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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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Scratches in the Surface

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: Investigating Shepherd was a mistake, but the betrayal of John Price hurt more than anything Shadow Company could do to you.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Talks of gore, torture, violence, swearing, blood, angst

A/N: Not really sure if I like this or not, but the idea was good so I kept it. Your codename in this is ‘Key.’ Part 2

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The buzzing lights above you were going to drive you insane faster than the damn clicking of the man’s pen, but you endured the overstimulation of your brain with an expression of boredom.

Click, click-clack, click,

God, You clench your teeth together, either stop that, or I’m going to–

When you go to move your hands over the metal table, the cuffs around your wrists shriek as they slide. The man in front of you pauses, looking up from his file, the manila folder sitting tantalizingly close; your fingers curl over the paper cup to your right, grabbing it and dragging it to your lips.

As you sip the stale water, your eyes bore into the CIA Agent over the rim, unblinking and dead. Feeling the liquid travel down your throat and hit hard into your empty stomach, you watch the man tense in his seat, his eyes averting from your own quickly like you were a blazing fire. Suppressing a smirk, the man clears his throat.

You place the cup down delicately, leaving a small amount of water behind, right as the door behind the man opens loudly, creaking on its hinges and making you cringe.

Your gaze snaps to the familiar head of blonde hair that belongs to Kate Laswell, her stone-cold face more wrinkled since the last time you had seen her. The woman walks through the door, and the Agent gets to his feet quickly, leaving the file on the table.

“Ma’am,” He says, holding onto the back of the chair as he turns to face Laswell, “She hasn’t said anything since she arrived.”

“Thank you, Moore. I’ll take it from here,” Kate sighs deeply, her white dress shirt and black pants swishing as the air conditioning comes on. The lanyard around her neck makes a slight clinking noise as her name card jumps with her steps.

You tilt your head as far as the bandages around your neck allow, feeling the stitches on your throat pull painfully; you hoped your former friend could see the blood already staining the gauze.

The man leaves with clacking shoes, taking the godforsaken pen with him, and Laswell takes his seat. You couldn’t help but compare the scene to a transaction – you being the package thrown between unwilling participants. Not that you cared. The aches and pains in your body demanded retribution; you were more scar tissue now than skin.

The silence between the two of you is thick, eyes clashing in a mute battle of wills you know you’ll win. You’d had four years to squelch every ounce of weakness from your body – waiting, praying, for this moment.

Just as you imagined, Laswell breaks first.

“I never knew that Shepherd was capable of doing what he did,” Her hair collects in a bun at the base of her neck, and her bangs caress her forehead. The Agent’s style hadn’t changed, at least, “When you told me that I should–”

Kate stops mid-sentence.

You watch her gaze fall to your arms on the table and your fingers twitch.

Frowning, you suppose the widening of her eyes was about all the reaction you would get out of her; the one second of horror that sweeps Laswell’s eyes before the practiced calm resettles like mud in the water. But the satisfaction you garner is unparalleled.

“You ever been thrown into a tub full of glass, Kate,” Laswell flinches at the gravel in your throat, vocal cords ripping with every word, “It’s not that bad if you don’t move so much,” You smirk, letting the dry skin on your lips break open, “Kinda hard, though, when you have a million little knives digging into your flesh.”

“I didn’t…” Kate closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, looking away from the mangled remains of the skin of your arms, the more significant cuts starting at your elbow that jaggedly run down your forearm. Those ones weren't made by glass, but you didn’t tell the woman that.

Let her squirm, You pick up your paper cup, grasping the rim and the hard wire hidden in the fold, It’s been a long time since I had that effect on anyone. I want to get my edge back. I need my edge back.

Kate continues her previous sentence, placing her hands on top of the folder on the table and clenching them together. You bring the cup to your lips, sipping down the last few drops before letting your bound hands fall once more. You rest them on your lap and fiddle with the cup, shifting your shoulders to relieve the tension that sits there.

“I didn’t believe you at the time about Shepherd, Key, and that was my biggest mistake. I led an investigation the second you went missing but as far as everyone was concerned you had disappeared off the face of the earth. We had no leads, no information, and no trace,” She sighs, “You have to believe me when I say we did everything that we could too–”

“We?” You scoff, “We? You’re saying you had Price working on this?” You spit out the name as venom leaks from your tone; leaning forward you see shadows move from the corner of your eye.

You had nearly forgotten the glass window to your right, no doubt the multiple shadows barely seen behind the one-way were faces you had prayed to come and save you for all that time in the facility. You knew Price’s outline when you saw it – bulkier than the rest, large shoulders, and the bulge around his head because of that damn black beanie. The fidgeting was a new tick, though. Then again, it had been years. Maybe you had never really known him at all.

You blink, stuffing away that fact with a pounding heart.

Calm down, you growl to yourself, You’re in control. You…You are fucking in control. Don’t think about John Price.

“...That’s really cute. Do you want a medal? A pat on the back?” You grunt and shut down the conversation, noticing you’ve been crushing the cup in your grip under the table, the object shaking from the force of your fingers. Leaning back, you take in a slow breath, “It never really added to much, did it?”

To anyone besides Kate Laswell and John Price, no one would have noticed your sanity fraying at the seams inside your pounding brain. Licking your tongue over your teeth your eyes stay locked with Laswell’s as you feel panic build.

It’s a long time before the woman speaks again. She utters your real name under her breath.

“We tried everything to find you. But as I got sucked more and more into Shepherd’s world, allegations started to gain validity, and the news of your death–”

“And all it took was him losing three American missiles and his little Shadow Company friends killing more than half a city in Mexico?” You force out a chuckle, your white hospital t-shirt uncomfortable over the mass amounts of bandages digging into your skin. Kate brings a hand to her temple, rubbing it with shaking hands, “Yeah,” You deadpan, “They told me about that.”

“Do…Do you know anything about where he might be?”

“Shepherd?” You sputter out a harsh laugh that leaves Laswell swallowing, “what, do you think I’m the center of the gossip ring? They kept me in a fucking dark room for days at a time. The only thing I heard was the rats eating the corpses in the corner and the sound of my blood hitting the drain basin.”

You rose your right hand as far as the cuffs would allow and pointed your thump at the one-way glass, “Until your Toy Soldiers broke me out, that is.”

“Key,” Kate shakes her head and you know what bullshit she’s about to spill, “I can’t imagine what you went through for all those years. If we knew you were still alive I know Price and I would have–”

You tune out whatever Laswell says, fingers fidgeting under the table as you turn your head and itch the thin bandage over your chin with your shoulder, feeling stitches break open. The Ac unit was so damn loud, and that stupid buzzing of the lights.

Fuck, everything’s just too loud, You begin to bite on the skin of your bottom lip, peeling back the flesh until you feel blood dribble down.

Laswell calls your name, and you narrowly suppress a flinch, your eyes flickering closed before snapping back to the woman. You release your lip silently and live with the pain that breeds.

“What?” You numbly question, foot shaking under the table.

“How about I get you something to eat?” Kate draws out and you don’t like the concerned glance she sends to the glass as she shuffles forward in her chair, “They have those mini sandwiches in the cafeteria that you love.” The woman licks her lips, her blue eyes running over the noticeable bulges of bandages and gauze that span your chest and abdomen, down your thighs and legs. The bottoms of your feet, under your socks and shoes, even have wraps. All stained red.

“Not hungry,” You clear your throat through the lie.

“Key,” Kate whispers, “you’re skin and bones.”

“You think I don’t know that, Laswell?” The words set you off, snapping from your lips as your eyes flash and your face twists. The Agent tenses, shoulders locking tight, “I’ve looked like this ever since you and Price sold me off like a fucking dog with a rope around its neck!” Your wild eyes revel in the fear that sweeps Kate’s face. She doesn’t know you anymore, “That was you two wasn’t it? Or are my memories more fucked up than I know…? Huh?! Did the electrocution finally fry my brain?!”

Laswell’s eyes fall to the table.

“I trusted you!” You’re screaming now, guttural and savage; every so often your voice would break, and the shadows behind the glass were all straight as a rod except one, one who slightly hunches as if in guilt, “You both left me to die! I gave you evidence, I showed you facts and you turned me over like I meant nothing to you! Like I meant nothing to Price!” The words hurt you when you spit them out, and the stitches over your throat feel like they’re on fire.

Oh, God, John I wanted more than anything for you to find me – t-to stop it. Stop the pain, stop the torture. I need you. Where did you go, John?

“We couldn’t act on–”

“You trusted Shepherd more than you trusted me! That’s what you acted on. That’s the truth.” You turn your head to the ceiling, trying to stop the vile tears that coat your eyes as you suck in ragged breaths. Your ribs ache awfully.

A minute passes, then two.

The next words come out muffled with numbness, whispered from your bloody lips, “Their deaths are on you. I pass off my guilt of it.”

You could hear a pin drop. Hell, did they even know?

“The bodies in the corner…” Laswell whispers, and you hear her throat get clogged.

“What,” You snicker, “Your forensic team not identify them yet? The ones with their faces still on, that is?”

“Who are they, Key?” Kate whispers but you know she knows the answer already. So does Price.

You turn your head to the glass, finding that familiar shadow and boring your eyes into it blankly. Feeling your tears dribble down your cheeks, you smirk when the black on the other end turns its head away. The others shift nervously before you look back at Kate.

“Shane, Jax, Alice, and Sam.”

Laswell’s eyes snap downward to her clenched hands.

You lean closer, “Look at me,” You growl lowly, “Kate, look at me.”

Her eyes are red when they meet yours and you stifle a deep-chested laugh at the sight. A vicious smile blooms over your cheeks, teeth and all.

“He killed my fucking family, Laswell. My squad. My brothers and sisters that I never even involved in this because I knew how it could end if it went south. And they ripped them to fucking pieces while they were still alive,” You lift a free hand and throw your unlocked cuffs on the table, the small, thin, metal wire from your paper cup visibly stuck in the key slot. It rams onto the surface with a bang. Laswell flinches back, head snapping to the object in surprise, “That’s on you and Price. And I want it to haunt you just as it haunts me.” You tilt your head to the side, nodding towards the cuffs, “Good to see my nickname held up, at least. As you can imagine my tricks don’t work so well on rope or barbed wire.”

A ruckus sounds from the other room, loud shouting, and the rushing of feet. You lean back in your chair, slouching, and not soon after the door to the room slams open; John Price stands in the doorway with a stupid look on his face you can’t help but huff at.

“There he is,” You mutter, staring his blue eyes down as his large frame nearly hits the sides of the wall. You spread your arm out, elbows on the armrests sarcastically, “The other person I’m so eager to see.”

