted, and Everett mumbled something to her.

“I mean, I thought it was fun at first, but… now that girl is dead, and… it was just a joke! Ya know, I mean… none of it was real. We made this whole thing up. I swear!”

“Alright.” Sam spoke softly.

“Okay.” Everett pulled Sutton and Hunter along.

I sighed and looked up at Sam. “If none of it was real, how the hell do you explain Mordechai?”

Sam looked at me and shook his head. “I dunno.”

                                                           ***

“Wake up, pumpkin.” Dean’s voice broke me out of my sleep as he rested a hand on my hip.

I groaned as I rolled over onto my back. “What?”

“Hey, I’m back.” He called out to Sam, who was in the shower.

“Hey, where were you?” Sam asked as the water turned off.

“Picking up orange juice for Ollie.” Dean winked at me as he sat down next to me.

I yawned as I sat up. I smiled at him and threw my arm around his neck. He laughed and hugged me back, pressing a kiss to my head.

“Thanks, De. I fucking love orange juice.”

He chuckled. “I know.”

“So Ollie might have a theory about what’s going on.” Sam called out.

“Yeah?”

“She still asleep?”

“Just woke her up.” Dean brushed my hair back.

“Yeah, what is Mordechai is a Tulpa?” I asked.

“Tulpa?” Dean repeated.

The door opened and Sam came out, hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist. I closed my eyes with a scowl on my face. Dean turned too, a bit grossed out. Jinx tilted her head at us, and I giggled. She was like a little human, only confused all the time.

“Put on some clothes.”

Sam picked up a pillow and threw it at me. It hit my juice and I pouted as it spilled over. 

“Dean!” I whined, throwing my head back against the wall.

He took the cup and grabbed a few tissues, wiping the juice off my hand. “Sorry, Babes. Sam, don’t be a dick.”

“Just… Tulpa.” I hissed at Sam.

“Yeah, a Tibetan thought form.”

“Ah, yeah, I know what a Tulpa is. Hey Sam, why don’t you get dressed. I wanna grab something to eat. I gotta take a leak.”

I laid back down and pulled the blanket over my head. “Wake me up when we’re ready to go.”

                                                           ***

“There you go.” The server put six coffees on the counter.

“Thank you.” Dean and I smiled as we took the cups and walked back to Sam and the Richmonds.

Sam was grimacing and trying to fix his pants. I cringed, and Dean eyed him.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Sam brushed him off.

“You sure?” I asked as I sat down next to him.

“Yeah.”

“Alright, keep going.” Dean took a seat. “So, these Tulpas?”

Sutton looked up and sighed. She took her coffee and yawned. Hunter leaned forward on his elbows and yawned. Everett put her head in her hands.

“Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. Group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air.” Sam glanced at his computer.

“So?” Everett raised an eyebrow.

“That was twenty monks. Imagine what ten thousand web surfers could do.” Sutton scowled at her sister.

“She’s right. Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard.”

“Okay, wait a second. Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he’s real?” Dean’s nose scrunched up.

“I dunno, maybe.” Sam shuffled again.

“People believe in Santa Claus… how come we aren’t getting hooked up every Christmas?”

“Because, Dean, you’re a horrible person. And because of this.” Sutton turned Sam’s laptop toward us.

One of the symbols from the Hell House was on his screen.

“Lemme guess, that’s the Tibetan spirit sigil?” Hunter asked.

“On the wall of the house?” I added.

“Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was. Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass.”

“So people are on the Hellhounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai… might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.” I shrugged.

“Would explain why he keeps changing.” Dean sighed.

Sam shuffled again. “Right, as the legend changes, people think different things. So Mordechai changes.”

“Like a game of telephone.”

“That would also explain why the rock salt didn’t work.” I sighed.

“Because he’s not a traditional spirit.” Dean frowned.

“Yeah.” Sam fidgeted again.

“Okay. So why can’t we just, uh…” Everett pinched the bridge of her nose. “Get this spirit sigil thing off the wall and off the website?”

“Well, it’s not that simple.” Sutton shook her head. “You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own.”

“Great. So if he really is a thought form…” Dean scowled. “How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

Sam began to move again.. “Well it���s not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.” He nodded toward Sutton.

Sutton hit something on his laptop and a video started to play. I groaned. It was the footage from last night. The Richmonds crashed down the stairs, followed by a crumbling Dean, and Sam. Me, crashing to the ground, Hunter over my feet, me shouting as my arm snapped.

“Since they’ve posted the video, their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.”

I tensed. “De, if anyone recognizes you…” I sighed. “We’re screwed.”

“Hmph.” Dean’s lip curled up. “I got an idea. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Sutton asked as Dean stood.

“We gotta find a CopyJack.”

I got off my stool with a yawn. Hunter followed, and Sam wiggled as he got to his feet. He grumbled something to Dean, and Dean only laughed. Sutton and Everett looked over their shoulders, confused.

“You did this?” Sam asked.

Dean only laughed harder.

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Sam hissed at him.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean grinned.

I rolled my eyes. Sam and Dean went for me at the same time, and I ducked away, pacing myself with Hunter. Sam blinked sadly, and Dean stuck his tongue out at me. I stuck mine out back.

“Brat.”

“Prick.”

                                                           ***

Dean pounded his fist on the door of the trailer.

“Who is it?” Idiot Two asked.

“Come on out, guys. We can hear you in there.”

Jinx let out a little growl, and I bit back a smile.

“It’s them!”

The door opened and they stuck their heads out.

“Ah, would you look at that. Action figures in their original packaging. What a shock.” Dean snorted.

“Guys, we need to talk.” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, um… sorry guys. We’re ahh, a little busy right now.” Idiot One shuffled.

I slammed my hand against the door as he tried to shut it. “Okay, well we’ll make it quick. You need to shut down the website.”

“Man, you know, these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell…” He laughed.

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people! And I get stage fright.”

“Why should we trust you guys?”

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what’s in the house.” Everett crossed her arms over her chest.

“But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai.” Sutton rested all her weight on one hip.

“That’s right, which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person.” Hunter dead-panned.

“Somebody could get hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Ed, maybe he’s got a point. Maybe…”

“Nope.” Idiot One shook his head. “We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth.”

“Well I have an obligation to kick both your little asses right now-”

“Ev, Ev, hey, hey, hey, just forget it, alright.” Sutton pulled her back. “These guys…” She sighed dramatically. “Probably bitch slap them both, we could even tell them that thing about Mordechai, but they’re still not gonna help us.”

“Sutton’s right. Let’s just go.” I sighed, readjusting my grip on Jinx’s leash.

“Yeah, he’s right.” Dean sighed as we began to walk away.

“What’d you say about…”

“Hang on a second here.”

“What thing about Mordechai?”

“Don’t tell em, Sutton.” Hunter begged.

“But if they agree to shut down the website, guys…” Sutton trailed off.

“They’re not gonna do it, you said so yourself.” Dean sighed.

“No, wait. Wait. Don’t listen to him, okay? We’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Idiot One stepped out of the trailer.

“Look, it’s a really big deal, alright? And it wasn't easy to dig up. So only if we have your word that you’ll shut it all down.” Sutton leaned in.

“Totally.”

“Alright.” Sutton nodded at Dean.

He pulled a few papers from his jacket.

“It’s a death certificate. From the thirties. We got it at the library. Now, according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That’s right. He didn’t hang or cut himself.” Dean added.

“He shot himself?”

“Yep.” Sam nodded. “With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”

“Matter of fact, they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds-”

“It’ll kill the son of a bitch.” Dean cut me off.

Idiot One snatched the paper, and Idiot Two smiled.

“Alright, we should head out.” Hunter grabbed me by the wrist and tugged me away.

Sam and Dean followed. Everett spat on the step of the trailer, and Sutton smacked the back of her head before walking away.

                                                           ***

Hunter: be safe. sorry we had to abandon you guys

I smiled as I typed back a response.

Olive: we always do great without you guys anyways. just don’t get yourself killed

Hunter: will do

The Richmonds had left town. A case that seemed like werewolves had popped up in Oklahoma, and we were the closest hunters around. Dean was determined to take Mordechai down, so Everett decided they’d peel out. I yawned as I leaned against Dean. He wrapped an arm around me as he reached up. I watched as he pulled the cord on a mechanical fisherman holding a large fish. The fisherman’s mouth moved and an obnoxious laugh played. Sam yanked on the cord, and the laugh stopped.

“If you pull that string one more time I’m gonna kill you.” Sam promised.

We had been sitting in the cafe for the last two hours, and Dean had pulled the cord so many times that I would have nightmares about the laugh. Dean blinked, deadpan. He maintained eye contact with Sam as he pulled the cord again. Sam’s hand immediately went back up and he stopped it. He glared at Dean. I yawned again, this time snuggling further into Dean’s side. I wanted to go back to the motel, take Jinx for her nightly walk, and go to bed.

Dean snickered. “Come on, man. You need some more laughter in your life. You know, you’re way too tense.”

Sam only gave Dean another dirty look. Dean sighed, and I huffed.

“They post it yet?”

Sam spun his laptop around to us and began to stab at his salad, angry.

“We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdoch has a fatal fear of firearms.” Dean read off the scream.

“Alright, so how long do we wait?” I asked.

“Long enough for the story to spread and the legend to change.” Sam spoke with a hand over his mouth. “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.” Sam swallowed and reached for his beer.

I grinned and grabbed my glass of juice. Dean lifted his own and the three of us tapped our drinks together.

“Sweet.” Dean grinned before taking a long chug.

A smirk grew on Sam’s face and I shrunk into Dean’s side. He was up to something. Dean put his bottle down, but it stuck to his palm. My eyes widened as Sam broke into a cackle and Dean stared at his bottle, confused.

He looked up at Sam. “You didn’t.”

