#sir this is a robbery hand over your gender.

[mandrathekandra]

Just had a moment of self discovery here scrolling through fanart

So I like when people draw Kaladin his actual age (he is only around 20!!!). and also when people draw him a little bit pretty. Chef’s kiss

Some of these drawings were so ✨✨ but I’m not the kind of ace to find characters attractive I was so confused. I know I’m not attracted to him. You guys. You guys. It’s the gender.

It’s the gender envy.

It’s so much gender envy.

I am so goddamn angry I want to steal his gender so bad it’s not the kind of thing I usually get envy over but oh pretty boy Kaladin I want what he has. I have no clue what to do with this information.

Anyways if you draw him as a pretty boy I love you so much you are doing the lords work and I am going to go lie down for a while

#kaladin stormblessed #stormlight archive #cosmere #brandon sanderson #he is not a 40 year old tank either way #sir this is a robbery hand over your gender. #yes all of it #thank you #it’s the honor #it’s the muscles #it’s the long curly hair #it’s the dramatic coat and tall boats #it’s the heroism #everything #ugh #dwigceibcebkecknaxnkwx #give me your gender #also the glowing magic powers #very gender to be able to fly

[monstrousvoice]

Bedtime

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Relationship: Husk X Reader

AN: Inspired by this post, I wanted to write Husk being sleepy and needing to be picked up from the hotel's bar. Fluffy and sweet! Reader’s gender isnt specified but you do use a couple of sappy, schmaltzy nicknames for Husk, fair warning

Tags: Fluff, References to Alcohol, References to Alcohol Addiction, Sappy Romantic Nicknames, Other Cast Members Mentioned, If I missed any please let me know

Summary: The Hazbin Hotel is pretty peaceful at night.

Read on AO3!

With a huff of frustration you sat up in bed, scrubbing your hands over your face. Your hands dropped to your lap as your eyes wandered the empty bedroom. The lamp light was still on, casting an amber glow over everything from the empty booze bottles still on the shelves you haven't thrown out, to the mounds of dirty clothes neither you nor your boyfriend had bothered to pick up. The clock read midnight. You look to your side, his half of the bed still empty. Still cold.

That was why you were having such trouble sleeping, you knew. You needed your nightly cuddles if you were ever going to fall asleep.

Sighing and stretching your shoulders, you stood up, making yourself look somewhat decent before you left your room. Despite the late hour you knew better than to walk through the hallways without pants on.

It was…surreal to walk through the hotel at night. When you had lived in the center of the Ring, there was always noise, always chaos. There were times you were so scared of being a target for a robbery (or something worse) that you couldn't sleep at all, only closing your eyes for a few minutes before jolting awake at the sound of a car crash and gunfire outside your window.

…But here there was nothing. Night was almost peaceful. If you really strained your hearing or went outside the distant chaos would be noticeable, but walking through red and gold hallways, the only real noise came from your fellow residents.

Sometimes you would come across Nifty scurrying around, dusting and bug hunting and muttering to herself. Sometimes Angel would get back from work in a good mood because Valentino had been in a good mood, and you could hear his favorite music playing from his room as he sang along, spinning Fat Nuggets around and around.

Even when you suspected he was sleeping, the soft sound of jazz and radio static never stopped playing from Alastor's room. You were grateful he was on one of the top floors and far from your room. You don't think your beau would be able to sleep at all knowing his Master was right down the hall.

Sir Pentious could make quite a racket when he was in a tinkering mood, but he always spent his time doing so in the hotel’s workshop and, to give him credit, he tried working on quieter projects during the night after Charlie asked him to keep it down once. Charlie herself, and Vaggie, were both pretty quiet too. The only time you could think of them making too much noise at night was one instance. They had decided to have date night at the hotel watching movies, which led to a tickle fight that had Charlie screeching in joy and sent the rest of you on red alert that she was under attack.

Both her and Vaggie had apologized out of breath and with red cheeks.

You didn't come across anyone tonight as you made your way to the lobby. The tv was off, throw blankets neatly folded on the couch. Some bits of metal and electronics were left on the coffee table, you assumed it was a project Sir Pentious had been working on before calling it a night. 

You kept walking, your destination being the bar.

It was neat and tidy as always…except for the unconscious bartender laying across it. You smiled softly as you crept closer, and the sound of soft snoring reached your ears. Husk was dead asleep on his side of the bar, his back slowly rising and falling with even breaths, wings limp and touching the floor. His head was laying on his folded arms, hands still gripping a clean empty glass and a rag. 

You hadn't mentioned it to him yet, but you were proud of him. Lately he had been opening up more to the others in the hotel, making actual friends, you dared to call them. And with that change came a change in Husk. He was smiling more, even laughing, and drinking less. It made your heart warm and gooey that he was learning to let his walls down around others besides you.

He was happier.

He wasn't gonna be happy in the morning with a sore neck and pins and needles in his legs for sleeping standing up, however.

You snuck up behind the counter, stepping over his limp tail to get closer to his warmth. With delicate precision you pulled the empty glass and rag out from his claws and set them aside. You slowly wrapped your arms around him next, mindful of his sensitive wings, carding your fingers through the fur covering his arms and shoulders. You leaned close to his flicking ear and whispered.

“Husk? It's time to get up baby…you need to get to bed.” A snort and a twitch of whiskers was your only response. “C'mon, wake up handsome~” you cooed again.

A grunt, and suddenly a golden eye was fluttering open looking around but not really taking anything in. Husk coughed, slowly pulling himself upright and smacking his lips together with a frown. You could guess his last drink was making itself known to his taste buds.

“Fuckin-Wh…where…?” He looked groggy, eyes fuzzy with wide pupils, and the fur on his cheek he had been laying on was clumped together in the cutest case of bed head you've ever seen. (Who were you kidding, every morning waking up next to him was the cutest case of bed head ever-) He gave a loud groan as he stood up, leaning forward hard onto the countertop as his legs and feet woke back up. 

“Shiiit…fuckin feet, goddam-...” He muttered and cursed some more, and you wrapped your arms around his middle to help hold him up. Even in his dazed state he tried to return the affection you were giving him, one of his hands moving to cover yours where it gripped him. His tail swished and curled around your legs as he woke up.

“Did you have one too many with Angel again sweetheart? I had asked him to let me know the next time you fell asleep here…” Your brows furrowed in concern. You couldn't really be mad at Angel if he forgot though. When he and Husk drank, they got sloshed.

“N-no…not Angel.” Husk muttered. His baritone voice was deeper than usual, sleep making it sound gravely and…well, husky. He dragged the hand not holding yours down his face, scrubbing and wrinkling his muzzle to wake up more. His mouth opened wide in a yawn, one that granted you a chance to see the rows of fangs he had hidden away in their full glory. You noticed tears pricking the corner of his eyes as the yawn ended and he licked his dry lips.

“...Was Alastor. Wanted some drinks, and when he finally left, I had his mess to clean up.” Your heart ached in sympathy. You know how much a night spent with just Alastor rubbed your man the wrong way. And the worst part was…

You couldn't do anything.

But you could do this for him. You pressed a kiss to his cheek before nuzzling into his neck, taking a deep inhale of his smell. You spoke again, voice muffled by his fur, but with the way his ear cocked towards you, you knew he could understand.

“-’M sorry baby. Com's t’ bed? It's com’y…” He chuckled at your muffled words, turning in your arms to hug you back. Face to face, he was able to nuzzle his own face into your neck this time. Husk took a deep breath and held it for a moment, relishing your scent before breathing hot air against you. It tickled.

“Yeah…yeah ‘m ready for bed…” He mumbled. Despite this you both stood there a moment longer. His arms were so firm and strong where they rested on your hips, and you loved the way his shoulders and back were so easy for you to hold onto. You simply didn't want to move yet. He smelled like booze, of course, but underneath that was the smell of his cheap cologne and his natural scent, and you let it envelope you entirely. Sleepy or not, you could stand here with him for eternity…

But, you figured his feet were probably killing him at this point, and you'd rather you both be comfortable during cuddle time. So, with a sigh you pulled away, but not before giving his other cheek a kiss to match the earlier one. Husk simply smiled at you, eyes hooded and soft with love.

As you both turned to make your way up the stairs to your shared bedroom, neither of you let go of the other. His arm stayed firmly on your hip, keeping you pulled as close to him as possible without tripping you both. You couldn't complain, you were doing the same thing, holding him to your side to support his tired body. His wings still drooped with their weight, the tips of his feathers touching the floor as you walked.

It was a quick walk back to your shared room, kisses and ‘I love you’s being whispered as you went. You didn't even care about the taste of stale booze in his mouth when you kissed him anymore. You had come to love it in a weird, pavlovian sort of way.

When you finally got back, you shut the door behind you with a soft ‘click’, and Husk stayed glued to your side as you did so. Already his eyes were slipping closed again, and the sight had you cooing in adoration.

“You are so adorable you know that? Such a handsome face, looking so sleepy…” He pouted at your words, but the blush on his face was obvious despite his fur. 

“Shut that cute mouth up before I shut it myself-” He grumbled.

“Oh? And how would you shut it, hmm? I'm oh-so curious!” You teased him further, and giggled loudly when his response was to bury his face into your chest to hide away.

“-’m too tired for this-” He whined, actually whined, and you relented.

“Okay, okay sweetheart. I'm done, let's go to bed, yeah?” At his tired nod you stumbled your way to the bed, almost tripping on a pile of clothes in the way. When you finally reached the edge of the mattress, Husk finally let you go. He all but dragged himself across the blankets before flopping down on his side, only taking enough time to make sure his wings were tucked away safely and wouldn't get crushed. You stood still, smiling down at him.

“Not even gonna take off your pants big boy?” Your response was a tired huff. Husk laid with his face buried in a pillow, your pillow to be exact, and watched you with one sleepy eye. He held up his arms and made a grabbing motion towards you.

“C’mere doll…wanna hold you…” And if that sight didn't break your heart, nothing could.

“Hold on, let me get you situated.” Husk groaned in protest but didn't stop you as you crawled over the bed and to him. With practiced movements you undid his suspenders and popped open his pants, wiggling his clothes off him. In nothing left but his boxers, you tossed your blanket over him and finally settled down at his side.

Immediately he snuggled into you, pulling himself as close as possible to your body heat and curling himself around you like a leech. His legs wrapped around your hips and thighs, arms around your back as he buried his face into your chest.

He was asleep in moments.

Unable to stop smiling, you brushed your fingers through his fur and settled down yourself, finally feeling the sweet embrace of sleep now that your cuddly man was where he belonged.

#Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel X Reader #Hazbin Hotel Husk #Hazbin Hotel Husk X Reader #Husk X Reader #man its been awhile since I posted anything here and on AO3 #hope yall like it #My Writing

[star-shard]

Ride or Die (Part 2)

Part 1

Elvis x Gender-Neutral!Reader

Premise: This is crazy, you tell yourself. Robbing a bank with Elvis. It’s also the most fun you’ve ever had. But things go sideways in a way you couldn’t have predicted. You didn’t think someone would get hurt.

Note: Bank Robbery AU

Warning: Mention of blood, mild sexual themes

Words: 2.4K

“Park a block back, come on now,” you put a hand on the steering wheel when you saw him get too close to the bank. You knew he was on the edge of something fierce going on in his mind but even he had to know that a big old ‘Crown Electric’ logo parked out front would be a bigger give away than a bad poker face. “Gotta be discreet.” 

Elvis was charged up now, still buzzing from how you reacted to him, the plan, the gun. “You done this before?”  