Laswell stands on shaky feet and exits the room, shoving past John as he stares at you. For a moment you see what you could on describe as guilt on his face before it's wiped away the next instant.

Not bothering to speak anymore – you’ve said your piece – you bring your hands up and caress the red skin where the cuffs had been. The area was more sensitive now that the flesh had been torn away time after time while you were held by Shadow Company in some godforsaken facility in the wilderness. You throw the remnants of the ripped-up cup onto the table.

The door closes nearly silently, and heavy feet pad forward. You could lie to yourself and say you don’t feel your heart pounding, but what use would it be?

John sits in Laswell’s chair before palming the once more left-behind file. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, as he slowly flips through the pictures. Pictures of you, of your once perfect body full of scars and burns and bruises over every inch. You swore you saw his fingers begin to shake as he turns another page.

John Price used to be something important to you. A friend, a mentor, and if time had permitted, perhaps he would have been something more. You don’t choose to dwell on these thoughts, but they haunt you still; how he would always prioritize your safety on missions, and give you a rare real smile when you impressed him. His laugh when you slipped out crappy jokes on missions together. The imprint of his calloused hand seemed to forever live on the back of your head, dragging you into a tight hug as you remember an OP in Romania.

On the mission, when a bullet had lodged itself between your third and fourth rib, the outcome had seemed grim – hopeless – but all John did was grab your cheeks and force your eyes on him as the Medic worked hastily, grunting and uttering calmly.

“Eyes open, Sweetheart. Keep them on me, eh…? There you go, atta girl. I’m right here,” It was safe to say you had chosen to stare at those unusually soft baby blues the entire time you were getting Evac. and John had dragged you into the ramshackle head-to-chest-hug the second you were stable, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Talking so sweetly you had wanted nothing more than him.

He had been so much more than a Captain to you.

But that was all so long ago, and the memories were rotted like tree trunks. He was just another face, a handsome one, yes – he still hadn't shaved his beard and the circles under his eyes looked darker than you could ever remember seeing them – but still that rugged charm that was John.

I trusted you, You want to scream at him, hit him, tear his throat out. But in the end, you did nothing, but you didn’t trust me.

The wrinkles around his eyes tighten as he sees the extensive claw shreds over your back on one of the printed sheets, the impression of dog teeth over your left shoulder blade and right thigh.

You feel a tightening in your throat.

“They liked their dogs,” You mutter, “That’s for sure.”

Price’s throat bobs.

“German Shepherd?” He asks, accented voice thick, picking up the picture and grasping it so tightly the corner creases.

“Nah, Doberman.”

“Hm,” He grunts, finally looking up from the picture to stare into your broken eyes. Against your better judgment, you look away first, not able to stand the unwavering blue with that specific emotion staining the iris. John was different from Laswell. He…He had meant more.

That’s why it hurt so much to be near him because he would always mean more.

Under the table, your feet shook. John cleared his throat, placing the image down and closing the file before he, in the buzzing of the lights and the whishing of the Ac, whispers your name under his lips.

You’re ashamed of the way it makes you feel like you could cry, your body freezing. Only he could utter it in that way. You had waited to hear him say your name every single day you were stuck with the Shadows.

“Save it,” You nod your head his way once, not looking up from your lap, “I don’t want your apology, Price. It’s done.”

The Captain’s head nods firmly, ever the gentleman, chin jerking as he clenches his jaw. John’s fingers close your file and he taps it with the back of his knuckles, prompting you to raise your gaze to follow the motion.

“I want every name you can remember, yeah?” You pause, for a moment you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly. Under the table, you can feel your knee spasm with nerves.

Picking your gaze up, you travel the length of Price’s tight gray shirt; looking over his combat vest and all the tiny pouches holding only he knows what. You settle on the man’s eyes with a small hitch in your breath. He looked furious, downright lethal.

John’s shoulders were tense, muscles vibrating with badly concealed anger. At his neck, he had a visible tendon from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Had he not read the file before now? Seen the pictures? Or was that not even the point? You frown, shifting in your chair with nervousness. Your head was all messed up.

Logically you knew his anger wasn't directed at you, but you could never be too cautious when it came to someone you haven’t seen in a while. Men had been the source of your problems for four years, and even if you knew John the thought remained that if you had changed so drastically, so could he.

At your silence, Price pauses, blinking a few times before he realizes his hand is clenched on the table, nails biting into his skin. He leans back into the chair with a heavy inhalation, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. John holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, eyes closed, and you watch him and his unsteady breaths that echo through the interrogation room. His chest sputters.

So now he cares, You ask bitterly, blinking away the anxiety in your bones with false calm, now he wants to help.

“Where was that anger when I asked you to help me investigate Shepherd?” You whisper, saliva stuck under your tongue.

John never answers and not a second later he’s standing and stalking out the door with measured steps, but manages to close the door softly behind him before his form disappears.

Come back, You want to plead the second the lock latches, your hands shaking violently in your lap, don’t leave me alone here, John. Don’t leave me alone. I-I can’t be alone again.

But you say nothing.

Outwardly no one can analyze your body language the way that the Captain or Laswell could. All they see is a blank slate waiting to be filled sitting stone-still in an interrogation room. Left alone, all you can do is force back the tears and listen to the loud buzzing and the whining of the Ac, trying with all of your might to forget Captain John Price and the damning comfort his presence still brings you after years of hell.

But how could you forget him? All of the good memories you have left are of him; the only ones untainted by blood or a dark room with no light. The shrieking of rats is like a symphony of death that plays on repeat in your head, digging into the small spaces in your ribs and intestines. But you welcome it because anything is better than thinking about John. Of the times you shared with him.

The betrayal itself is less painful than the memories.

#john price #john price x reader #John price x you #modern warfare #MW2 #cod #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #mw2 2022

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deancasbigbang · 7 months

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Phantasma

Author: thisisapaige

Artist: Sketch

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, references to past Dean Winchester/others, references to past Castiel/unnamed male character, minor Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

Length: 30934

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Paranormal Romance, Stanford Era, Ghost Castiel, Hunter Dean, Bad Parents (John Winchester and Naomi Novak), not MCD

Summary: Dean doesn't have the guts to grab Sam from Stanford. Dean fails to find his missing dad. Dean can, however, hunt the ghost haunting his house. Yeah, Dean buys a haunted house. On purpose. After a quick salt and burn of the bitter old ghost of Naomi Novak, Dean can finally have something in his life go right. But the ghost isn't what Dean's expecting. The spirit he finds is a polite, broad shouldered, blue eyed man in a trench coat who, instead of throwing Dean through the window in a vengeful rage, asks Dean for help. Dean agrees to assist Castiel, the Friendly Ghost, with moving on to the next life. Cas isn't like any ghost Dean had ever met. The usual rules don't apply to him. He's kind to Dean. He loves books. His cold touch brings mortals close to death. The more time Dean spends with Cas, the less Dean wants to let him go. Cas is good company. Dean hasn't let himself get close to anyone in years. In a different life, Dean could have fallen in love with him. Or maybe he already has.

Link to Fic | Link to Art

#dcbb 2023 #masterpost #2023 masterpost #deancas #destiel

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profeyandere · 11 months

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𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊. ─── ☾ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃

Masterlist || Daniel Brühl Masterlist || Wattpad

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader

Warning: Angst, panic attack, murders

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

That little building in New York no longer felt like the warm, sweet home he loved so much. Now, everything around him had been covered in a dark thick icy mist that had appeared once he had made sure that you were gone. He didn't expect to be able to blame you for it, either.

Laszlo, no matter how hard he tried to search his innermost thoughts, could not remember having felt such sharp and persistent pain in his life until he finally found the courage to return home and face the situation in which he had found himself. He had become immersed because he was unable to keep his mouth shut and the comments at bay, finding that tragic December night a home that was no longer what he had left that same morning. In the depths of his heart he hoped to see you in the living room, sitting in his armchair or on the soft sofa that characterized the room, with one of his many blankets in your lap while you tried to calm your usual nerves about meeting him again or doing one of the many activities you planned for the afternoons, perhaps reading one of the various astronomy books in which you had shown special interest in recent months with a cup of chamomile to soothe your headaches or trying to finish knitting the dark wool gloves for him with the excuse that even if you didn't like that activity, you wanted him to stay warm enough during the harsh winter that was lashing New York while investigating the latest case he had been involved in, even if he knew that your disgust for the last mentioned activity was a little lie that you had developed over the years and that he had discovered by having seen you smile on more than one occasion while you practiced with Mary a new type of stitch; you always showed a particular distaste for activities that were characteristic of women, but he had learned to observe that you were actually quite content with them and that you could come to appreciate them even if you claimed otherwise.

But now that he had returned home, he felt an emptiness in him, not hearing your playful laugh resonate because of some joke that Stevie had told you, nor could he distinguish your quick and agile steps becoming louder and closer that indicated that you had heard him home, much less was he able to feel the warmth that enveloped his home when you were in it. He noticed the lack of your presence, and it was not necessary to be very intelligent or have a university degree to make sure of it because he only had to analyze himself to realize it; Anguish had been the feeling that had taken over his body, then eliminating the anger that had been controlling him for much of the day.

Laszlo hadn't wanted you to get involved in the case of the missing children, the same ones that days later turned up murdered wherever the maniac who ended their lives wanted to show them. He assumed from the beginning that the scenarios in which he would be involved would be dangerous, after all, they were looking for a murderer, and he knew that the places they would visit would be quite unpleasant judging by what John Moore, his dear friend, had previously described. He just wanted to keep you safe, in the comfort of his home, while he and the small team he had assembled took it upon themselves to put an end to the wave of murders that was causing so much fear in the inhabitants of the splendid American city.

All he did was try to keep you away from the monsters beyond the gates of his home, but he didn't make sure that the most horrible being you had at your side. You had him, and he wasn't able to protect you then.

Tension, nerves, and anxiety had taken over his body, being felt that he was unable to control for not finding a solution to the case on which he was working so hard. He felt devastated for not finding a solution to such a problem, being forced to constantly search and review the same psychology books that he had read so many times and that, on this occasion, were not providing him with the required help. Barely a few days had passed since the death of the first young people belonging to rather unfortunate families was announced, but the desire to end it became more palpable as the hours passed; The only thing the doctor wanted was to end the case with a happy ending, return home as he usually did and hug you, thus eliminating the intrusive thoughts that crowded his mind and that prevented him on many occasions from resting as it should. You, being aware of the latter, had decided to visit Laszlo at his usual place of work to check his state of health.