Sam laughed harder and held up a bottle of super glue. “Oh, I did!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam wheezed.

“Oh my god, you’re both fucking pricks!” I hissed, pulling away from Dean. “Why do you always have to go so far?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“Because now I’ll have to rip that bottle off of his hand!” I groaned.

“Ollie, it’s okay.” Dean held his other hand out.

I scowled, smacking it away. “Get up. There’s some acetone in the car.”

Dean sighed. “Okay.”

                                                           ***

“Okay, come on.” Dean shut the trunk and led us up the porch steps.

He cleared his throat, and I put my back to his. I was left without a flashlight. A gun with one hand was risky, but I was a good shot, and Dean wanted me to be able to protect myself. We started with the hallway. Dean readjusted his gun with a hiss.

“I barely have any skin left on my palm.” He groaned.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten foot pole.” Sam snipped back.

Dean stopped us in our tracks and shone his light in Sam’s face. Sam winced and turned away. Dean, satisfied, moved into another room.

“So. You think old Mordechai’s home?” He whispered.

“I dunno.”

“Me either.”

The three of us jumped, guns pointing at the noise. I scowled. Idiot One and Idiot Two.

“You fuckers.” I growled.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” Sam hissed.

“We’re just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?” Idiot One whined.

A sound like knives being sharpened came from the basement, and I cringed as I readjusted my grip on my gun.

“Oh, crap.”

Sam and Dean shot them identical looks as they crowded us, camera on.

“Ah… you guys, you wanna… you wanna open that door for us?” Idiot One asked.

“Why don’t you?” Dean spat over his shoulder.

Mordechai burst through the door with the same axe from before. He let out an other-wordly shout, and I shot first. Sam and Dean shot over my shoulders, shooting until they were out of rounds. Mordechai stared at us, and then disappeared again. My chest clenched as we waited. He was gone. Dean stood in front of me and nodded for us to follow him into the next room

There was a thud in the next room, and my phone began to buzz in my pocket. I flicked it open, seeing that it was Hunter.

“What?” I hissed as Sam put his back to mine and Dean ran back to the idiots.

“Their server crashed.”

“What?” I repeated.

“Their server crashed! Nobody got the story. Guns won’t do shit! You guys gotta get outta there!”

I blinked, then grabbed Sam.

“Dean!” I shouted. “Guns won’t work!”

“Great.” He growled as we ran back into the room.

“Any ideas?” I asked Sam.

“We are getting outta here.” One of the idiots grabbed the other as they broke into a run.

They pushed past Dean into the other room. We paused as they screamed. They ran back to the front, trying to get the door open.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph!”

Mordechai came after them, and Idiot One began to scream.

“Hey!” Sam called. “Come and get it, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Mordechai attacked Sam, pinning his axe against his neck.

“Get out of here, now!” He ordered.

Danger.

“Sammy!”

“Come on!” Dean grabbed me by the hand and yanked me along. “We gotta burn the place down!”

“But Sam!”

“Ol-”

“Sammy.” I whined.

“Ollie.” Dean grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “Sam’s in danger, you’re scared.”

I nodded. “Sam.”

“Use that. Get that door open, get to the car, get kerosene.”

I shut my eyes and heard Sam yelp. My teeth began to ache, and I spit blood out. Dean turned me by the shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I let out a grunt as I kicked the door. It didn’t move. Sam yelled again, and I let out a scream as I went at it with my shoulder. It splintered off its hinges.

Jinx was going mad in the backseat of the car, circling and barking and growling. She saw me coming and stuck her head out the window, letting out a howl.

I went for the car, was careful to flip open the trunk, and yanked out the gallon of kerosene. I ran back into the house, and Dean took the container away from me, pouring it on every possible surface. My mouth was throbbing, and I heard Sam from the next room.

“Dean! Olive!”

“Hey!”

I turned to see the Richmonds running up the steps, spray cans in hand. Hunter tossed me one. I grunted as I tore off my sling and went through my pockets. I flicked on my lighter, letting the flame catch. I threw the can onto the floor and went for Sam. A growl ripped through my throat, and Mordechai disappeared. Sam fell.

“Come on!” I pulled him off the floor.

Dean helped me get him to his feet. Sam grabbed his throat and coughed.

“What are we doing?”

“Improvising.” Sutton grabbed Sam’s arm and tugged it over her shoulders.

Everett flicked her lighter on and threw it into the other room. Flames went up, and Sutton helped Dean yank Sam out of the house. I hissed as someone bumped into my arm. Hunter dragged me out of the house, and Everett was the last to follow us out.

“This is your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” She scowled at Dean.

“Well nobody will go in anymore. I mean, look. Mordechai can’t haunt a house if there’s no house to haunt.” He huffed. “It’s fast and dirty but it works.”

I sat down on the front lawn and groaned, holding my arm. Hunter took his flannel off and fashioned a sling out of it. I was too tired to try and stop him.

“What if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?”

“Well…” Dean sighed.

“Then we’ll just have to come back.” I spoke through a mouthful of blood.

Sam plucked me off the ground and set me on his hip with a sigh. I hissed, spitting over his shoulder.

“Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just ‘cause people believed in them. Right, bug?” Sam asked.

I nodded. Dean helped me control it inside. Pushing me in the right direction, telling me what to do. It helped. Sam would keep me awake afterwards. It was draining, and I was so tired, but I needed to be ready for the day my brothers wouldn’t be there to carry me to the car right afterwards.

“You guys came back.” I whispered, staring at Hunter.

He smiled, and Sutton sighed. Everett only rolled her eyes.

“You guys would’ve done the same for us.”

Dean snorted as he pulled out the car keys. “Like hell we would’ve.”

I sniffled. “Can we go now? My arm hurts.”

Sam grinned as he gave me a squeeze. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

                                                           ***

“Why are we here?” I asked with a yawn.

Jinx circled at Sam’s feet before finally laying down in the shade of the picnic table. Dean grinned as Idiot One and Idiot Two came along with arms full of grocery bags.

“Gentlemen. Lady.” Idiot One nodded his head at us.

“Hey, guys.” Sam smiled.

I couldn’t help but grin. He was so polite. Such a sweetheart. A big teddy bear. I blinked. My pain meds were making me loopy.

“Should we tell them?”

“Hey, might as well. You know, they’re gonna read about it in the trades.” Idiot One scoffed.

“So this morning, we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer.”

I smiled, leaning into Dean’s side. “Oh yeah, wrong number?”

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it.” Idiot One spoke as they loaded the groceries into their car.

“And create the RPG.”

Dean blinked. “The what?”

“Role playing game.”

“Right.” Dean nodded, lips pursed.

“A little lingo for you.”

“Anyhoo, excuse us. We’re off to lala land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great.” Sam smiled.

“Yeah. That’s awesome, best of luck to you.”

“Oh, yeah. Luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer, unabashed talent.”

We looked around at each other and nodded. Idiot One threw up a peace sign.

“Later.”

They got into their car and drove off.

“I have a confession to make.” Sam turned to me with a huge grin.

“What’s that?” Dean turned with a smile.

“I uh… I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer.” He scratched the back of his neck.

I giggled, and Dean threw an arm around my shoulder. “Yeah.” He laughed. “Well, I’m the one who put the dead fish in their backseat.”

I giggled again, and the boys broke into laughter.

“Hey, boys?” I looked up.

“Yeah, bug?”

“What is it, baby?”

I gave them puppy eyes. “Truce? Please?”

They sighed and looked at each other. Sam shrugged, and Dean nodded.

“Yeah, truce.”

“Truce.” Sam smiled.

“At least for the next hundred miles.” Dean winked as he got up.

“Let’s go home.”

Previous Ep: Shadow (1.16)

Next Ep: Something Wicked (1.18)

#supernatural cast #supernatural season one #supernatural fic #supernatural oc #dean winchester #sam wichester #supernatural #olive winchester #my posts #dean and sam #sam and dean #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #sam x sister!oc #sam winchester x sister!oc #dean x sister!oc #dean winchester x sister!oc #john winchester #john winchester x daughter!reader #john winchester x daughter!oc #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #jeffery dean morgan #winchester #winchester sister #winchester sibling #micwrites

[judgement-free-sideblog]

The enemy of love is the truth

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Summary: They were happy just as friends, but one morning the call from an old trauma may change everything.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, history of drug use, mental health issues, cursing, angst, a little smut, violence.

I want to apologize in advance, I did my fare share of smut between 2008 and 2011, jesus we called them lemons back then (I'm so old, sorry) but in my native language. And even if I wasn't out of practice translating that kind of scenes is a complete nightmare, so I'm so sorry for what you are going to read.

■Part I  ■ Part II ■Part III ■ Part IV ■ Part V ■ Part VI ■ Part VII ■ Part VIII | Final ■

Part VI

"She invited you to ex's wedding?" Charlie said squatting out of breath, it was almost 8:00 am and they had been running since 7:00. "Don't you think it will be a bit inappropriate? I mean what if she still have feelings for that guy? God I need to lie down"

"Technically I invited myself..." Tom started also taking big breaths "Oh don't look at me like that, she they broke up long time ago, and even if she is not over him she would need support there, isn't that right Bobby??" He knelt to pet his dog, who looked at them puzzled by how tired they seemed to be.

"So, when is the big day?" He said finally standing up.

"Saturday, but apparently we are going to a small diner on friday night, the whole event is in a Hotel in West Yorkshire, and I don't feel like driving four hours in the same day"

"If I don't know you better I would say you're a brilliant bastard" he said choking out a laugh.

"Why?"

"Nice romantic hotel in the country, the emotional vulnerability of seeing your ex getting married, the comfort of the nice blue eyes of a loving friend" he said making and exaggerate gesture to Tom's face "But is you so ai assume you won't even share a room platonically"

"You are completely out of your mind" he said laughing "although it is a nice place, look" He showed him the electronic invitation where both bride and groom smiled to each other in front of the hotel.