“Only when I’m dreaming about James Dean,” you said right back. Maybe unwise to say to a guy that had a gun that he knew how to shoot. Elvis was a jealous type but you were a take no shit type and weren’t about to get into a spat with him at the moment. “Oh shut it, you think about him just as much as I do.”

After a second of compilation he nodded with a shrug, you had him on that one. 

“I’m with you, Elvis. I ain’t gonna let you do anything stupid without me.” Especially not when it made your skin tingle in more ways than one. The both of you had gotten fed up the state of day to day in one way or another. Elvis just happened to beat you to punch in terms of being pushed towards the edge. Pretending to be okay had it’s limits. 

Elvis nodded again, he needed that. He needed you. And you swore this was the first time all night he actually breathed out. The air on his insides was even hotter than Memphis right now. And it was possible he might spend the next hour just staring at the bank rather than going in, similar to how he built up the courage to first get into Sun Records. 

Things were different now though. He reached in front of you for the gun and held it like a vice. “Do I look like a movie star when I hold this?” He asked you. You leaned in and kissed his cheek which made him smile. 

—

He had decided to make his tool belt out to be a make shift holster. There were enough gadgets and tools in there that if you weren’t staring you might just miss that one of them had a trigger. He’d gotten it from the truck bed and you fastened it on for him. Your hands pausing for a second. It looked good on his hip. 

“Not now,” he knew that smirk you had on. “We gotta… car, gotta get a car ready.” This was part of the picture that had drawn you in, a slick getaway car. He wasn’t about to go barrel first without a real way out. And the last time the truck went over fifteen miles an hour it filled up with black smoke. 

You two were down the sidewalk now and the choices out front all seemed a little shinier today than they’d probably had ever have been. Like they’d been waiting for you.

“That one looks fast,” you whispered, gripping his arm when at seeing a nice cream colored Lincoln. Your voice went lower as an older lady with a big hat passed by. But it seemed pointless to want anything else than what Elvis already had his eyes on. It was black, and it was new, and it was a caddy. 

At this point in life you wondered if he’d prefer a Cadillac over a coffin far off in the future.

“Oh thank you so much, sir, helping me with my car,” you proclaimed loudly for anyone to hear as Elvis jiggled one part of a Swiss Army knife into the door handle. It was incredible what you could get away with if you had the right jumpsuit on and if you were someone that at least looked innocent. You earned a chuff from Elvis but it wasn’t like he could possibly be any relaxed version of himself right now. 

It as after his third time of scratching the paint of the car door with a mishandled edge of his tools that you took over. God his hand was absolutely vibrating when he passed this part of the job off to you. You did it in half the time he could and only earned one weary glance from a passer by that was more interested in his cigarette than whatever tom foolery the two of you were up to. 

Thank god for evening falling. 

God the interior, the leather. It was blood red, you weren’t an expert but you thought it had to be custom. You just had to get in the driver’s seat. “Alright, honey… I’m gonna hotwire it, and you keep it warm. I’ll go in-“

Already you poked holes in that. “On your own?” The idea of Elvis being a lone gunman didn’t sit with you. His hands shook too much. He was still gripped on adrenaline. You wanted to see him get out of there on his own, not with a cop on his wrists with handcuffs clinking together all the way to a cruiser. 

He grabbed you. Elvis had never been a grabber. “Stay here.” He added on as if his mother was behind his shoulder, “please.” God, this boy. He ran you up a wall, a ceiling, and right back down to the carpet. And it became pretty clear that any more instruction was stuck behind his half way impression of a tough guy. 

“I get it. Keep it warm. Pony up then, cowboy.” Elvis’s grip would have hurt but it was more like he was holding you for balance. Because whatever was running circles in his head, it wasn’t balance. It took a tug, a clip and a spark but the car came to life. Elvis was a shit electrician’s apprentice, but you might have mistaken him for a natural the way god the Cad started. 

He was down by your legs which this time caught a little more suspicion from someone walking their dog but you just gave a wink their way which thankfully made them uncomfortable enough to move along. 

You thought that maybe Elvis might spend all night down by your ankles. Even if he knew it was smart to keep a car ready, that gun was already burning a hole against his leg. You reached down, maybe to brush his hair, to comfort him. But then you know he’d really start crying. So you let him breathe, and get up on his own. “When I get back, kid. Drive like hell.”

In a gesture of good will, you give him a solute. And after a stroll up those steps he was silhouetted by the light of the bank’s insides. And you closed the car door if only not to draw any more attention than you were about to get. For a second you considered the radio, it came just as naturally as putting a key in. But none of this was natural. 

So far, tonight had been something you hadn’t even known you were waiting for. This rush that the both of you had been anticipating. For him it was more than that, it was something that had already been tightening and twisting and ready to break. Maybe a part of you could have talked him down. But when was the last time you’d seen him so alive. Whatever came next, you’d figure it out.

You’d figure it out together… even if he needed some of your supervision. 

Just as soon as the thought came to you, you heard it. A gunshot. Fuck.

Had someone been dumb and tried to get the gun away from him? Had Elvis… done something? The option of driving away was right in front of you. And leave that boy defenseless? All he had was a gun!

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” the word shot out of you with each double step you took up the stairs to what might have just been the scene of a crime. And you felt very similar to someone arriving during a funeral wearing hot pink. The stares that shot your way. The scene in front of you was the few night patrons on the floor crouching, tellers making themselves small and Elvis getting whiplash looking back at you. 

You didn’t need to look for blood, all you needed was Elvis’s expression. No one was dead. He wouldn’t look like that if someone was dead. But the gun had gone off. And the way it was positioned half angled towards the floor with a hole awkwardly busted into a filing cabinet, it was just the crime of a twitchy trigger finger.

“Honey,” you never knew a pet name could sound like a curse word.

But you didn’t leave him. Not when he was an inch away from another misplaced shot. He couldn’t do this alone even if he thought he should. 

The bank caught on quick that you were ‘with him’ when you didn’t drop to your knees at the sight of an armed man. Although any other day of the week you would have have gladly dropped for Elvis. But these were special circumstances. The one graying security guard didn’t appear prepared for this. It seemed you had interrupted something of a monologue because Elvis audibly cleared his throat.

“Unfortunate, that’s what you said last time I was here” he said to the little red head man in a navy suit that was using his desk as a shield. Someone in charge of loans, you guessed. As he wasn’t lined up with the usual tellers. “Not… gonna be like that anymore.” The gun was still aimed at the floor but now loosely pointed towards the desk. You read the plaque that was positioned proudly atop it. Mr. Green. Fitting. 

“Son,” Mr. Green tried, you could see him swallow down something thick in his throat, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t give money to a musician that wasn’t making music. Please.” Those were the wrong words to say and you took a step forward. This wasn’t a part of the plan. This wasn’t the kind of revenge he wanted. And you weren’t going to let him get red anywhere on those hands. 

“Money in a bag,” you said, projecting, still at the door, “apologies don’t pay.” It seemed to refocus the situation. You knew Elvis wasn’t a killer, never would be. Even if god himself told him he was, Elvis would tell him to revaluate a claim like that. But even if he wasn’t fixing for a murder, with the way his gun went off so easy without him trying, you just didn’t trust that trigger.

Elvis went along with your example, “money,” he nodded, “thousands, much as you can hold.” Seeing him tall and demanding got something in you going. It wasn’t just an engine that he’d turned on. “Come on!” And the banker got to work.

If he had the gun, you thought it’d make sense for you to grab the loot. So you scooted across the atrium which almost slipped on, it had been waxed within an inch of it’s life. You stayed fixated on Elvis but even you couldn’t fully ignore those on the floor. But, they didn’t have a thing to worry about. You two would be in and out fast.

You felt your chest might just get enough beats to take on a drum solo because in a minute some bags were being handed off to you. They were heavy. In your experience money was as heavy as a feather. You didn’t know it could make you almost lose your grip. God, this was something else. 

Then, you spared a look towards your accomplice, trying to see if he was losing any nerve. You didn’t want him to feel scared at a time like this. And damn he still looked like a kid in the middle of a quiz he hadn’t studied for besides a midnight cram. “Trade me.” You said, armful of cash that was still being added to. 

Elvis’s eyebrows raised, “…What?”

“Trade me. You don’t know how to shoot it, you’re a liar that watches too many movies, /trade me/.” If there was ever a time to have an argument, now wasn’t it. And you never thought you’d be trading off enough money to buy a house for a gun with five bullets. But you’d be damned if one of his stray bullets snapped a poor old ladies glasses right down the middle. 

“I’m not going to ‘trade you’, are you crazy?” Elvis snapped right back at you.

You shot him a look as if he had any right to ask you that. “Look, it’s not that heavy, okay? Just use your legs not your back,” you heaved forward the money in your arms that was amounting to the size of a small toddler. And thank god it wasn’t because he just took a step back and a couple bags went right to the floor. 

This was just like the time the two of you had an argument in the corner store about whether or not to bring fresh flowers to the picnic or rely on those inconsistent wild flowers under that old oak tree that may or may not have been poisonous. Well, it wasn’t exactly like that argument but it did end the same way with: “Fine, Fine.”

The two of you started the hand off. But this didn’t end up like a spat in the grocery. That kneeling security guard, who probably thought the two of you were an arguing couple in over your heads, which… wasn’t far off from the truth, had gained some nerve.

And when this shot sounded a lot louder than what you’d heard from the street. It startled you even more, it made you yelp. The room had gotten darker. Mainly because the security guard had shot out one of the bulbs in the chandelier to gain the room’s attention. 

It had gone from risky to dangerous. Elvis’s gun was between the two of you. And that security guard was now closing in to get a handle on the situation. And it looked like Elvis was raring to protect you. His free hand held reached out for you. But who else was going to protect him from himself, you reached out too but not for him. And this time it was your trigger finger curled, just as approaching guard had closed in.

Bang. Red. Blood was running down that graying man’s shoulder. You’d shot him. And someone screamed. And Elvis? His hand was still holding yours. 

#elvis #elvis fanfic #im sorry y'all i loved writing this #i had to keep going #not by popular demand but by me having a ball

[didyoutrydynamite]

I know this is a stupid request in many ways but could you do a little write up outside your AU cannon, where jaune is hit by a semblance of gender change (the effect lasts between 12 and 48 hrs depending on how much aura the person has affected) and the reaction of the girls and/or some other students of the academy?

Team JNRZ stands before General Ironwoods for a debriefing.

Ironwood: So you four were off doing your usual Patrols when you came across a disguised criminal that goes by the alias *squints at scroll* “Swapper O’ Swappy”, described as a Fox Faunus wearing a purple mask, gloves, and bandana around their neck. Small-time bank robber most known for using their unusual semblance in order to get the upper hand on any opponents that try to stop them in their crimes. I’m noticing a certain usage of pronouns, were we not able to gather a possible gender for the criminal?

Neon: *Grinning from ear to ear* Swapper appears to use their semblance to change their gender between every other robbery, so at one they’ll be a dude and the other they’ll be a chick.

Ironwood: *Quriks eyebrow* Hmm, a surprisingly clever way to cover their identity despite their obvious Faunus trait. Not to mention that this criminal managed to find a tactical usage in such a strange semblance. Changing an opponent's gender mid battle in order to confuse or embarrass them, including drastic changes in physicality that forces the target to quickly adjust or be taken advantage of. *Looks towards JNRZ leader* Guess that answers one of my questions…

Reese: *holding back laughter*

Ironwood: I guess the only question I really have left is why Ms. Arc is wearing a Bulwark uniform?