He would have appreciated your visit on other occasions, he would have felt a familiar tingle once he had seen you open the door of his office to greet him with your loving smile, and he would have watched your bright eyes that would light up more and more as the seconds passed, and you watched him, but at that moment all he saw in you was a distraction he didn't want to deal with; he didn't want to be with you at that moment, and he wanted you to leave as soon as possible. You greeted him excitedly, asking about his day, and soon after you started talking about how worried you were that he was so deep in the case that he wasn't even taking care of himself, which you assumed all along and which is why you asked John and Sarah to take care of him while you weren't around; Although your innocence, concern, and dedication to the doctor could be seen as a blessing in most cases, he just wanted you to shut up at that moment, turn around and go home, he just wanted you to understand what his cold look wanted to tell you, but it was not like that.

You didn't understand him, or you didn't want to, and Laszlo took it out on you.

You saw his shoulders tense as you approached him and his desk, this time lowering your tone of voice as you presumed that a new wave of emotional headaches was at work again in his head. You sighed softly and walked around his desk, positioning yourself on one side of him with the intention of easing that pain by massaging his temples. It was when you finally placed one of your delicate hands on top of his, gently stroking the knuckles of his left hand to calm him down and show your support, that you finally saw how the beast he seemed to have kept hidden finally came out to unleash its full wrath on you. He quickly withdrew his hand from yours, surprising you with the movement and causing you to take a step back to give him some space, then raised your head to meet his gaze with yours, his being the one that flashed with feelings of anger and rage that ran through his body and that was impossible to control. He raised his voice at you in a way you didn't expect, ordering you to get out of his office, leaving you completely shocked by what had just happened and by what you had heard. You tried to refute what he had just told you, asking and begging him to let you stay and letting him know that you wouldn't speak anymore if he required it, but then he started to hurt you with the words that you would have least imagined. You had always had certain limitations in learning, you always recognized that obvious fact, and many times you doubted that your intelligence was the same as that of an average person your age, you had even felt bad enough on several occasions to question yourself if it was enough for Laszlo for that small impairment, but it was his words of encouragement, full of affection and always sincere that made those intrusive thoughts disappear, but now he brought out that insecurity to make you see that perhaps your assumptions were correct; He pointed out how stupid you looked around him and how you tried to keep people from seeing that big flaw of yours through the kindness you showed, trying to make witty comments but only making others laugh at how silly you seemed and that The fact that people were so sweet to you was because they found you as silly as a 3-year-old.

In short: Laszlo confirmed your biggest fear.

From the moment the doctor began to bring up that insecurity, placing special emphasis on what others thought of you, you felt how you stopped hearing from one moment to the next. You could perfectly see your fiancé open and close his mouth, and move his hands to express himself more freely, but it was impossible for you to understand what he was saying due to the feeling of sadness and anxiety that had begun to devastate you. You had heard of anxiety attacks, Laszlo had explained them to you after you had had to calm down one of the many children at school who had sought refuge in you the first time he attended the doctor's therapy, and, now if you were suffering it in the same way that young man suffered then, he made you understand that Laszlo was no longer a safe place for you; he was the one who was causing that to you, and you didn't want that to happen again, you refused.

When Laszlo watched you leave with teary eyes, your chest rising and falling at an alarming rate, and your hands slightly trembling, he knew he hadn't been able to protect you the way he wanted. He had failed you.

Now that he was home, remembering those agonizing minutes you'd suffered, he couldn't help but grit his teeth at the rage he felt at himself, letting out a snort to calm the anxiety that had begun to take over him. With his heart in a fist, he began to walk slowly towards the living room while he prayed that you were waiting for him there, just as he had previously imagined when he had entered his house, but it was not like that. Stopping on the threshold that separated the living room from the hall, he made sure that the vibrant colors that were always in that room were just a product of his imagination because now that you weren't there; everything had taken on grayer and sadder colors, only having a small flash of crimson in the small ring that was on the coffee table in front of the sofa that you always occupied to talk about your busy mornings and afternoons, both of you using that precise moment to appreciate to the other in the way you longed for, but now you weren't there, just the reminder that you were once there.

Laszlo realized that he had lost you forever and there would be no way to get you back.

The house felt cold again and as lonely as it had before I met you.

#laszlo kreizler #laszlo #kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x oc #reader #you #oc #daniel brühl #laszlo kreizler imagine #daniel brühl imagine #the alienist

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dcbtv · 7 months

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Sparks Fly

Title: Sparks Fly

Author: kelsstiel

Artist: Suninjang

Song: Sparks Fly

Posting date: September 24, 2024

Rating: Explicit

Any archive warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Top 10 main tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Owner Dean Winchester, PhD Student Castiel, One Night Stand to Friends to Estranged to Lovers, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Switching

Summary: Dean is a good big brother. That’s why he’s driving from Lawrence to New York City on a monthly basis. It’s not because of the dark-haired stranger he slept with on his first visit to the Big Apple. It’s definitely not because he ran into that stranger again and they decided to exchange information. Sam’s a first year law student so he lives in a shoebox with roommates and is busy with his classes and new girlfriend. It only makes sense for Dean to stay with Cas since he’s got more space and spends more time at home. But they aren’t in a relationship. Dean isn’t good at relationships and Cas is a Ph.D. student whose life is too up in the air with graduation on the horizon and plans to move anywhere else. Cas is the best thing to happen to him since his dad died and Dean knows it’s only a matter of time before he fucks it all up.

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Link to Fic || Link to Art

#submission #deancas bang (taylor’s version)#destiel #dcbtv #swifties #swiftnatural #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #taylor swift #destiel fan art

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deancasswitchbang · 1 year

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A Kiss of Magic

TITLE: A Kiss of Magic AUTHOR: casblackfeathers (@casblackfeathers) ARTIST: CrzyDemona (@crzydemona)

LINK TO FIC || LINK TO ART

PAIRINGS: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore, John Winchester/Mary Winchester MAJOR ARCHIVE WARNINGS: N/A TAGS: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, True Love's Kiss, Dragons, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Cursed Dean Winchester, Witch Curses, Animal Transformation, Nine-Tailed Fox, Spells & Enchantments, Fluff, Domestic, Mutual Pining, Two Person Love Triangle, Angst with a Happy Ending, Smut, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Switching

SUMMARY: In a world full of dragons, angels, and witches, the fact that Dean has been cursed from birth isn’t that unusual. But fulfilling his duties as a prince when every night he turns into a golden nine-tailed fox isn’t always easy.

At least when he’s corresponding with Cas, an angel from the neighboring kingdom, he can be himself; no curses, no duties as the firstborn son of King John Winchester, and no shadow of his own self-doubts darkening his life.

He has loved Castiel for years, and each letter they traded was like a tune making his heart beat at a happy rhythm.

There is only one catch, Castiel doesn’t know he has been corresponding with Dean all this time, and in an effort to strengthen their realms’ alliance, he’s set to meet and marry Dean’s brother in a month. That's how long Dean has to change the path of their lives.

#submission #deancasswitchbang #dcsb #dcsb2023 #A Kiss of Magic #Author: casblackfeathers #Artist: CrzyDemona

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impala-dreamer · 1 year

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Coming Soon to Patreon -

Here's a glance at what's coming up on Patreon:

Remember, for only $3 a month, you get access to hundreds of fics never published anywhere else, and a brand new one every single Monday. Not to mention, a special invite to a private discord group, contests, requests, and so much more!

~Strange things are brewing in Connecticut, so Dean and Y/N go check it out. After stumbling through town, they fall into something that's been going on a very, very long time. Can they put an end to the bloodshed and make it out unscathed or will they need a little help this time?~

Starring Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Featuring Cameos by Sam Winchester, Rowena MacLeod, and OCs

21,500 Words - 13 Chapters

Series Warnings Include: NSFW. Magic. Angst. Captivity. Mentions of Pregnancy/Pregnancy Talk, Sex. Oral. Threesomes, Slavery, Murder, Blood, Not really all that graphic, honestly. NonCon/DubCon, Bickering. Also lots of love and fluff.

~Sometimes, the person you fight alongside is also the person you with the most. And sometimes all that fighting is hiding other feelings, other desires...~

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

2615 Words

Warnings: Frenemies to Lovers. Talk of hunt gone wrong. Mentions of blood. Angsty fighting. Sexy kissing. PG-13. Young, cocky Dean.

~During a break in her convention schedule, Y/N seeks some peace and quiet but ends up with far more than planned.~

Drake Rodger x Fem!Reader

2,243 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Mutual Masturbation, Age Gap, (Reader is in her late 30s), Fluffy, Sexy, Yummy Smluff

~John Winchester has a hard life and an even harder time keeping his mind off of young Y/N.~

John Winchester x Fem!Reader, Dean Winchester

1,998 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Age Gap, Masturbation, Longing

~Alone and unprepared, Y/N goes to collect Dean from the bar and convince him to come home. Sam says he has a cure, and she'll be damned if she doesn't at least try to get Dean on board...~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel

6,331 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Angst, Smut, Demonic Charm, Fingering and Fucking, Mild Violence, Canon Everything, Choking During Sex, Choking not during sex, Lose of consciousness, Yada Yada

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

#john winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #drake rodger x reader #Joe Goldberg x reader #coming soon #patreon

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satansapostle6 · 3 months

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Characters I Write For

Please message me with any ideas/requests! I need ideas(short fics or series)

Mostly write for fem!readers. I can write fluff, angst, smut, etc. If I’m not comfortable with something I can let you know

Character/Actor List

Favorite Characters/Actors To Write For

Draco Malfoy, Weasley twins

Jesse Pinkman

Paul Dano characters

Josh Hutcherson characters

Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel

Damon Salvatore, Silas, Klaus Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson

Rodrick Heffley

Bellamy Blake

Ezra Fitz(should probably make it clear I don’t condone)

Ian Duncan(Community)

Charlie(It’s Always Sunny)

Luke Castellan, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase

Finnick Odair

Tommy Shelby

Killian Hook

Paul Dano

Klitz(The Girl Next Door)

Dwayne Hoover(Little Miss Sunshine)

Edward Nashton(The Batman)

Calvin Weir-Fields(Ruby Sparks)

Brian Wilcox(Fast Food Nation)

Joby Taylor(For Ellen)

Nick Flynn(Being Flynn)

Josh Hutcherson

Peeta Mellark(The Hunger Games)

Mike Schmidt(FNAF)

Josh Futturman(Future Man)

Devon Bostick

Rodrick Heffley(Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

Jasper Jordan(The 100)

Cillian Murphy

Tommy Shelby(Peaky Blinders)