"Is that the guy? Well she certainly had a type" he said studying the picture "I mean if he were older or a bit more fit he would look just like you" Tom look at the picture again not finding the resemblance "I'll tell you something if you guys finally do hook up could you wait until March to tell people? I said 3 years and 1 month and Zawe said 3 years exactly and I don't feel like letting her win."

"Do you really have a betting pool about us? Don't worry, I wouldn't tell you anything even of something happens" he said with a chuckle and they continued their run.

On friday at 3:00 p.m. he showed up at Y/N's place, with Charlie's words still resonating in his head, he found her in a beautiful burgundy off shoulder column cocktail dress and black heels, making this the third time he ever saw her in a dress, it was a big difference from the usual sneakers and hoodies, not a bad one but he couldn't help a bit of jealousy thinking this was for someone else.

"Stop staring at me, I know it's ridiculous and I'm gonna break my bloody neck with this things" She said showing him the fragile tip of one of the heels, he smiled founding his friend true nature even in that situation. "Stupid dress codes, is it too late to stay home? I have a rosé in the fridge wwith your name on it if you let me..."

"And losing the opportunity of seeing you roll your eyes at every old men comments on the country's economy?" He said putting her back inside the car and immediately after offering her hand to enter the car "Not a chance. You look lovely by the way"

"I won't roll my eyes at them, believe it or not, I do know how to handle myself in social events" She put on her seatbelt and he started the car turning on the GPS "Is the idea of meeting our old friends from uni and his parents what freaks me out, they must think I'm some kind of monster"

Our for some reason that word hurt more than it should, he brushed off the idea from his head again, jealous was an useless emotion to him and a dangerous one too in some people, and he was determined to not let them get the best of him.

"I don't think they would have invited you if they felt like that, or at least not to the rehearsal dinner too if that was the case." He said taking an exit indicated in the GPS.

"You clearly don't know Agnes Hawtrey" He briefly turn to her intrigued "David's mother, she is a rich harpy obsessed with showing everyone all the money their family has. I feel sorry for her future daughter in law, but since they actually getting married I assume she is not some Liberal brat who thinks spending Christmas in Libya is appropriate" She said imitating an high pitch voice with a posh accent.

"Why Libya?"

"Medecins sans frontiers" She answered "I volunteered to work with them in my holidays and David followed me a couple times. Agnes hated me for it, I actually think she was happy when I left him."

"Do you speak french?" He asked again trying to change the subject.

"Enough to work with them, but I'm completely rusty by now" she answered "I know it's too much effort to escape a suffocating relationship" the angry beast that had formed in his chest began to fade thanks to the idea of she not being entirely happy with the other guy, so he decided to approach the problem differently.

"I don't understand how do you end up together in the first place, you are too much of a free spirit to be around someone like that" He said, by now the city was getting behind them and he could start driving faster.

"Well my family is actually quite wealthy" She started causing a puzzled expression in his face "I reject any form of help from them and live on my own, but I did play my part in society for a while, so it seemed meant to be at the time. Of course I turned out to be a rotten apple and at some point I believe I was his excuse to hide how much he didn't enjoy their life style. I told you he was no saint, and maybe those where our finest moments" She said with a nostalgic smile, as if she remembered an specially pleasing memory. "But real life happened, you know? You are gonna like him don't worry"

"Well he sounds like a decent men" he said bitterly because his idea backfired "Music?"

They spend the rest of the trip talking about meaningless topics and singing along with the radio, by the time they eentered Yorkshire it was seven in the afternoon and the sun was standing to hide, the Waterton Perk hotel was magnificent, romantic and secluded as Charlie said, in the middle of a lake connected to land by a bridge full with trees naked by the winter that make the mansion looking more as something out of a fairytale.

He helped her out of the car and enjoyed having her body close to him while they crossed the bridge preventing her to fall with her heels. They entered a small lounge where people where waiting for the dinner to be served. As she had said earlier that week most of the people attending were old family friends of the bride and groom, and not many young faces were in the crowd. Except from those who he believed were the Uni friends, he introduced himself and even took a picture with one of the girls who had a similar reaction as Y/N when she met him.

Y/N was now chatting, a few meters away, more comfortable with them expecting the arrival of the main guests, while a couple of people were distracting Tom, complimenting his performance as Coriolanus a few years back and praising his Robert Down, so he couldn't notice the old woman, elegantly dressed in a light gray dress walking towards Y/N and dragging her apart from her friends, until she start talking in that high pitch voice Y/N had imitated very well earlier.

"How dare you showing your face in here?" The woman said to her while the young woman only remind silent not meeting her gaze "You spoiled ridiculous brat, after what you did to my boy, you should be ashamed..."

"Relax Agnes," She finally said lifting her look, Tom then was about to intervene but he could se a quiet rage behind her otherwise unaffected face, and felt forced to stay and watch "Let me remind you that your son invited me. And the last time I checked you are not David, also if you cared a little about your precious boy you wouldn't be making a fool of yourself in front of your guests" People where now standing very close to them listening every word the women said.

"You are right dear," Agnes started with a tone that said just the opposite, but smiling regaining her composure "After all how can I expect manners from a little trash from Devon anyway" Y/N let out a sarcastic laugh at the remark against her hometown and looked at her while the elder woman turned her back on her.

"Of course because the loose daughter of a fisherman as you called me can't be a suitable in law for you, I honestly pity the poor woman who has to have you in her life, I hope you can control her since you couldn't do it with me...

Her sentence die in the air because an old hand full of rings slapped her before she could finish, a red mark started forming in Y/N face, an she was fighting the tears, both from the humiliation and the hurt, from coming out of her eyes. Tom could see Agnes hand getting ready to hit her again while he tried to reach Y/N when a hand stopped her out of nowhere and spoke with a deep angry voice.

"That's enough mother" The infamous David was there, holding her mother still and standing in front of Y/N as a shield, all welled dressed and athletic, she looked tiny behind him and the beast inside Tom's chest started growling again. "Dad I asked you to watch her, Diane will be here any minute and I can't have this happening right now" The man who Tom assume was his father took agnes outside of the room and the rest of the people returned to their conversations as if nothing happened, finally allowing him to get closer. "Are you ok baby?" He said looking finally at Y/N offering his handkerchief to wipe her tears, that last word burned like fire in Tom's ears, he was now facing her with his back to Tom, and the bright smile that she gave him when she answered was making him sick

"It's okay sweetheart" She give back the handkerchief and give the man a good look "Let her have it, she has wanted to do that for 15 years, it's only fare, you look amazing, I'm so happy for you" She hugged him and the familiarity he showed holding her, made Tom's blood boil, he wanted to get him apart from her immediately, and take her far away from him and the poisonous thought of they together for years was corrupting his mind, there it was, jealousy cold and simple, the only thing his mind kept telling him was: He had her, and you don't. He had her for years, just the way you want her, she was his.

"And where is your something like that, I'm dying to met the lad" He said letting her go.

"Right behind you" she said completely ignoring the change in Tom's expression who was looking at the two with his mind apparently somewhere else. "Tom this is David." She said calling his name and breaking the murderous thoughts he was having.

"Sorry I wake you up the other night mate... Bloody hell you beautiful minx you did it!" He said loudly hugging her by the shoulder and then, much to his displeasure, Tom "Years obsessed with him, and drooling to his posters in our house and here you are inviting him to my wedding, I must say girl you made it! congratulations." She started turning red again but this time from the embarrassment, and Tom finally relaxed, something about David's personality make it impossible for him to be angry, maybe it was the fact that he was genuinely happy and how could he not? It was his wedding after all.

"Posters?" He asked enjoying the desperation in Y/N eyes urging him to change the subject.

"Posters, dvds, tshirts, you name it, she dragged me to watch your movies like four times each time they were on the cinema and then watched them on repeat at our flat" He recalled with exasperation "Don't get me wrong you are a fine looking man but not my type"

"Oh god, I think I'm going to find your mother to slap me again" She said covering her face "Please, I beg you stop talking"

"Let the man finish, it's the most compelling history" Tom said and while he put his arm around her waist taking her close to him.

"I'm glad to see you two together, I was so relieved when she said she was bringing someone, not like she needs anyone" He said anticipating her reaction proving to Tom just how much he knew her "But you two look actually happy together, and she's the most wonderful person" Y/N was about to clear things out when Tom wink at her and pressed her a little closer to him.

"She actually is, and we are very happy" He said giving him one of signature smiles "Is that your bride?" A young looking woman entered the room with a beautiful pale pink dress, and she looked at them completely baffled.

"Oh yes baby, that's my Diane" the man said and Tom felt ashamed for his brief jealous attack as the man seemed to call everyone baby. "Guess who we wake up the other morning dear?" The man said urging the girl to join them.

"Oh my goodness" The woman started "Are you...?" Tom smiled and politely introduce himself, and David then introduced both women "I am so sorry about the other morning, I told David to wait until noon when we were in Pakistan but he called you anyways, it was four in the morning right?"

"Yes, but never mind, what where you doing in Pakistan?" Y/N said now holding tight Tom's waist too.

"Building a hospital, Diane's foundation hired me a couple years ago and that's how we met, we've been living there for like five months, we were just going to elope a few weeks back, but I did this so I wouldn't cause my mother an aneurysm, but she had to accept my conditions to make it happen" He said proudly.

"Like inviting me?"

"That was actually my demand" Diane said with a little blush on her face "I really wanted to meet you, I heard so many wonderful things about you I thought maybe it was time for you to be friends again"

"And I told her we never stopped being friends in the first place, but she is stubborn, and I can't resist her" they started kissing like there were no one else in the room and Tom and Y/N look at each other nervously.

