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netherfeildren · 9 months

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Joel

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me.

A/N: this was only written for myself, but i’ve decided to share with you, as well. if you’re a fear of god reader please know that this isn’t part of my official story line, and again — only an exercise for myself, but as this is written about birdie i’ve decided to include it as a part of the birdie’s house anthology. i apologize for any confusion or emotional turmoil this might cause, but rest assured that i’m desperately hoping to have something else up for birdie and joel for his birthday and that i plan to continue to write for them after that as well.

Content Warnings: Character death; Grief/Mourning; Description of death/injury; Unreliable narrators

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.1K

Read on AO3

JOEL

The billboard said “The End Is Near”

I turned around, there was nothing there

Yeah, I guess the end is here

Phoebe Bridgers, I Know the End

The week before it happened, you watched a pack of wolves take down a moose. Old and stalwart and with a sort of strength only an animal that stands apart from all others in the hierarchy of nature can hold. Something unrelenting about a creature like that, that was made all the more shocking for the way the wolves had surrounded the old thing, tricked and felled the beast that for so long had stood solitary and unmoving.

There were so many things you knew about Joel after all these years. He was a father, a husband, a brother, a friend. Once he’d been a monster. Everything about him had been red. He’d tried not to cause harm. He’d failed more than he’d succeeded.

He had loved you. You think, more than any creature had loved another in all of man’s history. Or… at least sometimes it had felt like that. He had made you feel like that.

He is killed in the seventh year of your life together. Only seven little years which seem like nothing in the face of everything. Nothing in the face of the destruction of the whole world, and then the rebirth of it right here in this farm house in Wyoming, but which you know, no matter what they might seem like in the aftermath, were really everything, the only time that has ever mattered.

You remember that sometimes when you’d look around the kitchen table, the girls sitting around laughing and screeching and raucous with so much joy it seemed imaginary and untouchable, it felt like the whole world was sat existing around that oak table he’d made for you. The whole world right here at our kitchen table, Joel.

You remember the last time you heard his voice, right before he went out into the frigid snow to look for Ellie: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird?

Oh, shut up. And then whispered right into the reddened sea shell of his ear, Here is what I see in your eyes right now: myself, reflected back at me – more love than has ever existed before in all history. And then his laugh – you’re laughing and when you laugh I want to carve the face of the world in your image. Lena zooming by your legs as you kiss for the last time, a blue ribbon in her hair.

Half a century from now, no one will remember us, but I will never forget you.

Remember the first time we met? Bated breath and racing heart, and the sound of the rest of your life ringing in your ears.

Remember the stitches in your palm? The first time I took you inside of me and all the times thereafter? When you pulled our first daughter from my body – and then the two others? Her first birthday? The countless birthdays after that? Remember the endless happiness so intense it was almost painful sometimes? Remember how much I love you?

But of course, he cannot. He’s not here anymore, and nothing hurts worse than the memory of joy when you’re living through grief. The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me.

They’d hurt him so badly. Fractured him in a way that not even your hands could mend, your years of study and practice futile in the face of such destruction. He’d fought hard, he’d tried to get away. This is the least comforting thing you could ever imagine.

What does it do to a person to be confronted with the inequity of their purpose? To have worked tirelessly for so many years only to fail when the moment was most dire.

Fracture of a different but equally devastating nature. And that moment of final realization, that there was nothing to be done – his bones had carried him for so long, you rest now, we’ll be okay, whispered into his mangled ear, half a chunk missing, savaged. You did good, Joel. You did good, my love.

The sound of Ellie’s voice telling herself over and over and over again that he was okay; he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay.

And she’d said to you: I wasted so much time being angry at him, for what? For loving me too much? For keeping me alive? For making a decision that now, with the clarity of age and a child of my own, I would have made exactly the same way? I wish I could walk in his shoes through that hospital all those years ago. I’d take his exact same steps – not a single pace different. And now he’s dead. And all that anger was for nothing. And our reconciliation feels so fraught, so meaningless in the face of all that time now. No matter that we’d had years after to be together, to be a family. All I can focus on now is the time lost, the sight of his crushed skull, the night I pushed him away before you, his face full of pain and regret. And the sound of his screams at the end.

Ellie tells you: I remember the sound of his screams better than anything else. The sound of him screaming out for me, for you Birdie – Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. Begging for help, but actually, I’m not sure, she says. I’m not sure if that really happened or if my nightmares imagined it.

[I still think of you on your birthday. I’m sorry for everything, she thinks, when she lays in the grass with her sisters and looks for shapes in the clouds without him now. I only see you in the spaces between them. And she asks God why He didn’t work harder to save him. And He spits in her face and asks why she didn’t do the same.]

So, there are still our children. There is still Ellie. This family you’ve gifted me. The whole world abandoned here at our kitchen table. How can death exist when that exists? How can your death exist when they’re still here?

Don’t stop to think. Don’t interrupt the scream.

And you tell yourself, no this wasn’t supposed to happen, but the universe laughs and grips you by the throat; the gladiator scream goes on. Salt the earth, there’s nothing to return to.

And yet… that isn’t true either. Four little faces look up at you. Three sets of his eyes.

You were furious at the sun the day after he died. How could it just continue to rise as if nothing had happened?

And after all that, it is like this: You scream for seven days and seven nights.

You don’t get out of bed for thirty days.

You cry every single night for a year.

This is different. A strange and terrified sort of place. What does it mean to lose the basis of your entire existence?

And Ellie? Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. What is Ellie going to do without him? How is she going to be okay? The sound of her cries: Don’t let me be alone. Please, God, don’t let me be alone. I never wanted to end up alone. You need to make sure she’s okay, you need to take care of her the way that he would, the way that he’d want you to.

Ellie loses her mind for a little bit. After your thirty days in bed, she calls her turn, tells you and Dina that she’s leaving, that she’s going. That she’ll bring you back a vengeance you could never want and lay it at your feet, and you cup her chin gentle in your palm, and ask, What does it matter now, honey? Connie’s voice ringing in your memory. He’s gone now, what difference would it make?

She tells you that he would have done it for her, and you cannot refute such a claim. He would. He’d do much worse. He’d turn himself back into that monster we both know he had inside of him.

“So I need to do this.”

And you tell her: “I’m begging you not to. Me, who belonged to him, who knew him in a way no one else in the whole world did. I’m asking you not to. I’m still here. The girls are still here. We need you. We need you as a reminder of him.”

“You’ll remember him anyways,” she tells you, which is true.

“But you’ll make the memory all the better,” And so she does not go, for a time.

Ellie stays, and you have a funeral surrounded by the people of Jackson who respected a man who was good. A man who took himself for a monster for so long, even though he never said it out loud, but you knew, you saw. All that time apart, all that fear, fear, fear, the very fear of God struck into his heart, afraid of what he was, of what the world and a little girl with green eyes more than thirty years ago had made him into, but then, look at what we’d turned around and made together.

And you whisper to the apparition of him in your dreams: Joel if you were a monster, surely it was some sort of divine monstrosity.

So many people leave remembrances at the gate of the farm, the whole of Jackson. His brother, holding you up gripped beneath the elbows so as to not frighten your children, and Ellie is crying but trying to pretend she’s not, which somehow makes it worse than if she were to throw herself at the base of his coffin and howl.

You give her his jacket after that, and she smells like him all the time until the day she doesn't. Until the day it’s been so long since the last time that he was alive that his scent fades and leaves forever. She wears that jacket everywhere, to work, to hunt, to bed. Leaving her wife, leaving her family, leaving her sisters, leaving you because eventually she does – leave, and she wears his jacket. An inevitability like so many other things in life, you’re unable to keep her forever, and for a time she does go.

And you will never forget him, you will never move on, you will never stop telling your daughters about him. He lives on in them. And you wonder why it is that no one ever talks about the physically intimate aspect of grief? Of missing your person and wanting them and needing them, and your body physically craving relief from that singular person and never being able to achieve it fully ever again to completion like he could give it to you because he’s just not here.

He was, in every way, all that anyone could ever be.

I cried every single day for a year. The day I stopped, I put him inside of a drawer within myself and was never able to move myself to tears again.

Seven years since then, and you go to his grave for what you tell yourself will be the last time, recognize the lie for what it is, a single slab of carved stone, and you think, he doesn’t belong here, even still after all these years, and yet this is the only place he will ever be again.

He should have been made into a redwood, the tallest thing in the entire world. Let him be a tree. You’d climb and climb and climb, like that night with Beth, so long ago you can barely remember the sound of her voice most days. You’d climb, and he’d protect you one more time like he had so many times before.

Joel, years ago, when we were first married, I had a strange dream: I’d had to walk down a staircase that led far beneath the earth. As I traversed it, I had to move through all of our happiest memories, the births of our daughters, the birthdays and celebrations and the long nights together, dinners, breakfasts and laughter, lazy afternoons at the lake, in bed together, still endlessly fascinated with each other despite all the times we’d found ourselves in that exact position. But when I reached the end, I’d be able to come upon our worst moment, see what it was in preparation, perhaps, for what would come to pass.

I feel as though I have finally reached the bottom of that staircase, and part of me would like nothing more than to have never begun the journey down, but had I not, then I would have not lived through all the rest of it. And in the end, that was worth everything else.

That last night again, in my memory: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird?

Close your eyes, he whispers, it’ll be worth it, the last taste of his mouth.

My eyes are still closed.

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#FoG fic #Joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x original character #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #character study #ellie williams #joel miller character study #ellie williams character study

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

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Though I Can't Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love For You

Summary: Spencer’s always been ambivalent about his birthday, but self proclaimed lover of birthday’s Y/N attempts to change that.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Spencer’s kind of a sad bitch. Question: Why do I like writing sad Spencer?

Word Count: 2.5 K- ish

Author’s Note: prompts come from here this one is 4,8,25 from @shemarmooresfedora !! please go check out her blog on here and on Ao3!! Also, I’m stilling taking requests for numbers. I’ll update for which ones have been taken 💕

Though I Can’t Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love for You

Birthdays were always hard when all you had to do is go home to an empty house. No sounds of friends crowding the dining room table, no laughter from family members, no well wishes or pats on the back. All there is, is the stillness of silence and the emptiness of solitude. Spencer thought that he was used to it. He remembers the way the sun felt on his face the morning he woke up on his 18th birthday. His first thought wasn’t it’s my day, but it’s the day I put my mom away. The day Spencer became a man, was the first day he really wished he was a little boy again.

Ever since then, birthdays have always been a sore spot for Spencer. They just bring up sour tasting memories of his mother refusing to get out of bed or his father staying late at work to avoid coming home to a wife who doesn’t remember her own husband or a son who he can’t seem to understand. Birthdays, for Spencer, have always been just another day. Or at least, that’s what Spencer tells himself on the long ride up the elevator to the 6th floor of the BAU.

The bullpen is dark when Spencer walks out from the elevator. Paperwork and manila folders clutter the desks. Even Spencer’s workspace seems to reflect himself: frozen in time. He sits at his desk, a photograph of him and his mother placed at the right corner smiles up at him. A newer photograph, one of him and Y/N, sits right next to the one with his mom. There’s one with Derek and Penelope, one with him and Gideon at his Academy graduation, and one with him and JJ, who’s holding Henry. One of him and Luke at a bar, Penelope in the background drunk and singing.

Spencer loves photographs, but recently he’s been obsessed with them. Ever since his mother’s diagnosis, the fear that would ever forget the faces that find a home in his heart paralyzes him. These pictures may very well one day tell a much more older, much more grayer Spencer the story of his life. Today, in his mind, is another day closer to his fate.

His birthday means he’s another day closer to forgetting the way Y/N eyes sparkle when she drinks too much rose, or Henry’s laugh at Spencer’s magic tricks, or feeling when Derek calls him his brother. No one, not even Y/N, knows that Spencer has a drawer filled up of photographs he’s collected over the years. He can’t deal with forgetting the principles of electromagnetism, but forgetting his family? Spencer wouldn’t have anything left, but the smiling faces of familiar strangers, whose names are just out of reach.

Spencer rubs his eyes with the ball of his palm. He knows he’s not going to get work done. Spencer spins in his swivel chair and he’s nearly startled out of his quiet thoughts when his phone rings.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, swallowing his emotions as he shuts the drawer on the shiny faces.

“You really need to start checking your caller ID, Spence,” Y/N says, with a chuckle. Spencer can practically feel the way she’s smiling. For some reason, her teasing never made him feel bad.

“Well, what do I owe this pleasure?” Spencer asks. He drums his fingers on his desk, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“It seems like we have a missing person case,” Y/N starts, “6’2 male, brown hair, some say his eyes are green and some say they’re brown, so we’ll go with hazel, and he’s like ridiculously smart, but also kind of dumb for avoiding his girlfriend on his birthday,”

Spencer sighs as he launches himself into a long spin in his chair. He’s not surprised that Y/N is calling him; she’s always loved birthdays. She’s always been someone to someone. It’s taken some time to adjust to the fact that Spencer is Y/N’s someone.

“Are you coming to rescue me?” Spencer asks sheepishly. He leans back in his chair, watching the elevator. Y/N might think she’s slick, but Spencer’s sure he knows her better than he knows geographical profiling.

“Maybe, can you tell me how fast elevators can travel up to the 6th floor?”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to fire statistics on top of statistics, but is silenced by Y/N’s arrival. Spencer tries to remain neutral, remain ambivalent about this day being something more than any other day, but Y/N makes it difficult.

As soon as her feet leave the elevator she launches herself at Spencer, not caring that he’s less than capable of catching anything. In a tangle of arms and legs, Y/N manages to sit herself on Spencer’s lap. His hand snakes around her waist; he holds her so tight that it’s almost like he’s afraid she’s going to get blown out like birthday candles on a cake.

“I can’t believe you thought you could sneak out and come to work, on your birthday of all days,” Y/N says quietly, she threads her fingers through Spencer’s hair. She likes how long it’s gotten and his curl pattern is almost fully restored to their original health from before he went to prison.

“How’d you find me?” Spencer asks, thinking that birthdays might not be so bad if they all involve Y/N sitting in his lap and trying to braid his hair.

“Do you seriously have to ask that? Only the Oracle of Quantico,” Y/N teases and Spencer rolls his eyes, thinking he should have known that Garcia would be the one to track his location for Y/N.

“It’s vaguely illegal for a federal agent to tap into those databases, especially for a civilian,” Spencer counters. Y/N, smiling at him, dips her head down to press light kisses on his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose.

“So’s an ex-Army Ranger giving me his key card to sneak into the BAU,”

“Luke’s in on this too,” Spencer tries to sound upset, but his heart swells at the thought of Penelope, Luke, and Y/N all instigating for his birthday.

“Of course he is, I had to bring out the big guns for my Spencer’s birthday,” Y/N quips. Her fingers climb up Spencer’s sides, tickling him. She likes the kind of laugh that he lets out when she tickles him. It’s a laugh that’s unguarded and full of life. It’s a laugh that doesn’t hold anything back. It’s a laugh that relieves the pressure that festers deep inside him.

Y/N’s hands may make him laugh, but nothing makes him beam more than hearing Y/N call him “my Spencer”. She says it so simply, like my doesn’t even exist, like it’s an involuntary muscle being flexed. For Y/N, loving Spencer came as easy and effortless as breathing.

“You do love birthdays,” Spencer says, looking up at Y/N. He spins them around in his swivel chair, giggling as she lets out a gleeful squeal. Spencer grows dizzy, but he thinks he’s dizzier from Y/N’s love than from spinning in his chair.

“I love your birthday more than any other day, even my birthday,” Y/N says, getting up from Spencer’s lap to pick up the canvas grocery bags she brought with her.

“I was never one for birthdays,” Spencer says quietly. Y/N, more than anyone, knows Spencer’s challenging past. She knows his fears and she knows his dreams. She haunts his every waking moment; somehow a mercurial threat and a constant promise at the same time.

“I know, but I’m sure I’ll make you grow to love them,” Y/N says, “I wasn’t sure which flavor you wanted so I got all of them. Wawa has a surprisingly good selection of Turkey Hill,”

She takes out three gallon sized cartons of ice cream. One coffee with chocolate chips, one butter pecan, and one Moose Tracks. She hands Spencer a spoon and a napkin before sitting down on the floor and opening a carton of the ice cream.

“I do love dairy,” Spencer says, eyeing the ice cream, but considering the consequences of eating the creamy desert. Spencer shoves the statistics about the effects of dairy on a 40 year old with lactose intolerance down and takes his spot next to Y/N on the floor.

He goes to open his carton of ice cream, coffee with chocolate chips, but before he can dig his spoon into the tub, Y/N grabs his wrist.

“No! Spence, wait. Here, take these. And you need to light it,” she says, plopping a couple lactose pills in his hand and digging out a pack of candles and a lighter from her bag.

“Y/N are you out of your mind! We can’t light something in the BAU, god, Emily will kill me,” Spencer says nervously.

“Spence, do you really think Emily Prentiss is going to give me shit for lighting a candle for your birthday in the middle of the office. That woman lives on the edge,” Y/N waves him off and lights a single candle.