Dr. Jonathan Crane(The Dark Knight)

Neil(Watching the Detectives)

Christian Bale

Patrick Bateman(American Psycho)

Bruce Wayne(The Dark Knight)

Breaking Bad

Jesse Pinkman

Jane Margolis

Saul Goodman

Harry Potter(Golden Trio Era)

Harry Potter

Ron Weasley

Hermione Granger

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Neville Longbottom

Draco Malfoy

Pansy Parkinson

Blaise Zabini

Theodore Nott

Daphne Greengrass

Adrian Pucey

Terence Higgs

Harry Potter(Marauders Era)

James Potter

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

Lily Potter

Severus Snape

Regulus Black

Lucius Malfoy

Narcissa Malfoy

Bellatrix Lestrange

Arthur Weasley

Harry Potter(Fantastic Beasts Era)

Newt Scamander

Queenie Goldstein

Leta Lestrange

Percy Jackson

Annabeth Chase

Luke Castellan

Thalia Grace

Jason Grace

+ Gods

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Emily Prentiss

Derek Morgan

Penelope Garcia

David Rossi

Elle Greenaway

Cat Adams

Megan Kane

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

John Winchester

Mary Winchester

Castiel

Charlie Bradbury

Rowena McLeod

Adam Milligan

Lucifer

Ruby

Jessica Moore

Gabriel

Benny Lafitte

Bela Talbot

Jo Harvelle

Ellen Harvelle

Gilmore Girls

Lorelai Gilmore

Christopher Hayden

Luke Danes

Logan Huntzberger

Jess Mariano

The Hunger Games

Peeta Mellark

Katniss Everdeen

Gale Hawthorn

Finnick Odair

Johanna Mason

Haymitch Abernathy

Pretty Little Liars

Aria Montgomery

Spencer Hastings

Emily Fields

Hannah Marin

Mona Vanderwaal

Alison Di Laurentis

Jason Di Laurentis

Ezra Fitz

Toby Cavanaugh

Jenna Marshall

Caleb Rivers

The Vampire Diaries

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Katherine Pierce

Elena Gilbert

Jeremy Gilbert

Bonnie Bennett

Caroline Forbes

The Originals

Klaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Freya Mikaelson

Hayley Marshall

Marcel Gerard

Davina Claire

Twilight

Edward Cullen

Bella Swan

Alice Cullen

Jasper Hale

Rosalie Hale

Emmett Cullen

Victoria

The 100

Bellamy Blake

Octavia Blake

Jasper Jordan

Shameless

Fiona Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

Carl Gallagher

Frank Gallagher

Mandy Milkovich

Kevin Ball

Veronica Fisher

The Bear

Carmy Berzatto

Sydney Adamu

Richie Jerimovich

Suicide Squad

Harley Quinn

Rick Flag

Blackguard

Once Upon A Time

Emma Swan

Regina Mills

Killian Jones

Rumplestiltskin

Robin Hood

Ruby

Hades

Community

Jeff Winger

Abed Nadir

Annie Edison

Troy Barnes

Ian Duncan

It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia

Charlie Kelly

Dennis Reynolds

Dee Reynolds

Mac

Cricket

House MD

Greg House

Robert Chase

James Wilson

Lisa Cuddy

Parks and Recreation

Ben Wyatt

April Ludgate

Andy Dwyer

MCU, Marvel

Steve Rogers

Tony Stark

Natasha Romanoff

Bruce Banner

Wanda Maximoff

Loki Laufeyson

Peter Parker(Holland, Garfield, Maguire)

Gamora

Peter Quill

Scott Lang

Steven Strange

Jessica Jones

Wade Wilson

DC CW

Oliver Queen

Barry Allen

Felicity Smoak

Laurel Lance

Sara Lance

Malcom Merlyn

John Constantine

Leonard Snart

Ray Palmer

Caitlyn Snow

Julian Albert

Rip Hunter

10 Things I Hate About You

Patrick Verona

Cameron James

New Girl

Jess Day

Nick Miller

Schmidt

Other Characters

Charlie Kelmeckis(Perks Of Being A Wallflower)

Jesse Eisenberg Characters

Dr. Who(10th Doctor)

Will Probably Add More

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thelibrarylesstrektraveled · 1 year

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To The Victor Chapter Three - Can't Be Claimed

Summary: Although Omegas had won the legal battle for equal rights, society was slow to catch up. Thought to be the weakest of the genders, they struggled to find opportunities that Alphas and Betas took for granted. Known as the Guillotine, Emmaline Beaumont was woman with a secret. Head of her family’s company; she was smart, shrewd, and tough as nails. At sixteen she presented as Omega and she’s hidden it ever since. Suppressants and hormone reassignment therapy allowed her to live her life as the Alpha her family needed her to be. The perfect solution, so long as she never allowed herself to be claimed. As the President of Winchester Inc. Dean’s professional life was golden. As an unmated Alpha nearing forty, he was restless. Charming and devastatingly handsome, Dean was rarely without female company, but he wanted more. He wanted what his parents had. Someone made especially for him. His match, his true mate. Finding her on a trip to New York had been an unexpected dream come true, but no one ever said the road to love was easy.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!OFC, Dean x OFC, Dean Winchester x OFC

Characters: Dean Winchester, OFC, Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore, John Winchester, Jody Mills

Warnings: ABO dynamics, Heat/Rut cycles, Smut (Unprotected sex, knotting, oral sex, claiming bites), hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals and medical talk, fluff and angst, age difference (Dean is 39, OFC is 27), True mates, self hate (OFC struggles with gender)

Chapter Three: Can't Be Claimed

Word Count: 3348

Masterlist

To The Victor Masterlist

The twenty minutes it took for help to arrive were nothing short of agony for Dean. He kept Emma cradled close. Whispering sweet words of encouragement in her ear, telling her to hold on, that help was on the way. She never responded, but he had to believe that she could hear him or at least knew he was there. That he wasn’t leaving her. That he was going to take care of her.

God, she’s so cold!

Dean tugged the blankets closer around the two of them and rubbed her arms roughly, desperate to infuse every ounce of his own heat to her chilled flesh. Give her his strength. Surround her with his scent. In his mind, he kept going over the conversation with Emma’s sister.

Emma can’t be claimed. Family doctor treating her since childhood.

Just what the hell did that mean? If it hadn’t been for the insistent tone in Jess’ voice, Dean would have called 911 instead. As it was, he was doubting his decision.

He pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple, “Keep fighting sweetheart, I’m right here.”

The door to the suite opened without so much as a knock of warning and a short, slight man entered. He wore a slim black suit and tie with a matching fedora pulled down over dark hair. His unsmiling face was sharply featured with beady eyes and a crooked, hawk-like nose. Everything about him was severe and unpleasant. The expression he wore was a mix of displeasure and annoyance. Going by the classic leather satchel in his hand, this man must be the family doctor.

Dean shifted Emma’s unconscious body off his chest and stood, “You the doctor?”

The man removed his hat and placed it on the table along with his bag, “I am Doctor Lancaster, and you are the Alpha who caused all the trouble.” He never spared Dean a glance as he rifled through his bag. His tone suggested an absolute disgust with the situation.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t appreciate being judged by a gargoyle in cheap mortician’s suit. Especially not when his mate’s life was hanging by a thread. “Yup, that’s me. So, are you able to help her?”

Lancaster moved over his patient with efficiency. After he took a few vitals, he drew out a vial and syringe from his bag of tricks. “I believe so, it was a good thing you called when you did. Another hour and she’d be dead.” He swiped an alcohol swab over the crook of Emma’s elbow and administered a hefty dose of the drug.

“What are you giving her?”

“Botox.”

The Alpha didn’t appreciate the sarcasm. He let out a low, menacing growl and clenched his jaw so that the muscle there twitched.

The doctor was equally unimpressed with the show of aggression. “It’s a combination of adrenaline, beta blockers and hormone booster.”

Dean frowned as he realized the implication, “She was on suppressants?”

“Ah! An Alpha with a brain! Nice to know at least one of you rutting beasts can think with something other than your nether regions.” Lancaster checked Emma’s pulse one last time. With a satisfied nod, he shut his bag and stood.

“Your Omega is going to be fine. Her temperature is already rising, and her heat cycle will now continue as normal.” The doctor gave Dean an appraising once over. “Judging by your own state, I’d say you are already aware of that.”

Dean was loathed to admit this quack was right about anything. The cavalier way he was treating a medical emergency should have him barred from practicing medicine anywhere in the civilized world. The fact that the emergency was his mate, made Dean want to rip the man’s throat out on principle alone. Yet, the little troll had done something right, because he could now pick up Emma’s scent. It was intoxicating, and stronger than it had ever been. Apple orchards and magnolia blossoms, it made his mouth water. His rut, that had been threatening since meeting Emma was now in full swing. His thoughts were quickly giving way to is Alpha instincts; protect, care for, and knot his mate.

Lancaster already had his hand on the door, knowing his presence wouldn’t be tolerated by a rutting Alpha for much longer. “She’ll wake in a couple of hours. When she does, the best treatment for her, is you.”

It was the faint, high pitched whine that finally pulled Emma from her dreamless sleep. She felt warm and secure. That lovely scent of sun-warmed cedar forest tickled her nose and she sighed in contentment, snuggling towards it.

“’Mega?”

The worry edged fear in that deep voice had her frowning before she even opened her eyes. When she did, Dean’s face was mere inches from hers, his handsome features tight with stress. The anxiety that rolled off him in waves made her heart clench. He was terrified.

She brought her hand out from under the nest of blankets and threaded it through Dean’s hair, “Alpha.”

Dean crushed her to his chest, his whole body trembled, weak with relief. After that wretched doctor left, Dean had ridded them both of their clothes and bundled them up under a mountain of blankets. He kept their bodies pressed as closely together as possible, his instincts telling him skin to skin contact was crucial to his Omega’s recovery. A warm, safe nest for just the two of them where he could protect her and look after her properly.

He scented her deeply, desperate to drown himself in the sweet fragrance. “Thank God,” he murmured over and over again.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m alright,” she soothed, brushing kisses against his forehead. She held him tight as he shook in her arms. A virile, strong Alpha like him wouldn’t be scared by much, and that told her all she needed to know about how critical things had gotten.

He had taken care of her, gotten her help and no doubt saved her life. Now it was her turn to take care of him, “I’ve got you; I’m right here.”

He kissed her roughly, stealing her words along with her breath. Desperation and urgency in every heated pass of his mouth over hers. His hands groped her aggressively, pawing at any bit of softness he could find. It took him several minutes to regain his control. He abruptly pulled away, panting for composure he would not easily grasp.