"Oi! Leave something for tomorrow" on of their friends called them from the dining room "The food is here come on"

The rest of the night went by without any other incident, apart for the perpetual state of happiness that David showed for Tom's presence, by the time the rest of the gests went to find their rooms Y/N and Tom were taking a last walk in the cold night, it was until they were at the entrance of the bridge that he noticed they were holding hands.

"Your boyfriend is quite a nice gentleman" he said teasing her.

"By the amount of wine he was trying to make you drink I would think he wants to be your boyfriend" she responded quickly. "Why did you told him we were together?" She question him now completely serious.

"I didn't thought you wanted to explain the nature of our relationship after what happened with his mother. So until the wedding is over I suppose I'm your boyfriend. How is your face by the way?" He said, not giving importance to the matter while they kept walking.

"It has been better. And thank you I suppose you are right, and it is nice to imagine what could have been, if I haven't been an idiot at the restaurant all those years ago, and not scaring you into not calling back" He stopped suddenly making them broke contact.

"That's why you think I didn't called?" He asked perplex "I couldn't care less about that ridiculous tantrum, if anything I was more interested in you for it" she was too astonished by his declaration to talk so he continued "I didn't asked you out again because you said I'll see you around I assumed you didn't want to be involved with me that way so I didn't push it."

"Well..." She started quietly with a sad half smile in her face "I did say that, with that precise intention, but secretly hoping for you to call anyway, and I even considered to ask you out myself, but then we became friends and, I don't know it was for the best, but nights like this one make me wonder if we made a mistake."

"Please never say that again" He took her face with both hands his hands and looked deeply in her eyes "Every day I have spend with you regardless of what our relationship may be, has been a blessing. I wouldn't change it for the world" she let go a sigh and her breath turn into vapor in the night, making them realize the cold weather. "I think we should get back inside, you are gonna freeze out here love, and what kind of fake boyfriend will I be if I let you become an ice lolly?". He offered her his arm so they could get back inside, his mind thinking too about how much he wanted to call her the minute he got home that day, but as always trying to respect her he didn't , and as always he calmed his regrets telling himself it was for the best, even if every passing day he felt more and more the opposite.

The room they had book was nice and comfortable, the big canopy bed in the middle was a beautiful promise of a long night of sleep and the window had a beautiful look at the lake. They both will be lying if they said this was the first night they have spend together, falling asleep talking in Tom's couch had happened more than half a dozen times, and even if Y/N never accepted it in front of her friends, she had stayed a couple of nights with him watching Bobby getting better, even sleeping in the same bed completley completely consumed by fatigue, so there was no awkwardness between them about consciously sharing the bed.

She took her heels off and found her silky romper pyjama in her suit case next to her travel size copy of Wuthering Heights, wich she occasionally read when she traveled and with the look outside the mansion it seemed appropriate, Y/N sit in the armchair in the corner of the room to read, waiting for Tom to get out of the shower, after reading four times the same paragraph without getting anything from it she realized just how tired she was.

She heard the door opened and saw him getting out of the shower whit just a pair of black loose sweatpants dangling from his hips and a thin line of pubic hair crawling up from the waistband dying in his perfect abs, drying his hair with a towel.

"What?" He asked her looking at her finally. "Do you feel alright darling?"

"I'm just tired" she said quickly taking her clothes and getting into the bathroom for a much needed cold shower. When she stepped out after drying her hair she almost fell down because he had turned out all of the lights and was already deeply sleeping, she'll have time to nagging him about how inconsiderate that was in the morning, she entered the bed and close her eyes trying to drift apart and think about nothing when she felt his arms suddenly trapping her and bringing her closer to him by her waist.

She didn't mind since they had cuddled like that before, even when this particular time she could feel the bare skin of his chest in her back, but then the hand that was holding her started moving slowly caressing her belly and some parts she often felt self conscious about, then slowly moving down to her thigh, she was about to finally move and stop him when she felt his breath behind her back and his deep voice in her ear.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes" Y/N said in a tiny whisper while his hand found her way under the fabric of her romper.

"Are you cold again?" He asked this time brushing his nose in her neck, every inch of her skin was reacting to his touch and the deep tone of his voice was making her wet "you are shaking"

"It's not about that" she answered incapable of moving only embracing the magnificent sensations she was receiving.

"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" His hand had finally found her lacy panties and he had stopped only touching the seam waiting for her permission to continue. "Do you want this to happen?" He said stopping his movements completely, she could feel her heart racing and all logic flying away.

"Yes, I want it" she said finally and he caressed her womanhood over the thin fabric, making her soaked, while his other hand tried to remove the top part of her jumper sliding down the traps leaving her braless chest exposed.

"Naughty girl" He said with a chuckle leaving a trace of kisses in her back and cupping her breast in his hand playing with her niple until it was hard and them pinching it to get her in that point between pain and pleasure.

He move apart the fabric of her panties and let one of his long digits inside her making her moan in pleasure and impatiently brushing her thighs together desperate for more friction, she could feel his arousal pressing firmly in her buttocks, and all this anticipation was only to torture her.

"Don't be impatient my dear" he said letting in another finger and curling them inside her, touching her right on the spot to make her lost her mind "Tell me that you want it Y/N" he order her and she let go another moan.

"Fuck me Tom, fuck me please!" She said and he immediately took his fingers out to pin her in the bed under him.

He finished taking the rest of her clothes in one movement and opened her legs ready to enter her, he give her one last deep look with those piercing blue eyes and he bend to kiss her...

"You should take a shower or at least put on something more comfortable" Tom face said suddenly wearing his glasses and fully clothed. Y/N blink twice, before shaking the sleepiness, and trying to figure out what was happening. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, but I thought you may want to shower before going to sleep"

She finally opened her eyes completely and could see him out of the shower on his pijamas, her silky romper still waiting for her to take a shower and her book comfortably resting on the lamp stand next to her.

"Yeah sure, I'm too tired I must have fallen asleep, thanks for waking me up" she said avoiding his look and desperately picking up her fresh clothes.

"Sure love, you can't be at the wedding with a crooked neck" he said picking up the book she was reading. "You were moving a lot so I imagine that armchair can't be comfortable" he said with a distracted smile and she went straight to the bathroom before turning red of embarrassment.

Y/N slammed the bathroom door closed, and Tom stood next to the armchair looking where she was just moments before, once he heard the water fall in the shower he massaged his temples, trying to erase from his mind what he had seen but it was impossible and he really didn't want to forget it. She was sweating and panting when he got out of the shower, and the neckline of her dress a was a little lower than usual perfectly countoring her breasts.

He stood there looking at her and it took him just one more second to realized what kind of dream she must've been having. Blushing and feeling like a pervert he walked back into the bathroom determined to make as much noise as he could to wake her up when he heard her moan. Fuck me Tom, fuck me please! He walked back to her and before the blood abandoned his brain entirely, to migrate to his lower region, he did the logical thing and wake her up.

He exhaled feeling like and idiot. This was going to be a long weekend.

#Tom Hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston smut #charlie cox #zawe ashton #robert and emma betrayal #great britain #bobby hiddleston #love #friendship #smut #angst #sweet dreams #lucid dreaming #slap #monster in law

[inu-jiru]

Tomoe, The Eastern Tigress - Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine - The Birth Of A Rivalry

Reika was absolutely terrified.

After Hougen’s dogs knocked Gin and John unconscious, Hougen decided to drag their bodies back to his base in the Southern Alps. They weren’t the Dane’s only prize, however, as he’d taken a liking to the bitch. Reika was dragged, kicking and screaming, up to the mountain base. She was tossed into Hougen’s hut, where she’d been staying for the past few days. She could barely eat or sleep, spending every second huddled in a corner, trying to put as much distance between herself and her captor as possible. When Hougen wasn’t eating or sleeping, he’d watch the bitch, slowly licking his jowls as if he were imagining running his tongue along her fur. It made Reika sick to her stomach.

That afternoon, Reika watched with bated breath as Hougen tore into a chicken carcass. Outside, she could hear the muffled shouts of one of Hougen’s soldiers as he preached Hougen’s agenda to the rest of the pack. The bitch winced as she felt her stomach rumbling; the chicken smelled good, and she’d been refusing to eat. Hougen paused, his head slowly turning and looking at the little female.

“Mmm?” he purred. Reika swallowed hard. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? I bet you are.” With a swing of his paw, Hougen knocked the half-eaten chicken towards her.

“No…!” Reika looked away from the kill despite the protests of her rumbling stomach. “I don’t want anything you give me…! Just let me go!”

“Oooh, but, Reika…” Hougen stood up, slowly advancing towards her. Reika’s heart raced faster, her eyes scanning for somewhere else to run to. She dove to the side, but Hougen was faster, jumping in front of her. Reika flinched, the smell of rotting meat ripe in Hougen’s breath as he whispered to her. “You’re my girl now. And if you’re going to have my puppies, then you’ll need your strength, heheheh…”

“No…!” Reika swallowed again, trying to push back the bile rising in her throat. “You can’t make me do that! I refuse!” She attempted to back away, but momentarily forgetting about the chicken carcass behind her, she stepped in the blood and guts and lost her footing. She fell onto her back with a yell, and with a sneer, Hougen stepped forward, pinning Reika down with a paw.

“You silly girl,” he growled playfully, ignoring Reika’s cries and pleas. Before he could do anything further, however, a sudden chaos outside had caught his attention.

“Out of the way!” a voice shouted, cutting off the preaching soldier. Hougen recognized it as Rocket’s brother, Jet. The door to his hut slid open, the Borzoi stepping inside and panting. “L-Lord Hougen…! This...isn’t a bad time, is it…?”

“Tch…” was Hougen's irritated reply. Glancing down at the still-sobbing Reika, he huffed and pulled away his paw, padding towards his spy. Reika immediately returned to her corner, silently thanking the Borzoi for coming when he did. “You’d better have a good excuse for interrupting me, bastard.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Jet said, looking down at the ground. “I’ve come to report that a group of Ohu soldiers headed this way.”