Spencer, staring at the lit candle, listens as Y/N sings “Happy Birthday” to him. Sitting criss cross on the floor of the BAU, he watches as the candle light illuminates Y/N’s face. She looks almost ghostly in the dark with the flickering light making her eyes glow. Y/N wishes the song and grasps his hand and squeezes hard.

“Make a wish, baby,” Y/N tells him. She really believes in wishes. Spencer wishes he could believe in wishes. He desperately wants to believe that Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are somehow tying knots in the places where his string has been cut.

But more than anything, Spencer can’t bear to forget the face of the women across from. He can’t bear to one day not recognize the way her hand feels in his. He can’t accept the possibility of Y/N being anything less than the person he knows best in this world. Spencer doesn’t particularly care for the metaphor of the light going out. But his fears are put at bay when Y/N leans over and pecks his cheek. He can feel her grinning against his skin and like some virus contracted through touch, it’s contagious. Y/N breaks apart from Spencer and motions for him to eat some ice cream. They sit, shoulder to shoulder, against the front of Spencer’s desk eating their ice cream.

“Thank you, for making my birthday special. It’s been a hard year,” Spencer says, letting the tension in the air speak for itself, “my mom didn’t remember me the other day. I hate seeing her like that,”

“I know, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much. That’s why you need to tell me these things,” She says, setting down her ice cream. Y/N places her hands on Spencer’s shoulders, guiding him to place his back against her chest. His head rests in the crook of her neck. Spencer can feel her steady heart beat against his back. It’s a constant, patterned drum amidst the chaos of his mind.

“Can we take a picture, you know, just to remember this day,” Spencer asks, his voice laced with trepidation. He can feel Y/N nod, and move to grab her phone from her pocket.

Spencer sits up and scoots over to open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulls out an old camera, one where you have to wait for the picture to appear on the print out. He likes the charm in older things, you really have to work for it. He likes the effort that you have to put into getting the picture made.

“Going old school, I see,” Y/N teases as she catches sight of Spencer’s old camera. He returns to his spot, snuggled against her back. Their legs stick out on the floor, his much longer than Y/N’s. Her arms snake around his torso, holding him tight. Spencer holds the camera out, facing them to capture their faces in some archaic selfie style.

The light flashes before Spencer’s eyes, and Y/N’s kiss on the top of his head burns a hole that instantly leaves him craving more. He’d let her draw any pattern she desires, as long as her kisses are the medium and he is her canvas.

“Can you tell me what you wished for?” Y/N asks, her voice low.

Spencer, looking off into the distance, makes a disgruntled noise. He can feel Y/N’s fingers crawl up his sides and her arms encasing his body. She’s shielding him from his demons, but little does she know that the most menacing foe is his mind.

“You’re really not supposed to, but considering you’re my wish I think you have the right to know,” Spencer offers, “I wished that I’ll never forget you. Never forget this life we made together,” He feels his chest constrict. Mentioning his fear makes it seem more palpable; more real.

“Spencer, have you felt that way for a long time?,”

Spencer takes a deep breath, letting the floodgates open.

“I’ve felt like this my whole life, Y/N. I’m terrified to forget you. To forget our children that I haven’t even met yet. Forget who I am. I’m terrified that I’m going to leave you behind in a murky past that I can never remember,” Spencer says. He chokes back the pain. He doesn’t want Y/N memories of him to be marred by fear and darkness.

“This is about your mom, right. Spencer, listen to me. I’ll love you even if that comes true. I don’t need you to recall my face to know you still got love for me. And you're not leaving me behind. I won’t allow that. I’m not leaving you behind, baby,” Y/N says, her voice the most soothing cure.

She’s a power mixture of biochemicals and neurotransmitters. She heals him at an epigenetic level and restores him piece by piece. Her medicine is love.

Or maybe her love is his medicine.

“I’ve never been this scared of losing something, because I never had someone to lose,” Spencer mumbles, he twists his head so his breath is warm against Y/N’s neck. Somehow in this twisted position, Spencer has never felt safer.

“You can’t lose something that can’t be lost, my Spencer. I’m not going anywhere,”

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn,” Spencer says kissing along Y/N’s collarbones.

Like the pictures in the drawer, Spencer tucks away the fears of the future. He swallows the threat of forgetting everything because the promise of love swallows him whole. He craves a future with Y/N with the possibility of forgetting who she is over the life he’d live if he left her behind.

She said it best, even if one day he can’t recall her face, he’ll still have love for her.

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 34: Forever

Chapter 33

Read on AO3

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: This fic is on a very long hiatus until further notice. Please see the AO3 link for more details. Much love❤️

It was June third, the day after their eleven month anniversary. Claire couldn’t believe it; it was truly almost an entire year since that fateful Saturday at the stables. A year since their hearts and bodies had spoken what their voices dared not say.

He took her down port again, to a restaurant even more extravagant than the one they’d gone to the last time they were there. It was a glorious Saturday night, and Claire was blissfully happy.

Though something seemed off with Jamie.

His hand had done that tapping that he did when he was anxious the entire drive over, and it was his left, always his left, so she could not reach out and take it to soothe him.

“Why, you’re as nervous as you were on our first date,” she’d teased.

“Aye, well.” He’d forced a chuckle, winking at her. “It’s no’ every day ye celebrate nearly a year wi’ the woman ye love.”

She’d laughed, too, not really considering what an odd thing that was to say.

She also hadn’t considered how strange it was to go so all-out when it wasn’t actually a full year yet. She could truly only imagine how extravagant those plans would be.

And anyway…what was there to be nervous about? There wasn’t a single thing they hadn’t shared, a single thing they didn’t know about each other now. Holding his hand as they left the parking meter, strolling down the sidewalk to their reservation, his palm was as sweaty as it had been the night they’d first slept together.

Had he never eaten at this restaurant? Was he worried she wouldn’t like it?

Watching his hand jiggle at his side at a constant loop at the table, Claire put her menu down.

“Jamie. You’re shaking the whole table.”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He stiffened, reigning himself in. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said gently. “I’m serious. What’s going on with you? You’re never so out of it when we go out.”

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, and she almost believed him. “I’m alright.”

“You’re about to cause an earthquake with that nervous tick of yours and you expect me to believe you’re alright?”

His lips quirked up in a sheepish grin, and for just a second she caught a glimpse of Jamie again, not the anxious mess she was at dinner with.

“Is something happening with your family? And you don’t want to ruin the evening by bringing it up now? Because I don’t give a damn about the evening. We can leave right now—”

“No.”

Claire jumped a little, wincing at how tightly he squeezed her hand.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I’m mucking this all up.”

“Mucking what up?”

He sighed. “Nothing is wrong wi’ my family. Nothing at all is wrong. Everything is…perfect. My life hasna been this right since I was a bairn.”

Claire allowed a tiny smile, her eyes glimmering. “Okay,” she said softly, urging him to continue.

“That’s what has me feeling this way, I suppose. You are perfect. Our life is perfect. I suppose this big anniversary is just…I dinna ken. I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Jamie…” Claire shook her head. “There is no other shoe. I’m not going anywhere. Faith is not going anywhere. You’re stuck with us, darling.”

He sighed in relief, and Claire could not comprehend that he would ever think otherwise to the point where he would feel such relief.

“Even when I’m shaking tables and sweating through shirts?”

She giggled. “Yes. Even then.”

He kissed her hand. “Good.”

The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch, though there was still something underlying buzzing through Jamie. She couldn’t wait to get him alone and reassure him the only way she knew how. If he kept this up, she might not be able to wait until they got home. She’d have to find a long, empty dock and drag him to the edge and kiss him senseless anywhere he wanted. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, and she wouldn’t rest until she could see that he was absolutely sure that she was his and his alone.

Forever.

They went to their usual ice cream place, and as they swapped cups and tasted each other’s, Jamie seemed to relax a little bit more, laughing, savoring the flavor like a little boy. That was one of the things she loved most about him. He took nothing for granted, not even the difference between his moose tracks ice cream and Claire’s mint chocolate chip, not even the pigeons and seagulls that watched them out of the corner of their eye the closer they got to the beach.

“I’ll unleash all my unholy power if they so much as peck this ice cream,” Claire said, eyeing a particularly nasty looking little bastard.

“Dinna fash, my lass,” Jamie said gallantly, raising his spoon like Excalibur. “No harm shall befall ye, or yer precious frozen treat. No’ so long as I’m wi’ ye.”

“My hero.” She batted her lashes at him, then craned her neck and puckered her lips, and he obliged her, kissing her soundly.

The farther along the beach they wandered, the less and less people they encountered, and Claire began scouting locations where they could tuck themselves away for even a few moments of privacy. She certainly couldn’t fully have him here, but a few sloppy kisses and heavy touches would do the trick. Her eyes flicked to a dock with a boat on the end, no people to be found on it. She gave him a mischievous look and began tugging him toward it.

“I ken that look well enough,” Jamie said, matching her mischief. “And I’ll no’ be giving in to ye.”

She stuck out her lip in her most convincing pout. “Why ever not?”

“I dinna trust ye no’ to get us arrested for public indecency. No’ with that gleam in yer eye.”

“I’ll be good! I promise.” She stopped tugging so she could press herself flush against him, arching her back just enough that her breasts were the first thing that came in contact with him. “Come on, love…I promise I’ll behave.”

She fully expected him to grab her hips, press his hardness into her with a growl, and accept defeat.

But instead, he just grinned. Not even a smirk, a full-faced grin.

“If ye can catch me, ye can have yer way wi’ me.”

“What—?”

And then before she could blink, Jamie was running, sprinting away from her, kicking up sand in his wake.

“You bastard!”

She hiked up her skirts and chased after him as fast as her bare feet could carry her in the sand. She lost track of how long she spent going after him, but he was not relenting, not letting her catch up. They were both laughing their heads off, whooping, Claire calling after him until her voice was hoarse. He finally stopped, appearing to not be exhausted in the slightest, and she slowed herself to a jog, chest heaving and burning.

“You absolute maniac,” she panted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She was laughing as she said it, and he laughed with her, reaching out his hand and taking it when she caught up. He kissed her hand.

“My legs feel like jell-o. You’d better be planning on carrying me back.”

“Aye, of course,” he said automatically. “But I want to show ye something first.”

She cocked a brow skeptically.

“Come on.”

He tugged on her hand, and out of sheer exhaustion, she allowed him to lead the way. They were walking right to a dock, and before Claire could exasperatedly complain that she’d been trying to do the same thing before he started that marathon, she realized.

There were candles lining every step of the boardwalk, a string of lights wrapped around each wooden post along the way. Across the top was a zigzag of more lights, held in place by thin metal poles attached to the wooden posts. She hadn’t seen it, even as she was running right toward it. She’d had her eyes locked on Jamie’s bright red hair all the while, desperate to catch up to him.

“What…what is all this…?” She was still out of breath, and on top of it her breath was gone for an entirely different reason.

He didn’t say anything, just kept his hand laced with hers and continued walking her down to the end of the pier.

“This is beautiful…is this always here…? I don’t understand…”

A familiar humming noise took her out of her dumbstruck admiration of the twinkling beauty, and she whipped her head around. “Jamie…what…?” Squinting, Claire could make out two figures at the opposite end of the pier, and a bouncing little thing in front of them.

Before she could process what was happening, she felt him take her other hand. She turned her head to question him, but was stunned into silence by the look on his face.

He was radiant.

The string of lights painted glowing streaks in his hair and twinkled in his eyes. And God, his eyes…they were bigger than she’d ever seen; she may very well have drowned in them if he didn’t start speaking.

“Claire, I…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. The hand that was grasping hers was trembling.

“Jamie…?”

“You are…the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he continued, holding her gaze and squeezing her hand tighter. “The first time I saw ye I was…blown away by how big yer heart was. The way ye looked at Faith, the way she smiled at ye…I knew. I knew ye were special. And I didna realize at the time, but ye’d already crawled into this hole in my heart that was made for you. Both of you.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with tears, and it very suddenly hit her exactly what was happening.

“I know the pain ye’ve seen, mo ghraidh, I know the fear and doubt that plagues ye. But I…” He cleared his throat again, and then lowered himself to the ground, on one knee.

A single tear escaped Claire’s eye, trickling down as her breath hitched in her throat.

“I will never, never stop trying to be worthy of ye, Claire. I swear to ye on my life that I will be a good husband, and…a good father. You deserve to be loved beyond measure. And I…I do, mo sorcha. I love you wi’ every ounce of my being.”

Claire was fully sobbing now, and his thumb rubbed over her knuckles as his other hand reached into his pocket.

“So will you, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, make me the luckiest man in the world?” He opened the box, revealing the beautiful sparkling ring within. “Will ye marry me, Sassenach?”

Claire could not speak. She nodded vigorously, more ridiculous sobs sputtering from her. Jamie’s strained, concentrated face erupted into the most glorious smile she had ever seen. He leapt to his feet and Claire threw her arms around his neck, and he encircled her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her. He exclaimed loudly in Gaelic, laughing joyously, and Claire sputtered her own laughter in between sobs.

He finally put her down, and Claire seized his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, and he kissed her back passionately. When they pulled apart, Jamie was holding the ring, a small but beautiful rock set within it, and she allowed him to slip it on.

“Oh, love…” she croaked out, and he brought her hand to his lips and fervently kissed the ring.

Something suddenly collided with Claire’s legs, and she cried out a bit in shock. Jamie laughed again as Claire turned around and looked down to see Faith clinging to her legs. Looking up, she could now see that the figures in the distance were Gail and Joe.

“You…” She turned back to Jamie. “You had this all planned, didn’t you?”

Jamie just beamed at her, his eyes glistening with tears. Claire let out a joyous laugh and sank to her knees in front of Faith.

“Hello, lovie….” She wrapped her arms around her and squeezed tight, rocking her gently. “Oh, look at you…” Claire pulled back so she could see Faith, dressed in a beautiful little dress, blue and purple and frilly, white stockings and her perfect little white shoes. When she’d left her with Leina, she was still in her pajamas from the night before, and the plan had seemingly been to leave it that way.

“Look at us, hm?” Claire said, sniffling as she stroked Faith’s hair. “All dressed up? Mummy is going to be married, darling.” Claire’s voice broke, and she laughed through more tears. “See, Faith?” She held up her hand, and Faith immediately began fiddling with the rock. “This means I’m going to be a bride, baby.”

God…I can’t believe it.

A hand suddenly touched her shoulder, and she looked behind her to see that Jamie had crouched down beside her.

“I’ve, ehm, got something for her, too,” he said, his nervousness returning.

Claire’s heart felt fit to burst as her eyes landed on the pink velvet box in his hand.

“With yer permission, Claire…” Jamie took a deep, stuttering breath. “I’d like to ask yer daughter to let me be her father.”

Claire’s chin quivered again, her eyes immediately welling up. She nodded, swallowing thickly, and then fervently kissed Jamie’s cheek before standing up to allow him to proceed.

——

Jamie took a steadying breath before straightening himself out, getting up on his knee the way he’d just done before Claire.

“Hello, wean,” he said. She was fiddling with her skirt and twirling it back and forth, staring intently at its sparkles.

“Faith, a leannan, can ye look at my eyes?” He gently poked her chin with his finger, and she looked up, only to become enraptured by the string of lights above her head.

“D’ye like the lights, Faith?” Jamie flicked her chin with his middle finger, signing light. She giggled and snatched his hand in both of hers. “Ah, ye got me,” he teased, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing them. “I like the lights too, ye ken. Reminds me of our special day in our fairy den. D’ye remember?” She hummed a bit, freeing one of her hands from his grip to flap it, saying fairy

“Aye, that’s right. Very good, Faith.” He took her hand again in hopes of keeping her attention. “I had lots of fun that day, Faith. In fact, I have lots of fun whenever I’m with ye. Because ye’re a very special lass. D’ye ken that?”

She started fiddling with the wee hairs on his hands, giggling to herself.

“I asked yer Mummy a very important question, Faith. I asked her if she wanted to be my wife. And I gave her a special present to celebrate, a very pretty ring. D’ye like the ring?” She nodded absently, still twirling the little hairs. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because I’ve got a special present fer you, too.”

That got her attention. She whipped her head up and looked at him, humming and then opening her mouth with an excited groan. Jamie chuckled softly and held the box up to her. She stroked the velvet box with her hands before pressing her cheek into it, likely enjoying its softness.

“Lovely box, is it no’?” he teased, and then gently lifted her chin to pick her head up off the box. “Let’s look inside, aye?”

Before Faith could snatch the box again or get upset, he popped it open.

“See what I’ve got for ye? Look.” He let Faith take it in her hands. “It’s a crown, see? And look what it says. F-A-I-T-H.” He signed each letter to her as he said it. “Faith. That’s yer name, aye?” She hummed, biting her lip with her smile. “Princess Faith, it says.

“D’ye ken that I love ye, Faith?” His voice got tight, his eyes welling up. “I think I fell in love wi’ you just as quickly as I did yer mam.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. He kept his hand there, cupping her cheek, as he signed I love you with his free hand. “See, a leannan? I love you.”

Faith gave a high pitched, squealing giggle, bouncing as she returned the sign. Jamie uttered a breathy laugh, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He heard a tiny sob from above him, and wasn’t surprised to feel Claire’s hand grasp his shoulder.