“I’m sorry… sorry.” He let his forehead fall against hers as his chest heaved. His voice was low and hoarse. “You need rest.”

Emma studied Dean’s pinched features. The tension coiled uncomfortably, barely contained, under the surface, sweat dotted his skin and his rock-hard length twitched between them. His eyes were nearly black, overtaken by the hormones and lust ravaging his system. This whole mess had triggered his rut, God knows how long he had been suffering with it while she was unconscious. The added worry that his mate was dying had made it nearly unbearable.

Her heart broke for him then and with it came guilt. This whole thing was her fault. She knew the consequences of doing anything with an Alpha while she was still taking the treatments. It was reckless and irresponsible and unforgivably selfish.

She cupped the side of his face, gently brushing her thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. He closed his eyes and leaned into her soothing touch. “I don’t need rest. I only need you.”

“No,” he muttered, trying to ignore the urges running through him. “I’m rough. Too rough. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

She continued to stroke his face, calming and soothing. “You won’t hurt me, I’m your Omega. And your Omega is a strong Omega.”

Dean mustered up a final ounce of control and looked into her deep, blue eyes. The comfort and consent he saw there eased the tightness in his chest. “’Mega mine.”

“Yours.” Emma confirmed softly and brushed her lips feather-light over his, “Mate now. Rest later.”

It lasted five days in total. Each of them seamlessly providing what the other needed most. Alpha and Omega. Balanced. Each a perfect counterpoint to the other. They relished in the joy of being together. Every experience was exciting and new, every touch satisfied in ways that surprised. Very few words were spoken, their connection was so strong that it over-rode the need to talk. That knowing, that deep down in the soul kind of certainty was staggering. The intimacy of their bond was deeper and more complex than either of them had ever known.

Now that their respective heat and rut cycles had ended, they were left with the rather mundane task of how to weave their lives together. These were the boring, yet very necessary details of the real world. The world outside of cozy one they’d created within the confines of the hotel suite. Neither of them were particularly excited at the prospect.

“So, going by this hotel room we’ve been honeymooning in, I’m guessing you’re not a New Yorker.”

Dean caught her gaze in the mirror as he deftly buttoned up the crisp, white dress shirt and smiled. Even her reflection caused his stomach to flip over. “Nope, Chicago. Born and bred. You?”

“Manhattan.”

“You ever been to the windy city?”

“A couple of times,” she shrugged, tucking her legs up demurely under her backside. “It’s not bad for fly-over country.”

“Fly-over country?” Dean scoffed, “Chicago is in the heartland, the Midwest. Everything a big city has to offer with access to wide open spaces. Way better than this uptight sand bar.”

“Is that so? Then what’s a guy like you doing slumming it around the boroughs? Cruising for a mate?”

“Nah, I just got lucky.” Dean plopped down to sit beside her on the bed and kissed her loudly. “I travel a lot for work. I’m in New York once a month or so.”

“Will you come back more now?” She asked hopefully, the thought of only seeing him once a month had her heart twisting.

“Well, I thought that you’d come back with me. You know, live with me in Chicago.” Seeing her face fall, he rushed to reassure her, hoping that he wasn’t bungling things too much. “I’m sure you will need some time to get things tied up here, but I want you with me ‘Mega. And we can come back as often as you like.”

“Why don’t you move here with me?”

Dean nearly scoffed, but the earnest look in her eyes suggested a softer approach might be better. “Sweetheart, my business is in Chicago. I make a good living, an excellent living actually. I have an apartment there along with some property in the country. I’ll take good care of you; you won’t have to worry about anything ever again.”

She raised her chin to look Dean square in the eye, “My business is in New York. I make an excellent living and I own a beautiful Brownstone on the upper east side. I don’t have a country cottage, but I’m willing to work that into our negotiations.”

“Negotiations?!” He sat back with a laugh, “You are something else, you know that? Omegas don’t negotiate living arrangements with their Alphas.”

She leveled her gaze, “Yours does.”

His mate wasn’t one to give in easily, and he loved that about her. Her spirit. Her fight. She challenged him, made him earn her submission. Made him prove he was worthy of her. He was happy to oblige her.

He leaned in close, his mouth centimeters from hers but not touching. He ghosted over, getting tantalizingly close but never making contact. Catching on, she let him edge her backwards on the bed. It was one of those games teenagers play, like there’s an invisible barrier around their bodies that allow them to get close but never touch. They moved in tandem, he filled up space she had occupied only moments before. She retreated as he advanced.

Dean’s movements were sleek and slow, like a panther. He never stopped his progression, never broke contact with her gaze. He watched with hooded eyes as the glint of rebellion gave over to something softer.

He hovered over her body only a hair’s breadth away, his grin was predatory, “Lucky for you, I’m an expert negotiator.”

Emma struggled to keep her thoughts orderly. It was growing increasingly difficult as her mate hovered above her. His scent surrounded her, his arms and legs caging her in. He was everywhere and she could feel herself start to float on that heady, seductive cloud. She couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. Nowhere in the whole world felt as good, as right, as being with him.

It wasn’t until he saw her eyes flutter shut that he broke that invisible barrier between them. His nose brushed the claiming mark and inhaled deeply before moving on to the spot just behind her ear. It was one of her favorites and he had discovered just how sensitive it was over the past few days.

When he nuzzled her then nipped, she moaned and brought her fingers up to comb through his hair still damp from the shower. “Mmm… you make a valid point.”

He chuckled as he continued his assault. Moving down the graceful column of her neck, he sampled silky skin.

“I have an idea,” she said as Dean made his way to the zipper of her hoodie and started to ease it down. When he didn’t reply but moved his fingers moved to her waistband, she gave a sharp tug on the short hairs at the base of his skull.

“Agh!” He grunted as she wiggled out from under him. With a pained sigh and a semi hard erection, he propped himself up on one elbow. “Better watch it, Sweetheart. You know I like it rough.”

Emma sat up, regal as a queen. Determined to get back to business. “I think we should date.”

“Date,” he repeated. “We’re mated. We’ve spent the last five days claiming each other in every way possible. Don’t you think we’re a little past the dating phase?”

A worried frown creased her brow, “You don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know it’s a little… backwards, but so what? Why should we do things the way other people do?” She gave a shy smile as she appealed to him. “I want to get to know you.”

He sat himself up completely and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “We are going to spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other.”

He instead of reassuring her, he felt her pull away. He felt like kicking himself, somehow, he’d managed to say something wrong. He crooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. There was disappointment there, “It means that much to you?”

“Well, I thought it would be fun and I… I’ve never dated before. Not really, anyway.” She replied, struggling to keep embarrassment from coloring her voice.

Dean couldn’t help being surprised. Shocked. She was a beautiful woman, stunning actually. He had no doubt that his pretty little Omega had turned heads from an early age. She was so smart and fun and sexy, it seemed impossible that no one had ever tried to date her. Although the very thought had his possessive Alpha jealousy flaring.

“Never? No boyfriend ever?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. One of her more noticeable nervous tells. “No, not really. I mean, I’ve gone on a few dates but there was never anyone special.”

“Does this have to do with those black-market suppressants you were taking?��

“They weren’t black-market,” she countered, “I wasn’t getting shot up in back alleys, I was under a doctor’s care.”

“Oh, you mean that gargoyle that showed up? That guy was a dick, he had the bedside manner of a cab driver!”

“What he lacks in congeniality he makes up for in discretion.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest defensively. She wasn’t accustomed to defending her actions to anyone, especially regarding her presentation treatments. It was a well-guarded family secret, discussing it with anyone else made her very uneasy. Even if that person was her Alpha, the one person meant to protect her.

“Being an Omega is nothing but a liability, it’s a weakness. This city is full of Alphas who think they can drag me back to their cave by my ponytail. Or boss me around because the world order says they should be in charge of everything!”

Frustrated, she blinked back the stinging in her eyes. Tears that threatened to fall only seemed to undermine her point. Usually, she had a tight rein on her emotions but ever since being claimed, they refused to stay where she put them. They were like a storm she was constantly trying to keep from breaking through.

“I just wanted to live my life without having to worry that my presentation would get me overlooked for a promotion or kidnapped by a rut-crazed Alpha.”

Dean hated the fear and stress he felt from her. Her eyes bright with unshed tears. He knew the world wasn’t an easy place for Omegas. Emma certainly wasn’t alone in her feelings on the matter and many others had taken the same route. Suppressants and scent blockers were a common and safe method for most people who wanted a bit of anonymity.

“You’re right,” he said with a sigh, taking both of her hands in his. Reveling in how delicate they seemed compared to his. How easily they could be bruised or broken. “There’s nothing wrong with Omegas using suppressants. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably do the same thing. It’s just that reaction you had, you were so cold. I thought I was going to lose you. I’ve never been that scared. And then that creepy doctor… acting like he didn’t care if you lived or died. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”

Emma leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry Dean, it’s my fault. I knew better, I just got caught up. And then when my heat started, I couldn’t think straight.”

“It’s understandable. I did kind of sweep you off your feet.”

“You did,” she smiled softly. “That’s why I had only been with Betas before.”

Dean pulled back and looked at her with curiosity, “So you’ve never been with an Alpha before me?”

“No.”

His grin was instant and cocky as his chest puffed out. “Good.”

She rolled her eyes, “Shut up.”

He laughed and pulled her onto his lap, tucking her head under his chin. She fit there so perfectly; Dean knew he would never grow tired of holding her. Leaving New York without her, would likely be one of the hardest things he would ever do. He took a deep inhale of her sweet scent and groaned. “Okay Sweetheart, you win. Let’s date.”

Emma drew back and looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, “Really?”

“Hell, why not!”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with such enthusiasm that he nearly toppled backwards. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Just you wait,” he muttered through their joined lips, “I’ve got all kinds of romantic cards up my sleeve.”

When her face lit up Dean felt his heart swell. Yeah, being separated for any amount of time would be torture, but worth it if it made her so happy.

She eyed him with suspicion. “You aren’t just giving me my way because I cried, are you?”

“I hate seeing you cry, but no. You made a valid point. It’ll take us time to get everything figured out, why not have some fun while we’re at it?”

The dimple in her left cheek appeared and her eyes sparkled with the smile that bloomed. She was practically glowing with excitement and hope. Shining like the sun, the new center of his universe. His whole future held in his arms.

#alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean winchester #a/b/o #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #Jensen x ofc #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #Dean x ofc #a/b/o smut #spn fic #supernatural #To The Victor

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samjesswinchester · 4 months

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This is last chapter of the Season One Era! I would love for you to read it and comment and share, but mostly just read it :)

Season Two Era will start…soon

Thanks for reading!!!!