Neon: *wraps an arm around her blonde friend* A girl has to show off some leg, sir! A little something to get some heads turning~

Joan: *Blushing, trying to force her skirt down further* M-my usual clothes were too big for me and my teammates' regular clothes were all too small, General. S-so I went to Headmistress Cordovin for some extra clothes and this is what they had. I-I plan on taking a sick day until this blows over though-

Cordovin: Not so fast young lady! I have already had Nurse Dufresne inspect you in your new state and has given you a clean bill of health. You are in perfect condition to attend class, you’re even in uniform!

Joan: *Blushes even harder, thinking of being seen in public* Perfect condition? Perfect condition to become a laughing stock in front of the whole school!

Reese: *starts bursting out laughing* Please. PLEASE! Come with us to school today. I will literally do anything to see everyone else’s reaction.

Neon: Don’t worry babe! No one is going to be laughing when they see how cute you are! Right May Day~?

May: Huh? I-I wasn’t staring! *goes back to fidgeting with her beanie, trying to ignore how Joan ticked all of her preferences. Tall, kind eyes, pale skin, and dear gods, why did she have to wear a braided Ponytail?!?!* B-but it would be pretty fun to see how every treats you as a girl, if you want that is…

NRZ: *Pleading eyes*

Joan: *Eye twitch* Fine… But you three owe me big time!

=====

Qrow: *Stares blankly at Joan Arc*

Joan: *fidgets* G-good morning Professor Branwen.

Qrow: *Stares for a second more, before pouring his spiked coffee into a nearby potted plant* That’s enough for me today.

=====

Cardin: HAHAHAHAAH! Holy SHIT! No! This can not be happening!

Joan: *blushing hard* Alright, alright. Let it out! Ha-ha.

Cardin: Woo! Damn Jauney Boy, I knew you were always a little sissy bitch, but this too much!

Joan: *Tears in her eyes* You always have to be a jerk, don’t you..

Cardin: *stops laughing* Uhh… hey hold on! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, uh don’t cry- uh it’s not that bad actually. *Looks around to his squad judging hard for making a girl cry.* Uh to be honest you don’t look too bad as a girl.

Joan: *sniffs* Am… am I a pretty girl?

Cardin: *blushes for some reason* Y-You’re beautiful. (Fuck this weirding me out!)

=====

Ilia and May peering at Joan from behind some bookshelves.

Ilia: ... Whoa.

May: RIGHT!?

=====

Joan standing between the girls and boys locker rooms…

Emerald: *standing in front of the girl’s locker room, arms crossed* In your dreams, Jaune.

Mercury: *leaning on the boy’s locker room entrance, shirt off* Hey! No need to be so cold to J-Man! Don’t worry bro, you’re more than welcome to come change with your pals~ *Salacious wink towards Joan. Followed by various cat calls from deeper in the locker room.*

*Joan/ Emerald shiver in disgust*

Emerald: You know what. Fuck it. It's not like we don’t already have May and Ilia in the locker room. You can come with us for today.

Joan: *Blushing hard* W-what?!

Mercury: WHAT?

Emerald: *Drags in a blubbering mess of a blonde into the locker room* But don’t take this as an invitation to try anything “Joan” and don’t be a creep about it like other guys would. *Flips Mercury off on the way in*

Mercury: *Jealousy flips off Emerald and Joan to boot* You goddamn owe me Jaune! You owe me details!

#jnrz ask #jaune arc #reese chloris #neon katt #may zedong #rwby #general ironwood #caroline cordovin #cardin winchester #qrow branwen #ilia amitola #mercury black #emerald sustrai #jnrz au

[hannahrose130]

Devilish Daydreams

Everyone Deserves a Classic

Waking up is the first step in everyone’s daily schedule. Leaving a dream can feel haunting to the human mind as it goes throughout the day. They try so desperately to put the puzzle pieces together in order to relive in the forgotten land. Some try so hard to remember they distract themselves from their jobs. Using daydreams to complete the story, see what happens, and to break down the plot twist. 

On the other side of the spectrum, one could find themselves waking up in a sweat. Fear coursing through their veins, the amygdala pulsing with adrenaline as the brain rushes out of the nightmare. A self-induced illusion of terror and horror. As the person sits up in bed, hurrying their gaze around the room, wondering if the threat was real. If the shiver running down their spines were justified. They hurry out of bed, hoping to forget the night terror they just experienced. They calm their heart rate and finish the first step of the day.

Alastor McCarthy’s first step of the day had been tampered with and compromised. When he opened his chocolate eyes every morning at 5:30 am on the dot he didn’t long to return to the land of paradise or fret over imaginary monsters his mind created. Alastor simply woke and got ready, for he can’t understand anymore the difference between a daydream and a nightmare.

Now, each individual’s daily routine is unique. Some like order while others prefer the livelihood of chaos. To live by the moment, not knowing what will happen next. Alastor McCarthy was not overly fond of those types of people. He liked the order, he liked to keep things consistent. 

Step one of Alistair’s daily schedule: Wake up and get ready. This can include - but not limited to - washing his face; brushing his teeth; combing his straight chestnut hair; putting on his work clothes. Step two: Eat a nutritious breakfast. Alastor cooked two eggs sunny side up with a side of bacon and whole-wheat toast. A glass of orange juice. The warmth of Louisiana allowed the glass to fog with condensation.

Step three: Go to work. Mr. McCarthy worked downtown in a semi-tall building, around four or five stories. It was a dirty red brick building with ivy running up the side. It led to small insects finding home within the walls of the studio Alastor worked at. He was granted his own channel a few years back. 

Alastor was a well-respected man in Louisiana. Men laughed at his witty jokes, women swooned at his symmetrical face, and children adored his upbeat taste in music. They danced whenever he played their favorite songs. Drivers listened to him as they sped around the city. And while the fame wasn’t a plus in his eyes, Alastor loved his job. He worked from 6:30 am to 11:00 am, giving him enough free time to do as he pleases for the afternoon. On rare occasions, he gets asked to stay late to plan out the next week’s script. 

Step four: Leave work and relax. Alistair’s idea of relaxation was a thing of mystery. More often than not he liked to be alone, strolling through the town, having short friendly conversations with bystanders. Sometimes Alastor would visit his bartender friend, Henry. The young man way, to his dismay, Alistair’s best friend. The two men were close in age (Alastor being 26 and Henry a strapping 24) and in relation. Step five: Return home and prepare. The radio host preferred to keep his nights open, in case anything were to arise or if he was preoccupied, then he would have enough time to get done what needed to be done. 

He followed this schedule without fail every day (on the weekends he followed it the same besides for the work). And for a while, Alastor McCarthy thought nothing would change that. Little did Alastor know that he was very wrong.

It was a weekend, Saturday, to be precise, and Alastor already had a plan for his week. To understand what Alistair’s plan was one must know Alastor was an addict. A “junkie” - as the term would later form - in need of a fix. While it may have looked like it from the outside, Alastor McCarthy was not a perfect man. He had flaws, major ones. And his excellent plan was to indulge in this bad habit. The bad habit that condemned him to hell. Now the first step of his plan was to go to the bookstore.

It wasn’t a large book store nor was it well known. Alastor came across it on one of his afternoon walks, it wasn’t too far from his own house, a ten-minute walk at most. It had a green-blue wooden sign above the door with snow-white print. There were books displayed in the glass windows and advertisements on the glass. As soon as he laid eyes on the small hole in the wall store, a familiar itch nipped at the back of his mind. An itch he hadn’t scratched in some time - too long of a wait. And he needed to scratch, oh so bad. 

Inhaling the air filled with the smell of the street, Alastor kept his bright smile and ventured inside. As he opened the door, bells chimed indicating a potential new customer had walked inside. He walked further, his dress shoes softly tapping against the short carpet.

Alastor immediately saw her, what he came here for. She was across the store, looking at a magazine. Her lipstick was a shade of red that complimented her eyes. Her fingers flipped through the pages carelessly. She didn’t seem to mind if there was damage. Her short flapper hairstyle was modern, sleek against her head. Clearly from the way she stood, hip stuck to the side, she wasn’t exactly pro-women. The term “flapper” was meant to show a strong side of the female gender. To prove they weren’t little things to abuse and that they were strong. The woman holding the magazine was most likely following the trends. 

For a moment her eyes flickered toward him so he walked behind a bookshelf. He grabbed a random book from the shelf and turned his head down, sneaking glances at the women who moved onto another magazine. 

He was observing her when a light tap was felt on his left shoulder. Alastor tensed, he did not like to be touched. Whipping his head around, he snapped the book closed and faced the person who was desperate enough for his attention to invade his personal space. Why didn’t people get the concept of personal bubbles?

Alistair’s eyes peered through his small oval glasses at a figure smaller than his own. A woman. She wore no makeup but was wearing a plain dress with little accents. She had an apron on with the name of the store hand-stitched onto the left breast of the cloth.

“Hi, can I help you, sir?” What Alastor noticed was how angelic her voice was. He shook his head no, perhaps she could satisfy his scratch. The worker nodded and was about to move away when she noticed the book in his grasp. “You’re reading The Great Gatsby? It’s my favorite. What’s your favorite part?”

Alastor smiled stiffly and looked back at Magazine Woman, who was still happily reading and looked back to the woman in front of him. “I enjoyed the ending quite a bit.”

Miss Worker’s listening smile shifted into an unfamiliar, slightly opened smile. She nodded, her hair bounced with her movement, “Ah, yes. I just loved how the robbery didn’t uproot Nick’s life so much.”

Alastor nodded in agreement when he saw the smug look on the woman’s face. Ah shit, he had been caught in a lie. The chestnut-haired man laughed into his chest. “That’s not how this story ends, I presume?”

The worker shook her head, an ever-growing smile on her face. “Not in this book. If you were looking for a book with that ending, I recommend the back shelf at the top.” Alastor changed his smile from a forced one into something genuine. This little darling was very interesting. “I’m Y/n. I’m the manager, can I help you find something you are actually looking for?”

“Well, darling, I’m not quite sure what I am looking for if I’m being honest. I just wandered in here, in hopes of finding something worth my time. Perhaps a cookbook? Or shall I stay here and pretend to read this?” he held up the thin book. 

Y/n fake gasped and snatched the book from his hand, “How dare you say such horrid things. This will be a classic.” He informed her it was published only last year. “I am well aware of that, sir,” she opened the book and flipped through the pages. He watched as her fingers danced across the flutter of the paper. He could tell she was entranced by this object. “People generations from now will read this book and fall in love with the story.” She looked at him teasingly, “So don’t expect me to condone someone insulting this masterpiece in my bookstore.”

He chuckled, “My dear, my name is Alastor.”

“I’m aware of your name Mr. McCarthy. I listen to you on the radio from time to time. So I know who you are, Mr. Radioman.” Alastor chuckled at the nickname. Y/n turned to go back to where ever she planned to go. “And Mr. McCarthy?” He perked up at his name. “The cookbooks are behind you.”

Turning around, Alastor saw the books on the lowest shelves. 

Time had passed, no more than fifteen minutes, when Alastor felt as though he were lingering too long. He found it hard to not stare at the woman who teased him as she went about her business, helping other people as they needed it. Finally, it was time to check out. 

With two cookbooks in hand, Alastor walked to the front counter, his smile never leaving his face. He set the books down and dug into his pocket for his wallet. Y/n picked up the books, placing them into a paper bag with twine handles. She offered her smile as he handed over the amount owed. 

“Did you find everything okay?” Y/n asked as she put the money away. 