“Good girl, Faith,” Jamie whispered, rubbing a circle on her cheek with his thumb. “It makes me verra happy that ye love me, too.” He signed happy, smiling widely. “Are ye happy, Faith?” She hummed, jiggling her hands and nodding. “Good, good lass.” He sniffled, blinking away more tears, reaching to his own shoulder to cover Claire’s hand in his.

“I promise to always love ye, and protect ye, and do right by ye, just as I will yer mam.” He gave Claire’s hand a squeeze. “Will ye be my wee princess, Faith?” He poked a finger at the necklace, his fingertip cooling at the touch of the metal. “Will ye let me be yer Da?” He spread his fingers, poking his thumb to his forehead.

Faith hummed and jiggled a bit, but Jamie held the sign patiently. After a few seconds, she giggled, and then copied him exactly, thumb on forehead. Fingers splayed.

Da.

Jamie laughed out loud, fit to burst with joy. He released Claire’s hand to wrap his arms around his wee girl, and Joe and Gail broke into applause. He felt Claire fall to her knees beside him, and his heart cracked open to hear her openly weeping. He folded her into his embrace as well, and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, fisting his jacket in one hand, caressing Faith’s curls in the other.

“Oh, Jamie…” she blubbered against his skin. “I love you…”

“I love you, too, mo chridhe. Wi’ my whole heart.”

When the three of them finally released each other from their embrace, Jamie freed the necklace from the box and fastened it around Faith’s neck. She rubbed it between her fingers, pulled it up and rubbed it on her cheek, and jiggled it in her hands.

“It’s beautiful, Jamie,” Claire breathed against his neck.

“D’ye think she likes it?”

“She does.”

“D’ye think she…understands?”

They looked at Faith for a moment, grinning from ear to ear as she fiddled with her necklace.

“I think she does.” Claire pressed a kiss into the crook of his neck. “If nothing else, she knows that you love her, Jamie.” Claire met his eye and held up the sign, trembling lips curling into a smile. He repeated the sign, touching their fingers together as he’d often seen mother and daughter do, and their foreheads rested together. “And she loves you, too. She doesn’t say what she doesn’t mean.”

A tear slipped from Jamie’s eye and trickled down Claire’s nose, and they kissed one another sweetly, I love you’s still pressed together.

Gail and Joe suddenly got closer, calling Faith over to them. Jamie broke into a wide grin, watching from the corner of his eye; the last part of the plan was nearly complete.

“Go on, baby,” Gail said. “Go put them on, just like we practiced.”

Faith scampered back to them, bounding and skipping and squealing with glee. Jamie exchanged a look with Claire, who seemed utterly bewildered, and who somehow looked completely and utterly beautiful, even red and swollen from tears of joy.

Jamie ducked his head and allowed Faith to clumsily place the hat atop his head, and then watched as she plopped the one with the bow on Claire. Faith squealed again and jumped up and down, clapping her hands in triumph and then flapping relentlessly.

“What on Earth…?” Claire turned to look at Jamie, and then burst into laughter.

Faith had put Mickey Mouse ears on them both — well, Minnie Mouse for Claire if you accounted for the red bow.

“D’ye no’ find me rather dashing?” he teased, and Claire laughed all the harder. “Here. Look.”

Jamie removed the hat, and Claire did the same, then Jamie held them side by side. Claire exhaled with a breathy laugh, leaning her cheek into Jamie’s shoulder as she read the words that Jamie had had embroidered onto the backs, his and hers respectively:

I asked

I said yes!

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angelswatchingover · 3 years

Text

Carry On

Yes, it’s another 15x20 fix it fic because we deserved a conversation between Dean and Cas and they all deserved to live! Enjoy this much better ending and soft epilogue. Read it on AO3

Dean is saying his last goodbye to Sam after being injured on that vampire hunt, but the story doesn't end there. Castiel will always come when Dean is in need.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean is fading quickly. It’s getting harder to keep his head up, there’s a ringing in his ears, and his vision is blurring. This is really it. What a way to go. He didn’t think this would be his last hunt, but he knows that ever since Cas, he’s been distracted and that makes for dangerous conditions even on the easiest of hunts. He thought he was starting to learn to deal with it, too.

It’s been a month since they beat Chuck and he’s only just stopped making excuses to go past Cas’ room in the bunker, standing in the doorway and staring in as if the angel will be there, sitting in his chair reading a book like usual. The hunts have been fewer, which sucks since at least they are a distraction from constantly remembering Cas being brave enough to say, “I love you,” and seeing the look of happiness on his face as that black sludge pulled him away. And he had finally stopped pulling the coat with Cas’ bloody handprint out of his closet each day and just holding it, the last thing that he had left of the angel.

He was going to try to start living, to make Cas’ sacrifice worth it. He was even getting a regular construction job to do between the occasional weekend hunts. And then this. Why the fuck didn’t he duck and grab his machete instead of charging the 400 pound linebacker vamp? He’s definitely wishing he had brought that throwing star right about now.

It doesn’t matter now, though. He can feel that this is it and at least he has had the time to tell Sam how proud of him he is and how much he loves him. Damn, he’s going to miss his baby brother so much! He hopes his heaven memory is the one with Sam and Jack and Cas in the bunker, safe and laughing over pizza and ice cold craft beer. That was the night that he and Cas were the last two awake and before he headed off to bed, he had pulled him into a hug, one that lasted a little longer than usual, the alcohol making him warm and a little uninhibited. He had kissed the crook of Cas’ neck while his face was buried there but thankfully the angel didn’t notice and that moment has lived in his mind since.

If he gets to re-live that night in heaven, well, he thinks maybe it won’t be so bad. But first he needs to make sure Sam will be OK. Damn, he hopes he calls Eileen as soon as he gets out of here and never looks back.

“Hey,” he manages out even though its getting harder to breathe. This is important. “I'm not leaving you. I'm gonna be with you... right here... every day. Every day you're out there and you're li... and you're living and you're fighting, 'cause you... you always keep fighting. You hear me? I'll be there every step. I love you so much. My baby brother. Oh, man. Well, I did not think this would be the day. But it is. It is, and that's... Man... that's okay. I need you to... I need you to promise me. I need you to... to... to tell me... that it's okay. I need you to tell me that it's okay.”

Through big wet tears, Sam struggles out, “You can-“

“Not yet,” comes a gravely and frankly angry voice from behind Sam, a voice he would recognize in the dark: Cas!

Sam’s head turns in shock and he rushes out, “Cas, oh my God, help Dean!”

Then Dean sees Cas, he’s blurry because Dean’s sight is getting fuzzy but he’d recognize that trench coat and those blue eyes full of power and fury anywhere. He brushes past Sam and takes Dean gently by the shoulders.

“Dean, I’m sorry this is going to hurt, but I must get you down to heal you.”

The moment Cas shifts him even the slightest bit, pain rips through him so sharp that he sees stars. “No, no, no, no, no. I can’t, Cas…”

“Trust me, Dean. I’ve got you. Put all of your weight on me.” Cas leans in close so their bodies are touching and Dean doesn’t have to hold himself up. His head falls forward onto Cas’ shoulder and he screams as he is quickly lifted off the rebar and brought to the ground and laid gently on the dirt floor of the barn.

“How are you-“ Dean begins but is cut off by Cas.

“I’ll answer your questions after I heal you.”

Cas cups Dean’s left cheek and he can see the glow and feel the icy cold jolt of grace pulsing into him. But its not like usual where everything heals in an instant. No, Cas has his eyes closed in concentration and is obviously straining to heal him. Dean feels slightly better, it’s actually possible to take a breath now but he knows that he isn’t healed. Everything feels wrong.

“No,” Cas shakes his head, frustrated, “this can’t be. Its not enough!” Cas growls and tries again, this time his hand on Dean’s chest, just over where the rebar would have exited.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, sounding panicked.

“Its my grace. I don’t… I don’t have enough to heal a wound with this much damage.”

“Since when? You’ve always been able to heal everything before!”

“For a long time now, Sam. My grace has been waning.”

“You can’t let him die! What about Jack?!”

“Jack is how I got here. He is hand’s off but was willing to send me.” Cas looks around, panicked.

Dean knows he doesn’t have much more time and he puts his hand over Cas’, the one still on his chest. “It’s OK, Cas. You did your best. I can go.”

“No! You aren’t dying today, Dean Winchester. You are supposed to live a long life. You have earned it. And I gave everything for you to live.” And there are tears in Cas’ eyes again. He meets Dean’s eyes and freezes and Dean knows that look. A determined Castiel, badass angel, is an unstoppable force.

“Sam, give me a knife.” And of course Sam does immediately, trusting Cas with their lives as usual.

“I need… Dean, please hold on. I’m going to give you what’s left of my grace.”

And before Dean can protest, Cas has drawn the knife across his neck and put his hand over the cut but Dean can see the bright glow of grace piercing through his fingers. It only takes a moment for Cas to collect the stream of grace in his hand and press it into Dean’s chest, directly over his heart. Cas squeezes his eyes shut in concentration as the grace penetrates through Dean’s skin and spreads through his body, nearly instantly healing the wound in his back and insides. It feels like being dunked in an ice bath followed immediately by being wrapped in a toasty warm blanket, the sense of pure comfort and safety is palpable.

He is healed. This isn’t going to be his last day on earth. Holy shit! He’s got more time and he’s about to thank Cas when the angel collapses across his chest as Dean let’s out a grunt and closes his eyes.

Sam rushes over and grabs Dean’s face, “Dean, hey, hey, hey, hey. Are you OK? Look at me!”

“I’m OK, Sammy,” he nearly laughs. “I’m good… I’m good. What hap-”

“Cas… I think he took out his grace to heal you.”

It’s then that it starts to make sense that it feels like there’s a hundred pound weight on his chest. It’s Cas and he isn’t moving. “Help me with him, Sam,” Dean asks and tries to nudge the angel awake but he isn’t budging. Sam checks his pulse and nods to Dean and a wave of relief passes through him as he and Sam work to move Cas to the side. He is still out cold through the whole ordeal.

Dean gets to his feet, a bit wobbly and isn’t even steady yet when he finds his arms full of a crying moose. “Jesus, Dean, I thought that was it. I thought I lost you!”

“Me t- too,” Dean gets out, his voice catching as he realizes how close they came to losing each other. And Dean finds that he can’t stop the tears that are now spilling over. “Maybe I’m getting too old and slow for this job.”

He can feel Sam laugh before he steps back a bit from the hug with his hands still on Dean’s shoulders. “We just took on 5 vampires, and one of them was the size of Gunner Lawless. Trust me, it has nothing to do with age.”

And a laugh bubbles up in Dean too. He can’t believe it. He just escaped death yet again. Maybe it is time to slow down a bit now that he doesn’t have Chuck’s plot armor anymore. But that’s a thought for later. Right now, they’ve got a barn full of headless corpses and a passed-out angel to deal with.

“What… what did Cas do?” He asks Sam as he kneels down over the angel and tries to rouse him with one hand tapping his cheek and the other his chest. But he gets nothing but a soft moan.

“I don’t know, Dean. It looked like, like he cut out his grace and shoved it into your chest. Do you think he’s still an angel?”

“Jesus, I don’t know man. I’m going to get him to the car. What do you say we just torch this whole barn and call it a night?”

“I’ll get the gasoline.”

Cas isn’t helping him at all so he has to lean down and grab an arm and a leg and fireman carry him to the car and fuck if he isn’t a lot heavier than he looks. He deposits him in the back seat and Cas’ head falls back against the seat. Dean checks that Sam isn’t watching and turns back to Cas.

“What did you do, you stupid son-of-a-bitch?” He whispers and lets himself indulge in touching the other man, gently brushing his hair off his forehead. This is the first chance he has had to actually look at Cas since he told him he loved him a few weeks ago then got sucked away by black goo. Dean didn’t think he would ever get to see him again and he’s been burying all of those feelings deep since then. But now, Cas to just turns up out of the blue and gives up his grace. Now what? He can barely think through today’s adrenaline rush, the fear, saying goodbye to Sammy, getting Cas back, and now he can’t even talk to the guy. “You better be OK, you hear me?”

“OK, let’s get out of here. That ambulance I called is going to be here any moment,” Sam says as he walks towards the Impala with an empty gas can in his hand and Dean snaps his hand back to his side. He stands up and sees orange flames licking up the sides of the barn behind him. They’ll call it in to 911 once they are far enough away and are sure the bodies are pretty well burned so the ambulance isn’t the only first responder to come.

------

On the drive back to the hotel, Sam’s pretty sure Dean is going to crash the Impala since he has spent more time looking in the rear view mirror at Cas than he has on the road. He’s quiet for a long time, but the white knuckles on the steering wheel give away that something is wrong. Not that Sam is much better. It’s been at least half an hour and he can still feel a tremble in his hands. He nearly watched Dean die… again. But this time felt different. This time felt like it. With Chuck and Billie out of the picture and Jack being hands off, he didn’t think there was anyone left to call, any power left that would help a Winchester.

He should have known even death itself couldn’t keep Castiel away when Dean is in danger.

Cas is back. His friend. His brother. And of course, Dean’s -- who knows – sometimes it feels like more than best friend. Those two have been through so much for each other and died for each other and Sam has never forgotten that Cas told him that he and Dean have a profound bond, whatever that means. Regardless, Cas did something he hadn’t seen before. It looked like he took out his own grace. Man, he hopes he’s OK. Dean doesn’t look like he’ll handle another loss well.

“OK, what the hell is going on?” Dean stage whispers, taking Sam out of his thoughts. “How the hell did he get back? I mean he said that the Empty was so powerful he was going to be stuck there forever.”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean really, how long has he even been out of there? You’d think he could at least give us a call and let us know he’s OK.”

“Yeah, I guess. But probably no cell service in heaven or wherever.”

Dean takes time out from staring at Cas to give Sam a death stare. “Dude just let us think he was gone forever. That’s not cool.”

“I wonder if he’s back for good.”

“Yeah… I wonder,” Dean answers quietly and goes back to focusing on the road.

They drive in silence for another few minutes before Sam interrupts the quiet. “Dean, that back there, in the barn… I’m… pretty shaken, you know? You almost died and I… I want us to live.”

“Not like I don’t want to live too, Sam. But I always figured I’d go out bloody.”

“But that’s just it, Dean. We don’t have to. You’ve seen what’s going on. The hunts, there are less of them. I mean, with angels and demons out of the mix, well, that was half our problems. I’m thinking… maybe we don’t have to just hunt.”

Dean looks at Sam with an expression he can’t read but after a few moments, it softens and he answers, “I was kind of thinking the same thing, actually. I mean I always want to hunt. You know, saving people, it’s… it’s what we do it’s the one thing I know I’m good at. But we know so many other hunters now and… and maybe it doesn’t need to always be us, you know?”

“Exactly! I’ve been thinking. With Eileen moving in next week and Cas back, what if we switch our focus? Like the Men of Letters, we can teach people the lore and help make hunting better and safer.” He’s actually excited about this. He was so broken after what happened to the hunters from the apocalypse world, but maybe it’s time to try again now that it’s just this universe and there are no pissed off archangels after them.

Dean huffs a laugh and smirks, “Sam, I haven’t told you yet but I applied for a job, a real one, leading a construction crew. I figured since things were getting slow I might try to live like a real person for a while. I’m not quitting hunting but yeah lets… lets live!”

Back at the hotel, they are greeted by Miracle, who immediately jumps into Dean’s arms as Dean mumbles into his fur, “Got someone for you to meet, buddy.” And once they get a still comatose Cas onto a bed with the dog curled up by his feet standing guard, Dean and Sam step outside with a couple of beers in each hand.

After a few silent sips, Sam ventures, “So… are you OK?”

Dean gives him a look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Cas is back and maybe human and you seem… I don’t know… off.”

Dean makes a face like he’s thinking really hard then gulps down the rest of his beer. Finally, after a drawn-out silence he begins, “Sam, there’s something I didn’t tell you about when Cas… when he died… before.”

“What is it?”

“When Billie was coming for me she was- she was doing something to my heart. She was killing me but Cas, he… he got me to the storeroom and he made a sigil to hold her off. But Sam, we were done for. It was only a matter of time before she got through. And Cas said some shit and that’s what made the Empty come for him.”

“What did he say, Dean?”

After a long pause where Sam thinks Dean isn’t going to answer, he finally continues, “He said he couldn’t have what he wanted but he could be happy with just saying it. Like what the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, Dean. What did he say that made him happy?”

Dean just shakes his head and rubs his eyes but not before Sam notices them filling with tears ready to spill over.

Finally, Dean turns away from him to face the parking lot, the darkness hiding the emotion on his face. “He’s so stupid, man. Like he didn’t know what he was saying. How could he? I don’t even know what he meant.”

Sam wants to ask but he knows its best to let Dean work through this and be patient as he waits for him to be ready to talk.

“He said… Cas, he said I taught him how to care and that… that he loved me.”

“Of course he loves you, Dean. You’re his best friend and we’re his family.”

Dean shakes his head certainly. “No, Sam. I… I don’t think he meant it like that.”

Oh. Oh.

“Well that… that makes sense, actually.”

Turning on hid Dean growls, “How does that make any sense?”