Chapters: 19/19 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester & Everyone, Jessica Moore & Everyone Characters: Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Cas - Character, Bobby Singer, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, Original Supernatural (TV) Character(s), Real Tyson Brady, Demon Possessing Tyson Brady, Luis (Supernatural: Pilot), Missouri Moseley Additional Tags: Love at First Sight, season one, Supernatural - Freeform, Stanford Era, Jessica Moore Lives, Hurt/Comfort, emotional af, sappy af, soulmate, Angst and Fluff and Smut Series: Part 2 of What Never Was But Should Have Been Summary:

It's early in the morning on November 2nd and, with Sam Winchester's *slightly* enhanced psychic abilities, he knows he and his brother need to get back to Stanford before his nightmare comes true. Even with getting there in time, learning to navigate the newly exposed family secret and its inevitable trauma will test Sam and Jess more than ever before.

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deancasbigbang · 7 months

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Title: Phantasma

Author: thisisapaige

Artist: Sketch

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, references to past Dean Winchester/others, references to past Castiel/unnamed male character, minor Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

Length: 30900

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Strangers to Lovers. Paranormal Romance, Stanford Era, Ghost Castiel, Hunter Dean, Bad Parents (John Winchester and Namoi Novak), not MCD

Posting Date: October 9, 2023

Excerpt: “Hey, uh, Castiel?” Dean asked. “Where’s the statue?” A hiss of electricity, then Castiel said, right in Dean’s ear, “What statue?” Jumping Janis Joplin on a jackrabbit! Dean put his back to a ghost, didn’t think twice about it, and now that ghost was right fucking behind him. Dean whipped around, trying to lift his gun with one hand, and attempting to dig out his iron knuckles from his jacket pocket with the other. Instead, he hit Castiel, his whole body moving through the ghost. Cold. No, that wasn’t a strong enough description. Frostbite. An Arctic expedition wearing only his Batman underwear. Losing all the blood in his body. His heart stopping. Darkness. Being lowered into his grave. Death. It was like death. Dean slammed against the floor, gasping and shivering. Pain radiated through his body. Rolling onto his back, he waited for the stars to clear from his vision. “Dean? Dean?” Castiel’s voice came from above. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Slowly, Castiel’s concerned blue eyes came into view. Taking a few short, shallow breaths, Dean had enough air in his aching lungs to force out an, “I’m fine.” “No, you’re not.” As Dean struggled to sit up, Castiel retreated. Dean put a hand on his chest and felt his heart beating. He was back in the land of the living. He’d never had that happen before. Most ghosts used their psychic powers to fight. A few had punched him or grabbed him and yeah, it was cold and unpleasant, but Dean had never fallen through one before. That couldn’t be summed up as unpleasant. Dean was convinced he had died for a few seconds. He probably would have been completely dead if it’d happened with any other ghost. The vengeful spirits he’d faced off against before would have finished the job. But not this ghost. Not Castiel. Castiel stood with his back against the wall. The paint showed through his semi-transparent body, casting him a green sheen. Shoulders slumped, Castiel stared at his hands as Dean pulled himself back onto his feet. “Tah-Dah!” Dean said once he got up, slightly swaying. He wiggled his fingers. “See? Totally fine.” Maybe it was odd that Dean felt the need to comfort a ghost after that, but Castiel clearly regretted it. “It was only a little death.” Castiel’s head snapped up at that. “The, uh— The—” He cleared his throat. “The French way?” “I—” Dean lowered his brows. “I don’t know what that means.” He tapped his chest. “I mean that it sucked but I’m still ticking. So, let’s get back to helping you.” “You’ll still do that?” “Yeah, buddy. It’s what I do. Just, ah, no touching and no spooking. Capiche?” Castiel nodded and said, seriously, “I capiche.” How in the hell could a ghost who kind of, sort of, killed him be so freaking cute? Oh, no. What was Dean getting himself into?

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

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winksasleeplesseye · 11 months

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obscura (one)

SUMMARY: Six years have passed. And Amara can't help but think about them as she heads for her next mission, recounting a pair of blue eyes and blonde hair and just what the government has done thus far.

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: mentions of violence, cursing, experimentation implied, angst

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

London

October 2004

Amara’s headspace had become more and more frequently a comfort these days. A more refined person would call it a mind palace, a memory palace, etc.

She found living in memories, in moments of calm, had become an anchor for her. Between every punishing mission, she’d find a quiet place and drift and daydream into this place. Her mind conjured up images of a familiar, yet slowly unfamiliar pair of blue eyes and blonde hair but she couldn’t produce much else. But it was enough for her.

Leon was becoming a distant memory since Raccoon City and that scared her more than anything, not being able to see him or talk to him after everything is agonizing.

Sure, she had her outlets like kickboxing classes in the gym down the street from her apartment with that stupidly hot instructor John, sporadic visits coordinated by that weasely bastard Simmons with Sherry and Claire, and other things like music and painting but companionship was something she’d craved. Maybe too much sometimes. That was something that still made her just like everyone else.

Things moved at a breakneck pace after they’d been picked by the government in the aftermath. Once it became known just what Amara carried now forever in her blood, did the threats come for her by the very same government that she thought would protect them.

Now, she’s just a weapon—correction, an agent to do their bidding, their science experiment. Wesker did this to you. Keeping her mouth shut about Raccoon also guaranteed her safety and not just hers but Leon’s, Claire’s, and Sherry’s safety.

Another part of her wanted desperately to find the man who put her in this position in the first place. But that didn’t matter now. Wherever he is, she hopes it’s nowhere good.

Above everything else, Amara wanted nothing more than to keep her new allies—friends safe. Most of all, Leon.

She lets out a pitiful laugh to herself, thinking about him, her eyes focused on the road ahead. If she’d known everything that would’ve happened after that night in the motel, she would’ve held him longer, tighter. Kissed him more and savored the taste of his lips on hers, the feel of him inside her.

Even in their last interaction, deep down she knew she shouldn’t have let go.

See you later had shifted from what she thought would only be days, weeks, months…to six long years.

Rain pelted down against the tan leather of her jacket, she couldn’t find it in herself to even wear a helmet as she weaved through the traffic on her bike. Something about the rain against her face reminded her that she was alive.

With what she’s paid? A quick trip to the salon would fix her right up anyways. She actually didn’t quite mind when her hair reverted to its natural state.

Cutting down a narrow alley, she stops short in front of a parked van in front of what seems to be a derelict building. It’s black, inconspicuous, and with this weather? Practically invisible.

Her eyes venture up at the dilapidated sign above the said building. King Arthur’s Sword in the Stone attraction.

“There seems to be a fine line between coincidence and irony.” She says to no one in particular. The window of the van rolls down and an unfamiliar man sticks his head out.

“Good evening, Agent Moore.” The man smiles, a little too cheerful for Amara’s taste. “I’m Joe, I’ll be your support on this mission from here.”

A crack of lightning brightens the area momentarily. “I thought supports usually stayed in an office?”

“Courtesy of the government, this is my base of operations,” Joe, with a hint of a British accent she notices, gestures to the back, Amara briefly sees the high-tech screens and monitors.

All to keep her in line, she’s sure. For a brief moment, the lyrics of that stalker song by The Police play in her head. Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you take, every step you take, I’ll be watching you… “Right. So you’re telling me there’s an old Umbrella facility underneath a King Arthur attraction?”

“According to our intel, yes, unfortunately. There was actually some nonsense of the real King Arthur’s tomb here years ago…soon discredited.”

“And yet another roadside attraction was born,” she jokes. “Let’s see what we can see, shall we?”

She doesn’t wait for Joe’s answer, opting to head to the wall to climb up from the gutter into an open window at the top. Dropping gracefully into the expansive space, decorated distastefully and quite cheesy for a King Arthur attraction.

“Joe, hear me loud and clear?” Amara pressed the comms system on her ear.

“Clearer than clear, love.”

“Good, hopefully, this will be educational for you.”

“Learning from one of the top agents in the US division is more than an honor.” The thought of being a top agent at one point would’ve made Amara proud but now it felt like a stain that's never washed clean.

Covert operations never did seem like things deserving of the honor.

Crates and other knick knacks lay about haphazardly. “If I were an evil pharmaceutical company, where would I hide a lab?”

“I thi-“

“That was rhetorical.”

Amara ventured further in, finding more opulent, ornate items scattered throughout the various ridiculous set pieces. Jill would’ve thought it was a good score. The goofy narrations made her chuckle; were they really trying to actually educate anyone about the King Arthur tale?

Many times in her schooling, particularly on the subject of English literature, her teachers would talk of how King Arthur’s life and deeds gave way to the Arthurian legends. The once tried and true history nerd inside of her would’ve devoured this silly attraction.

Now, she can’t exactly imagine sitting down to read much of anything except lots and lots of mission reports. When she wasn’t reading them, she was certainly writing them.

At least going on missions broke up the monotony. The routine that had become so much of her life as of late. Another side objective to this mission, one that HQ told her not to really divulge anyone of, was her search for paintings. Not just any paintings either; these ones were linked to Umbrella’s former leader, Oswell E. Spencer.

She had found 4 out of about 5 (luckily the man never quite got them all in his possession), spanning across the globe, each one portraying demonic, disturbing imagery. HQ claimed they held “power” within the paint which was just about the stupidest thing she’d ever heard but in a world with the most grotesque monsters created by a human hand, was it that stupid?

Something about each one, despite the thoughts of its stupidity, intrigued her because of the symbols within the image but she did as told, destroying them (and those who protected them). All her intel pointed her to this place but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in July that it was actually here.

“How long ago did this place close down?” Amara asks, tiptoeing over water-damaged pieces of wood. “This place certainly is not up to code.”

“The illustrious owner, a…uh, Professor Kenneth Whitman went bankrupt in 2003, it’s been closed ever since then,” Joe answers, “Madness, right?”

“I shudder to think that that man had students, but shudder even more at how much disrepair this place has fallen into within a short amount of time.”

Amara attempted to test her royalty, pulling up the aforementioned sword in the stone with no luck. No power. No King Arthur glory for Amara. And certainly no way further inside. “Looks like I’ll need to switch on the breaker, wherever it is.”

“Map shows a side alley entrance, check there?”

Ugh, back out in the rain? She really didn’t want to go through another period of drying out inside this dank, almost humid place to getting soaked by London’s neverending rain again. This is what I signed up for, remember?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She sighed, following the map displayed on her communicator, the newest gadget added to her gear.