The radio host nodded, “I’m not sure I found what I intended to, nor what I sought out in the first place, but I’m pleased with my purchase nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m glad,” she handed him the bag with a smile. Their fingers grazed each other’s and for once, Alastor didn’t mind the light contact. “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Radioman.”

“Likewise, Ms. Y/n,” Alastor bowed his head as he opened the door, the bells chiming as he left. 

As he walked down the street, humming a happy tune, Alastor noticed something odd about his purchase. There was a third book. And not just any book, it was The Great Gatsby. Confusion made its way into his eyebrows as they furrowed slightly. He parked on the side of the sidewalk, as so to not bump into other people, and reached to grab the book. Sticking out of the book was a note. 

Everyone deserves a classic.

He silently chuckled at her neat cursive. He flipped open the book when he saw writing on the first page after the cover. It was originally blank but was used to take another note. The same pretty cursive that was on the small loose piece of paper. 

Alastor,

I hope you find what you are looking for. In the meantime, I feel you would enjoy this story’s ending better than the last.

She signed at the bottom. His finger ghosted over the writing, not wanting to cause any smears from the blue ink. Alastor smiled, this time his eyes held more than just a facade. He put the book back and carried on. 

Alastor thought about it for a moment. Maybe he did find something. Not what he was looking for at the beginning, oh no. Something much different. The reason he could tell? The mental itch nipping at the back of his mind was gone. 

#alastor x reader #hazbin demon #hazbin hotel #alastor #the radio demon #human!alastor #eventual smut #human!husk

[sourw0lf]

Take the Heat

Summary:  Dean is sent to Sioux Falls Mixed-Gender Correctional Prison to live out his ten year sentence.

Tags: Russian Mafia, Gangster!Cas, Alpha!Cas, Omega!Dean, True Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat

Relationship: Castiel Krushnic x Dean Winchester

Read it on AO3

Written for last years spnabobingo and spnkinkbingo lol

Dean couldn’t believe he got caught.

It was embarrassing, really. They planned the heist for months, working every little detail out to ensure no mistakes were made.

His father blamed him, of course, and his new presentation.

‘You didn’t fuck up jobs before you were a breeder,’ he had told Dean when he came to visit him at the jail. Dean was awaiting sentencing at the time, only a week after he was arrested for a job gone sideways.

He could have argued that it wasn’t his fault, that no one expected the forth guard to show up when he did and it was just a matter of happenstance, but he didn't. Instead he mumbled a ‘Yes, I’m sorry Sir.’

It wasn’t like there was anything they could do about it now. The damage had been done and he was charged with ten years for armed robbery and assault to Sioux Falls Correctional Prison Facility.

He couldn’t imagine what was awaiting him. He had ended up downtown a couple times for some mere disturbance and assault charges, but he had never gone to prison. He heard all the stories about omegas in there, beaten and raped and played with until they either submitted or gone crazy. He was sure he wouldn’t let that happen to himself, he wasn’t going to let some piece of shit alpha gangster break him, he would fight back if he had to.

At least that’s what he told himself.

“You will be forced to use scent blockers and suppressants during your time spent residing here,” the warden told him. He looked smug behind his mahogany desk, talking dismissively, as if taking away Dean’s free will was no big deal at all. It occured to the omega that at this point in the alpha’s career, it probably wasn’t. “We can’t have you causing a commotion with your smell or going into heat.”

Dean nodded, because it was exactly what he was expecting. He never used suppressants before, he knew how bad they could be for omegas if they were used too often and too long, and the side effects were atrocious. But he didn’t want some knothead alpha attacking him either, so he begrudgingly accepted the terms.

“You will be placed on the third floor and will share a cell with another inmate. I suggest you get along with them because we do not take requests to switch inmate’s cell blocks.”

Dean nodded for the seventeenth time, rolling his eyes at the alpha’s useless information.

“His name is Castiel Krushnic,” the warden continued. Dean looked up from his lap with, eyebrows raised with question. That name sounded vaguely familiar. “And he’s a crazy son of a bitch so don’t get on his bad side.”

Great.

Of course his cellmate was batshit, it’s exactly what he expected the universe to hand him at this point.

“Yeah, got it.” Dean sighed, “Look I’m not stupid, I know how this shit works. Suppressants and scary gangsters and bad food, I know what to except. My father’s been through a couple times-”

“John Winchester,” the warden interrupted. “Yes, I know. A real piece of work if you ask me.”

“Don’t I know it?” Dean sat up in his chair. “Can we get on with this already?” He then asked impatiently.

The warden gritted his teeth, “You won’t last long in this place, Winchester, not if you keep up the act. I suggest you learn a little obedience to the higher dynamics around you because if you’re not careful some alpha is going to eat you up and spit you out,” he warned. “Omega’s ain’t got no good place here.”

Dean briefly wondered if the warden was allowed to speak to him like that, but brushed it off. It’s not like anyone would care.

“Really?” He asked sarcastically, “Omegas having trouble in a mixed-gender prison? I would have never guessed.

The alpha let out a low growl, palms resting flat against his desk. Instead of reprimanding him again, as Dean expected him to do, the warden suddenly called out, “Peter?”

A few moments passed, and then a tall beta walked through the door. He was dressed in a blue uniform with a taser and a gun attached to his hip.

“Come take Winchester to his cell, please. Show him around the place.”

The guard walked out to Dean with cuffs in his hand, clicking them around the omega’s wrists with a perverted smile.

This is gonna be fucking awful, the omega thought to himself as the man dragged him up out of his seat and lead him out the door with a rough push.

They walked down a bland, white hallway and into the room where the front desk sat. He held Dean by the chain of his cuffs as he unlocked the door. Dean briefly wondered how much of an asshole it took to be one of these guards. The guy must have gotten off on the whole power-play aspect of it all. Just like fucking cops.

“So, tell me. Did you become a prison guard because you didn’t have the balls to be on the force,” Dean started with a smirk plastered on his face. “Or to make up for lacking a knot?”

The guard shoved him into the wall as he opened the door, “Shut the fuck up.” Dean smiled and followed him into another dark hallway.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean continued. “What’s the matter? Omegas aren’t interested in your pathetic cock so you have to come here and push ‘em around to prove your masculinity?”

The guard pushed him up against the wall, growling at the omega, “You better shape up, kid,  or someone’s gonna end up beating you to a pulp, and no guard is gonna be there to help.”

“Don’t you think you’re overcompensating a bit?” The omega could deal with a little manhandling, he liked to push people’s buttons, and getting a rise out of the guard was exactly what he needed right now.

The beta backed off with another growl and forcefully lead the omega into a small elevator. He pressed the third button, silent and fuming with anger.

He followed the guard through another door and into the cell block, eyes glancing over the silver bars that lined the hallway. As they walked down the path, people shouted from their cells. They shouldn’t have been able to tell he was an omega, what with the three scent blockers he had doused himself with, but that didn’t mean they weren’t interested. A couple of alpha-looking men cooed and flirted with him, but Dean didn’t look at them as he passed by. He didn’t want to look at them or imagine what they wanted to do with him.

When they reached the end of the hallway Dean was thinking maybe the guard had picked the wrong floor. That was, until, he was sharply pushed against the last cell and the guard opened up his block. Dean’s heart was hammering in his chest. He didn’t dare look behind him because he could hear another person moving behind the bars, his cellmate.

The supposedly insane Castiel Krushnic let out a soft chuckle when the beta warned him to get back against the wall.

“My, my, I didn’t know my new mate was gonna be such a looker,” in any other occasion, Dean would be wet with slick at the deep, Russian accent rolling off the man’s tongue. But today he was disgusted with the flirtatious voice, it was a threat.

Dean could smell a faded musk of alpha, and wondered if the people sharing the block before them had been alphas. When the cell gate clanged open, the guard hastily pushed him inside, locking the door behind him.

The scent suddenly got a bit stronger and he glanced at his cell mate, sniffing the air in curiosity. His eyes went wide with fear when he realized what was happening, “What the fuck?!”

The beta turned to him with a sigh, “What? What is it now?”

“You can’t make me share a cell with an alpha,” Dean demanded. “What the fuck kind of place is this? You’re putting my life in danger.”

He heard Castiel chuckle yet again, but he said nothing as he sat on his bed.

The beta rolled his eyes, “You have scent blockers and suppressants, you’ll be fine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean reached through the bars to try and grab the guard in anger but his fingertips barely skimmed the man’s uniform as he dodged the omega quickly.

He pulled out his taser in defense, “Watch it, you don’t wanna be assaulting a guard on your first day. Being placed with an alpha is nothing less than what you deserve, Bitch.”

Where he came from, or at least in his own mindset, saying bitch to an omega were some fighting words. He growled, not letting up as he reached through the bars, “I’ll fucking kill you, you pathetic wannabe alpha piece of shit!”

The guard laughed as he walked away, and the omega continued to growl until he was out of sight.

From behind him, he heard a few slow claps, “I have to say I am impressed by your spirit, pup.”

“Do not call me pup . I am a grown adult.”

The alpha only smirked at him, amused.

Now that Dean was actually looking at the alpha, he was kind of taken aback at how attractive he was. Don’t get him wrong, he still hated the man with every fiber of his being. But he couldn’t deny the alpha had something going for him, with messy dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He had maybe and inch or two on Castiel, but that didn’t negate the fact that he was still six feet of pure, unadulterated alpha.

He needed to talk to the warden. Surely, there must have been a rule about alphas and omegas sharing space like this, there had to be some kind of law. How could there not be?

“It was not an insult, красивая,” Dean sucked in a breath at the slip of Russian.

No, he reprimanded himself

“Although you look like a pup, how old are you?”

Dean gritted his teeth, he did not look like a pup. He was 6’2 and well built for an omega. He grumbled under in breath and looked at the alpha with a sigh, “I’m twenty, so you can fuck-off.”

Castiel grinned at him, “Not even old enough to buy yourself a beer and you’re in North Dakota’s most dangerous prison.” The alpha tsked with a smug expression, “How did a sweet thing like you end up in that kind of trouble?”

Dean let out a little growl, “None of your fucking business, that’s how?”

The alpha took a step towards him, his amused smirk contorting into a deathly stare. Dean took a step back with a growl, glaring at him. Before he could react the alpha had him pinned up against the wall with no way to move, “I have enough enemies, I am not interested in making any more. But if you test me, I will react.” He growled into the omega’s ear, “You would benefit from making friends with me, pup.”

Dean shied away from his touch, still growling low in his throat, “Yeah? And how’s that?” He struggled against the alpha grip.

Seemingly amused again, the alpha’s grip tightened, “There are only two other omegas in this prison. One of them is a Krushnic, and he is lucky for that. He is taken care of, and for that no one dares to touch him. The other omega, though? He had no such luck.” Dean shuttered, “So unless you would like to be raped raw everyday for the remainder of your sentence, I suggest you play nice with me.”

“Are you threatening to rape me?” Dean bit out.

“No,” Castiel said defensively. “I’m threatening to take away your only hope at surviving this place: My protection.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Why would you help me, huh? What do I gotta do in return? Be your bitch? ” He wasn’t interested in being someone’s warm hole to fuck, especially not Castiel’s.

“I wasn’t planning on demanding that of you, but if that is what you wish it can be arranged,” the alpha laughed. “All I want is a good cellmate, me and my last one didn’t get along so well. It made things… difficult.”

“Well do you usually pin your ‘good cellmates’ against the wall, Castiel? ” the omega asked, getting tired of the uncomfortable position. The alphas elbows were digging into his stomach, and the pressure around his hands was starting to cut his circulation off.