“Remember what Chuck said? That this Cas was the only version of himself that rebelled, that helped us, and stayed with us and basically changed the course of history? Dean, that… that takes a lot of love.”

“But he’s an angel. Like, I don’t even know if their definition of… you know… is the same as ours.”

Sam huffs a small laugh, “Cas has never been like other angels though, has he? I think he knew exactly what he was saying. The question is, what do you think about it?”

Dean drags a hand down over his face, “I don’t know, man. He’s my best friend, you know?”

“He’s one of my best friends too, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about, here.”

“What if.. what if I’m reading into this whole thing and he just meant that he loves us like, like family?”

Sam shrugs, “Maybe, but I’m not sure that’s really enough to change our universe and rebel against Chuck’s writings and summon the Empty. I guess you’re going to have to have a conversation with him and find out.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Dean answers, distracted. It feels like the end of the conversation so Sam turns towards the motel room to go in and check on their friend before Dean grabs his arm. “What if… what if I might feel… that… about him?”

Sam smiles at his dumb brother, “Then I’d say both of you are very lucky and found something special. We don’t get a lot of wins in this life, Dean. That’s why I never gave up on Eileen. When you find something good and real, hold onto it. And I’d say both of you have earned some happiness.”

Dean just nods his head, looking thoughtful before finally looking away and quietly answering, “Thanks, Sammy.”

It’s then that they hear a groan from inside the room and they both briefly make eye contact before rushing in. Dean, of course immediately sits on the edge of the bed trying his best not to touch Cas while Sam stands beside him seeing if their friend will rouse.

-----

When Castiel wakes up the first thing he notices is pain. He’s used to pain, but his grace always dulled the nerve endings so that all of this sensation was greatly muted. It takes him a moment to recall why his grace isn’t working and then he remembers that he used what was left of it to heal Dean. He’s human again and this time his grace isn’t just stored away in a vile in a library. No, the last of it was used up (except the small remnant that will always live with him, integrated into his vessel – no, not his vessel, his body). He concentrates for a moment to figure out where the pain is coming from and if there is any permanent damage that he needs to be concerned about.

All of his organs seem to be in working order but there is a dull ache through his entire body, like it had been thrown against a wall and all of his muscles are bruised. He realizes this is from extracting the grace out of every cell and concentrating it into one ball of cosmic energy that he drew out through his neck. He had to use every muscle in his body to focus and force the foreign grace into Dean. Dean! He lost consciousness before he saw if his friend was healed. He doesn’t even know if he is alive or dead. He immediately moves to open his eyes, to get up and find out and when he does he lets out a groan from the pain and the light shining into his eyes giving him a headache.

But within seconds he has his answer, and he feels a relief wash over him as Dean sits down next to him. Dean: alive, healthy, healed, and looking very concerned.

“Hey, hey, Cas. You with us?” He asks gently.

Castiel looks around the room quickly then back to Dean. “I… yes, I’m with you and you’re… it worked. You’re alive?” He finds his hand moving to touch Dean on its own, resting on his friend’s upper arm soliciting the slightest smile from Dean.

“Yeah, man I’m good as new. But what the hell happened back there? What did you do? Where did you even come from?”

Castiel shifts up to a sitting position, adjusts the pillows and lets himself sit back against them while something golden catches his eye, movement at the foot of the bed. He squints at the big ball of fur and asks, “Why is there a dog here?”

The dog in question walks up to Castiel and begins sniffing at him, tail wagging furiously and he cautiously reaches out and pets the animal behind it’s ears. When he looks back at Dean the man has a grin widening on his face, “Cas, meet Miracle. He’s ours and I think he likes you.”

The dog lets out a small whine and Sam answers, “And I also think he needs to go out. Guys, I’ll take him for a walk and be back shortly. Cas, I’m so glad you are back. I’ve missed you.”

He steps forward and wraps Castiel in a hug and he answers, “I’ve missed you too, Sam.” And Castiel can’t stop the smile on his face as he realizes how happy he is to see his good friend again. Sam then takes Miracle outside and leaves Dean and Castiel alone. He can’t bring himself to look into Dean’s eyes, so he sits in silence, staring at the stained brown and yellow patterned bedspread.

Dean clears his throat and begins, “Ok, man. Now I need some answers. What’s going on? How are you even here?”

“Jack. He pulled me and some of the other angels from the Empty and put the entity back to sleep. Many of my brethren chose to remain at rest but some were returned to heaven. Jack and I, we have been leading the rebuilding. We are changing it, Dean. Its no longer a place where each person re-lives their memories. It’s open and free, a place where souls can rest and seek greater fulfillment. I was building it with you in mind. I didn’t expect you to be arriving so soon, though.”

He says this last accusing, angry and finally makes eye contact with Dean.

“Hey, man, I wasn’t exactly planning to be taken out by vamp-mimes in Canton freaking Ohio today.”

“You need to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I guess maybe I do. But that still doesn’t answer the question. How did you get to me? Did you get your wings back?”

“No, our wings are… I think Jack wanted angels to stay in heaven and not interfere on earth so he didn’t restore our wings. Our work is now in heaven, restoring it, re-creating it, and protecting the souls there. But I could feel your distress so I asked him to send me to you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to return to heaven.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean fumes.

“It’s alright, Dean. I would prefer to be here… if you will have me.”

“If I’ll have… of course you can stay, you dumbass. But I’m still pissed you left like you did.” Dean breaks eye contact, eyes drifting down to where their thighs are nearly touching, his right hand coming up to scratch the side of his neck before he suddenly leans forward and wraps Castiel in a hug. “I’ve missed you, you know?” Dean breathes into his neck.

“And I, you, Dean,” Castiel answers, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend.

The hug lasts just a bit longer than Dean’s usually do but Castiel isn’t complaining. He hasn’t felt this happy since he spoke his truth to the man several earth weeks ago. It’s been much longer in heaven, but time doesn’t exist there in a linear sense so it feels like a very long time to him. Dean takes a deep breath and separates them but keeps his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and looks him deep in his eyes. Castiel is lost for a moment in the beautiful sea of green, sparkling with unfallen tears.

“Cas, your grace. What did you do with it that saved me?”

“You were going to die, and I… I wasn’t powerful enough to heal you. My grace has been waning for a long time and I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch you die. I knew the only way was to give you directly what grace I had left.”

Dean is shaking his head looking stunned and sad and his mouth opens like he wants to protest.

“Dean, it was my choice, one that I don’t regret.”

“But I’m not-“

“Don’t tell me you aren’t worth it. There will never be a moment when you aren’t worth saving.”

Dean huffs, head shaking again. “Thanks, Cas. I know I don’t say it enough but thanks… for everything.”

They sit in silence for a moment, neither ready to break eye contact or the gravity of the moment. Finally, Dean looks away. “So, what does this mean. Are you human now?”

“Essentially. What residual grace I have left isn’t enough to give me any powers. I’ll live a human life and I’ll age and die.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. That was such a stupid way to get hurt and you gave up your grace for me? I’m… I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean puts his hand over Castiel’s, an obvious plea for forgiveness.

Castiel is shocked for a moment. Hand holding isn’t something he knows Dean is comfortable with and even though he told Dean that he is in love with him, he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He will be satisfied being the hunter’s friend since he knows that Dean could never love him back the same way.

“Cas, man, I need to say something here. It’s about what… what you said before the Empty.”

“That doesn’t need to change anything between us. I just needed you to know how I felt.”

“You were wrong, you know.” Castiel squints and tilts his head, trying to figure out what Dean means, what he was wrong about. And Dean smiles at him, fond and affectionate. “To think you can’t have what you want. How do you even know if you don’t try?”

“Dean, I guess I was too ambiguous. When I said that I loved you, I meant that I am in love with you and what I want is to be with you, always. Were it my choice, you would be my partner, my friend, my lover, and my soul mate. But I know that you don’t feel the same and that’s okay. I’m satisfied with just being able to tell you that.”

“Well, what if I’m not satisfied with that? What if you fucking off like that without even giving me a chance to respond was pretty messed up? Cause here’s the thing, Cas.” Dean swallows and takes a large breath, obviously gearing up to say something difficult and important. “You know how you said that I’m, you know, good? Well, man, you need to believe that you are too. Cas, half the time I was only able to stand up and fight because you and Sam believed in me. You, fighting with us and for us… for me, is what changed everything. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I lo… I love you too, Cas. So that thing that you think you can’t have… what if we give it a shot?”

Castiel can feel his eyes becoming misted over and he can barely believe what he is hearing, that Dean could possibly be in love with him too. He had never considered the possibility that Dean could love him, let alone love the male body that has become his own. But here he is, sitting close to Dean, with his hand warm under Dean’s and the hunter’s eyes looking at him with earnestness, fear, and a pleading.

Castiel slowly nods and watches a fond smile build on Dean’s face. “Yeah?” He asks, “Do you wanna try… a kiss?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel breathes out soft and solemn. And Dean brings a hand up to his cheek and softly caresses down to his neck and gently tilts his head and pulls him in until their lips meet. It’s short, just a soft caress but the thrill of it is nearly too much to bear.

Dean pulls back and rests their foreheads together. “I never thought this would be something we could have but, Cas, we beat God. We’re free now and I just wanna have a life that’s mine.” Dean pulls back a bit but stays close, their faces only inches apart. “And I don’t usually do the whole relationship thing so I don’t even know if I’m going to be any good at it, but I’ll try, for you.”

“We’ll figure it out together. But first, can we do that again?” He asks, the slightest smirk on his face.

And Dean growls, “Hell yeah,” and dives in for another kiss, this one a lot less innocent than their first. Dean deepens the kiss, one hand wrapping around Cas’ back and the other threading through the hair on the back of Castiel’s head, giving him better control to pour his feelings into the kiss. Cas lets Dean take the lead, he can feel the hunter’s desperation and wants to give him everything he needs. Dean makes a low, satisfied sound and Castiel’s insides do a flip because he never imagined that sound would be because of him.

Just as their hands begin groping at eachother, Sam returns.

“Oh… oh, man, sorry guys,” he says awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Dean pulls back but keeps his hands on Cas’ jaw and smiles, secretive and just for him.

“So… uh, it looks like you guys figured things out.”

Dean laughs, a free bubbly sound and tells his brother, “Yeah, Sammy, it took a while, but I think we finally both know what we want.”

-------

Sam takes the whole thing in stride, barely even acting surprised and when Dean asks him why, Sam just rolls his eyes and says that he has watched his brother and his angel dance around this for years just waiting for them to figure it out. And when Dean protests that Cas is a dude, Sam gently reminds him of his crushes on Dr. Sexy and Gunner Lawless and his fling with Lee. Dean looks at him shocked, growling that Lee could have kept his mouth shut but Sam just tells him no one ever had to tell him because he had eyes. Dean shakes his head, tells him to shut up, and smirks at him over his beer bottle.

Life in the bunker with the four of them barely feels like an adjustment. It’s so easy for Cas to move into Dean’s room and fall into a routine. Dean gets that construction job and Sam, Cas, and Eileen go to work on solidifying the hunter network. Charlie and Stevie come by to help install a phone system so that they can dispatch and play FBI leaders when others need it. Dean jokes that they are becoming Hunter Corp and even gets some business advice from their counterparts who are still living it up in Brazil, which never won’t be weird.

They still pick up hunts themselves, sometimes just Sam and Dean, leaving Cas and Eileen to man the bunker. With Cas being fluent in ASL, they find themselves having secret conversations and making each other laugh, to the chagrin of their partners who just know it’s about them. Other times Dean will grab Cas and hit the road for a hunt, usually picked because it’s close to something he wants to see. They took care of a wendigo in Arizona so that they could stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon and the four of them killed a dragon living in a cave in California and spent the next week enjoying the ocean, toes in the sand, fingers entwined, and laughing at Miracle as he frolicks in the waves. Cas spens days kissing all of the new freckles that appear across Deans face and body from all that sun.

The Society of Letters, as they rename it at Charlie’s request, flourishes. Sam is a natural leader and they develop a rotation where different hunters will spend a week or two at a time in the bunker, manning the phones and dispatching cases. It also becomes a resting stop for hunters who, like Sam and Dean for so many years, don’t really have a home and just travel from case to case. The infirmary becomes well stocked and they hire Alex on full time to take care of injured hunters.

Dean loves it at first. He gets to see all of his friends. Claire and Kaia, Donna and Jodi, Caesar and Jesse, Garth and Bess. They all take shifts and his life is full of friends and family. Eventually, though, he is tired of not being able to roam around in his robe or not being able to pin Cas to map table and have his way with him. There are just always people coming and going in his home.

Two years in, he and Cas move out to a small craftsman on a lake about 10 miles from the bunker. It’s close enough that they can see Sam and Eileen whenever they want but far enough to be quiet and all theirs. It has a small pier for Dean to fish off of and a big yard for Miracle to chase squirrels. The garage is big enough for Dean to work on Baby and for Cas to park Dorothy’s bike, which has become his preferred method of transportation. Cas has beehives and a garden and Dean can’t stop watching him in his sun hat with his hands in the dirt and his heart still skips a beat sometimes just knowing that Cas is his. He gets a job teaching foreign languages at a local community college and damn if he isn’t the hottest professor Dean’s ever seen in his vests and sweaters.

One day he slips a ring on Cas’ finger after amazing adrenaline-filled post-hunt sex in a musty motel room outside of Des Moines. They get married in their back yard, fairy lights twinkling in the trees and the sun setting over the lake, bathing the scene in golden light. There is no priest or official, just Dean and Cas promising their lives to each other as they stare into each other’s misty eyes. The rest of the world seems to disappear. Afterwards, 20 or so guests hover around the picnic tables covered with pot luck dishes and dance to the tinny music coming from a table top speaker in the clearing surrounded by folding chairs. Dean sways slowly with Cas as he whispers, “I love you, Castiel Winchester,” in his ear.

Sam and Eileen move out a year later when she announces at Christmas dinner that they are having a baby. They too stay close, finding a home in an older suburban neighborhood with huge trees in the yard for the kids to climb and neighborhood children always blocking the road with their street hockey games. They sold some of the Men of Letters cars to buy the house and now the bunker’s garage is actually functional for the hunters coming and going. They both keep working in the bunker as leaders of the Society of Hunters, but they stop going on hunts and focus on raising the kids.

And so life goes on as it does, full of celebrations and tears, births and deaths, hunts and holidays, victories and losses. Dean and Cas still fight, bickering over things big and small. Cas will always be too stubborn and Dean too controlling. And when things get bad, Dean fumes as Cas takes off on Dorothy’s bike to get away from it all. But he learns that Cas will always return to him and they get better and making up, at talking, and at listening as the years roll by.

Dean dies on a Tuesday. It was the bacon that got him after all, a heart attack at the end of a long life. Sam smiles at the irony and they give him a hunter’s funeral. Sam is surrounded by his friends and his growing family that now includes four grandchildren. Led Zeppelin plays and everyone toasts Dean as the drinks and stories flow freely. There is laughter and joy as his life is celebrated and Sam thinks this is exactly what Dean would have wanted. Cas never leaves his seat by the fire until the last embers have burned away. Sam knows Cas won’t be far behind Dean, his health is ailing too and they never did do well without each other.

“Hey, Cas, how are you doing?” Sam asks, bringing a drink over to his brother-in-law.

“I’m OK, thank you,” he answers, adjusting the blanket that Claire had placed over his lap. “I know where Dean is and I promise you, he’s happy. He’ll be greeted by Bobby and Mary and Charlie and we even planned a reception for him at the Roadhouse. I think even Jack will be there.”

Cas closes his eyes and tips his face to the sky, breathing in and he looks peaceful. Sam sits down next to him, groaning a bit at the arthritis that has set into his old joints.

“I’m so grateful for you, Cas. You made him happy for all these years and even prepared heaven for him.” Sam feels a tear trickle down his face. “I’m just going to miss him so much!”

“I miss him already, but we will all be together again soon. You and Dean are the best humans I have ever known. What we did together, we have earned eternal peace and fulfillment.” Cas finally turns to him, smiling. “We did it, Sam. We wrote our own story and it was good.”

#Supernatural #Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #15x20 #15x20 fix it #Dean Winchester lives #Castiel to the rescue #lots of feelings #and talks between the boys

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soyforramen · 3 years

Text

Faith

Another update to the urban-fantasy AU I will eventually finish:

“Running away again, Jonsey?”

Penny’s voice echoed in the alley around him, her voice surrounding him, trapping him. Jughead gritted his teeth and ran for the street. His side throbbed and screamed with every step, but Betty’s grimoire had held up beautifully. At least until his leather jacket had finally given up under the heat of demon fire and grafted onto his skin.

Sanctuary was close by, so long as the Father was in. Glancing up and down the sidewalk, Jughead realized he was the only one out on the streets this late. That meant that there was no one he’d have to try and save from Penny’s wrath, but it also meant she had nothing to distract her from her pursuit.

Hearing Penny’s footsteps, he stumbled into the street and scrambled towards the sacred steps.

His shoulder screamed when he raised his arm to lift the clunky, rusted gargoyle door knocker. It slammed into the wood, creating a hollow, ominous sound. Panting, Jughead glanced behind him only to have Penny’s smirking face burned into his retinas. Another fire bomb flew his way, and he jumped back onto the thick cement railing. A shock of hellfire lit up his neck and Jughead realized his hat had caught on fire. He threw it towards her and turned back towards the door, only to find it standing strong without a single scorch on it.