“Is that so?” Hougen’s interest was piqued, though he wasn’t surprised. His dogs had failed to bring down Akame; an act of retaliation from Ohu’s troops had been inevitable.

“Yes, sir,” replied Jet with a nod. “That said, there’s only a few of them. It seems the Ohu Army’s lost a large amount of their dogs. They’ll go down easily.”

“Mmm…” Hougen began to frown as he thought it over. “No, it won’t be that simple. That Gin’s made many allies, and I’m sure those Ohu fools are gonna try rounding them up. Tch...that tora-ge bastard’s pissing me off more and more. Looks like I’m gonna have to blow off some steam, heh.”

Jet understood immediately. He moved out of the way, allowing Hougen to head outside. Reika looked up, realizing what was going to happen.

“No…” she gasped. Panicking, Reika tried to rush out of the hut and after Hougen. Jet apprehended her quickly by biting down on the back of her neck, holding her in place. This didn’t stop her from continuing to yell after the tyrant. “Stop, Hougen! Don’t hurt them! Please!”

Hougen continued, ignoring Reika’s begging. His soldiers watched him silently, preparing themselves for the violence that would be coming soon. Within the group of dogs, Hook stood, his head hanging in an attempt to not stand out amongst the other dogs. He’d joined Hougen’s ranks days ago, not to serve the Great Dane in his evil schemes, but to see if the rumors had been true about Gin and John’s capture. Now that he knew the truth, the gears in his mind turned as he tried to formulate some plan of helping them escape.

A small shed sat a few feet away from Hougen’s hut, a small hole in the back of it being the only way to get in or out of it. Two guards stood at the hole, peering into it and observing the dogs inside. Gin and John were lying in the darkness, covered from head to toe in gashes, cuts and bruises. It was amazing that they’d managed to survive the beatdown they’d gotten, but as Ohu’s top males, perhaps it was to be expected.

“You bastards…” John croaked, an eye opening and glaring at the two guards. Though his breathing was labored, the Shepherd still managed to speak with ferocity. “Checking to see if we’re dead? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not gonna die…! Not for you, or that shitface you call a Boss…!”

“Don’t waste your breath on them, John…” Gin groaned, his body shivering from the cold, stone ground. “Save your strength...at least until Akame comes with reinforcements…”

“I just can’t stand it…” murmured John. “We could’ve taken out every last one of these bastards if Hougen hadn’t…” He fell silent, gritting his teeth as he remembered Reika’s capture.

“I know, I know...But don’t lose hope. Hougen WON’T succeed. It may take days, it may take months, but sooner or later, Hougen will pay.”

“Hear, hear…”

Outside, Hougen approached the shed. The two guards, hearing him, quickly stepped to the side, bowing their heads fearfully. Crouching down, Hougen peered into the darkness of the shed. John and Gin were quiet now, their eyes closed. The Great Dane snorted, forcing himself inside.

“Tsk. Don’t pretend to be dead just because I showed up.” He paused next to John, smacking the Shepherd in the face with a paw. John responded immediately with a weak snarl. “Hmph. Well, lucky for you too, that old Kishu made it back to Ohu. Now, the Ohu Army’s headed this way. Unfortunately for you, though, there’s not as many as I thought there’d be, hehe…”

Shit… Gin thought, his heart racing. Something really did happen to Ohu…! This isn’t good…

“Now that I think about it,” Hougen continued with a pleasant tone. “If the Ohu soldiers are all the way out here, there shouldn’t be anyone protecting Gajou. And if there is, heh, well, they won’t last long against my army. I’ll take Ohu as my base, and all dogs in Japan will have no choice but to bow to me!”

Hougen threw back his head, cackling evilly. As rage surged through him, John managed to lift his head, sinking his fangs into Hougen’s leg with a growl. Hougen stopped laughing, glancing down at the Shepherd with narrowed eyes.

“Still got some fight left in you?” he sneered, before reaching down and pulling John off him with ease. He threw John against the wall, forcing a grunt of pain from the Shepherd’s maw.

“John…!” Gin cried out to his friend. Hougen looked back at the silver male, licking his jowls as he approached him. He slapped his paw down on Gin’s head, pressing it in as if he were squishing a bug.

“As for you, Gin,” Hougen hissed, bringing his muzzle close to Gin’s ear. “Don’t think that I was being merciful by letting you live. You’re my toy now. You won’t leave. You won’t die. I’ll eat you alive.” Without warning, Hougen bit down on Gin’s foreleg, lifting him up into the air while triumphantly declaring:

“Because you’re my prey!”

Outside the shed, Gin’s torture was heard by all who were near. A new wave of fear washed over Hougen’s followers, and they were all reminded of why they should never, ever, cross the tyrant.

After a successful hunt, Tomoe, Ken, and Kagetora returned to the rendezvous location that Weed had set up. They found some sika deer in the woods and managed to bring down a doe. Tomoe had even used her Retsu on it, taking it down instantly. By the time they’d reached the clearing, the blood had been almost completely drained out of it. The rest of the Ohu dogs had returned as well, some feasting on what they’d caught, and others waiting to share what other prey was coming.

“Ooh!” GB said, looking up at the doe as the three friends set it down. “Nice catch you three!”

“Heh, thanks,” Kage replied, proudly licking his lips. “Anything interestin’ happen while we were gone?”

“Yeah…” GB glanced over his shoulder, nodding at where Weed was eating. “Apparently one of Hougen’s dogs came here trying to attack Weed.”

“What!?” Ken exclaimed.

“Everything’s fine now,” the Setter assured quickly. “That Rocket guy protected him, and Jerome was nearby, too.”

“Where’s that guy now?” asked Tomoe.

“Weed told Rocket to let him go…” GB grunted in obvious disapproval.

“Are you for real?” asked Kage in disbelief.

“Is that kid insane!?” Tomoe snapped, looking over at the puppy. Her good mood was instantly ruined, replaced with unbridled fury. How could their Boss allow for something so stupid!? Without thinking, she began stomping over towards Weed. Ken, Kagetora and GB quickly followed.

“Wait, Tomoe…!” Ken barked. “I don’t think this is a good idea…!”

“I don’t like it either,” GB added. “But he’s just a kid!”

Tomoe didn’t care. She wouldn’t stand back and let Weed think he’d done something smart. The youngster in question looked up, noticing the approaching Tomoe. Beside him, Jerome started standing up.

“Oh, hi, Tomoe,” said Weed, smiling innocent. “I saw your catch. Nice--”

“You let that guy go!?”

Everyone looked up as Tomoe yelled accusingly at Weed. Rocket stiffened as he was taken a bite of a hare he’d caught. Glaring, Jerome prepared to step in front of Weed. The puppy held up a paw.

“Wait a second, Jerome,” he said, before standing up and facing Tomoe. His brow furrowed. “Yes. I did let him go.”

“Why?” Tomoe demanded. “He was one of Hougen’s dogs, right? As long as we’ve been here, he could be on his way to Hougen and telling him where we are!?”

“He was scared when Rocket pinned him down,” Weed argued sternly. “He’d learned his lesson. I won’t kill someone who’s afraid for their life.” Tomoe didn’t respond for a moment, instead gawking at the male as if he’d suddenly grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

“Idiot!” she then snapped. “Of course he looked scared! Dogs who do bad things tend to be scared when they have to face the consequences of their actions. You can’t be soft like that, kid!”

She’s got a point there… Rocket found himself thinking.

“You’re wrong.” Despite Weed’s attempt at a calm demeanor, Tomoe could see a fire burning in his eyes. “Being nice to that guy will teach him a lesson, you’ll see. We won’t have any more issues with him.”

“Back off, Tomoe,” said Jerome, having enough with standing back and watching. “Weed is the Boss and his word is final. None of us have a right to question him.”

“If he makes a stupid choice, then that affects all of us,” Tomoe growled. She shoved her nose against Jerome’s, staring him dead in the eyes. “I’m not gonna stay quiet just because you think he’s God’s gift to dogs.”

“That’s enough!” Weed interjected. He butted Tomoe’s chest with his head, forcing her back. Tomoe’s eyes widened, her gaze shifting down to her chest, and then and the runt who pushed her. “I’ve had enough of this constant fighting between you two! I won’t forgive anymore. Understand?”

“...Yes, Weed…” Jerome grumbled, looking away. Weed continued staring at Tomoe, his brow raising expectantly. Tomoe, once she calmed down from her shock, spat on the ground, kicked at the snow, and turned away. The other dogs cleared a path, allowing her to return to the doe. She threw herself down and began eating savagely. One could only wonder who she was pretending to tear apart: Weed or Jerome.

The snow was falling lightly that night. At the edge of Hougen’s base, two dogs stood guard beneath a light figure. They stared ahead at the pathway before them, eyes and ears alert in case any intruders wandered near. They perked as they heard the faintest sounds of pawsteps approaching their location. A large, dark figure appeared, casually strolling towards them. It was a dog, a massive Great Pyrenees, to be exact. His right eye had what looked like an old scar running through it, permanently blinding it. Watching the approaching male, one of the guards took a cautionary step forward.

“Yo,” the guard called out. “Where you headed?”

“Just wandering,” the Pyrenees responded, his voice low and gruff. “Let me through.”

“You’re not allowed to pass through this section of the mountain,” said the guard. His comrade stood up, ready to act if needed. “This territory belongs to Lord Hougen.”

“I won’t stop anywhere.” The Great Pyrenees continued walking. “Your “Lord Hougen”’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“Bastard!” the second guard dog snarled, deciding to take a more hostile approach. “You can’t just walk in! Doesn’t a big idiot like you understand that?”

“I don’t give a damn who’s territory it is,” the large male spoke sharply. His fangs flashed as the street light hit them.