Without a thought, the alpha backed off and straightened up as if nothing happened, an unreadable look on his face, “My apologies.”

Dean blinked, who the fuck was this guy? ‘My apologies’, like he didn’t just fucking kung-fu grip him against the wall and threaten to be his ‘enemy’. “So, pup, are you gonna tell me what you’re here for?”

“Why do you want to know?” Dean asked with an accusing tone. He glared, crossing his arms.

“I want to know what you’re capable of,” the alpha said with a smile. “Come on, tell me. I promise mine is worse.”

“Okay, that doesn’t make me feel better about you,” Dean said, wondering what kind of fucked up shit the alpha had done to promise such a thing.

Castiel gave him insistent eyes and he shrugged, “Botched a robbery, got uh, ten years for it.”

“You’ll get out in six with good behavior, trust me,” Castiel assured the omega. “This place is packed, they can’t afford to not let people out early on parole. And they’ll probably take pity about you being an omega and all.”

“Thanks,” Dean said sarcastically. “So what about you? The warden told me you were all kinds of fucked up, what’d you do?”

Castiel smirked, looking a little more than amused, “Accessory to a murder, twenty years. Those fuckers were keeping an eye on me for years, and all they could get on me was accessory to a murder. Fucking pathetic.”

Dean tried to ignore how hot the alpha swearing was, “Who was watching you?”

“The FBI,” Castiel said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They like to keep tabs on my family, but they’re not very good at it.”

“What are you like in a gang or something?” Dean asked, wondering just how fucked he was for befriending this psychotic man.

“No, pup,” the alpha chuckled, sighing as he sat back on his bed. “The Bratva,” he said, the r rolling off his tongue through the thick accent.

“The what?” Dean asked. “Is that some kind of special group for crazy murderous bastards?”

Castiel nodded, “Yes and no. What I mean is I am of the Krushnic family… of the Russian mafia,” he nodded to Dean. He leaned back with a smile, “That omega I was talking about earlier? My cousin Balthazar. Our family is powerful, we have a standing in this prison and all across the world.”

Dean’s eyes were wide, “Um… okay. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.” The mafia? Like the mafia mafia? Dean was in over his head. He needed to pull back, abort, get away from this alpha and never look back.

Except he couldn’t because he was his cellmate and also happened to be the only chance at protection from this hell that Dean had.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you should stop that right now. The Russian mafia isn’t the most fucked up organization in this place. You should feel lucky you didn’t get placed with one of those nazi Aryan fucks,” Castiel spat.

“Hey, fuck you Krushnic!” Dean heard someone shout from a cell across the way.

Castiel stood up and walked over to the gate, one hand wrapping around a bar. He growled, “ Я вырежу его язык!” Dean tried to will the omega inside him to calm down as the alpha screamed. The alpha is not attractive, you will not fall for the convicted murderer , he told himself.

“Ew, there’s nazis here?” Dean asked, trying to urge the alpha to come back and sit down and stop yelling at the bald, tattooed man.

The alpha sighed and walked back over to Dean, “Oh, puppy. That and more, the scum of the earth walk through these halls. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it.”

Dean nodded, trying to comprehend it all. He kept asking Castiel about his family, what they did, who they worked with. Castiel gave him small grins and short answers, leaving out all the good stuff. Dean imagined it was because there were probably ears listening in on their conversation.

When he got bored of the conversation he climbed up on the top bunk and laid down, sighing at the rush of nerves flowing through his body. Being in this place wasn’t going to be an easy adjustment. He only hoped that with the scent blockers he could pass as a beta to most. He knew, of course, that some of the alphas would be able to pick it up, but if he put enough on the betas might leave him alone.

He didn’t know how this whole ‘protection’ thing went. What, is the alpha just going to announce to the entire prison ‘this is mine’ and leave it at that? He didn’t want to be perceived as some weak omega that couldn’t protect himself, but he also didn’t want to get killed… or worse.

He ended up falling asleep for an hour or so, waking up to loud announcements about dinner. He heard an alarm and then the lock of the gates unlocking. The cell mates walked in an orderly line, the guards watching from every corner. Castiel hit the bed frame a couple times, “Come on, pup. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Dean hopped out of the bed, shoving his prison-issued boots on.

“For what I’m about to do,” the alpha started, earning the omega’s attention. “I apologize for because I know you don’t want to be touched. I’m sorry, but I need to make a statement.”

Their fellow inmates began to pass by and through the door on their way to the lunchroom. Dean only had a moment to step back before Castiel was grabbing him and pressing his body against the bars. The alpha’s fingers entangled with his hair, and he leaned in to kiss the omega. Dean struggled at first, a small whine escaping his mouth before he gave in and kissed the man back. Castiel slipped his tongue in the omega’s mouth, licking his teeth and he growling in a display of dominance.

He could hear the alphas and betas behind him whistling and commenting, but he couldn’t focus with the alphas tongue in his mouth and hands on his body. Despite the inmates teasing, it was clear to everyone now that Dean was Krushnic property.

Dean almost wanted to continue when the alpha pulled away, taking deep breaths as he tried to regain himself, “Okay…”

“My apologies,” the alpha told him, straightening up as he neared the opened gate. “Now come on, pup, follow me.”

Dean stayed close behind Castiel, following him into a large cafeteria that smelled of food and sweat. Dean turned his nose at the smell. Ever since he was a child he had a sensitive nose, it was part of being an omega.

They got in line with the rest of the inmates, Dean stared at the food in front of them. There was some kind of rice-looking dish and soup, and down the line were some bread rolls. Dean grabbed one of the milks out of it’s case and picked up a tray, holding it in front of the cook just like Castiel had done. She glared at the omega and slapped some food on the platter. He just looked down at his food, avoiding eye contact. You had to be a real hardass if you were a woman working in a facility such as this, and he wouldn’t dare try pissing off the lady in charge of feeding him.

He followed Castiel over to a table. Sitting there was a short, blonde man, he could tell the alpha knew him by the way he shot the man a familiar smile, “Balthazar, this is Dean.”

His eyes lit up, “You’re the other omega! People are already talking about you, kid. Be careful.”

Dean nodded, “Thanks for the heads up, but your cousin here already filled me in on what all the big bad alphas wanna do with me.”

Balthazar took a bite of his food, “I figured he would. Heard you already took dibs, Cassie.” The omega looked to his relative with expectant eyes.

“Just being efficient,” the alpha shot back. He gave Balthazar a glare. “I knew people already had their eyes on him, everyone was so excited to have another omega. They’re probably angry we took him in as a Krushnic.”

Balthazar smirked, “Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

Dean quietly ate his food as he listened to the Krushnics talk. A group of people sat around them, sometimes chiming in to their conversation. It soon became clear to Dean that the large group of alphas were Krushnic recruits as well. They were large, mean looking men with tattoos and frowns but they didn’t seem too threatening when they got to talking.

When he came back from dumping his tray, he shoved Castiel and murmured, “I’m gonna go take a leak.” The alpha nodded, looking over to the closest alpha.

“Dmitri, accompany Dean to the bathroom. I have to discuss something with Balthazar. See that he makes a safe return,” he ordered. The alpha nodded and Dean blushed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having someone tagging along while he was going pee.

Dmitri lead him to the bathroom and stood next to him as he went, making Dean semi uncomfortable. He almost couldn’t piss with the alpha standing there all brooding and silent.

The bathroom door opened suddenly and Dean heard a loud growl from the man next to him.

“Alistar, what the fuck are you doing here. We have territory for a fucking reason, and the left wing is yours.” Dean zipped his pants up, taking a step back from the men. “You got a death wish or something?”

A couple of alphas followed behind Alistar, and Dmitri growls grew scary.

“Not exactly,” the slimy alpha said with a chuckle. “I want the omega. You give him here and I’ll leave, no force needed.”

Dmitri let out a low laugh, “Not a fucking chance. He’s Castiel’s, back off.”

“Castiel can have him at night,” Alistar dismissed. “They do share a cell, don’t they? Maybe we can make an arrangement,” he flashed a sickeningly yellow smile at the omega.

Why Alistar, of all people, was allowed to disregard the scent blockers rule was beyond Dean. But he could smell the musk of the alpha, a sick arousal spilling into the air. Dean thought he was going to throw up, maybe from the nerves or maybe from the smell, he didn’t know.

He wanted that faint scent of Castiel back, the one that smelled like cinnamon and honey. He wanted to get out of here and go home and never come back and it made his heart hurt when he realized that this is his home now, fighting for the safety of himself and his life every day.

“No,” Dmitri insisted. “I’m giving you one more chance to Back. Off. ”

The two alphas on Alistar’s sides walked up to him and Dmitri threw a punch, his fist connecting with one of their faces. Then, it was an all out fight, and Dean shrugged as his fingers clenched together into a fist. He had fought some people in his day, he could at least help. He threw a couple punches and kicked one of the alpha’s in the balls before his felt Alistar’s cold, clamming arms wrapping around him, his scent engulfing the omega’s senses. This time he couldn’t help but gag.

“Come on now, don’t act like you aren’t excited for a real knot,” Alistar whispered into his eyes. Dean looked over to Dmitri, who was busy taking a boot to the face. Dean flinched at the loud crack of his nose, the alpha shouting in pain.

Dean shook his head and tried to get out of the alpha’s grip, elbowing the man in the chest. The alpha growled, grabbing Dean and pushing him up against the wall.

“It’s a good thing I don’t care either way, then, if you’re gonna be so difficult about it. He punched Dean in the face. Alistar’s hand wrapped around his neck and slammed the omega’s head into the wall a couple times, making him dizzy and sick.

He thanked God when one of his kicks connected with the alpha’s shin, making him take a step back. He could feel blood dripping down his face and matting in his hair but he didn’t care. Alistar grunted when Dean’s foot connected with his stomach.

“You little bitch,” he spat, reaching out. Dean pushed him away, stumbling out of the bathroom. He ran back into the cafeteria, feeling bad for leaving Dmitri back there. He knew he couldn’t have saved him.

He walked with wide eyes back over to Castiel’s group, well aware of the people staring at him. Every time he looked down there was little speckles of blood on the floor.

Balthazar gasped when his eyes landed on Dean, standing up as the omega approached the table. Castiel squinted in confusion and then turned around to see what the omega was looking at.

He growled when he saw the state of Dean.

“What the fuck happened?” He demanded, “Where is Dmitri?” He placed a hand on Dean’s face, examining his injuries.

“Some knothead… Alistar,” Dean said. Balthazar swore under his breath and Castiel let out and inhuman growl. “Dmitri, I don’t know. He had a couple people with him but…”

Castiel nodded, shouting at the alphas behind him in Russian. A guard approached them, eyebrows furrowed at the blood and open wounds on the omega’s face.

“What the hell is going on here,” he demanded.

Dean let out a growl, “How ‘bout none of your fucking business, Peter.”

“Looks like you got into a fight. On your first day? That doesn’t look good for you,” he said, sounding smug.

“Doesn’t look like anything to me,” Balthazar said. “Not sure what you’re talking about. The omega looks fine.”

Castiel smirked, “Indeed, I don’t see anything wrong with him. Why is it that you came over here again?” Peter glared at the both of them scoffing.

“Whether or not I like you, I have to get you to the nurse or something,” Peter said, grabbing Dean’s arm.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m fine, fuckin’ aces. Or at least I was before you walked over here for no reason and started putting your hands all over me,” Dean retorted, following the Krushnics lead.