“Aw, you think Father is going to save you Jonesy? Just like he saved dear old daddy? Are you gonna scream? Beg for mercy, just like F.P. did back in the old country?” Penny taunted.

The chains around her hips clanked softly in the night air as she sauntered towards him. At least one of them was enjoying this, though Jughead would rather see their roles reversed. Just as she reached the curb, the door behind him creaked open and he lunged inside.

“Forsythe? What on earth brings you –“

A burst of hellfire threw Jughead the rest of the way through the door. He landed hard on the old, polished marble and skidded across the floor only to slam into a pew. Every inch of his body was heavy; it was impossible to raise his head. Jughead blinked, but all he could see was the spark of flame coming at him, the afterburn of Penny’s latest attack.

“You have no power here, demon,” Father Mason said, his voicing booming in the high cupola above them.

Penny growled something low and unintelligible. Father Mason responded in kind. A bright, chiming song cut through their noise and it took Jughead almost two passes to answer his phone.

“Where are you? I lost Penny,” Betty’s ragged, gasping breath came from the speaker.

Jughead let out a long breath, thankful that she’d managed to get free. “8th and Elm. St. Hermione’s.”

“You’re in a church?”

It was quiet a moment. Another blast of fire managed to make it over the threshold and wound it’s way directly at him. Jughead dropped the phone and rolled away from it, letting the rest of his jacket take the direct hit.

The door slammed shut, and the air calmed.

“Jug.”

Cool hands cradled him, lifting him into a sitting position. Jughead blinked back the nausea, and Moose’s face swam into view. Wisps of grey threaded through his hair, and there were a few more lines around his eyes, but this was the same, kind face that had proselytized to his small village when Jughead was just a boy. Jughead reached up a hand, only to gasp and shudder at the pain.

“Are you hurt?” Moose asked, his voice brooking no lie.

“No more than the last time you saw me.”

Moose frowned, and a wave of shame hit Jughead.

“Sorry, I know it’s been a few …”

Days? Months? Years? Centuries?

Somewhere in the back of the apse a door slammed shut. Jughead started, adrenaline coursing through his body, but Moose gently guided him back to the floor.

“That demon will never cross my threshold,” Moose promised.

“Juggie?”

Moose stood, his center of gravity low and his hands clenched in fists, ready for a fight. He’d always been ready to protect, and die for, a member of his flock, no matter how lost they may be.

Jughead tugged on Moose’s frock and managed to croak out, “A friend.”

He turned to see Betty rushing around the alter, her blonde hair outshining the painted angels above her. Jughead refused to note the comparison as another wave of pain hit. Ignoring the priest, Betty rushed towards Jughead and pulled him into her arms.

“Are you okay?” Betty asked as her hands hovered above his shoulders, assessing the damage that had been done.

“Never better.”

Her hands landed on his side and he yelped. Blackness swam across his vision and he felt Betty grasp him even tighter, cursing under her breath.

“He needs blood,” she muttered.

She unbuttoned her cuff to roll up her sleeve, but Moose stopped her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Jughead turned his neck, squinting to watch Moose walk towards a cabinet behind the alter. They’d done this many times before, though often it was more an act of contrition than one of necessity. In truth, Jughead had little interest in faith or religion. He’d gone to church not out of a sense of duty, but because of the stories that Father Mason wove, day after day, about men claiming to be sent from God. And as he grew, he and the Father had formed a strange sort of friendship between a devout holy man and a scoffing, peasant teenager.

Even when Jughead’s life had been taken by a woman who smelled of lavender and leather, her touch tender against his throat and his soul, it was Father Mason who brought him sanctuary. Touched by an unholy fever and an unnatural hunger, it was Father Mason who knew the rites to perform.

Now, knowing what was to come, Jughead’s teeth ached and his mouth filled with saliva. The pain shifted from his shoulder to his stomach as it clenched in anticipation. Watching Father Mason pour the sacramental wine, Jughead could smell it’s acrid stench, the rotting grapes taking on a light, delicious temptation.

As he neared, Betty curled Jughead closer to her.

“Are you trying to kill him?”

Father Mason held up a hand and prayed. The low mumble of Latin lulled Jughead into an almost catatonic state, an addict waiting for his next shot of morphine.

“It’s fine, Betts, we’ve done this before,” Jughead said. His eyes locked on the chalice where the wine was slowly thickening.

When Father Mason was done, he held the chalice up to Jughead’s lips. It was pure ambrosia – the sweet, tangy flavor had increased in the now consecrated blood – and the tang of it sent ecstasy running through every inch of Jughead’s body.

“For this is my blood of the covenant,” Betty murmured. She shook her head in wonder. “That’s impossible.”

Moose smiled sadly and sat back on his heels. “Everything is impossible for those who doubt.”

She frowned. “No, there’s no way you could do that without …”

Another blast hit the door, and though it held, the chandeliers swayed above.

“You’re a witch,” Betty concluded. “You have to be.”

Father Mason jerked back, staring at her. His lips were set in a thin frown and his grip on the chalice had tightened.

“I’m no such thing.”

“You have to be, otherwise –“

Jughead wrapped a hand around Betty’s arm and shook his head.

“Faith alone,” Father Mason said firmly, “is what gives me power.”

He set the chalice on a nearby pew and stood, an imposing figure even in the black cassock. From this angle, Jughead realized for the first time he’d known Moose for almost three centuries. It was a strange thing that he’d never realized this before. Father Mason should have been dead, or at the very least a very old man, but Moose didn’t look a day over forty-five. Forty, in the right light.

“But –“

Jughead sat up slowly and shook his head. “Let it go. Please.”

Betty chewed her lip and they watched as Moose walked towards the door. Without effort, he opened the massive door - carved figures from biblical times, sinners and saints alike, lit up with fading hell fire.

“Father,” Penny spat out.

“You have no reason to be here. Leave,” Father Mason ordered.

She laughed, the sound distorted and warped within the church. “I have every reason to be here. Jones is in there, and I’m not. You know the rules.”

Father Mason shook his head and stepped out of the church. “This is a place of sanctuary, or have you forgotten the ancient rules?”

“Have you? I’m surprised you haven’t burned to ashes in there. Heretic.”

Carefully, Betty pulled Jughead to his feet. He leaned against the pews for a minute, too in awe of the changing lights around him to move. The consecration always hit him differently, the faith put into the wine stronger and stronger each time. Now, though, it appeared that Betty’s doubt had only increased the potency of Moose’s faith.

“My sins have been forgiven,” Moose’s voice bellowed, “as will yours. Repent and you too shall be brought back into the fold.”

Demonic cackling had Betty and Jughead clinging to each other.

“Forgiven? Us? Is that the lie they told you? We don’t get forgiven, Marmaduke. We’ve fallen, remember? We’re the rejects, the ones cast out by God and his holy entourage.”

The air in the church dropped a few degrees and the light dimmed. Jughead tugged Betty away from the door, and together they drew closer to the altar. Even from this distance they could see the sag in his shoulders, hear the desperation in his voice. Jughead felt a sting of sympathy run through him; he knew, painfully, what it was like to loose something that so defined one’s personality. It wasn’t a pain he would wish on anyone.

Without an ounce of fear, Father Mason opened the heavy doors and stepped out. Their carvings - images and figures from the Bible, depicting saints and sinners alike – glowed amber from the hellfire barrage they’d undergone. To Jughead’s eyes, they danced and shimmied, mocking the demon who dared attack them.

“Shouldn’t we –“ Betty leaned towards the doors, watching the priest take each step deliberately.

Jughead clamped down on her arm and pulled her closer to him. He knew, without a doubt, that she would run to Moose’s aid if given the chance. “This has always been his fight,” he told her softly. “I’ve only been a way to get to him.”

His words, an attempt to quell her fears, only seemed to wind her up like a toy, ready to leap forward at the first hint of trouble.

“Besides,” he added, “his name’s Moose. I think he’ll be fine.”

Another flare of heat rushed through the church and they drew back further from the door.

A howl of rage and pain mingled with Latin chants, the sound even more chilling that the last. There was a clacking noise, and Jughead glanced down to find Betty running through a string of charms, her lips chanting their own sort of prayers of protection.

In less than a second, the world went silent. The air was suffocating in its stillness, and the temperature suddenly dropped ten degrees. Jughead waited, his eyes never leaving the door; while his faith in Father Mason was absolute, even he had to admit there were enough things on heaven and earth, live or not, who could destroy even him.

One minute passed, then two. Betty jumped up and dashed towards the door quicker than Jughead could stop her. He followed cautiously, still waiting for another flash of hellfire to come his way. But when he reached the stone steps all he found was a calm, exhausted Father Mason and Betty, hovering over him, trying to find some way to help him.

“She’s gone,” Father Mason said from his seat. He wheezed out a cough, and Jughead noted a grey streak running from his temples that hadn’t been there before. “For now at least.”

He waived Betty away, thanking her for thinking of him, and nodded to Jughead.

“I wondered when I might see you next,” he said to Jughead, offering a hand. Jughead took it, and Father Mason clasped it in both hands. “But maybe next time call first.”

Father Mason dropped Jughead’s hands and reached for the railing. He leaned on it heavily, groaning as he took each step. They watched warily, both aware of the tremendous toll the fight had taken on him. Betty kept opening and closing her mouth, full of a million unanswered questions, but to Jughead’s relief she didn’t ask a single one.

It wasn’t until the old wooden doors were shut that she turned to Jughead. He held up a hand.

“It’s a long story,” he offered. Betty pursed her lips at his answer and he continued quickly. “Let’s go get someplace safe, and I’ll fill you in.”

“Fine.” Her voice was petulant and not for the first time Jughead wondered whether it hurt her to keep so many questions inside. “But you’re going to have to start with how on earth you didn’t catch on fire.”

He raised an eyebrow and matched her stride as they walked down the road. “Pretty sure –“

“I mean in the church,” she said, cutting him off with a roll of the eyes. “And how you were able to drink consecrated wine? Last I checked, vampires tended to avoid that sort of thing. And what in Gaia’s name was that thing with the Latin? No one’s ever heard of –“

Jughead let Betty’s stopped up curiosity spill out of her while his mind wandered back to Father Mason, wondering not for the first time what type of creature he really was.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #thank one (1) heartunsettledsoul for me posting this tonight #heads up there's religiony stuff in here fyi #so if it's not your bag skip it like the 90's toy

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rosesareviolentlyread · 4 years

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Howdy!

So, despite being a lurker, and then a semi-active person for a while I’ve never made an intro post! And, well, as one of the mods for @whumpmasinjuly now speed running the event to catch up, I figure I can be living proof that better late than never!

I’m Rosy, she/her/hers, a 22 year old Bi baby using writing as a coping mechanism for our hellscape. I’ve always enjoyed whump, without knowing it until I found the term last fall. I’m also a comfort whore, so always know that nothing I write has a sad ending, there’s fluff coming.

I love exploring OCs, vulnerability, interesting conditions for whump, and world building/making my ideas way too complicated. That or writing random requests to prompts. There’s really no in between. I've either thought about it way too much or not at all. Which I guess is to say, if there’s a prompt or scenario you’ve always wanted written drop it in my ask box, I enjoy the challenge! I’m really passionate about creative writing as a tool to explore, which ties into my work with nonprofit alternative education models.

I’ve got a few things posted on my blog, but none are the main stories I’ve been working on, because busy but also as said above I tend to...spend forever researching/drafting haha. If you’re interested in checking out the ideas I got in the pipeline, check under the cut! Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be tagged, some will start being published in the next few days.

And lastly, hope y’all don’t mind, but I thought I’d tag some friends & my fav authors in the community that have helped me start to get more involved!: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @straight-to-the-pain @softsweetsuffering @mottinthemainpot @burtlederp @killtheprotagonist @slaintetowhump @wildfaewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @deluxewhump @0idril0 @whumpywhumper @moose-teeth @endless-whump @bloodandbandages @whumping-every-day @card-games-and-pain @starrywhump @nowhumponmain @orchidscript @untilthepainstarts @whump-tr0pes @albino-whumpee @whumpiary ok gonna stop tagging people now wow I read too much/talk to people a lot

My WIPs:

(Note: I’m trying to edit at least one of each to post this week but my muse hops around a lot so consistent and chronological these stories will not be. They’re ordered vaguely by where my muse is rn)

Elias: The newest one, a spur-of-the-moment addition who’s got a few more prompts coming. A boy who’s gotten the shit end of the stick in life ends up in the basement of a frat, tortured after the mob boss who took him to get a ransom from his shit-stain brother decided to cut losses and gift Elias to his nephew, passing him off as a boxboy in the process. Some well-meaning college students decide to rescue him, only to get into who knows what, certainly not me. Variation within BBU, thanks to @deluxewhump for the idea. Mainly recovery from torture for now

Studying About That Good Ole Way/Fae bb: A modern magic world loosely inspired by @0idril0 & @whumpywhumper’s Nico/Clint & Marcus/Lucien series’ respectively. Under the increased scrutiny of the modern age, magical creatures come forward with their existence. Fae have always lived in a state of fear but now more so, as their existence as a source of magic means they can be used for great feats, both by humans and magic folk alike. In fear, some hide their young as changelings in the hopes that in growing in non-magical communities, they will not develop their full magical characteristics.

Faith is a young girl from a ‘perfect’ anti-magic Christian family, who goes to a liberal arts college to study Theology. In her thesis work to understand how to reconcile God with the magic community, the exposure to the magic sparks her transformation into her full, natural Fae self. A professor/local pastor offers to help, which does not go well. Her brother Adam, who abandons his family and his church after it disowns and demonizes his sister, is left to pick up the pieces. Religious whump, torture, intimate whumper, some body horror/gore, recovery angst, a not-great himbo caretaker trying his best, found family eventually.

Once You Are Real: Victorian Magical vaguely Steampunk Fantasy world. A shopkeeper specializing in magical refurbishment & repair comes across a life-sized porcelain ‘doll’, broken and pieced together in webs of golden cracks. He quickly discovers that not only is this ‘doll’ actually a construct, it’s a sentient construct, the most advanced he’s ever seen, capable of distressing amounts of emotion and physical feeling. An uncanny valley of past pains that now sits on his bench to fix. Caretaker fluff, emotional angst, psychological angst, discussing human condition, some creepy/intimate whumper flashbacks.

The Paths We Travel: A trio that takes place in @wildfaewhump ’s Pathverse. Technically the first piece of this is posted, but I’ve rehauled it since then so I’ll be rewriting that intro.

Oren is a former A-Class, used to experiment with the extent of Class-A’s potential. He’s now sickened by his own abilities and seeking to hide, to find a new person other than the one he was. He’s trying to write his way to freedom, all the while avoiding his own history that’s written into every part of his person.

Cass presents an easy out, a friend-with-benefits that’s a bridge between his old life and a new one. Cass is a wealthy Class-C who’s parents hid her ability since she was the only child, and heir, to their pharmaceutical fortune. She’s on a mission to rebel and take hold of her identity, as only a privileged girl can, not understanding the consequences that may follow for a free path.

Alice is a Class-C who has lived her life working with a more private sector company, where her empath abilities were combined with drugs to offer high paying clients orgasmic and euphoric experiences without those nasty side effects. When Cass decides to rescue her while at a party on a whim, it’s a whim that thrusts the trio into a collision course. Drug/withdrawal whump. Recovery whump. Some real shitty caretakers, but they mean well. Exploration of not great people getting better together maybe? I control none of my characters please send help

Bakery Box Boy: Della, an older woman in charge of a popular bakeshop in a lakeside New England town is gifted a refurbished Box Boy as ‘help’ by a nosy neighbor convinced it’ll be a good way to help her finally grieve her recently deceased son. Della disagrees, and our poor BB is caught in the middle. Featuring a strong willed tough older woman caretaker, and a Box Boy who’s been refurbished about 3-5 times. God this is from a post from forever ago, but dammit it got too developed to throw away so it’s got at least a few prompts in its WIP folder I’ll get to editing eventually.

#whump #whump community #whump intro #blog intro #introduction #wijday1 #RosysWIJSpeedrun #procrastination doesn't stop at graduation #whump meta #when will I post these stories #maybe after nap #new whump blog #Kinda #do I still count as new even though I now run a whump server and a successful event lmao

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laylacooke · 4 years

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The Cat’s Meow (Pt. 2) || Regan & Layla

timing: Mid August (before Cabin Trip) [continued from here.] parties: @kadavernagh & @laylacooke summary: Meow?

Layla’s heart was beating fiercely in her small compacted chest. Orange fur heaved up and down as she finally stopped running and had made her escape from Luna and Indy. But confusion still hung heavy over her mind, along with no immediate ideas of how she was going to get out of the situation she was in.

She hadn’t been able to catch a mirror on the way out, but when she had tried to speak Ariana’s name the only thing that came out was a pitiful meow. A meow that had alerted her to more than she had wanted to know in the moment.