“That’s it, asshole!” Both dogs prepared to pounce. The first dog made his move. “Disrespect Hougen, will you? I’ll kill you!”

The Great Pyrenees leapt as his attacker did. In a swift movement, his fangs latched onto the guard’s testicles and tore them off. Blood sprayed into the air as the guard dog landed in the snow, screaming and crying from the pain between his legs. His comrade turned to the Pyrenees, his eyes wide in terror.

“What the…!?” he yelped. “What the hell did you do!?”

“You both are annoying…” the male muttered, spitting out the dismembered testicles. “I tried being nice, didn’t I? Hmph. The name’s Hiro. Hiro the Ballsnatcher. Attack me again, and I’ll do the same to you. Got it?”

The second guard dog shrank back. This Hiro was clearly not one to be trifled with. He ran back to the injured guard, picking him up by the scruff and dragging him away with him.

“Bastard…!” He yelled as he fled. “I won’t forget this…!”

“Hmm…” Hiro murmured to himself. ““Lord Hougen”, eh? I heard he’s a real bastard. Maybe Kamakiri came to work for this guy…? Hmph.” The male began walking deeper into the territory of the tyrant.

“Only one way to find out.”

#ginga densetsu weed #ginga densetsu weed fanfiction #silver fang legend weed #gdw

[gumnut-logic]

V. T. Green (Part 2)

Title: V. T. Green

Part One | Part Two

Author: Gumnut

25 Aug – 1 Sep 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.”

Word count: 3161

Spoilers & warnings: None.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: This is one that I have been meaning to write for some time. I hope you enjoy it :D Many thanks to both @scribbles97 and @vegetacide for all their wonderful help with this.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

He didn’t get more coffee because they were called out not five minutes after he swallowed the dregs of what he already had.

Everything was dropped and International Rescue deployed. They were in the air within minutes, Scott in One, Virgil, Gordon and Alan in Two, and on their way to the Canadian Rockies to save a party of climbers caught in a rockfall.

It was pretty standard. Well, as standard as any rescue could be except his littlest brother was stoked on caffeine and did something really stupid.

The climbers were pinned on the side of a narrow canyon. Thunderbird Two landed on bare rock some distance off. Scott hovered out of disturbance range and deployed a drone to get clearer readings on the stability of the area.

Stable wasn’t quite the right word.

“Virg, this is eggshells. One wrong move and the whole north side of the canyon is going to collapse. I’m surprised it hasn’t already. Freeze-thaw fractures all down its length.” A pause. “Looks as if the canyon was formed by a similar movement in the past.”

After some consideration and throwing out of ideas, Virgil decided a helipod and a rescue rig would be the best option. The air was almost ominous in its stillness and the less weight on that north side, the better. The less disturbance, the better. The faster they got down there, the better.

Virgil tasked Gordon with piloting the pod, while Alan assisted Virgil with the rescue rig itself, the ten seats more than enough to grab five climbers off the vertical side of the canyon. Within minutes the three of them were hovering halfway down the crevice, Virgil reaching for the first of the injured climbers.

“Thank god for International Rescue.” The first man literally leapt across the space between the rock and the rig before Virgil could even say hello, much less do an assessment for injury. The party had obviously been climbing further up and had been caught in the first of what was likely to be several rockfalls.

“Lower us down to the next victim, Gordon.” Scott’s drone hovered protectively, following them and monitoring the situation.

The rig shifted smoothly under his brother’s manoeuvring. The second victim was a woman with a broken arm and scratches down the side of her face. Despite this, she was calm as Alan assisted her onto the rig, providing a safety line as she disconnected from her hastily secured piton.

They hurried onto the third victim, who had fallen further and was hanging precariously from a ledge, safety line swinging as they moved.

“No, you must help Jenna first! She’s pinned.”

“Sir, please keep still.” Scott was listing the injuries of the fourth climber as Virgil stabilised the third while he continued to protest. It didn’t look good for Jenna at all.

It was one of those moments of decision all the Tracy brothers hated.

“Gordon, lower us to the fifth victim.”

“What? You can’t leave her!”

“Sir, we are not leaving her. This rock face is fragile. Our priority is to save as many of you as possible, as fast as possible. Jenna will take longer than the fifth member of your team. We must secure them, before tackling Jenna.” Who may not even survive. It wasn’t fair to risk the fifth person because of the fourth.

The man continued to protest as Gordon lowered the rig past the prone Jenna. His yells grew louder and more desperate. There were tears.

“Virgil, I’ll stay with Jenna while you rescue the fifth climber.” And before he could stop him, Alan had fired his grapple gun, disengaged his safety line with the rig, and leapt onto the wall.

“Alan!” His voice was echoed by Scott’s in his helmet. “What the hell are you doing?! The rock face is too fragile!”

“It will hold long enough. Just grab the other guy.” Alan secured his safety line to the unconscious Jenna

“Scott! Give me a scan!”

His brother sent the drone’s read outs to Virgil’s HUD. Shit. “Alan, don’t move!”

“Virg-“

It happened so fast it was a blur.

A sharp crack and the whole rock face was moving, falling. His brother and the limp Jenna with it. “Alan!”

Virgil clambered over the rig, his boots hitting the empty seat pads one after the other.

Alan was falling.

He wasn’t secured, his grapple piton falling with the rock face.

His little brother was going to die at the bottom of this godawful crevice.

No.

Virgil jumped.

And reached.

God, please, no.

His fingers hooked the edge of Alan’s harness just as his own safety line yanked tight, wrenching him hard. Alan’s weight pulled on his shoulder, but it was the sudden addition of Jenna, the safety line between her and his brother snapping tight, that sparked and burned the muscles in his arm and shoulder.

A gasped yell and he forced his fingers to stay closed. Shit. Damn. Ow. God, that hurt.

He suddenly realised his eyes were squeezed shut and he shoved them open.

“What the hell are you doing?!” It wasn’t any of his brothers, it was...”Jenna?! Oh god, Jenna!” The third rescuee.

“Virgil? What the hell?!” That was a brother. Alan.

And then there were more brothers in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut again for just a moment, before rasping out, “Scott, need a hand.”

But there was already thunder far above. A number of breaths later and a shadow passed him, lowering itself into the canyon. His eldest brother’s arms appeared in his field of vision, a safety line hooking Alan to the rescue rig, back up for the pain holding his little brother aloft. “Hold on, Virgil. I will secure the rescuee.” The grapple line supporting his brother lowered, a basket stretcher dangling from it.

“FAB.” It was whispered.

He focussed on keeping his grip on his little brother. The same little brother was swearing colourfully until a sharp word from Scott cut him off. Time passed slowly. A tug here and there sparked white flashes of pain.

He kept his fingers curled.

“You can let go now, Virgil.” His brother’s voice was soft.

“Fifth climber...”

“Already have him, Virgil, he’s safe. Alan is secure. You can let go.” Blue fingers wrapped around his and tugged gently.

His fingers let go and the sudden lack of weight shot up through the length of his arm and shoulder. A sharp gasp deteriorated into a groan as his brother, now held aloft by his jet pack, deftly tucked Virgil’s arm against his side, strapping it to his body with a support bandage.

“Okay, up you go.” And Scott wrapped his arms around him and they rose upwards. A second or two later and Virgil found himself strapped into his own rescue rig.

The third rescuee pummelled Scott with questions about Jenna.

“Sir, she is receiving the best care possible. We will be evacuating to the nearest hospital as fast as possible. Gordon, take us up.”

The next hours became a blur of the green of his ‘bird, his medbay, the white of the hospital and the blue of his youngest brother’s eyes.

Alan refused to speak to him. Gordon hovered and prodded in his usual way, obviously unhappy with the silence. Turned out Virgil had torn several muscles in both his arm and shoulder, almost dislocating it, and wouldn’t be flying for a few weeks at least, so he had to sit behind his aquanaut brother as he flew Virgil’s ‘bird home.

Alan sat in the co-pilot’s seat and said nothing the entire flight.

The moment TB2 came to a halt in her hangar, Alan was on his feet and lowering the hatch, leaving both of his brothers staring after him.

“You need a hand, Virg?”

Virgil, still feeling the effects of the painkillers liberally dealt out at the hospital, unstrapped himself and forced himself to his feet. “I’m fine, thanks, Gordon.” His brother shot him a sceptical expression.

Virgil straightened up. “Good flight home. Don’t forget post-flight.” It worked. Gordon glared at him before turning back to the controls.

A step and he made his way over to the hatchway that had retracted after his brother stormed off and lowered himself to the floor of the hangar. His arm was in a tightly secured sling curled up against his chest. Fortunately, or not, it was his right arm, so his baldric had been able to be removed by Scott at the hospital along with his harness and toolkit, but his sleeve had been taken to with a lasercutter and this uniform was destined for the recycler.

The hangar air was cool on his exposed skin.

A quick visit to his rooms to change and then he would have to face the debrief. A little light headed, he was not looking forward to it.

The elevator wall served nicely as a crutch.

-o-o-o-

“Why the hell did you do that?!” Angry blue eyes stared at him in accusation. “I had it all under control until you screwed it all up.”

“Under control? You were falling, Alan!”

“I had my grapple gun! If you hadn’t grabbed me, I could have spun around and secured myself!”

“If you hadn’t jumped onto that rock face, I wouldn’t have had to grab you!”

He hadn’t made it to the comms room. Hadn’t even made it to his rooms yet. Alan had jumped him just outside the elevator and tried to rip him a new one.

“I had it under control.”

“No, you didn’t, Alan! You caused that slide. You knew it was fragile, why the hell did you risk it?”

“She was his wife.”

“So? You risked yours, mine, the fifth climber and hers because you couldn’t wait a few extra moments.”

“He was in distress.”

“Everybody was in distress. What the hell, Alan?” How his brother even knew the pair were married, Virgil had no idea.