“What the hell are you lunatics playing at?” Peter asked. “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly,” Castiel said, tugging Dean away from the beta. He pushed him through the halls, having one of the other guards escort them back up to their cell. Castiel knew this guard, and he seemed to be far less of a dick than Peter. He didn’t ask what happened to the omega’s face, he could probably guess.

When they got back to their cell the guard handed them a mini first aid kit that he had pulled from his belt, “Technically, I’m not supposed to be giving this to you but both of us know you won’t say anything.” Castiel nodded at him with a thanks and the guard left them in the cell alone.

Castiel turned to him, “You okay, pup?” Dean almost laughed at the concern in his voice.

He nodded, “I thought I told you not to call me that.” The omega sighed as he sat down on Castiel’s bed, hoping the alpha didn’t mind.

His body and mind hurt. He had had a terrible first day.

The alpha kneeled in front of him with the opened first aid kit, leaning into the omega’s face with a wet antibacterial cloth.

Dean pushed his hand away, “It’s fine, I can do it.” He was a grown ass man for God’s sake, he could fix up a couple scratches.

The alpha shook his head, “It’s my fault you ended up with these, let me take care of them.”

“Not your fault,” Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s Alistair’s fault because he’s the one who did it.”

“Yeah, well Alistair is my rival, and he took a liking to you mostly because I did. I should have sent more than just Dmitri, I should have gone with you myself,” the alpha assured him. He reached up to Dean’s face again and this time Dean didn’t have the heart to push it away. He hissed as the cloth stung with wounds, huffing when Castiel insisted they put a bandaid on the worst one.

“Dmitri said something about having territory… is that true?” Dean asked. Just how complicated was this mafia thing? “Which family is he apart of?”

“Yes, we divide the prison between the left and right wing. The right is ours, it divides through the cafeteria and Alistair crossed that line. Which is not okay, he will be reprimanded thoroughly for that,” Castiel said with a bite to his voice. Dean wondered why the alpha was so pissed he got hurt, was it about Dmitri? “And to answer your other question, Alistair’s the head of the Aryan Brotherhood. At least, in this prison anyways.”

“He doesn’t look like those other fuckers,” Dean commented.

“Yeah, well, that’s because he doesn’t have to.” Dean nodded. He guessed that was explanation enough. The alpha’s hand reached around the back of his head and he winced as his fingers brushed by the gash there.

“Apologies,” the alpha said. The omega turned his head to let him look at it.

“Need stitches? ‘Cause if you get me some dental floss, a needle, and two mirrors I can probably do it myself,” he smirked at the alpha.

The alpha laughed, “No, no you’re fine.”

Dean didn’t know why he was starting to like the alpha. There was just something about it that appealed to the omega. Maybe it was because the alpha wasn’t as much of a bad person as he had originally thought, or maybe Dean was just doing his best to adapt to the people around him.

Chapter Two

#sourwolfwrites #take the heat #prison au #mafia au #omega!dean #alpha!castiel #mating cycles/in heat #true mates #dean winchester #castiel krushnic #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #spn fanfic

[ofstagdreams]

desire.

a/n this is...pure smut. I tired to make it gender neutral but it ended up being F!reader, so hopefully next time. Repost because the first aint showing up in tags 

pairing Dutch Van Der Linde x reader

warnings smut, daddy kink (but its Dutch so is that really surprising.)

You sat at the edge of camp, cigarette hanging loosely from your fingers as your eyes trace the patterns of the stars.

It’d been a long day, you had a closer call than you would have liked during a stagecoach robbery and had to ride hours in the opposite direction to get rid of the police that were chasing you. You then had arrived back in camp only to get the bottom of the stew pot, with the chewy meat and had to listen to Dutch and Molly screaming at each other through the entirety of your meal, which seemed to be the same argument they were having this morning.

You had escaped to the outskirts of camp to allow yourself to de-stress after your long day, not really in the mood for company and had lit a cigarette, taking your relaxation to the max as you took a long drag and let your head fall back against the tree you were leaning against.

Dutch appears seemingly out of nowhere, looking somewhat dishevelled. It shocked you a little, the man was always dressed pristine, but his hair was slightly out of place and waistcoat unbuttoned. It was an almost powerful feeling, seeing such a strong man in such a state and you had to admit, it was a good look for him.

“Here,” you say pushing yourself up and offering out your cigarette, “you look like you need it more than I do.”

He startles a little at your voice, but says nothing, taking the cigarette from you. You watch as he raises it to his lips and takes a long drag, eyes fluttering shut and you try to ignore what that does to you.

You had no idea when your attraction to him started, but it had been years now and he had never expressed any interest in you, so you had left it at that and just got on with things.

“I saw what you brought in today - if more people brought in as much as you did we’d be halfway to Tahiti by now.”

You nod your thanks and give a slight shrug, “just doing what I’m told and trying my best sir.” You didn’t know where the sir had come from, a slight joke perhaps, as an underling addresses their leader.

He drops the cigarette, stamping it out with his foot as he takes a step forward, dark eyes sweeping over your form. “You do follow my orders, don’t you? You’re a good girl.” He takes another step forward, so close now that you have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. He smells of fire smoke and pine trees and you’re not sure if you want to stay here forever or run for the hills.

You have no idea what happens, but suddenly his lips are on yours and your back is against the tree. His large hands pin your waist to the tree, lips dominating yours as his leg presses against your core. His lips trail down your neck as his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his leg raising to put more pressure against your core as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking hard. His hands return to your waist and the feeling of the contrast of his warm hands and cool rings make you moan into the night.

Your hand comes up to tangle in the curls at the back of his head as he moves his attention to your other breast. His hands make quick work of your trousers, his fingers moving to your core and finding you already soaking.

His grin is dangerous as he returns back to his full height. “All for me, you are a good girl,” one hand begins to stroke you as he uses the other to free himself from his trousers, “if I’d known you had wanted me this much, I would have had you a long time ago.”

You want to find a witty response, but his fingers are stroking the exact right spot and you can only muster a “yes sir” in response.

But Dutch seems to like this, removing your trousers fully and lifting you up so that your legs wrap around his waist. He uses one hand to cup your ass and keep you up while the other pins your hand above your head.

His tip hovers beneath you, enough so you can feel its warmth but you desperately need him inside you and you squirm against him to find some sort of release. He tightens his hold on you, pressing the hard length of his body against his own, “I thought you were going to be a good girl.”

You meet his eyes, staring into the nearly black orbs as he pants heavily into your ear. He wanted this as much as you did, but he would never admit it. Of course, he’s a tease, you think, he had to have everything just as he wanted it.

But you knew him and you knew exactly how to make this work for your advantage.

“I’ll be a good girl, daddy.”

That did the trick, he’s inside you with one quick thrust. Pressing kisses to your neck as you arch it back with a moan as he begins to move inside you. He keeps the hand that pins your wrists there for as long as he can before he has to bring it down by the other one to support your ass and keep you upright.

“You like that hm?” He cooed after you let out another moan, “you like daddy being inside you, huh? You like it when daddy fucks you? You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?”

You nod in response, but a bite on your neck tells you that he wants a verbal answer and the breathless “yes” falls from your lips easily.

He’s bitten hard enough to leave a mark and he leans back a little to admire his handiwork, “well now you are daddy’s girl.”

He picks up the pace, hips snapping up against yours as the delicious sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air. His hand snakes down and rubs against your nub, quickly giving you the release you so desperately craved as your arch against him, skin pressing into the cool buttons of his waistcoat.

He pulls out of you as you come down, placing your shaky legs back on the ground. His hands are quickly on your shoulders, pushing you down ever so slightly, “on your knees.”

You do as he commands, taking him in your mouth. You slide along him, hollowing out your cheeks as he tangles his hands in your hair.

“That’s it,” he encourages, and his hips buck ever so slightly into your mouth, “finish daddy off.”

You swallow his seed and release him from your mouth in a small pop as he looks down at you with a satisfied smile. He offers a hand to help you up and he brings his lips down to yours once more.

“Well, miss,” he tells you, eyes glancing once more to look at the mark he’s left on your neck, “I hope you’ll be making more contributions like what you have today in the future.”

All you can do, standing there half naked with your legs still shaking, is nod in response.

#dutch van der linde x reader #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #dutch van der linde

[writerinthedark]

The Lost Winchester: Part 3

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I had a bit of writers block. I hope you enjoy this part. I decided to switch the prospective to Dean’s for this part, because why not. If you want to be tagged in this series let me know.