After traversing over the cast iron gates outside to switch on the breaker, only then does the power cut back on. Light pours out from the windows of the attraction, illuminating the rain as it hits the pavement.

“And let there be light,” she deadpans, it still earns her a chuckle from Joe through the comms in her ear.

Through all the narrations and displays, somehow Amara finds that she’s disappointed just a tad that the very room that supposedly was meant to get to the truth of the myths of King Arthur had now been converted into a storage facility.

“So much for getting to the truth of King Arthur.”

“Give the Professor some credit, at least he chose the most boring part to convert. Besides, who wants to know the actual truth anyway?”

“You’d be surprised,” Amara responded, finding a crack in the wall furthest from an exit beaming red from the fluorescent light above it. She knocked on it, finding the whole wall is hollow. Her eyes also happen upon a forklift, just asking to be used.

Operating it should be simple enough, right? It’s like operating a claw machine…with two metal sticks on the front. Joe seems to scoff, obviously watching her feed. “Is this what they teach you agents in America?”

“No, we usually just shoot our problems. But I thought I'd give this a try." Amara quipped.

He laughed. “I don't know about the forklift, but they definitely teach the sarcasm."

“Oh no, sarcasm is when I say the opposite of what I mean. Wit is when I say exactly what I mean, but in a way that makes you wish you had thought of it first."

“Lesson number one with Agent Moore? Wish I had grabbed a notepad.”

“I charge for lessons by the hour, Joe. Hope you’re ready to pay up when I get back there.”

“I’m good for it, love.”

The forklift did its job, taking down the wall to reveal…a secret entrance to a cavern. Amara pretended to be shocked, but she’s not. “Oh, wow, they hid that sooo well.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Yes, Joe,” she answered, hopping off the forklift. “This next part will require some silence, mate.”

All she hears is a small hum from Joe in her ear before the line is dead silent. Thank the gods above he knew when to be quiet.

The cavern is shrouded in darkness just beyond what Amara can see with the forklift’s headlight, so she flicked on her flashlight finding the craggy rocks bending and forming crudely to reveal a path. It seems to descend rather than just go straight forward. Huh, so it goes underground? This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it, Amara?

It’s a bit of a tight squeeze in some places, especially with all her gear, but she manages. More and more static filters through her comms in her ear the deeper she goes, so she lowers it. She almost wanted to let out a sigh of relief at the fact that she was finally alone even momentarily.

Eventually, the cavern begins to open up, an almost ominous humming echoing off the walls of the cavern as she gets closer to…

…a lab? Down here?

Well, at least the intel was correct.

The humming, she found, emanates from a big generator nearby which is hooked into a cavern wall. The wires seemed to lead nowhere, perhaps they were powered on with the breaker above ground? It looked more and more likely.

“Does this shit ever get less complicated?”

In 2003, after a lengthy trial that led to the dissolution of Umbrella and loss in stocks, the US Government, in a rare show of giving a shit, went after all involved with the company but that didn’t absolve their part in blowing Raccoon sky high. Hence, why she was here, partly.

While she’d been on other tasks (very much like the government’s goddamn lackey), this one was of the utmost importance. After RC, the government under USSTRATCOM formed the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. To no surprise, she alongside Leon are their main operators (though it wasn’t like they had much of a choice).

The current administration, Graham and his lovely cabinet, actually seemed to want to take down as many Umbrella adjacent so she’d spent the better half of last year during the RC trials and this year doing this.

Outside of her Umbrella pursuits, she’d heard of something going on with the President’s daughter but that currently wasn’t under her jurisdiction, technically she wasn’t even supposed to be aware of that.

There was some…mole within sectors so while usually Amara would be flanked by at least two other agents, now it’s down to just her. For reconnaissance purposes, it makes sense. The fewer agents, the less information could slip between the cracks. A smart tactic at the time, smart keeps most people safe.

But now in hindsight, it seems kind of absurd that one lone agent is tasked to find what could very well be an active Umbrella facility.

A sleek doorway stood before her, a sense of deja vu took her by surprise. The doors opened with no trouble, and the overwhelming smell of rust and damp concrete mixed with unused chemicals lingered in the air. Almost by instinct, Amara drew her Beretta, taking a moment to scan the surroundings.

The eerie silence was only broken by the sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls.

Dimly lit corridors made her a little cautious, only her trusty flashlight in her other hand guiding her next steps. The place was in disarray, with broken machinery, debris, and paperwork scattered everywhere…it must’ve been a hell of a time escaping this place.

Amara didn’t scare easily but she couldn’t shake the chills up her spine and flare in her nostrils. Taking in deep breaths, she pushed on and focused on what she came here for. The facility is empty as she suspected, so her next steps were getting information and finding the painting.

A glint of something shiny on the ground just so happened to fall in the line of her sight.

“Well, hello there,” she bent down and picked it up. A small metal disc with Umbrella’s logo shines briefly in her vision, a small bit of her reflection displayed within the iridescent surface.

She pockets it and keeps moving.

Chancing it, she raises the volume back up on her comms. There’s no longer static so that’s a relief. Except now, she had to work a little harder to hear considering the comms tended to block out sound quite well when cranked up, so well, in fact, that she could hear her own footsteps reverberate through to her skull, maybe even hear her own brain knocking around it if she focused hard enough.

“Joe?” She speaks and for a few seconds, there’s a nerve-wracking silence.

His one-syllable answer practically rattles her skull from the vibration, “Yes?”

Oh, thank god. Joe may be a tad annoying but at least there was someone to get her through this creepy-ass atmosphere. “Nothing. Just checking that you’re still there.”

“Were you getting lonely?” There’s a teasing tone to his words that she doesn't appreciate. Fuck, especially here of all places. “If you needed a big, brave man to accompany you, all you had to do was ask.”

And there he goes ruining it. Some support he is. “Shut up.”

“No need to be touchy.”

One thing she’d learned about these paintings is that they tended to be within a shrine of sorts, or blatantly on display. Judging by the narrow hallways and the dim lighting, barely even lighting as much as the shoes on Amara’s feet, she definitely doubts that the painting is here. Seriously, who would even have a shrine down here?

She paused in front of a rusted door, her hand hovering over the handle. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed it open and stepped into the room beyond. The final room within the lab is a computer lab of sorts, though all the computers are ten years behind. Blocky, huge, and ugly to look at.

As she began to sift through the piles of documents laid atop the desks, Amara's eyes fell on a computer with its screen turned on, nestled in the far corner.

It’s sleek, newer, and curvier than blocky. Someone was showing off to their colleagues.

That same computer spits lined papers of what seems to be numbers onto the floor. It must’ve also cut back on with the breaker.

“Joe? You seeing this?” She raises one of the pages to eye level.

“Yeah, what are they?”

40.4637° N, 3.7492° W…that layout…these were coordinates. She ran her fingers over the papers, reading them out quietly. Where could these lead?

“Coordinates. Think if I give you a few, you could find where they are?”

“Give me—“ Joe cuts himself off, shuffling sounds coming from her comms, “alright, give me the numbers.”

She reads them out at an even pace, making sure that Joe could catch every number.

This time, his brief silence has her on the edge of a hypothetical seat. It annoys the shit out of her. “Well?”

“Hmm…” Joe’s small noise is filled with confusion, a first for him that she’s willing to bet on. “These coordinates were pulled recently. Coordinates are in Spain.”

Spain? Pulled recently? So maybe the heebie-jeebies she was getting from that place meant someone else was there not too long before she got there. But, her senses had been too good, she would’ve picked up on someone sooner.

“Think it’s another former Umbrella researcher? Trying to reach out? Maybe another facility?” Amara hypothesized, it was the only logical thing that came to her.

Joe laughs, though it doesn’t sound like he finds any of this particularly hilarious. “Highly doubt there’s people still that devoted to Umbrella.”

Amara always divided former Umbrella employees into two categories: the devoted and the wise. She always liked the wise, for one thing, they weren’t as dumb as the devoted (for researchers, they sure didn’t use their brains). The wise researchers knew to get the fuck outta dodge as soon as they even whiffed the brewing disaster. The devoted? Oh, they’d been drinking the red Kool-Aid for so long.

Apprehending the devoted made her feel as though she’d left the real world behind and entered the world of Alice in Wonderland. They’d taken to the primrose path, the path of fantasy and illusion, believing themselves to be doing right with Umbrella as their guide through and through.

Regardless, both bled the same.

“I think these coordinates will be worth a look. At least I won’t be leaving here empty-handed,” Amara replied. No painting, though. Guess that’d be for another mission.

The return to the above ground is far less treacherous, a bit anticlimactic but she likes that. She’s well-equipped to engage in a little hand-to-hand combat, all thanks to Uncle Sam but these jeans were far too nice to get messed up. Who knew that she could throw a man off balance by just using her legs? Those were the better parts of training, the others she hoped would never resurface in her brain. She’d gotten good at dividing parts of her life now into sections.

Climbing up the way she came in, she drops right down outside into a puddle, splashing a bit of her bootlaces with rainwater. It already seeped into her socks. Gross.

She lets out a deep breath as she walks back over to Joe’s van (she’s not calling that thing a base, no matter how much he convinced her), holding out the disc she’d found earlier. “Mission accomplished?”

He runs it over and over through his fingers, appraising it for its usefulness to the reports he’d no doubt have to write too. “Mission accomplished. Well done, Agent Moore.”

“Now you and your mystery van can skedaddle.” Amara waves her hands towards the road, chancing her eyes back towards the attraction. She sees a flash of red atop the roof.

Joe chuckles briefly, turning his attention to starting up the van. He’s none the wiser to what Amara has her eyes set on.

No fucking way.

Talk about a ghost story.

Amara makes sure that Joe drives off before following the trail. Could she have left well enough alone and got back to her hotel? Yes, absolutely. But at her core, she knows she’s curious as hell. Always had been. Besides wanting to protect others, she always had a curiosity to know all there is to know.

And right now, she wanted to know why Ada Wong is haunting this attraction.

Amara carefully plans her steps, trying to avoid detection by the woman as she watches from afar. Ada moves through as if she knew the place like the back of her hand.

The path narrows, making it more than a little difficult for Amara to conceal her presence.

“Well, well, well…” Amara announces herself, and for the first time since she’s known Ada, she notices a minute jump in her shoulders. “Didn’t take you for a history buff.”

Ada is slow to turn around but wears what seems to be a trademark smirk on her face, like she always knew something that no one else knew… most of the time she does.

“I could say the same to you.”

Ada and Amara now faced each other in the dimly lit hallway. The only sound that could be heard was the stupid, cheesy narration about the Lady of the Lake. Amara was tense, ready to fight, but also conflicted. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn't quite bring herself to hate Ada.