“Sometimes, you are just stupid, Virgil.” It was said quietly, but with malice. It froze the retort in Virgil’s throat. Blue eyes looked up at him with such derision. “Just stupid.” With that his little brother turned his back on him and stormed off.

-o-o-o-

Scott ran his hands through his hair and stared at his brother across the lounge. Gordon stared back, a worried expression on his face. Alan sat to his right, a ball of defiant anger. John hovered in the middle of the room, slightly distracted by something out of range of the holosensors, but frown no less prominent.

Virgil was absent.

Scott hit his comms for a second time. “Virgil? Debrief. We’re waiting for you.”

Nothing.

“He’s in his bedroom.” John’s voice was calm, the hint obvious. “He’s still in his uniform, so I’m still getting partial vitals.” Partial due to the shredded sleeve, no doubt.

Scott sighed. This was brewing to be a nasty debrief. He had put aside his own anger pending an explanation from his youngest brother, but that same youngest brother had obviously not bothered to do the same. Standing, he straightened his shirt. “I’ll check on him. You two stay here. We have a lot to cover.”

Alan just glared as Gordon gave him a single nod. Brains sat in another corner completely absorbed by his tablet. He could feel Grandma’s eyes following him as he left the room.

An elevator ride later, a soft knock on his brother’s door had as much effect as hailing him on comms.

A flick of fingers and he overrode the lock on the door and slipped inside quietly. It wasn’t the first time he had snuck into his brother’s quarters and he had no doubt it wouldn’t be the last, but it wasn’t something he did lightly.

He found Virgil asleep on his bed, curled up on one side, his left arm outstretched, fingers limp and pointing to the tablet face down on the floor.

Scott fought the urge to roll his eyes. Leaning over, he picked up the tablet and tucked his brother’s arm back onto the bed. Virgil, as predicted, didn’t stir in the slightest.

Soft snores danced around the room.

Scott placed the tablet on the bedside table. Disturbed, the screen flickered to life.

With a photo of his mother.

The picture was so unexpected, it jarred him and he found the tablet in his hands again. Brown and smiling eyes stared up at him from a face that echoed her second eldest son’s so much that Scott found himself swallowing. A glance at the man on the bed asked questions that weren’t answered.

Straightening up, his eyes darted back to the photo, drawing in the beloved yet pain-filled details. A blink and he shut down the screen, placing the tablet back where it belonged.

Virgil’s debrief could wait.

He left just as silently as he entered.

-o-o-o-

The room was dark when Virgil finally woke. The blinds were still open, the night sky darkening to a long-lost sunset and it took him a moment to work out what time of the day it was. A blink and his attempt to roll over reminded him of exactly why he was in bed.

“Augh.”

Still in his uniform. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He had just needed a moment. Lightheadedness and the fog of painkillers forcing him to sit down. Sit down had become lie down and lie down had become sleep.

A sigh. At least he’d managed to take off his boots.

He stared at his bedroom ceiling. A long time ago he had taken a brush to it, swirling pastels of greens and blues into a calming abstract for moments such as these. His eyes traced the lines, travelling in a meditative path designed to create calm.

He sought it, but couldn’t find it. His shoulder and arm ached, very obviously overdue for another blasted painkiller. But most of all the disdain in his little brother’s eyes haunted him.

Virgil wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t taking his brother’s words to heart. It was more the thought that his brother thought he was stupid. Sure, he was one of five extremely high achieving brothers. Unlike the other four, he had never felt the need to prove his knowledge or his skill beyond gaining his qualification. He knew what he was capable of. He had thought his brothers did, too. The thought that he didn’t have that confidence cut him to the core.

Had he lost Alan’s trust?

And if so, why?

Perhaps it was just words said in anger. Alan was volatile and had been known to go off the deep end in the past.

Maybe his own response to the situation was poorly considered. Thinking back and seeing his brother falling to almost certain death...no, he couldn’t see another way to react. So, Alan might have been able to fire another grapple, but Virgil had been there. There was no way he was going to leave his brother’s life to chance.

But then perhaps that was what Alan was angry about. Perhaps he should have trusted his little brother to have the skill to save himself.

Shit.

The thought of letting him fall...hell, Alan was his little brother. He’d prefer it was himself falling rather than Alan. From the days of yanking him out of haystacks, through to helping him with his homework, through to dropping him off at the local mall...goddamnit, he was his little brother. If he could, he would save him, regardless. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was a matter of love.

If that lined him up with smother brother number one, well, so be it.

Even if he was the stupid one in his little brother’s eyes.

And yes, that still hurt.

His lips thinned. He needed to talk to Alan.

A blink.

Shit.

He’d missed debrief.

Scott would not be happy.

Grabbing his tablet, he expected to find a firm reminder or a chain of queries for a report.

A frown as one of his favourite photos of his mother appeared as the tablet flickered on.

Mom.

He stared at her smiling face for a few seconds before minimising the image. He had several photos of his mother on the tablet. They gave him strength. Reminded him of where he came from and what was important.

His messages came up, and, sure enough, at the top of the list was Scott Tracy. But the note was kindly, asking him to check in when he woke and a reminder to take his medication. Virgil found a small smile on his lips, a fondness swelling somewhere in his midsection. Sometimes it was nice to have an older brother looking out for you, smother or not.

A quick glance at the rest of his notifications and the fondness switched to awe. Several thousand messages were sitting on his blog.

Hell.

But it wasn’t until his eyes landed on an extensive message from one Dr HH that his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

Dear Doctor Green.

It is with much admiration that I send this request for communication. I have been an avid follower of your work for the last year and feel that your work and mine would complement each other in a great many ways...

And Brains, as it was so obviously Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker, proceeded to gush about the polymer equations as much as he had over breakfast, if not more, adding a number of high-end equations and possible applications. He didn’t quite say the words ‘International Rescue’, nor did he mention any of the proprietary knowledge that existed only on this island, but he did end the letter with...

...It is my hope that you will be willing to join your intellect with mine in the aim to save many lives in the future.

Yours sincerely,

Dr HH

It was as much a fan letter as a genuine request to share knowledge.

The rest of the notifications paled in comparison. Brains saw him as an intellectual equal?

He had been working with Brains for years. They had been swapping ideas forever, but Virgil had always considered the older engineer far above him in intellect. Brains invented the Thunderbirds. Virgil just kept them operational and threw the occasional idea in Brains’ direction.

Hell, Brains had several doctorates. Virgil hadn’t studied anywhere near that level.

It suddenly all became uncomfortable, and a little ironic considering Alan’s earlier accusation.

He dropped the tablet and went back to staring at the ceiling, eyes automatically tracking the lines of swirl yet again.

The moon was rising over the edge of the sea and a breeze had picked up, tossing the palm trees around outside his window.

He knew he had to get up and face the music. Scott wanted to speak to him, he needed another dose of those brain numbing painkillers and he had to talk to his littlest brother.

Instead he lay there lost in thought.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two.

Part Three

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #Gordon Tracy

[amydancepants-peralta]

3, 23, and 45 for the prompts!

Hiii Anon,  I’m so sorry this took me a while!  But here go you, response to 23: “Just tell me why you did it!  Because I’m in love with you, ok!”

Title courtesy of Foo Fighters (and I know the lyric ‘is watch him as he goes’, but ‘falls’ works much better here, so just roll with me on this xD)  Hope you enjoy! xx

there goes my hero (watch him as he falls)

There had always been a tiny part of Amy’s mind that was a little concerned that maybe she wasn’t the badass she made herself out to be.  

Sure, she knew how to fight.  But that was because she grew up watching (and learning) as her siblings sparred.  She was tenacious, because with her and her Mom as the only two women in the house, she had learned quickly the importance of standing your ground.  And she certainly knew how to use her mind, but the mind wasn’t everything.  Logically, she knew that she was tough - and always held onto the belief that when push came to shove, her natural born instinct would be to fight like hell.

That was until this afternoon, when she and Jake had followed up on what turned out to be bad intel from her CI, resulting in them chasing their perp into a nearby stockyard.  With his head start, neither of them had managed to catch which direction he’d been heading in and so they’d split up, Jake heading west while she stayed east (or, as Jake had put it, you go this way and I’ll go that way).  

Maybe it was the lack of sleep she’d experienced the night before.  Or maybe it was sheer stupidity.  But for whatever reason, she didn’t notice the perp gaining on her until it was too late, and he was standing in front of her with the barrel of his gun pointing straight at her chest.

And she froze.  Despite all the training, and god knows how many simulations she’d been in.  She froze.  

The rest of it played over and over in her head, a continuous loop she cannot seem to escape.  She remembers her body tensing up as she heard the perp cock his weapon, remembers her eyes squinting as her face turned into a grimace, and then suddenly: Jake was there.  He was there, and his hand was on her shoulder pushing her away, his body in-between hers and the perps, and then the shot rang out. 

Round and round.  The shot rang out, and Jake was there, and then suddenly he wasn’t.  

He was on the ground, and a scarily large pool of red was surrounding him, and the perp was getting away but she didn’t care.  Instead she was shouting words into the radio, free hand frantically pushing her jacket off her body to cover the wound (a through and through, she remembers thinking), and before long there were paramedics and officers and Terry’s familiar voice and her hands just would not stop shaking.

This wasn’t her first time witnessing a shooting.  And as part of her job, she knew it would not be her last, either.  But this one had been different.  She’d never had her partner in front of her, mouthing her name as his face grew pale and her once grey jacket pushed against his shoulder, turning crimson at an alarmingly rapid rate.  Never had the knowledge that it should have been her on the ground, because she was the one that froze, and now Jake was on the ground bleeding and it was all her fault.  