Word Count: 1,970

Warnings: language

POV: Dean

       The case me and Sammy were working was starting to become a pain in the ass. After we arrived last night we quickly got to work looking at the case. So far from what we could tell, all signs pointed to a ghoul. From what we could tell,  all the bodies had been missing for a few days before being found. The thing that pointed us towards ghoul was after a day they would miraculously call and say they were on a quick trip out of town.  Then Bam! They show up dead, missing a body part.      We had just spent the whole day asking everyone questions about the recent deaths. We only had one person left. Her file described her as having long brown hair with bright green eyes and was about five foot four.  The bell rung, flooding the hall with anxious teens. Everyone was rushing to leave this hell hole, and I can't blame them. It smells like teen desperation. I caught sight of her and signaled Sam that I'd found her. Seconds before she was able to leave the school we caught up. I politely tapped her on the shoulder trying to gain her attention. She noticeable tense at my touch swiftly turning to greet us. For a flash, her eyes shown with annoyance before relaxing a small amount.  I quickly started in hope to get out of here as soon as possible.    "Ma'am I'm Agent Page and this is my partner Agent Plant," I said motioning to Sam. "We need to ask you some questions."    "I am not trying to be rude sir, but I have work down at the mechanic shop. If I miss one more day I will lose my job." she quickly stated.    I was not in the mood to come back and question this chick. I glanced over at Sam to see his reaction. He looks along the same lines as me. Ready to leave.    "Ma'am I am sorry, but this cannot wait."    Reluctantly she made her way to a private room the school had loaned us for use. On our short trip to the small room, I noticed how odd her stance was. She was slouched, but her shoulders were tense. From what I could only assume as an injury. I pointed to my shoulder getting Sam's attention and then pointed to her. He quickly caught on and saw it for himself.  The room was small with white cement bricks and short grey carpet. I motioned for her to take a seat, allowing her to sit before we followed suit.  Diving right in I started with questioning her.    "Sorry to take up your time, Eve is it?"    She sat waiting for us to start the questions. We started asking normal questions as to not lead her to be suspicious. Slowly we worked our way through the odder questions we had.    "Have you see anyone you could have sworn was reported to be missing?"     "Now that I think of it the other day before I went to the hospital, In P.E. before I passed out I caught a glimpse of my teacher's kid. I did not even remember it until you pointed it out."    "One last question before you go. Why were you at the hospital?" Sam asked. I did not see his point in asking such a question, so what she went to the hospital.    "Um, nothing I just fell that's all." Her gaze shifted to the side. That caught my attention, why would she lie about why she went to the hospital? Maybe this was something we needed to check out. With that last answer, the questioning was concluded. On her way out, before she made it too far out the door I caught her wrist. She immediately tensed at the touch. I gave a quick apology and handed her my card, telling her to call if she needed anything. I took note of her reaction to tell Sam. I watched as she half walked, and half ran out the school building. Turning to Sam I was met with the same look that I was feeling. His face was written with a look of questioning.    "Looks like we need to go to the hospital, Sammy." Without a second word, we broke out into a walk to Baby. At first glimpse of Baby, a smile etched its way onto my face. She looked as great as always with her shiny black coat. She started up with a purr. The doors squeaked with rust as Sam shut his side door. The drive to the hospital was quiet. Not a word was spoken between us, just the purr of Baby as I drove. Pulling into a parking spot I put Baby into park. Stepping out of the car we both checked our ID's putting them into our inside jacket pocket. After readying ourselves we entered the hospital in an attempt to find out what really happened to Eve. I was hit with the extremely potent smell of disinfectants and the cold dry air of the hospital. Finding the nurses station was not too hard, nothing me giving the receptionist lady a charming smile would not fix. We were soon at the nurse's station.    "Hello I'm Agent Page and this is Agent Plant." Quickly we flashed our fake badges.    "We need the file of a patient that was just in here the other day. Her name is Eve Warner."    "Sir we cannot give out patients files just because you say your FBI agents." Sam or should I say, Agent Plant, quickly interjected.    "If you want we could have our boss from the FBI call and tell your boss you were denying our request."      Look at Sammy being bad cop. It was hard to not smile at his closed demeanor. The nurses face contorted in panic and she quickly apologized for her behavior rushing to get the file. She returned bearing a vanilla folder. Sam accepted it with a polite smile before turning to leave. We were quick to leave the hospital in hopes to not draw attention. The last thing we need is someone telling everyone FBI is in town. We went through the file as soon as we got back to the motel. I sat opposite of Sam at the small table in the corner of the room. The beginning of the file said the normal stuff like age, gender, race. Found out her parents are just foster parents, which got me thinking what is her actual last name. Looking at the doctors report it says that her shoulder was severely swollen and discolored. Her shoulder was dislocated with other evidence of injury. No wonder her shoulders were tense. How did she not cry out in pain when I touched her shoulder. I pointed this out to Sam.    "How did she not show any signs of pain?"    "I don't know Dean, but get this. It says that when they took an x-ray of her shoulder while she was passed out. There was evidence of tons of broken bones that never healed properly."    "Sam, are you saying what I think you're saying?"    "Dean I think Eve is being abused."    "Son of a bitch!"    This poor girl was getting beaten and there was nothing we could do about it or was there.    "Sam I have an idea. Call Bobby and ask him if he can dig up any information on Eve's parents. Maybe they would take her back if they knew what was happening to her."    Sam called Bobby explaining what we had found out about her situation. Before I knew it we were back on the case trying to find hints on who our ghoul could be. Searching town records and reports on grave robberies. So far nothing had popped up. How is it possible that there have been no reports of grave robberies. Sighing I shut the file I had been looking at. Picking up my keys I got ready to go get some food from a local dinner.    "I'm going to get some grub. Do you want anything?"    As normal he asked for some dawn type of salad and some fruit. I mean it is good for you but at what cost. I placed my order and was waiting when I saw Eve come out the back sporting a bruise on her jaw. Soon after I was given my order. I was furious, how could her foster parents do that to her. It was sick. I slammed the door to the motel room, dropping the food on the table. Sam jump up at the loud sound. His face was filled with concern and curiosity.    "What happened?'    "I swear to god if Bobby does not find anything soon I am going to report those disgrace of foster parents!"    My blood was boiling at this point. It took all I had not to go over and beat those foster parents senseless. I don't even know why I cared so much, I just did.    "Dean calm down, what happened?"    I inhaled sharply before starting to explain.    "I went to the dinner up the road and right before our food was given to me, I saw Eve sporting a new bruise on her jaw."    My heart had now returned to a normal pace. Realization dawned on Sam's face, as he understood how it probably got there. His face mirrored the one of mine. Anger.    "I am going to call Bobby and get an update on what he has found."    I turned to look at the clock to find bright red letters flashing 2:30 am. Before Sam could call Bobby I threw the closest thing I could find which happened to be a pillow. I was met with his classic bitch face.    "Sam it's 2 in the morning, we should wait until tomorrow."    He reluctantly agreed and went back to researching on his computer. I, on the other hand, turned in to catch my four hours of sleep. I woke to the sun peaking through the crappy motel window. I looked over to see Sam wide awake with coffee in hand.    "Hey, mister I never sleep, got any more of that coffee."    "Ha ha, very funny Dean. There is some left in the pot, I just made some. I have an idea of what might narrow down our search for the ghouls."    "Ghouls as in more than one? I'm listening."    "I got the idea that there might be two because of the recent spike in disappearances.  I think that they might live near a graveyard. This would allow them to dig from their house to the graveyard without anyone knowing. So what do you think?"    "You're right Sam. That would explain all of the recent kills, but how do we find out which family is our right family?"    "I already know which house but you're not going to like it, Dean."    "Just spit it out Sam, it can't be that bad."    "Dean it is Eve's parents."    "You have got to be kidding me. What even lead you to that conclusion?"    "Just hear me out. They are the only house that lives close enough to reasonably dig to the graveyard and we know her foster parents are violent."    As much as I wanted it to be wrong he was right. Her foster parents do match the profile down to a T, even the location matches. I can't just brush it off as an odd match in information. We need to take them out soon before anyone else dies. I could only hope Eve is not one of them. I could not explain it but somehow I knew she was not one of them. Sighing I turned to Sam.    "Ok, you're right. When is the best time to move out Sam?"    "Tonight."

Tagged People:

@jackjackljaqui  @leave-me-alone-im-lonely @problematicpastry  @bellero

@cuddleskitty  @fangirl-moment-x  @internationalmusicteacher 

#spn fanfic #SPNFamily #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #reader sister #SISTER WINCHESTER #bobby singer #ghoul #abuse #fbi agent #agent plant #agent page #supernatural fanfic

[maizeofloverp]

Full name: Edward “Eddie” Eugene Reyes

Age: 34

Birth date: 16th June, 1983

Gender & pronouns: CisMale, he/him

Affiliation: Law Enforcement

Occupation: Deputy

Faceclaim: Oscar Isaac

B i o g r a p h y »

To say that Eddy’s upbringing was strict would be a massive understatement. Born to a police officer father who was just as much of a hard-ass as Eddy would grow up to be, the young boy was expected to sit up straight, remember his ‘yes, sirs’ and be grateful for what he was given. Anything less would result in a drill sergeant-esque tirade of personal insults, followed by a smack around the head and a hungry night confined to his bedroom. The spectre of his mother, taken from him by breast cancer when Eddie was barely three years old, hung heavy over his entire childhood. To this day, it serves as a constant reminder that, no matter how strongly Eddie believes in the path of law and order, there are some injustices that can never be set right. 

His career path was decided from the moment he was out of the womb, with any interests that didn’t directly lead him towards ‘police officer’ being discouraged immediately. One particularly painful memory is of his father tearing up a creative writing work of his that Eddie had been pouring his heart and soul into for weeks. “This shit’s for pussies.” Reyes Senior had declared. “And they don’t let pussies on the force.” Eddie was nine. 

Needless to say, thanks to his father’s constant harassment and Stalinist studying timetable, Eddie graduated high school with flying colours and enrolled in the police academy the moment he could. He was often near the top of his class, especially for written work, but had virtually no friends to speak of, a trend that continues to this day. Barely two weeks before his graduation, Eddie’s father was gunned down in a supposed robbery gone wrong. Or, at least, that’s what they told his son. To this day, Eddie continues to believe that the Northside Rascals were involved, that his father was secretly getting too close to landing half of them behind bars and they decided to put an end to his investigation. Most dismiss his theory as blind anger, an attempt to try and find a reason behind his father’s seemingly senseless death. Sixteen years later, Eddie continues to disagree. 

Now working for the same police department that his father devoted his life to, Eddie’s history with the Sheriff’s Office has been chequered to say the least. Frequent clashes with superiors and colleagues over what he sees as blatant corruption have made him somewhat of a social pariah status within the department and earned him a reputation around town. His devotion to by-the-book law and order, along with impeccably written paperwork, has arguably more people knowing him as ‘RoboCop’ than Deputy Reyes this days. But Eddie has never cared about what other people think of him. He’s vowed to keep calling out corruption and putting bad guys behind bars until the day he dies. Which, if he keeps being so vocal, may well be sooner than he thinks. 

P e r s o n a l i t y »

You’re more likely to see a unicorn canter across your front lawn than bear witness to even a smirk from Eddie. His guiding mantra has always been duty and discipline above all else. While his fellow officers are all out having an after-work drink and getting to know each other, Eddie is getting ahead on his paperwork and sometimes his colleagues, if he feels that theirs isn’t up to snuff.

Eddie is gruff, but far from mean. He simply doesn’t like people who waste his time or their own. If someone comes to him with a genuine request for help, he will very rarely turn them down and can actually show his nicer side when its called for. But get caught with your hand in the bribe jar or sleeping on the job and Eddie will bring the hammer down so hard it’ll go through the floor.

Played by Owen

#eddie reyes #archived

[fandomp0werfanfics]

One-Shot: Call Me Maybe? (Lestrade/Reader)

Requested by: Anastasia

'can you make a story about being new and working in scotland yard - greg meets u and he acts super nervous - u work on a case with him - u get hurt and he has to save u'

I hope it's what you were wanting, if not let me know and I'll redo it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock(BBC), or any of it's characters. I do not claim to own Sherlock(BBC), or any of it's characters.

Disclaimer(2): If you find anything offensive please let me know; It is not my intention to damage anyones feelings or offend anyone. Anything racist/homophobic/other does not reflect my views, it is just part of the story. Y/N = Your Name Requests: OPEN.

Trigger Warning(s): Violence, Swearing.

y/n gender: Gender Neutral

y/n - Your Name

l/n = Last Name

s/n = Supervisor's name(make one up if you want to)

It's just a first day... there's nothing to worry about

Who am I kidding? Of course I'm nervous, this is my first day working in Lestrade's division.

I finally convinced my supervisor, s/n, that I deserved a promotion and to be transferred.

You're not nervous, you're going to do fine.

The elevator doors open and I'm overwhelmed instantly by the amount of people gathered near the middle of the room.

Hesitantly, I leave the safety of the elevator and listen as the door close behind me.

There is a woman talking to a taller man with dark hair and a trench coat on.

"-no way." I catch the end of her sentence.

"Oh, I assume you have a better idea?" The man's gaze doesn't waver from the woman.

"You can't seriously let him do this." The woman turns to another man, one with grey hair and a tired worn look on his face.

"He can solve it faster." He, the man with grey hair, sighs deeply.

"This is not right." She crosses her arms.

"Is everything alright?" My voice draws the attention of everyone in the room.

"Is this a new person?" The dark haired man points at me as he turns to the grey haired man. "I'm against new people."

"Sherlock." The grey haired man snaps.

"Who are you?" The woman doesn't hide her annoyance, whether the annoyance is at me of the dark haired man 'Sherlock' I'm not sure.

Wait. Sherlock?!

This means.... I'm here with Sherlock Holmes... oh god, why am I freaking out now?

"I'm... I'm y/n l/n, I was transferred to this division from-"

"Street cop." Sherlock takes his phone out and begins texting. "Now worth your time, Gerry."

The grey haired man rolls his eyes and ignores Sherlock as if this happens all the time. "I'm DI Lestrade."

That's Lestrade?!

"Nice to meet you, sir." I shake his hand.

Damn, he's hot.

"So, uh, I guess I'm your  supervisor." He stumbles over words quickly. "Donovan, find them a desk."

"Alright, boss." The woman, Donovan, rolls her eyes. "Come on, l/n."

She takes me to a nearby desk that's empty.

"Lestrade's door is there, my desk is there, break room is there." She points in several different directions quickly, my head is dizzy with the sudden burst of information.