It had to be a dream, right? No, more like a nightmare. God, was she stuck inside another nightmare? She had just escaped that reality. But then it hit her like a double headed dildo to the face...Cordy. It was the only possibility, right? She had just seen the woman the day before and pissed her off. Maybe she could go see her and this would all go away. Maybe she would be Layla again. Maybe just maybe - Screeeeeeech! “Watch it you stupid cat!” Eyes wide, the small ginger cat hunkered down in fear realizing she had almost gotten hit by a car. Focus, Layla. Or the next time you’re going to look like Binx from Hocus Pocus.

Quickly escaping from the street, before another car came, Layla realized she needed help.

Remmy? Moose might eat me.

Kaden? Uh-uh. He’s an animal catcher and a hunter for fucks sake.

I’ve got it!

Picking up one paw after the other, the small, furry animal made her way through town as she tried to avoid the temptations that were starting to overwhelm her. Fresh fish. Blagh. A large juicy rat! Oh fuck no. Chasing a bird? Maybe. No, Layla. No. Mind on the mission. Mind. On. The. Mission. It was the small child that was now chasing her screaming ‘kitty’ that put a little extra pep in her step. Stop! No! Bad child! Bad! She let out a horrific meow as the toddler grabbed onto her tail pulling her backwards, and with no choice, she released her claws and swatted at the child. Seeing him tear up broke Layla’s heart, but she couldn’t stop, especially now when his mother was chasing after her and trying to kick her away. I’m sorry!

With a huff, she continued moving forward; little legs growing tired with the occasional breaks scattered throughout, but when she looked up, she realized she had made it.

Waiting for the right moment, Layla weaved her way through the legs of the person entering the building. Maneuvering up the stairs with stealth, she finally arrived. Regan’s apartment. She had saved the medical examiner when the woman was only five inches tall, and now, it was Regan’s turn to save her.

It had become a ritual. Coming home, spreading out the case files from “The Collector’s” victims, and scrutinizing the images and autopsy reports until her eyes felt numb. Regan was thumbing through them again when she heard an insistent meow outside of her door. For a moment, she wondered if it had been a hallucination. She wasn’t sure she’d ever hallucinated a cat before, though. Maybe it was best to check. Reluctantly, she shuffled over to the door, opening it to see -- “How did you get in here?” Regan frowned down at the animal. Did Nadia get another cat? Or did Ms. Carmody? The old woman always seemed a little pleased when there were cat carcasses on the lawn; maybe she had a soft spot for them. Before she could close the door on the cat, it slid past her legs into the apartment. “Hey! Stop! Sit!” She tried to command it like she would Abel, but the animal seemed determined to stay inside. Her wings rustled in annoyance. She shut the door, at least for now, lest anyone who wasn’t Nadia walk by. It was just her and the cat, now. She studied its orange fur and bright eyes. The animal looked relatively healthy, as far as she could tell, though she wasn’t exactly a veterinarian. “Fortunately for you, cat, I’m dating someone in Animal Control. He’ll find you a good home. One that isn’t here.”

Regan had taken the bait, and Layla was in. The world, including the M.E’s apartment was so much bigger as a cat. Everything seemed to be duller and her field of vision seemed limited to a degree and made the already drab apartment seem even less exciting. However, that didn’t matter. Trotting over to Regan, the small cat rubbed across her leg continuously, until she mentioned Animal Control. Fucking Kaden. He was going to be the foil in her plot. Hissing at the idea, she left the woman’s side and ran to the nearby couch. Jumping up onto it, she started to pace back and forth, rubbing on the cushions trying to be loving. If she thinks I’m cute, maybe she won’t let Grandpa haul me away. She meowed softly; her big yellow eyes making contact with Regan’s hoping to win her over.

The cat yowled as Regan mentioned Animal Control, like the animal had some idea of what that meant. That wasn’t possible, was it? She didn’t know very much about cats, but dogs could recognize their name and some commands. Did this one actually know what that meant? Kaden surely wouldn’t euthanize the cat; it would be brought to the shelter and adopted out into a home that would be at least adequate. The cat flung itself around the apartment and ended up on the couch, coating it in fur as it rolled around. Regan frowned at it, then looked down at her slacks. Fur clung to her shins where the cat had rubbed. Great. She brushed it off, then took a cautious step toward the animal. She wasn’t keen on touching it. What if it had rabies or something else? It could have been exposed to anything outside. “Cat,” Regan announced, unsure how to address it, “this isn’t going to work. There’s too much screaming and not enough tuna here for you. I don’t know how to take care of a cat! I’ve never had any animal before and half the time I don’t even know if Abel is afraid of me and-- and this is ridiculous. I’m talking to a cat that turned up in my apartment.” She pulled out her Nokia to shoot Kaden a message: How do you catch a cat?

When Regan addressed Layla as Cat, she meowed in response, Yes? However, what the woman had to say wasn’t exactly what Layla wanted to hear. Please don’t let Kaden take me away. Please! Her eyes grew wider as she paced back and forth nervously. Maybe if I lay down and be a good cat, she won’t send me away with Captain Putain. Circling in one spot, Layla found a place to settle into and laid down. Her tail swished back and forth on its own accord as she continued to look at Regan. Meow. It was soft and welcoming. Inviting Regan over to pet her. She could be a good cat. Layla could exist peacefully with Regan, until she could figure out a way to get the woman to help her, so long as Kaden didn’t come with a cage and pole to snag her with.

Was the cat pacing? Was that normal cat behavior, or did it indicate some neurological concern? Regan really needed to get Kaden over here to catch this animal. It probably needed extensive veterinary care. Was it a stray? It stopped walking across the living room after a minute, planting itself in front of her, and all she could do was stare down at those bright eyes. “Do you want something?” She asked it. “Food? Do you want food?” It probably wanted food. What did cats eat? Tuna, of course. Right? She hadn’t purchased any since she realized she couldn’t tolerate fish anymore. Regan walked past the cat into the kitchen to see what she could find. Peanut butter, yogurt, granola, lettuce, sprouts… nothing a cat would be interested in. “Uh, I might need to ask Kaden what cats eat, and then go shopping. Not that you’re staying here. I mean, for long.” She aimed a glance at the animal. “Really, it’s a bad idea. An extremely bad idea.” Was she trying to convince herself, or the cat? She wasn’t sure and didn’t want to dwell on it. Sighing, Regan knelt down on the floor to get a closer look at the animal, nearly tripping over her wings. It had healthy, orange fur and seemed bright. For a stray, it was in good condition. She wondered if the cat was microchipped. The vet would be able to figure that out. “Do you have any owner?”

Food had briefly crossed Layla’s mind on the way over, but it was more temptations than anything. However, she was getting hungry. Listening to Regan, she wanted to speak to her badly. Say something other than a variation on the ever so popular meow, but it was useless. Instead, she watched the woman walk to the kitchen and listened as she rambled on about food and why she shouldn’t keep Layla the Cat and what Kaden would suggest. However, what she hadn’t expected was for Regan to come back and kneel down just to further inspect her. With the M.E that close to her face, Layla was at least able to respond to the ‘owner’ question with a swift shake of her head, no, indicating she didn’t have an owner. Did cats shake their head yes and no? Probably not, but she was no ordinary cat and not being able to communicate with words was driving her bananas. When she got out of this, she was going to have some strong words with Cordy...well, if she got out of this.

Did the cat just… did it just shake its head? Regan gawked down at the animal. It had to be a coincidence. There was no way the cat understood the question, right? Which, sure, she felt more than a little ridiculous for asking it in the first place, given that. And she was only going to feel more ridiculous now that she was continuing to verbally engage with a cat. “You don’t have an owner?” She asked cautiously, standing up again. Her wings gave a disgruntled flit and she brought her hand to her forehead. “I’m going insane,” she said simply, “that’s the explanation. And you’re going to get checked for a microchip once I get you to Kaden. But that’s… something I’ll have to do tomorrow.” She looked out the blurry window, noting that the sun was setting. “You can stay here for now, but no sleeping on the bed, and no swatting at me. Understood?”

Layla had found Regan’s reactions amusing to say the least. Erm...meow the least. Letting her golden round hues follow the woman, the cat meowed. You’re not going insane, because if you are then that means I should wake up from this nightmare any moment, but I haven’t yet, so you have to help me find my way out of this situation since Ariana couldn’t! The mews were continuous and full of inflection but resulted in nothing. Well, not what she had wanted, but Regan had given her permission to stay, so at least that was something. Hearing the stipulations, she nodded her head yes. I think I can handle that. No swats, and, fine. No bed, but I bet you’ll come around. If my little cat body is any reflection of my human cuteness, I’m going to win you over like a bettin’ man gettin’ lucky for once. Challenge accepted. She narrowed her eyes for a moment before hopping off the couch and going back over to Regan. Chirping sweetly, she rubbed against her leg hoping to be picked up.

Why was it meowing like that? Was something wrong? Was it supposed to do that? Regan grimaced down at the cat like it was a light she’d just shattered. It wasn’t broken, right? But then it stopped meowing, and-- she jumped as it leapt from the couch, wings taking her a few inches off the floor. That sent another wave of panic through her and she fluttered back away from the animal, dropping back down to the ground. It seemed intent on following her, though, and rubbed against her shin again. Why did it keep doing that? Regan reached down and gave it a quick, cautious stroke on the top of its head, then tore her arm back away from it like it might seize her. “What? I’ll get you food tomorrow. I don’t have anything that I can-- is it water? You want water?” She brought a small bowl full of water from the kitchen and set it down on the floor, hoping to retreat into the bedroom while it was distracted.

Oh, if a cat could laugh! Layla watched as Regan proceeded to freak out. If you could only see the way you’re acting, Dr. B. While getting picked up didn’t work out quite like she planned, the water now sitting in front of her was well appreciated. Moving in, she slowly leaned forward. Seeing her reflection in the water startled Layla, but once she had accepted it, she leaned closer towards the bowl of liquid. Okay, just...you can do this, Layla. Just like...Her tongue easily began lapping up the cool water from the bowl. It was refreshing, to say the least, and while she stood there consumed by the taste of the water in her parched mouth, she hadn’t noticed Regan slip away into the bedroom. By the time she looked up, it was too late. Eyes scanning the room, she let her nose lead her to the door. I hear you in there. Meows rang out sounding closely like the word ‘hello’. Hello? Helloooooo. Hello?

Regan had just brushed her teeth and wiggled into her nightshirt when she heard meowing from the other side of the bedroom door. Her arms sagged with exhaustion and she felt a little bit like screaming. Hadn’t she told the animal she wasn’t allowed on the bed? So much for it being able to understand. Maybe it just wanted to be near her. Domestic animals evolved to be in human proximity, right? She sat down on her bed for a moment, debating. Would it keep meowing out there if she didn’t let it in? Would she be able to get any sleep if she did let it in? Regan groaned, standing up. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She opened the door, standing back as she watched the cat to see what it might do. “Remember, no bed. You can sleep on the floor. And no. Swatting.” Abel had stuck his nose in her wings plenty of times, and she could only imagine what damage a cat might do. Just thinking about the claws made her wince. Regan waggled a finger at the animal before falling back on the bed with a long, drawn out sigh. “Goodnight, cat. Tomorrow, you’re going to the vet.”

Layla continued to say the one word she could as a cat, “hello”, until she heard the door open. With wide innocent eyes, she looked up at Regan. She listened as the woman spouted off the rules again, before she trotted into the bedroom, tail swishing back and forth. There had been nowhere to lay on the floor. And Regan would be warmer than curling up trying to rely on her own body heat for warmth. It had been a long day, and all she wanted was to sleep peacefully, especially knowing she was going to the vet tomorrow; which had caused her anxiety to spike. What would going to a vet be like? She already hated going to the doctor. She would deal with that issue in the morning, but for now, she just wanted to not feel so lonely, and completely ignoring the ‘sleeping on the bed’ rule, the small, orange tabby launched herself up onto the edge of the mattress. Slowly and cautiously walking over the covers, once she reached Regan, she curled up in a ball next to the woman. Snuggled in closely, before the fae could object, she began purring softly and closed her eyes.

Regan flicked off the light and settled in. It was always a struggle trying to get comfortable these days, given the unwelcome wings, but somehow, it was starting to get a little bit easier. She gave the cat one final expectant look that said stay on the floor, then she closed her eyes. Regan didn’t even feel the animal soundlessly jump on the bed, not at first-- but something soft and burning hot curled up next to her, and Regan didn’t have the energy to argue with a cat. Besides… it was like having a tiny campfire right next to her, and was the purring really so bad? She’d wash the sheets tomorrow. Regan draped an arm over the animal, allowing herself to hope, just for a moment, that its presence would lead to a nightmare-less slumber.

#para: the cat's meow #pt. 2 #kadavernagh #saga: a little catty #wickedswriting

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

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Heathens - Soulless Reader x Demon Dean (Short Series)

A/N: Part two! As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Part One

Warnings: Harley/Joker kinda relationship. Unhealthy. Power driven. Smut.

Word Count: Roughly 2,200

“Moose!” His voice was all cheer and glee as he stared up at the towering, still human brother. Trying to ignore the demon-killing knife in the too strong hand. The deep, loathing scowl etched onto the human's face as he stared down the monarch.

Crowley had finally given up. He had no one else to turn to. There were no other beings that stood a chance at getting near the power couple. The two creatures he'd helped shape were raising literal hell on earth. It was time for desperate measures.

“Where is he?” Sam demanded thickly. Booming in rage. Not bothering with any sort of pleasantries. After all, Crowley had his brother for all he knew.

“Ah, yes. Dean-o.” The King's lips pulled back into a scowl. It was time to get to business. Before too much more damage could ensue. “For once, we want the same thing. Squirrel back to himself.” The younger Winchester's eyes narrowed in the low sunlight as he took in Crowley skeptically. “As we both know, your brother is a... changed man. And not for the better.”

“Funny,” Sam snorted. Face twitching as he refrained from colliding into the demon and ending it all. “Last I checked, you were parading him around like some kind of prize. What brought on the change of heart?” Ordinarily, Crowley enjoyed the Winchester sass. But, not then. His eyes rolled instinctively.

“Your brother has this annoying tendency to do as he pleases. I can't control him. I've tried.” The demon shrugged, not even slightly remorseful in his actions. “I might have had better luck if he hadn't run into Y/N-”

“Y/N? Y/N L/N? She's with Dean?” Crowley watched as stark fear crossed the giant's face. “Has he hurt her? God, she has to be terrified-”

“Unlikely.” The king of hell snorted. Too sore from his latest failure to use the hunter's terror for leverage. “The only thing that girl feels is hunger for power.” Bitterness welled inside of him at the thought. You'd not only destroyed his plans for Dean, but the ones he'd had for you as well. In a single swoop. Only needing to bat your eyes to get what you pleased from the knight of hell. Your soul was the only leverage Crowley had against you two, and your only interest was in its destruction. “If I were you? I'd fear more for Dean.”

Realization crossed Sam's face, “You did something to her.” And the anger followed, nostrils flared and all. “I swear to god-”

“No,” Crowley held up his finger as he corrected the hunter. “I only ordered her to be collected as part of a contract that one of my demons created. Simply business. Nothing personal.” The look on Sam's face made it clear. He didn't believe a word the demon was saying. Smart man. “The chit made it damned difficult. Killed my favorite hound. So, I sent demons.” He kept the story simple. Not going into detail about the way you'd fought your life. He didn't need the moose endearing to you anymore than he already was. “They pulled away her soul believing it would stun her enough to destroy her body. But, that's as far as they got.” A vial was pulled out of his jacket, containing the silver blue light that had been torn from your very being. “Turns out your little pet can be quite brutal when she wants to be. And that damned knife you gave her ended up being quite effective. Now? Now we have a soulless maniac on the loose who not only wants to rule the world. But doesn't give a damn who she has to kill to get it. And I'm sure your brother is going to end up on that list if he doesn't follow her orders.” The look on Sam's face said enough. “Don't say it. I know what you're thinking. But, the soulless chit is the problem of the moment. For the both of us!”

“Why not just let it go? Let it find it's way back? If she's not soulless, then-”

“Then, Dean will remove it himself without time counting against him. We'll have nothing to make them pause long enough to gather some control back. They'll be lost.” The King's face fell, just as his reign would if you two continued to skillfully wield your weapons.

You'd already put a large dent into his army. Had weaseled out information- according to the few survivors that crossed your paths- that could give you an advantage. Letting them live only to let Crowley know just how successful you'd been. To toy with his mind.

Harley Quinn and The Joker. Bonnie and Clyde. Or any other powerful duo that could be thought of. None of them compared to the twisted, effective, relationship that you two had. When you weren't covered in blood, you were covered with each other.

“Just when I thought this couldn't get any crazier.” Sam snorted, a bitter half laugh leaving his lips as his hand ran over his stubbled jaw. “Of course it turns into this.” The resignation on his face gave the king some hope.

“Welcome to the party, Moose.” Crowley smirked, though he felt nothing more than vulnerable. You two were too close. There wasn't much time. He would be dead as soon as you two arrived in town, and he was powerless to stop it on his own.

–

“Harder,” You moaned out in pleasure as his hands bruised into your hips. Your nails digging into the rolling muscles of Dean's shoulder and back as you rode him. Breaking the skin along the way. Not giving a damn that he grunted at the feeling. Your eyes were shut. Head tossed back as you zeroed in on the way he filled you. Yet, you could feel the warmth of those blackened orbs watching you as you straddled his lap. His grip moving your body along his solid length.