"So, you're the one who's been tailing me," Ada said, a smirk still ever present on her face. "I'm flattered."

Amara is puzzled by her words, she only stumbled upon Ada by chance. If anyone was tailing anyone, it had to be the other way around.

"I'm not here to tail you," Amara said, raising her fists. "I'm here on a different mission but stopping you from causing any trouble would be a benefit.”

Ada laughed. "And here I thought we were friends."

"We're not friends," Amara retorted. "But I don't hate you either."

"Good," Ada said, as she lunged forward with a swift kick. Amara blocked it easily, her training kicking in. The two women traded blows, each trying to gain the upper hand. Amara was quick and agile, an added benefit to whatever pumped through her blood, but Ada was more experienced and calculated in her movements.

As they fought, Amara couldn't help but think about the strange friendship that was developing—well, redeveloping— between them. She and Ada were on opposite sides, and now they crossed paths once again. Maybe it was just the adrenaline talking, but Amara found herself almost liking Ada.

"You know," Amara said, as they continued to fight. "I really don't hate you, Ada. I kind of like you, in a twisted sort of way."

Ada raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Amara's admission. "Is that right? Well, that's good to know. Maybe we can be friends after all."

Amara smiled, just as she landed a punch on Ada's jaw. Ada stumbled back, but recovered quickly, launching herself into the fight.

Despite their differences, Amara and Ada fought with fierce intensity, each determined to come out on top. In the end, Ada emerged victorious, but as she helped Amara to her feet, the two women shared a small, knowing smile. Maybe they weren't enemies after all.

“With that in mind, you’ll have to forgive me, friend.”

Ada moves quickly, too quick for Amara to stop her. Jabbing a needle into her neck with efficiency. Not even her body could fight whatever was within the syringe.

Things become unfocused, and blurry as she stumbles back, away from Ada. She clutches her throat, every muscle in it closing up. The last thing Amara sees is Ada standing over her, she fights to get out one crucial word, “Bitch.”

Hours later

Amara jolts awake, gasping for air, expecting to shoot upwards but she finds that she can’t move. At all. Upon further inspection, she realizes she’s strapped down to a cold, hard table.

The brightness of the light above her blinding, making it hard to see beyond its edges. How long had she been unconscious?

The last thing she remembered is London, King Arthur, and…Ada. God damn it. That’s the last time she lets her defenses down so easily. So much for being friends.

She pulled and struggled against the restraints, hoping that “enhanced strength” would actually come in handy but found they were very unbudgeable.

“I wouldn’t mess with those if I were you,” a voice with an accent sounds off, “they were made just for you.”

Amara turned her head, finding a curly-haired man leaning against the adjacent wall, his eyes scanning between her and the lab equipment next to him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Eso es irrelevante, encantador, ¿no?” There’s an almost sleaziness to his tone, it reminded her of the creeps you’d find on a busy street as they tried to catcall.

Amara sneered. “Considering you’re holding me captive? It’s very relevant.”

“I don’t find pleasure in this, precioso.”

She laughs lightly, he was laying it on pretty thick. “Amara. As much as I love an ego boost, call me by my name.”

“Amara, I am not the one holding you captive.”

“Okay…if it’s not you, then who is it? How long have I been here?”

“Long enough for me to take your blood,” he gestures to a machine, about 3 vials of red liquid sitting inside it.

“What?!”

“Relax, eh, I haven’t done anything with it. At least not anything they’d want.”

Amara couldn’t find it in herself to put up with the back and forth anymore. If she’d learned anything from Raccoon City, it’s that time is of the essence and mincing words and being secretive got you nowhere good. “Enough with the runaround what you really mean bullshit. Get to the point.”

The man comes close to her side, eyes darting around quickly before focusing his attention on her. Apprehension seemed to spring up in him on a dime. Whoever he worked for certainly must have him spooked.

“There’s an infection, a virus, going around this village. I believe with your blood, they want to strengthen the strain. They call it Las Plagas.”

So that’s why Ada brought her here. To be used in someone else’s nefarious game. Using her own bioorganic chemistry against her, against others. Amara was really beginning to think whoever Ada worked for and her own government was one and the same. Two sides of the same fucked up coin.

“Great, you’ve already stolen my blood, so why tell me this?”

“I’m a biologist. I think—no, know that I can reverse engineer a vaccine. Something to stave off symptoms.”

With his admission of this, Amara senses a serious case of deja vu once more. It’s John all over again. The intercepted email he wrote echoed in this man’s words, “Seriously, fuck these guys. Innocent people are getting hurt.”

“How long would that take? I can’t imagine your employers are just going to let that happen under their noses.”

“This is my lab, not theirs,” Luis said simply. “Think you can stand being strapped down a little longer?”

Amara didn’t exactly want to trust this man. He’d given up this information so easily, what was to say he wouldn’t turn on her at some point? But, throwing caution to the wind, she goes along. Well, it’s not exactly like she had much of a choice, considering she’s the one strapped to a table, god knows where.

“Just get on with it.”

“Name’s Luis, by the way. Luis Serra.”

She nods in understanding, training her eyes on a corner of the wall to try and take her mind elsewhere. The hum of the lab equipment takes over the silence of the room. At least Luis seems to realize that he didn’t have to take up the air in the room by talking every second. Amara appreciates that.

Her eyes move towards the other end of the lab, scanning over tubes filled with bubbling liquids, diagrams of molecular specifications, X-rays of subjects unknown to her, and, on the far wall, calculations of specific chemicals and their reactions. Whatever was going on, Luis’ employers had been going at it for quite some time.

Amara is certainly no biologist but training in the government, you had to know some science. It wasn’t just close-quarters combat or weapons training, agents needed an analytical mind and the ability to recognize specimens, especially biological weapons now.

Training with the government wasn’t too unlike the police academy, though there was the unfortunate thing of everyone, everyone, keeping their eyes on her. Her reputation preceded her and the same could be said for Leon.

There wasn’t a place in training where she didn’t hear utterances and whispers about him but he became just as elusive there as he was to her now. Upon learning that Leon was there, to begin with, pissed her off, they’d clearly gone against their deal but it’s not like she could do anything about it.

And anyway, the government must have a personal vendetta about keeping them apart. But for her in the same circles, she was the subject. The Subject. Never her and never by name. There was another one she’d heard from recruits as she passed. Dark Angel.

Dark Angels were known for their inability to fall and their brutality, well, at least to the mythos Amara had read. Still, she couldn’t stand either choice of names bestowed upon her.

In a way, both were dehumanizing. A reminder of the distinction between her and everyone else. Amara certainly didn’t want to be separated from everyone else. It’s not like she asked to be turned into some science project. As much as Amara hated to, she looked on the bright side…it certainly made her infinitely more interesting than she actually was.

At some point, Amara found that she couldn't keep her eyes open, her eyes fought against the almost burning lids, but it was no use.

She drifts off, finding that familiar set of blue eyes calling to her again. Man, were they pretty.

Amara is now sitting up when she wakes up for the second time. Still strapped down, still not-so-cozy and there was a very chilly draft that lingered around, thanks to whoever stole her jacket—but overall this was much better than the hard table.

Shit, they took her sidearm too? Why is she only just now noticing? This place is beginning to suck more and more.

One thing she hadn’t been warned of was her lungs burning, her eyes stinging, she had to fight for her first breath. She lets out a few coughs, her breathing returning to its normal pace. But, a weariness sat in her muscles that she couldn’t shake.

Luis…

…where was he? How long had she slept this time? What the hell had he done since she’d been asleep?

As if to answer her question, Luis runs inside the lab, with an urgency he didn’t possess before. At first, she couldn’t hear him, her senses hadn’t quite progressed past pain. Then she heard shouts. Whispers. Murmurs.

Luis was yelling. Yelling at her. He was trying to coax her into consciousness in any way he could. “We have to go now!”

“Go? Go where?” She asks while Luis undid the straps. Her legs wobbled as she stood, all the strength was gone momentarily but she regained her footing quickly.

“Anywhere but here,” Luis pulls out a Red9, places a magazine in it, cocking it, and holding it at the ready. “You ready for an escape, Amara?”

“Is that even a question?”

He grinned and cocked his head towards the door. Amara hadn’t felt a rush like this in a long time. Something about it reminded her of Raccoon City in a sick, twisted kind of way. Luis grabbed her wrist and tugged her along, setting them both off into a sprint down long corridors and dimly lit passages with side doors and passcodes.

Amara’s eyes widened at just the enormity of this place, this was all Luis’ lab? There was no time to pause and gawk; getting the fuck out of here took priority, otherwise, both of them would be dead.

“I guess this is a bad time to ask, but why are we running?” She questions between heaving breaths. Running and talking at the same time especially after only just being able to breathe again are not things Amara enjoyed doing.

“Do you really want to-”

“Yes!” Amara interrupted him, ripping her hand from his to get a better pace going.

Luis stops short as the hall opens up to a big space. Amara barely has a second to register his ceasing movement, preventing herself from all but crashing into his back. “That’s why.”

Amara follows his line of sight, upon seeing what he’s referring to, she laughs bitterly. “Are you fucking for real right now?”

This gigantic asshole stomped in through the door that Amara assumed was their ticket to freedom. He was dressed not unlike a monster she’d seen before, but this guy had a beard, yellow eyes, and sickly pallor to his skin and could talk. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had been kidnapped? But now she had to deal with this shithead? God must be playing a cruel joke on her.

Luis reached for his gun, but before he could draw it, the man’s towering figure charged at them. Amara tried to dodge, but the giant man grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her against a nearby table. She felt a searing pain in her side as something sharp pierced her skin.

He’s not here for me.

Luis fired his gun at him, but it had no effect on the hulking monster. As he advanced on him, Luis ducked out of the way, practically army-crawling to get to her.

"We have to go, now!" he yelled, dragging Amara behind him as they ran towards the door.

Amara stumbled, her head spinning. She could feel blood oozing from the fresh wound in her side and knew they had to keep moving if they wanted to survive.

Just as she thought they might make it out alive, Mendez lunged towards them, his massive hand closing around Amara's neck from behind. The man was quicker than she thought he’d be. She gasped for air as he lifted her off the ground, the world spinning around her.

Mendez's grip tightened around Amara's neck as she struggled to breathe. She clawed at his arms, but it was no use. She was trapped.

"At least buy me dinner first!" Amara gasped out, her eyes flickering with anger.

But it was too late. Mendez hurled her across the room, her body slamming into a nearby table with a sickening crack.

Everything went black.

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