There has just been so much blood.  It was what she kept coming back to, what she found herself repeating to Terry over and over in the car on the way to the hospital - There was so much blood, Sarge, don’t you think there was so much blood?  Too much blood to be okay.   I’ve never seen that much blood.  Terry?  Was it too much blood?  He’d remained silent beside her, eyes trained on the road ahead, clenching jaw the only indicator that he’d heard her at all.  

And then Amy was silent too, mind lost in the memory of the previous week.  Her consuming one too many drinks at Shaws, followed by Jake taking her home in a cab.  She had been so eager to stop the world from spinning, resting her head on his shoulder, but that only seemed to make it spin faster.  Before long his nose was in her hair, and okay, maybe she was completely drunk but she could have sworn she heard him say her name.  She’d lifted her head to answer him, but his eyes were closed, and there was so little distance between them that Amy could feel his breath against her skin.  The urge to push forward - to close the gap and find out if his lips were as soft as they looked - was strong, but then he’d opened his eyes and she’d felt her face rush with blood, the blush so obvious from being so clearly caught out.

He’d smiled at her, that small smile that he’s only given her a handful of times, the one that was secretly her favourite, and her heart had skipped a tiny beat.  And then the cab had pulled over outside her apartment, and just like that, the moment was gone.

It had been close to a year working together when the conversation of dating colleagues had come up.  Jake had been filling the silence of a stakeout with his usual jabber and had just finished describing, in elaborate detail, the disaster that his previous relationship had left behind.  That she had been a cop from another precinct, and that things were great until they weren’t, and that before Jake knew it he’d unknowingly embroiled the Nine-Nine in an all-out war with the Eight-Six.  

It had taken months for their Sergeant to smooth things over, he’d admitted sheepishly, and Amy couldn’t help but take the opportunity to announce that she never wanted to date another cop.  Nothing but bad ideas, she remembered saying, and if she had only glanced back in Jake’s direction, then she too would have seen the flicker of anguish that had crossed his face.

But she hadn’t, and even as they grew closer, Amy had held onto the rule like her talisman - fooling even herself into believing that they didn’t flirt with each other, that they weren’t growing closer every day, and that there definitely weren’t nights where Jake infiltrated her dreams.

An hour passes by.  And her mind never stops thinking about what happened.

She finds herself standing outside his hospital room, filled with irrational anger, willing herself to calm the hurricane down before stepping through the door.  At some point Terry exits and takes one look at her appearance - hair long pulled from its professional ponytail; bottom lip red from her incessant chewing, arm a constellation of crescent scars as her nails continue to dig in - and wisely steps aside, mumbling something about Jake getting changed into a clean shirt, and still Amy finds herself unable to step into the room.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she shakes her hands free and pushes the door open with a little more force than was probably necessary.  It bounces off the wall with a heavy bang, not unlike the sound of the gun earlier that evening, and she jumps at the sound.  She turns, sheepishly looking for him, and he’s sitting at the edge of the bed in a standard issue NYPD shirt, one arm wrapped in a sling, eyes wide and strangely silent.   

He’s been waiting for her.  She can tell from the look on his face.  But the sudden confrontation of her partner in front of her, one shoulder covered in gauze and nursed against his chest is unfamiliar to her, and everything she had been about to say suddenly seems irrelevant.  

He clears his throat, sensing her discomfort because of course he does, he’s her partner, and he knows her body language better than she does.  “So, they said I have to keep my arm in a sling for the next couple of days, but that otherwise I’m fine.”

She nods, fingers digging into her arms again.

“Through and through.  Only a few stitches, really.  That good ol’ Peralta Luck came through for me again.”

Another nod.  He sighs.

“I’m fine, Amy.“

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head.  “But it could’ve been worse.”

“It could’ve, yeah.  But it wasn’t.”

“You weren’t there,” she whispered, trying desperately to fight the tears threatening to escape.  “You were on the other side of the yard, away from the danger.  And then, you - ”

“I heard his footsteps.  Dude was a heavy walker.  There was nothing happening on my side, but on your side, I could hear his.  Yours, I would know anywhere.  And when they both stopped, I knew something must have been going down.  The rest, I guess, is history.”

“You should have stayed away, Jake.”  There is was, that irrational anger that Amy had thought she’d managed to stash away, rearing its ugly head.  “You should have stayed back, and called for backup, and not put yourself into harm’s way.”

Jake shakes his head, his disagreement so obvious that it serves only to fuel her fire.

“You know I’m right on this, Peralta!  We weren’t even wearing vests.  It made absolutely NO sense for both of us to end up in front of that gun.  You could’ve distracted him, tried to take him down, or - ”

“Don’t you dare suggest that I should have stood there and watched him shoot you, Santiago.  There’s not a chance in hell that I was ever going to let that happen.”

“Alright, fine.  But still ….”  

He stands, craning his neck as he clenches his jaw, mouth turning into a grimace as he fights to say what he so obviously is dying to say.  

And so she pushes.  “Just tell me why you did it, Jake!”

“Because I LOVE YOU, okay?  Are you happy now?  I love you.  I am so in love with you it’s ridiculous.”

She stares at him, mouth opening slightly as his outburst continues.  

“And I know you don’t want to date cops, and I know that we’re better off just being partners, and I’m trying the best I can to not be in love with you.  But I can’t do that when there is a bullet flying towards you, Amy.  I can’t.  I won’t.  There’s no point to any of this without you here.”

“ … Jake.”

He shakes his head, taking a step back.  “Don’t.  It doesn’t matter, Ames.  I’ve been getting pretty good at the whole ‘Jake Doesn’t Love Amy’ act, and after tonight I’ll fall right back into the role, I promise.”

“But, I -”

“Seriously, Amy.  You’re off the hook.  This whole thing is just as much my fault as it is yours, and honestly, I’ve been holding out for a super cool scar for ages, so who’s to say that I wasn’t just thinking about that when I did it?”

The memory of his warm breath on her skin in the backseat of a cab washes over her again, and Amy knows that this time she can’t let the moment slip away.

That maybe she was a badass, but that her bravery sometimes took on other forms.  A stranger pointing a gun at her could make her freeze, but the mere thought of walking out of this hospital room without finally being honest about her feelings could propel her into immediate action.

That this was Peralta, and yes, he drove her crazy sometimes, but also:  this was Jake, the man that filled her with the intrinsic knowledge that he would never do anything to hurt her.  That after today, he was going to have a scar on his shoulder, and that was entirely her fault. And she would be damned if she was going to be the reason there was a scar on his heart as well.

And so she steps forward, bold steps turning timid as the distance falls shorter, heart pounding out of her chest as she moves to place her hands on either side of his neck.  

“ … Don’t.”  His body stiffens.

She pulls back slightly, eyes raking over his face to distract herself from the sting, searching for more information.  He shakes his head, sad brown eyes meeting hers.

“Don’t do this because I’ve made you feel bad about today.  I don’t want you to kiss me because you feel obligated.”  Another shake of his head, looking away as he closes his eyes.  “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.  I only want you to kiss me if..” he never finishes the sentence, because suddenly her mouth is on his, and in an instant everything else just seems to fall away.  

She was kissing him, and it shouldn’t make any sense, but it absolutely did.  He was the perfect fit, lips slotting against hers, warm and soft and fundamentally Jake.  His body freezes, but only for a moment, and then she feels him melt into it, releasing a soft sigh into her mouth as she presses harder.

This was it – this was the feeling that she had been waiting for.  That sense of fulfilment, of everything clicking together for the first time in a long time.  And right now, Amy can’t think of any logical reason why she had held back for so long.  He could have died today.  Jake could have died, and she would never have felt what it was like to kiss him.  And honestly, that would have been a terrible waste.

Slowly – reluctantly - she pulls away, smiling as his lips chase hers as she moves.

“I …” she swallows, throat suddenly dry.  “I don’t know if I’m ready to say the L-word just yet,” she whispers, forehead resting against his as she struggles to swallow again, her heart suddenly taking up residence under her tongue.  “But I’m also not ready to go back to pretending.”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah.  Pretending that this thing isn’t real.  That I don’t think about kissing you every time I see you.  You know, that kinda stuff.”

He raises his chin slightly, brushing his lips against hers in the most tantalising manner.  “I might be familiar.”

It’s Amy’s turn to sigh against his mouth this time, pushing herself closer to him, reveling in the new sensation of Jake’s lips against hers, and in the back of her mind she wonders why they waited so long to do this.  Something that feels as good as this did, should never have been denied.

His right hand traces light patterns against her shirt, sending tiny shockwaves along her spine, and as the kiss deepens he raises his left arm to pull her closer, the resulting groan of pain vibrating against her lips.  She pulls away with a sigh, eyes flitting straight to his shoulder before returning to his face.    

“You’re going to need someone to keep an eye on you, Jake.  Make sure you don’t …”

“Do anything stupid?”  She shrugs, and he reciprocates with a grin.  “You’re not wrong.  Although, if you want me to come home with you, you could’ve just asked.”

She pulls him in for another kiss, letting her teeth sink into his bottom lip this time in reprimand as she pulls away.  His responding moan does things to her, and the years of repressed feelings begin to fight their way to the surface.  Her head falls to his good shoulder, sighing as his arm circles around her, and although they were still standing in the middle of a hospital room, Amy already feels as if she is home.  

Her actual home however, with all its comforts, beckons, and reluctantly she pulls away, trailing her hand down his right arm until her fingers are linked with his.  

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A blush washes over her, and she resists the urge to tuck her hair away, choosing instead to keep her hand interlocked with his.  Together they move towards the door, for the moment silent as the reality of what they have just started begins to sink in.

And then - 

“So, just out of curiosity … would this be a bad time to mention that I’ve got a real thing for nurses in uniform?” 

She smirks, leaving a mental tick to the checklist already forming in her head. “Duly noted, Detective.” 

#my fic #b99 fanfic #cliche post prompts #here goes nothing #hero jake jumps before thinking #for anon