“Alright,” His lips kicked up arrogantly. Instead of just following your orders, you were flipped so that he was on top of you on the wrecked bed. Your empty E/C eyes were darkened with lust when you opened them. The large fists clenched into your thigh and arm hard enough to rebruise the damaged flesh. He slammed his hips faster, giving you exactly what you demanded and then some.

His teeth sank into the soft skin of your throat; drawing both a cry from your lips and pebbles of blood forward that he easily licked away as he thrust sharply. Leaving another mark on your skin with a growl as your claws sank into him deeper. Body clenching hard around his dick. The hot, slick tug of your body trying to hold him hostage. Taking what you needed from him greedily. He left one hand on your hip as he pulled away. Moving to gain more control. The other gripped the wooden frame. Giving him better leverage. The wooden headboard slammed into the wall roughly. Motel room pictures rattled. Other patrons yelled out their complaints. Drown out by the cries leaving your throat.

At one time, sex between you two had been slow and meaningful. There had been lingering kisses, touches, and emotion behind every action. Cuddles afterwards. Conversation about the future. Dissections of your feelings. It had been everything a girl could dream of before it had ended.

But now? You two used each other. It wasn't about getting closer. Simply about getting off. Sex was just another tool in the power struggle you were looked in. Used as a tool for manipulating the other. Abrasive and filthy every time. Primal in nature, much like the both of you.

You both were covered with lesions; branding each other as the other's property. Possessive? Simply because you needed the other to get where you wanted. Thrived off of how much control you could garner with the right look. A simple touch. There was nothing else to it. No love. Not an ounce of fluff to be found. And you two thrived in the mucked up relationship.

“That's it.” His low voice vibrated shock waves through your system as he coaxed you through your orgasm; watching as you fell apart around him. Hips rolling. Mouth open as the delicious sounds poured out of your lips. “Fuck, Y/N...”

Writhing erratically, he tried to get impossibly closer; losing himself inside of the tight hold. Your eyesight focused in time to see his flushed face contort in pleasure. In the past you would have thought he was beautiful. Would have gotten lost in his pleasure. Instead, you focused on the feeling him getting off gave you.

How he stretched you just right when he stopped moving. The warmth of his seed coating your walls. All of it giving you a final bit of a buzz.

“You didn't win,” You huffed, face grim in determination as you came down from one of the only highs you could still reach.

“Your plan is beyond crazy.” He grumbled, rolling off of you. Displeased that the sex hadn't ended the conversation. After all? That had been the point.

“Which is why it would work.” You insisted again, moving to rest yourself over him. The position giving you better access to his gaze. Eyes that were back to the darkened green. That showed the bit of humanity you'd discovered under the surface of 'Deanmon'. “You know he's gunning on Sam wanting to get us back to the emotionally wrecked shithole we were in before.” If you could've felt fear, he'd have said that's what crossed your face. Instead, desperation was a better fit. All wide eyed and tight lipped. “He wants your brother to stop us. He's scared, Dean. All we have to do is get ahold of him- and his bones- and the rest falls into place. Crowley knows that. But, we won't get there before Sam does whatever his part is in the counter plan.” Your fingers trailed through the short, sex mused locks on his head as your voice softened back into that deadly, convincing tone. “So... we have no choice. We have to put you in Sam's grasp. Have to take care of him. Or, everything we've done is for nothing.” He looked unsure, but he nodded grimly. “I know you have a soft spot for him-”

“I don't.” Dean bit out, his demon side taking completely over at the words. Green blackened. Exactly what you needed.

“But, there's a tiny piece of you that does.” Your voice lowered into the manipulative little timbre he'd come to expect when you set your mind to something. His hackles rose. “It's the same part that Crowley wanted to kill. The same part of you that felt the need to keep me alive.” Softly, you added another twist to the knife. “I'm glad that piece of you exists...Really.” Your hand slowly moved down his sweat coated skin, until you reached the warm mark on his forearm. “But, I- we need you to push past it. If my soul comes back? I'll forget all of this. I'll turn against you. We'll lose everything we've gained.” You traced the reddened flesh. Eyes locked wishfully onto the mark. Begging for it, silently. The power it held. “Even if you can rip it back out? We 'll be too far gone. They'll have the upper hand...we can't afford that kinda set back.” Your vacant eyes met his again in a way that made his skin prickle. “You said you didn't want to lose your demon side... I get that. And you won't. Not completely. I have every detail planned out. You just have to trust me, Dean.” Your lips pressed against the anti-possesion symbol that had been etched onto his chest. The similar mark you bore on your hip. As if it meant something to the two of you. Despite both of you knowing better. “Trust us.”

He had little doubt that you'd planned out every possible scenario. Your lack of humanity made it alarmingly easy to spot weakness in anything that had even the slightest bit remaining. To see where they would go. See how to cut past it effectively. Even in himself.

He'd witnessed the skill countless times over the coarse of three months. Against demons, witches, and humans. If anything got in the way of something you desired? You cut it down without blinking. His brother was simply next on the list.

“Fine,” He nodded. You were right. He didn't want to go back to the feeling. To the wretchedness his life had held before he'd gone dark. That much, he was certain on.. “We do this. We've come this far...” Your lips lifted in a sinister grin, making him almost regret agreeing to it right then and there.

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @fanfictionismydeath

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bountybossier · 4 years

Text

Under the Moostletoe I Erin & Nic

You better buckin’ believe it.

With: @corpse--diem

Erin’s hands felt sweaty. Never in her life would she have imagined herself standing outside of a moose-themed restaurant, getting nervous as she waited for a guy who she had drank whiskey with over an open wolf carcass. The same man who she’d found out both ate water with cereal, and accidentally terrified a group of children in a putt putt course. What was she doing? She stuck her hands into her jacket pocket, questioning all of the choices she’d made in life that led her here. And she was early. When was the last time she’d had a date? A proper one, anyway. Like now--one where she put make-up on and actually dug out a dress from the back of her closet. Moose Caboose didn’t deserve the effort, but she wanted to try anyway. This was fine. They had alcohol. This was fine. When she spotted Nic’s familiar figure, she waved, internally screaming at herself to be cool. “I was gonna wait inside but everyone in the waiting area kept staring at me. Because, you know. They stare all the time. Always. At everything.”

Googling “how to deal with nausea” had brought fruitless results and Nicodemus wasn’t thrilled. He couldn’t just throw back TUMS like Tic-Tacs and hope it would go well. Fuck he hoped it went well. Sweat threatened to plaster his flannel shirt to his back and he considered bringing extras in case he drenched the first one. A drink would fix things. It always would. He held onto that thought like a lifeline as he pulled up to Moose Caboose and turned down his blaring radio. 7:10 wasn’t a bad time. It gave him at least ten minutes to scream internally before he combed back his hair and stepped out. Shit, she had put on a dress and he looked like Paul fucking Bunyan just returned from the county fair. All he needed was an elk over his shoulder and--He cleared his throat, cleared his thoughts, and walked up to meet her halfway. “Is it because you look nice? Because you do. Look nice, that is. Just a little different without all the blood is all.” He said the last part quieter than the first. A slim smile concealed the violent turn in his gut and he opened the door for her. “Now are we talkin’ about the taxidermy or the wait staff? There really a difference?”

The dress was too much, wasn’t it? Now Erin felt stupid, watching Nic roll up in his flannel shirt, her back to a moose-themed restaurant. And here she was in a stupid dress. Too late to go back now. Still, she couldn’t help the smile that came with his compliment, blood mention and all. “Smooth,” she raised a brow, following him in. “I can always find some, toss it around, if that’d make you more comfortable?” She cleared her throat, casting a glance his way. “You look nice too,” she added on quickly. “And you look like you definitely belong here.” Another nervous laugh. Antlers and fur and black, beady eyes welcomed them the second they entered the restaurant. She leaned in a little bit, trying to keep her voice low so the customers and staff didn’t hear her. “I told you. Everywhere,” she gestured with a nod. “I think there’s less heads in my basement than there are in this hallway.”

“That’s me, smooth as a fuckin’ baby,” Nicodemus muttered as he willed the red creeping up his neck to fuck off. It didn’t seem like it would so he would have to grin and bear it. Her mention of flinging blood about made him feel better and he wasn’t quite sure what that said about him or his state of being. “Might have some left over from the other night if we really need it, but by the looks of this place, they might already have it covered.” Was this a Chuck-E-Cheese for rednecks? Pictures didn’t do the place injustice. He didn’t want to question the compliment, but already he felt like his best hunting flannel didn’t cut it. Asking Nell hadn’t been on the table, as he feared the response like nothing else. “Yeah? Thanks, I wanted to limit my chances of being killed and stuffed. You on the other hand…” He left it at that and approached the hostess. He tried to hide his ugly snort at the basement heads. “Table for two.” The hostess beamed up at him, eyes just as dark as the goddamn bison overhead. “Oh is it a date? It’s your lucky night. The table right under the moose is available.” He immediately blanched and shot a look back at Erin. The center of the damn place sounded like hell. “Uh, we don’t need right under the moose. Is there a...beaver or somethin’ in the corner?” The hostess seemed upset by his rebuttal but gathered the menus anyway. “Oooo even better, we have two beavers. Holding hands.” Regret washed over as he watched the hostess start walking away. “Well...Fuck.”

Are people allowed to ask that? What if this was her brother? This teeny bopper would’ve felt like an idiot then. But for now, that emotion was reserved for them. Nic especially, judging by the way the color immediately drained from his face. Erin tried to hide her snickering to very little avail, eventually having to cover her mouth with her hand so it wasn’t so obvious. “That’s way better. Thank you,” she nodded earnestly. “What are you waiting for? Follow the lady,” she pressed a hand to his back, urging him to follow the hostess as they led them to their seats. There was no way she was going to let him challenge her further and have them sitting anywhere else. The younger girl seemed to have an endless supply of enthusiasm tucked away, her smile relentless as she pointed up to the beavers. “Adorable, right?” She held a menu close to her face, like she was trying to share a secret. “The moose spot is great, but I should’ve known you two lovebirds would appreciate this one more. Enjoy!” She plopped then menus down with a pep Erin rarely saw in any one person. Her eyes were stuck on the beavers though. “This is way too good to be true,” she bit her lip, laughing harder than before. “Thank you so much for picking this spot.”

It was too late. The hostess was too far gone to have them sit anywhere else than in the Beaver Damboree. Nicodemus bit his bottom lip as he looked at Erin and shook his head in disbelief. At least someone was enjoying this. At least it wasn’t too good to be true. He didn’t need to be pinched. He was sure one of the taxidermied crabs with their shiny claws would do that for him. He had made his moose-covered bed and he was going to have to lie in it. His feet felt heavier as he walked behind the bubbly young hostess, but Erin’s hand against his back brought him to life once more. Both of the beavers looked him directly in the eye and it felt like God was laughing at him. And sweet Jesus, they were actually holding hands. “Yup. It’s perfect. Hey, just in case, you actually got any lovebirds here that we can just put nearby or something? Really, uh...” He brought his fingertips to almost touching. “Really bring it together? That’d be great, uh, Josie.” The girl beamed at him and he gave her a tight smile back. Might as well sink in all the way. Nicodemus’s customer service smile slipped away as she sat down and almost instantly, his fingers went to his temples. “Oh, it’s all part of the plan, y’know. Josie and I are familiar,” he said with a dry laugh as he picked his head up again. She had a nice laugh, he thought. He picked up the drink menu immediately. “What are you thinkin’? Looks like there’s a...Beaver Damned Good Margarita or a, uh, Moscow Moose-le.”

This felt more foreign to Erin than almost anything she’d done in her life. Sitting here, watching as Josie, the all too keen to please hostess, redecorated their general surroundings to be as disgustingly love-y as possible. “I should’ve known you had this planned all along,” she felt her cheeks burning and she took a long sip of water. He seemed to be gradually getting into it though, even if it looked like it pained him every step of the way. If she didn’t laugh, she’d be hurting right there with him. “Since you two seemed to love Mr. and Mrs. Chuck…” Erin perked up, slightly startled at the sudden reappearance of Josie beside her. The love birds, as promised, were set in the center of the table. Beaks facing each other, only just touching, as if they were kissing. Erin’s stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor. “Wow, Josie, thank you,” her words came out curtly and without thought. She looked at Nic, amused and slightly terrified all at once. “Can we get some drinks. The, uh, Moscow Moose—Moosels—you know what I’m trying to say. Like, as soon as possible. Please.” She smiled curtly up at the young girl, who promised to let their server know, before skipping off to help the customers that just walked through the door. Erin picked up a menu, but her eyes kept staring at the forcibly posed birds in the middle of the table. “I hope you know both of those drinks are for me,” she smirked, shaking her head, letting out a long sigh. This was going to be an interesting night.

“Yeah, let me tell you, it’s been real fuckin’ hard keepin’ up the mystery,” Nicodemus said with a snort. To cool himself off, he chugged his entire glass of water as Josie reappeared, her spirit called upon by the act of decorating. He hadn’t even heard her approach. The thought that she might not be human occurred to him. Was anyone here human? Short, violent coughs caught him off guard as she set the birds on the table. Of course the beavers were married and the lovebirds existed. They really did have everything stuffed and on display here. If, over the course of the night, he died, would they stuff him and pose him in a corner? At the rate the night was going, it wouldn’t be long until he found out. “Holy shit,” he said, unable to help himself as he stared at the birds. “That’s just, uh, perfect.” Josie was gone after Erin ordered her Moscow Moose-les and Nic tilted his head to the side at the woman’s comment, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips. “I had a feelin’, which is why I’m going to go with…” His eyes scanned the menu again until he landed on it. The one drink on the menu that lauded only two would be allowed due to its alcohol content. “Moose Cannon. Sure, sounds like me.” Their server, a dry-eyed young man named Martin wearing costume moose antlers, appeared. “Welcome to Moose Caboose, where the fun is loose and you’re guaranteed to leave the place stuffed!” The man’s voice cracked somewhere in there and Nicodemus gave Erin a funny look. “Uh, she ordered two of the--I’m not gonna say it. The Moscows. Gonna do me a Moose Cannon. There anything you recommend off the menu, boss?” Martin laughed startlingly loud and Nic’s sensitive ears caused him to flinch. “I’m not the boss. Not here, not ever! And everything is delicious here at Moose Caboose! I’ll go get those drinks.” He damn-near hovered away and left them alone. Nicodemus scanned Erin’s face. “I think we’re gonna die here.”

Erin found Moose Cannon on the menu, nodding in her appreciation in his choice. A normal person would’ve gotten tipsy from that one alone, but she had a feeling Nic could handle it. “Excellent choice. It’s starting to look like you and I have the same idea, here,” she smirked over the menu. Martin the server was startling in his own right, but not in the same way that Josie had been. His enthusiasm was almost robotic, and his eyes were dark--yet somehow, unmistakably cheery. A chill crept up her spine as he slithered away, finding Nic’s eyes as her’s widened in a sort of amused terror. “I think you’re right. I think he already did,” she held back another laugh, trying to take all this in. So far, she had to say--better than most of the awkward, stuffy dates she’d ever had in her lifetime. Her eyes moved to above Nic’s head to the wall littered with more taxidermied animals. “Dibs on those antlers if we need to fight our way out of here.” Erin hardly had a chance to look over the menu before the drinks arrived in record time. This place was, if anything, efficient. “So!” His voice rang out loudly again, causing her to flinch and nearly drop her menu. “Jesus--” she mumbled, reaching for one of her Moscow Moose-le. “Have we decided yet?” He chirped, glancing between the two. She hadn’t even looked properly, and simply pointed at whatever her eyes locked onto first. “I’ll have the, uh, Steak and Moose-d Potatoes,” she said slowly, raising a brow. They liked their puns here. Erin lifted her drink to her lips, tilting her head as she smirked at Nic. “What’ll you have, deer?”

“Hope those beavers are as sturdy as they look in that case...” It didn’t feel forced when he grinned that time. “Y’know, I thought the whole lizard people thing was bullshit and then we got here. Startin’ to buy into it.” When Martin reappeared with a sudden squawk, he lamented not bringing his gun inside. Then again, it might have been better that he didn’t. As soon as the Moose Cannon hit the table, Nicodemus had his hands on it. Straw an afterthought. Martin watched him with beady lizard eyes that didn’t seem to ever blink as the hunter took a hefty drink. It was sweet, way too sweet, but most booze-loaded drinks were. The food menu was as much of a moose-laden mess as the drink menu was and he felt hopelessly lost. Was any of this fucking food? Were they about to get display food on plates, surrounded by Martin and Josie as they were forced to eat it? What’ll you have, deer? His eyes narrowed at Erin as he took another long, dragged out drink of the Moose Cannon. At some point, Martin’s eyes drifted to stare a hole into the center of the table. Looked like someone had turned his settings to standby. Nicodemus thankfully didn’t choke, but he could feel the blush running up his neck like wildfire. “Fuck it, I’ll do the Bisontennial Burger with fries.” Thank fuck the fries had a normal name or he was going to lose it. He all but shoved the menus into Martin’s waiting hands. Before the server left, he got his attention. “Martin, you good?” Martin flashed all his teeth with a wide smile and Nic immediately tried to find anything uncomfortably pointy. “Never buckin’ better, mister. Besides, this is Moose Caboose where the fun is fast and loose! I’ll put that right in or so help me. So help us!” No point in asking him to blink twice as he slid away, walking the exact same path he had before. Nic glanced back to Erin and perched his chin on the back of his propped-up hand. “So, deer,” he started, voice as dry as Martin’s eyes. “Odds on us being gooble-gobbled and made one of ‘em?”