"Alright." All I can do is nod and hope I can remember everything. I'm ordinarily better at remembering things than this, but the information keeps trying to slip away.

"Don't get near Sherlock." She warns.

Wasn't planning on getting near him, thank you.

"Lestrade doesn't have time for idle talk, neither do I, no one does, so if you need to talk, go back where you came from." Her voice is sharp, surprising me slightly.

"Well, I'm here for good, back off." My voice sharpens just as much.

"Crime scene." Lestrade says as he heads into his office for a second.

"Just don't get in the way." She steps to her desk and grabs something before heading to the elevator.

Lestrade comes out of his office and nearly runs into me.

"Sorry." I apologize, stepping out of his way.

"No, you're fine- it's... it's fine." He moves past me and rushes to the elevator, I follow a few steps behind.

I reach the elevator and Lestrade hold a hand out to stop me.

"You need to stay here... you can work on paperwork." The doors close.

Well... this is unfortunate.

By the time Lestrade and Donovan return, I've finished a stack of paperwork.(Which isn't even mine... it's my first day and I'm stuck doing paperwork for everyone.)

"I'm just saying he needs to be dealt with, he could have killed that man!" Donovan seems appalled by something... and I can only assume that that something is Sherlock.

"He gets results, leave him alone." Lestrade strides past me and goes into his office, slamming the door shut.

"Didn't go well?"

"Shut up." She goes to her desk and sits down in a huff, obviously very upset.

Well... this is only a first day, right?

If only it was... seconds day is almost the same, and the third day, everyday for a week people rush past me and ignore me.

While I'm used to that, I wish they would at least let me go with them instead of leaving me to do paperwork.

I thought that Lestrade was going to let me go yesterday(day #7) but he changed his mind as soon as I got in the car with him.

Day #8

"Bank robbery, come on, Donovan." Lestrade exits his office, but Donovan is no where to be seen.

"Where is she, l/n?" He turns to me, not meeting my gaze.

"Sick, sir." I shift anxiously, as I always do when I get to talk to him.

"Anderson?"

"Vacation."

"Come on." He pauses before he starts towards the elevator.

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, now bloody move it." He nearly runs into the desk he's passing as he glances back to speak to me, having finally making eye contact.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Just come on." He strides to the elevator, no longer looking at me.

We, Lestrade and I, get into a car. Lestrade is driving and I'm in the passenger seat.

"Where are we going?" Yes, I'm a bit more excited than I should be.

"Band robbery." He sounds as nervous as I am.

What if I mess up? What if I really mess up?

"Sir, could I ask a question?"

He glances at me, a confused look on his face. "Go ahead."

"Am I performing my duties to your satisfaction?"

"P-performing?" His faces tints red for a second.

"Yeah," My face also goes red. Idiot, who asks is they're doing their job right by saying performing?  "Like, am I doing my job right?"

"Oh." His smile becomes forced, I notice. "Yeah, you're doing your job right."

His body language is changing, his hands are clenching the steering wheel instead of holding it in a more relaxed manner as before.

"Sir-"

"We're here." He breaks sharply, both of us lurch forward. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Let's go."

We walk towards the bank, the culprits are still inside, and are holding hostages.

"I'm DI Lestrade." Lestrade shakes hands with the man he stops to speak to.

"Braxton, I'm a security guard.

"What do we know?" Lestrade's voice rings with authority, he makes it clear he's taking charge of the scene now.

"I was going in when I heard gun fire, I tried to open the doors, but they were locked, there are at least two dozen hostages inside, and there are some wounded people."

"Alright, are there any ways in other than the front door?"

"The fire escapes, but that would trigger an alarm."

"Have they made any demands?"

"They want a medic, transportation, and our word we won't go after them."

"We can't do that." I'm unsure what to do.

"No, we can't." Lestrade sighs.

A phone starts ringing, and the security guard answers it.

"Yes... no, we need twelve hours to secure transport... that's impossible!... no, why don't you let a few hostages go as a sign of good will?"

This is not good.

"We can send in an unarmed medic." He guard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah... less than five minutes." He hangs up.

"What'd they say?" Lestrade crosses his arms.

"We have to send in a medic, or they kill one hostage for every five minutes they go without one."

"I'll go in." My words surprise everyone, including myself.

"No. " Lestrade says quickly. "No, you can't go in."

"I have basic medical training, and I don't look like much of a threat in comparison to you two, and we can't send in a real medic that would risk them boing killed."

"It might work, you could negotiate from inside." Braxton nods, agreeing with me.

"I don't like it." Lestrade refuses to agree.

"There's no other way." I touch his shoulder gently, trying to get him to see that this is the only thing we can go. "I can do this, trust me."

"Okay." Finally, he agrees. "But you better not get hurt."

"Got it, boss." Please, don't let him be to upset if I do die. I hear he's sentimental about people.

"Let's get you some medical equipment."

"Three minutes!" Someone yells to us.

"Shit." I curse. "Just give me a bag with bandages and basic stuff, quick."

An EMT hands me a bag. "This has the basics."

"Great." I'm nervous, very nervous.

"Be safe." Braxton nods, then I take a step towards the door.

"Wait, y/n." Lestrade's voice catches me off guard.

"Yeah?" I turn to face him.

"I-" He stops and clears his throat. "Hand me your badge and wallet, they might check them and get suspicious."

"Good thinking, sir."

After I hand my badge and wallet to Lestrade, I start back towards the door.

"Be careful." His voice rings as I step up to the door, hands raised, and bag in a hand over my head.

"I'm y/n, I'm a medic." My voice doesn't shake despite the fear in my heart. "I'm unarmed."

"Get in here." A man opens the door and pulls me in quickly.

Inside, I see two dead men on the ground, one in a mask, the other a security guard, there are hostages being held at gunpoint by several people in masks.

"Where are the wounded ones?"

"Over there." I'm drug behind the tellers desk.

"Danny?" A weak voice asks.

"I've got a medic, mate." The man dragging me crouches next to a man who is lying on the ground with a head wound. It looks as if he was struck with something.

"What happened?" I also crouch, looking at his head is concern.

"What do you think?" The original man, Danny, apparently, snaps. "The bloody guards attacked him."

"Let me see what I can do." Opening the bag, true to the EMT's words, it has the basics.

"Let me check your eyes." I check his eyes with a light, his eyes are dilated, and they don't react to the light.

"Is he okay?" Danny is holding the other mans hand tightly. "Is he?!"

"No, sir, he has a head injury... and he needs-"

The wounded man goes limp, his grip on Danny instantly gone.

"Jake, Jake?" Danny shakes the younger man. "What happened?" He looks at me.

"He's unconscious, he may need surgery." I'm worried.

"No, we'll never make it out alive." He seems to be panicking.

"Is he your partner?" I ask gently. "Your lover?"

"Yeah." Danny seems to be losing his mind over his lover not waking up.

"I... I lost my lover." I admit. "They were killed in a car accident, and they didn't make it to the hospital on time-"

"You better save him." Danny grabs me by the neck of my shirt. "If he dies I'll fucking kill you."

"I was telling you that to say that he needs help or he will die."

"Save him, then." He releases me and glares at me.

"He needs a hospital, I can't do anything for his here."

Jake's chest stops rising and falling.

Oh no.

Quickly, I grab a stethoscope and listen for a heart beat.

Nothing.

"Jake, Jake?!" Danny shakes the man.

Instantly, I begin CPR.

Out loud, I count as I continue, far to aware that Jake is not going to make it out alive.

"Save him, dammit." Danny demands, pressing his gun to my temple.

After five minutes of CPR, there are still no results.

"I'm so sorry." My hands drop from Jake, and I let the feeling of sadness wash over me. "It's to late."

"No, Jake!" Danny screams, pulling the corpse of his once lover to his chest, sobbing angrily.

"You." He looks up and glares at he with an expression that can only be described as pure loathing.

"I need to return to the ambulance-"

"NO!" Danny takes his gun and cocks it. "You (son of a)bitch!"

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Not sorry enough." He seethes, aiming the gun at my head. "But you will be."

Everything goes dark.

"Get up." Something wet washes over me.

"Where am I?" Nothing looks familiar.

"So, this is the one who killed Jake." A man with a mask on speaks to Danny.

"Yeah, the (son of a)bitch."

"Get to work." The hooded man leaves, I hear a door close.

"Where am I?"

"Hell." Danny picks up a knife from a nearby table.

"What are you going to do?" I have my suspicions...

"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth... and a life for a life." Dammit, I was afraid of that.

"You don't have to do this."

"Shut up, this is going to hurt."

"You don't have to do this." I plead with him as the blade comes closer to me.

"Pathetic." Danny growls, finally laying the knife down and leaving the room.

My body is covered in cuts ranging from shallow to deep. I'm sure that I need stitches for several, but I'm afraid I won't live that long.

Everything is getting dark... I'm so cold...

"We got them!" A voice causes me to wake up slightly. "l/n, are you alright?"

"No." Jerking back in my restraints, I attempt to get away before I'm inflicted with more pain.

"Where?" I recognize that voice, could it be...

"In here!" The woman in front to me shouts, I force my vision to focus.

"Donovan?" I'm shocked.

"Don't move, it looks like you're hurt pretty bad."

"y/n." Lestrade shows up at the door.

"Sir?"

"Thank god." He rushes forward, causing me to flinch slightly. He freezes immediately, expression falling.

"We need a medic." Donovan speaks to the now distraught Lestrade.

"Go get one." He moves slower, sitting in the chair in front of me.

"On it." She leaves the room.

"Are you alright?" He works on untying me.

"Yes, sir." I cough, still tasting blood in my mouth.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner..."

"It's alright, sir."

"Greg... you can call me Greg."

"Alright, sir- Greg."

My eyes are getting heavy again.

"Don't close your eyes, you need to stay awake."

Despite his words, I can't help but let my eyes close...

I'm awakened by the sound of beeping.

"y/n, thank god you're awake." I'm pulled into a bone crushing hug, making me squeak slightly. "Sorry." The hug is ended.

"What happened?"

"You passed out."  It's Lestrade talking to me I can now tell. "I thought I'd lost you."

"You're stuck with me, Sir." I chuckle.

"I'm going to have to leave soon." He sighs.

"Oh." Strangely, I'm disappointed.

"Not for long, I just need to get a doctor to check on you." He fumbles for words, his face darkening with a blush slightly.

"Please don't go..."

"I won't." He reaches and takes hold of my hand gently, squeezing it tightly.

Seconds later, a male-nurse walks in. "Oh, wonderful, you're awake." He fakes a chipper tone.

"Yep." I struggle to sit up.

"Sir, could you step out for a moment so I can check all of the stitching?"

"Yeah." Lestrade stands up, and his phone starts ringing.

"Uh-oh." I'm sure he has a case...

"What's wrong, Anderson?" He glances at me as he talks. "I'll be right there." He hangs up.

"Are you coming back?" Oddly enough, I want him to come back.

"Of course." He takes a paper out of his pocket, and writes something on it. "Here." He hands it to me.

"Thanks." I glance at it, smiling at what it says.

"I'll be back soon, don't get into any trouble." he hesitates. "Be careful, that's an order this time."

"Yes, sir."

With that, he leaves

"Nice guy, you two together?" The nurse has a knowing look on his face.

"No..." My face heats up with a bright blush.

"You two would be good together."

"Yeah." I glance back at the paper. It contains his personal number... and a nice little note.

Call me Maybe?

Link to Original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840898/chapters/52587658#workskin

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