The silent tension that filled their surrounding areas as Martin waited for Nic’s order was as suffocating as it was awkward. Erin could only lift her drink to her lips too, impressed at the way he was chugging that drink. She nearly choked on hers when he asked if he was ‘good’. She swore that he said that same catchphrase with the exact same inflections he had just a few minutes ago. Something was not right about this place but the mixture of nerves and general absurdity was making it hard for her to truly focus on whether or not these people were animatronics or not. Finally, after a flurry of customer service, they found themselves alone. Well, lovebirds and beavers excluded. “I’m hoping they just kill us and not set us up to spend an eternity slinging moose-puns, honestly,” she smirked, glancing up from the table. Josie’s eyes were focused hard on them with a smile that took up her entire face. Erin turned her chair slightly, trying to keep her back to those beady, dead eyes. “At this rate, we might as well just invite them all to eat with us.” They were alone now, and that fact seemed to resonate hard now that they didn’t have wait staff moving adjacent to them at every turn. Erin cleared her throat, almost halfway through her first mule already. “So, uh. How’s that Moose Cannon?” she smirked, resting her elbow on the table, watching him with a knowing smirk. “Lot of alcohol in that one. Think your colon can handle it?”

“Well now that the thought is out there, I’m callin’ Country Roads as my song,” Nicodemus said with a quirk of his brow and a dip of his head, his large glass raised in mock cheers. He elected to ignore the fact that it felt like a dozen flies worth of eyes were on them. They already have the beavers and the lovebirds, how much worse could it really get? “It ain’t bad,” he said as he eyed the fact that he had less than a quarter of it left. Wouldn’t do to let it get watered down by the...moose-shaped ice cubes in it. For fucks sake. He both did and didn’t like how she was smirking at him. “Pretty solid amount of alcohol in it, I’d say.” He squinted and finished the rest of it, just as it did get worse. There it was. The cursed colon. “Damn it, you saw that?” The instinctual need to make a fist in frustration started to backfire and he glanced down in time to see the thick drink class start to crack. It was one of the thicker glasses, the kind that could damn near weather a bomb, but there it was, cracking and then, suddenly, shattering. It was too thick to shatter into a million pieces, a fact he was thankful for. Little to no response was given when red blood started to dye the spilled moose cubes. “Jesus, got a grip like a bull rider...” He said quickly as he stood up and damn near concussed himself on Mr. and Mrs. Chuck as he did so. It really wasn’t that bad, just a surface nick or two. All of the pieces stayed on his side and he looked apologetically at Erin. In record time, Martin was back. “Oh wow, you’re bleeding like a stuffed pig,” he said, a bit more enthusiastically than Nicodemus was comfortable with. “Please don’t sue us or this--” Martin gestured at himself. “--little piggy might not make it home from the market, mister.” Nicodemus stared down at him and made sure to note the quick, lizard-like movement of his tongue. He didn’t say anything to him and glanced back at Erin. “Just gonna go to the restroom real quick to, uh, deal with this. Martin, get me two more of those, will you?” He looked for the sign with the moose ass on it and stalked toward it.

Erin didn’t expect Nic to take the colon comment in grace, and she’d hoped that all of the alcohol he’d just shoved down his gullet would brace some of the impact. But then the glass shattered in his hands with a pop that rang through the restaurant. Not shattered--popped. The thing was damn near indestructible, but he’d done it, and he was bleeding all over the moose print patterned tablecloth. “Jesus, are you okay?” She asked, standing when he did. Martin’s shrill voice startled her, again, and this time it was incredibly less amusing. There wasn’t a thing that he said that made any kind of sense to her, and her eyes glazed over as he started to clean up the broken glass. “Your dinners should be out shortly, and by moose, do they smell delicious already!” Was all he said as he swept up the pieces from the table and carried on. Too much prolonged eye contact forced her to glance down at her drink again, finishing off the first. When she eventually saw Nic start towards their table, the first empty glass had already slipped into her purse. “You alright?” she asked, glancing down at his hand. Lowered her voice, tugging him a little closer before he could sit back down. “Also… do you want to get out of here? Because I really, really do.”

Nicodemus felt like a fucking idiot. Why was bleeding in the bathroom the most comforting experience he’d had all night? Away from everyone’s eyes on him, he was free to scowl and swear as he ran his hand under ice-cold water. He didn’t have anything to bandage himself with and if Martin so much as put a hand on him, he’d snap his neck in the Moose Caboose parking lot. Instead, he shrugged off his flannel shirt and cut a strip of the green material to loop around his thumb to cover his cut palm. Back in just a plain black shirt, he returned to Erin with a sheepish frown and nodded. She pulled him close and sadly, instinctively, he almost reared back. But he didn’t and instead looked at her. Whatever perfume she was wearing, it mixed with the blood. “Huh? Yeah, yeah, guess my hand just slipped or some shit.” Not that he had shattered a tank of a glass into oblivion with just a flex of his hand. His stomach dropped. And it felt like his chest hurt? What did that mean? He didn’t know. Fuck, he’d shit the bed. He’d shit the entire bed and then another one. “That bad, huh?” He laughed to keep his throat from closing, his smile tight but shaking in a way that he hated. What the hell was happening to his body? When had he become an anxious wreck? Suck it up, Buttercup. “Yeah, I get it. I figured. Uh--Martin.” The server stopped, two Moose Cannon’s in hand, before the hunter pulled him away, behind the bar and into the back of the restaurant. When they returned, Nic held a small bucket with a saran wrap top and two straws taped together sticking out of it. Barely out of sight in the pocket of Martin’s plaid shirt was four twenties. Nicodemus was surprised to see Erin still there. He thought she wanted to go, forget the whole thing. “I’ll walk you out. We’re goin’ the same way.” Of course they were. There was only one way to leave Moose Caboose. Or two, really.

Erin’s eyes narrowed briefly at his response and the way that his voice seemed to completely lose all of the energy it had before. Was he okay? Did he not agree that this was the most horrifying place they’d ever been to in this town? “Unless you want to--” she started to say, but he was already disappearing with Martin. Part of her wondered if he was actually going to come back. More eyes than she could count were staring at her as she sat in silence, finishing up her other drink. Her cheeks grew warmer the longer she waited, like they all knew she was about to be stood up. Bolted up once she finally saw him come back with a fun new cup in his hands. “Two straws? That’s very, uh, Lady and the Tramp of you.” She smirked, watching Martin glide to another table nearby, giving the exact same spiel he’d given them. She swore he was still managing to watch them out of the corner of his eye. Nic, though, the poor guy looked like someone had broken his--oh. Oh, no. “Let’s go to my place,” she chirped out quickly, realizing the unintentional damage she’d done. “For drinks,” she added on. “I want to drink with you. If that’s okay?” She bit her lip, glanced around them, trying to think of how to add the gusto back in, and quick. Grabbing her drink, she finished off the second one, then let it clank into her purse with the other. “Only if you bring the lovebirds,” she glanced back at the table, grinned at him, then made a dash for the exit.

“Compromise I made with ol’ Martin,” Nicodemus grunted as he looked over at the man, who looked about ready to shed his top layer of skin and become a higher being. Under the hunter’s gaze, Martin flinched and went back to his current table of targets. He blinked at Erin, his face morphing through what felt like five emotions. It was a bizarre occurrence if he even went through one. And then an honest to God, broad as the horizon smile appeared. One that his whole body went into. He took a long sip of the quadrupled Moose Cannon. “Yeah, sure. Yeah, we can do that.” He nodded slowly. A conspiratorial look slid onto his face at the sound of two glasses clinking in her purse. A look not unlike the stuffed fox just three tables down. She was gone before he could say anything. Booming laughter threatened to erupt and at the mention of the lovebirds, he immediately snatched one and put it under his shirt. The second one followed after, a lump under his tight shirt that didn’t look at all suspicious forming. He raised his bucket glass to Josie and Martin as he followed quickly behind.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #c: erin #chatzy: under the moostletoe #// what A RIDE

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theycallmemoosey · 5 years

Text

Fight for Me

Dan and Phil x Reader (Platonic)

A/N: Here is a request that is long overdue! I don’t know how I feel about this or if I captured the boy’s personality very well, but it made me laugh. It may be because it’s currently 1am or if because I am a comedy genius (I’m really not). Anyways...enjoy! Moose :)

-----------------------------

“Hello?” You called out into what seemed like an empty house, “Anybody home?”

There was no answer, so you chucked your keys back into your bag and flung your shoes off carelessly, not caring where in the hallway they landed. You strolled down the hallway, looking in each of the rooms to see if you could spot the two boys you loved so dearly.

“Y/N!” Phil cried out in shock, clearly surprised that you were just wandering the house without either him or Dan realising, “How long have you been here?”

“Just came in” you pointed over your shoulder towards the front door, “You sounded surprised I was here”

“You didn’t text us so we weren’t expecting you”

“Oh. I thought I did. Must not have sent” you shrugged, heading into the kitchen to make yourself some toast.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” Phil asked as he followed you into the kitchen, “You seem…off”

“Off?” You repeated, your back turned to him.

“You didn’t tidy your shoes away when you came in…you didn’t text us to let you know you were coming and now you’re making toast”

“What, so now I’m not allowed to make toast?” You argued back, making Phil sigh.

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re just not yourself, Y/N”

“I’m just having a bad day, that’s all” you threw over your shoulder as you started to butter your toast, throwing the knife into the sink when you were finished.

“Talk to me”

“About what?”

“Talk to me about whatever it is that is upsetting you,” he said softly, sitting down on the breakfast bar stool underneath the kitchen island, “What’s going on in that amazing little brain of yours?”

“I’m just stressed” you sighed heavily, “Work is killing me, my mum is on my back about getting married and giving her grandchildren, my grandfather is sick and I fear he may not be with us much longer and just to top it all off, my landlord wants me to leave the house as soon as possible so that she can sell it, which means that I have to move out and soon”

“I mean, I don’t blame you for feeling like this, Y/N. That’s a lot of stuff to be happening for such a gentle and caring person”

“You really think that?” You blushed, smiling as you muted away on your toast.

“Of course, I think you’re the most amazing-“

“There’s my favourite girl!” Dan smiled as he walked into the kitchen, his arms open wide as went to embrace you in a tight hug.

“Hey Dan” you smiled, squeezing him tightly as he kissed your forehead, “What you got there?”

Dan pulled away and looked down at his hand, which was carrying a bag of Gummy Bears, “Oh yeah, I heard you down here and thought you might like these, so I brought them downstairs with me to give to you. I wasn’t going to eat them”

“Oh, thank you so much” you smiled widely, taking the bag and putting it on the counter.

“Are you planning to stay for dinner, Y/N?” Phil asked, the frown on his face disappearing.

“If it’s not too much of a trouble. I thought that I would come and see you guys because it feels like forever since I last saw you guys”

“It was only a couple of days ago” Dan pointed out as he leant against the kitchen counter next to you.

“Regardless, I wanted to see you two. You never fail to make me happy”

“That means a lot to me, Y/N, thank you. How does Carbonara sound?” Phil smiled.

“Sounds great, thank you,” you said, stroking Phil’s arm in gratitude.

Dan cleared his throat to cut the award tension, “Y/N, want to come and play on the Xbox with me?”

“That sounds like the best plan right now” you groaned happily, almost skipping off towards the living room.

Phil stopped Dan before he left the kitchen, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Going to the living room?”

“No, with Y/N”

“What about her?” Dan sounded confused.

“Dan, come on, you know I like her!”

“What?! No! I like her!”

“Well, we can’t both like her” Phil pointed out.

“Fine, then neither of us will like her”

“Fine” Phil agreed.

“Fine” Dan copied.

There was an awkward silence between the two of them before they quickly and suddenly snapped back to what they were previously doing.

—————————

“What did you think?” Dan smiled down at you after his favourite anime finished, only just noticing that you had fallen asleep slumped against his entire body, your head resting on his shoulder. He chuckled gently, shifting you gently so he could escape before picking you up, making sure the blanket was still draped over your sleeping form. Slowly, he made his way with you in his arms towards the spare bedroom that you all called your own. The boys often joked that you stayed round their house so often that it was if you already lived there. They dared think about how abandoned your own flat was.

“Hmm? What’s going on?” You hummed, Dan shushing you as he entered the spare room.

“You fell asleep, love”

“Oh” you yawned, “Thank you”

Dan smiled as he laid you down on the bed and you rolled over into a small ball. He grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and covered you gently, seeing a faint smile creep onto your face as you dreamed.

“Night, Y/N” he whispered, stopping in the doorway when he heard a little voice.

“Night Danny”

—————————

You woke up to the smell of something frying and wandered into the kitchen.

“Morning gorgeous girl” Phil looked up from the frying pan, his hair all messy and his glasses slightly wonky.

“Hey Philly” you smiled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, “What you cooking up there”

“Bacon and egg sandwiches” he smiled, throwing the food together messily on a plate, “Grubs up”

“Dear God are you amazing” you grinned widely, sitting on a stool in front of the breakfast bar as Phil served your favourite breakfast, “What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be one?” He shrugged, shoving the pan into the sink.

“Well, no…but you don’t usually do a full on breakfast unless something special is-“

“What, so I can’t make my favourite girl her favourite breakfast any day?”

“Don’t get me wrong” you mumbled with a mouth full of food, “I’m not complaining”

“No, but you are spraying” Phil laughed, tucking into his own breakfast as you slapped his arm jokingly.

“This is incredible” you complimented Phil, “What did you do differently?”

“Just put in an extra heaping of love”

“You softie” you teased as you finished your sandwich, “Thank you again. I’m just gonna have a shower and then head to work”

“I’ll clear up” he sighed happily, his stomach flipping when you squeezed his shoulders on the way out.

——————————

“Well…” you sighed as you walked into the front room where both of the boys were sat watching some anime, “Work has just called…I have the day off!”

“Aw, great” Phil smiled, scooting over on the sofa to make room for you. As you sat down, both boys stretched their arms up to rest them on the sofa behind you but ended up resting on one another, awkwardly flinching away from each other quickly when they realised they had failed.

“Are you two really just going to watch anime all day?” You huffed, always having found it a bit boring.

“Not if you don’t want to” Dan paused the TV, “What do you wanna do today?”

“Not sure. I feel like going to the cinema”

“But we’ve been to see every new movie!” Phil laughed.

“Ok…what about the arcade? Near the cinema?” You suggested.

“Sure. Sure, I can waste £100 right now” Dan groaned as he got up from the sofa, stretching his back out, “Let’s go”

The three of you headed towards the arcade, laughing on the walk towards the arcade.

“Oh look!” You cried when you arrived, “They’ve added a Mario Kart game!”

Dan chuckled, “You know, we also have it back at home. We didn’t have to come here and play it”

“Don’t be such a grump” you teased, hopping into the seat, “Who will be competing against me first?”

“Well, I need the toilet really bad so Dan can have first game” Phil wandered off, leaving Dan to slide into the seat next to you. You slotted in the two pound coins and the game began and immediately the competitiveness began. You started to push each other to distract one another.

“HA HA! I WIN! I WIN! IN YOUR MOTHERFUCKING FACE HOWELL!!”

“Y/N, there are children here” Dan laughed, enjoying seeing you win.

“Maybe I should take over your gaming channel”

“You are such a sore winner” Dan chuckled, heading over to the next game, bumping into Phil halfway there, “You took your time”

“I ate bacon earlier…”

“Why would you do that? You know that bacon makes your stomach unhappy!” Dan whispered.

“It’s Y/N’s favourite breakfast” Phil sighed, rubbing his stomach in discomfort.

“Hey! Phil! Come and do this with me!”

“The 4D Machine?” Phil smiled, “Sounds good”

“Phil, are you sure? With the way your stomach is?” Dan warned, but Phil shrugged him off and headed into the 4D pod with you.

“Ohh!” You cried excitedly as Phil closed the door and paid the money, “They have a haunted house one! Let’s do that!”

“But you hate horror”

“It’s better than candy land” you retorted, choosing the haunted house section. And oh boy, you regretted it 10 seconds into it. You were constantly holding onto Phil’s hand in pure terror, although he did not find himself scared at all - just full of butterflies at the way you were gripping onto his hand and burying your head into his neck and chest. At one point, you screamed so loudly Phil found himself wrapping his arms around you and squeezing tightly.

You came out of the booth and met with Dan, who was standing across the booth on his phone. He smiled when he saw you come out of the booth, panting and smiling widely.

“How did it go?”

“Terrifying!” You laughed, “I love it, but I was holding on to Phil for the entire thing”

“Really?” Dan asked, his face washed with jealousy as he watched a very pleased Phil exit the booth, “Is that so?”

“Yeah, yeah it was so” you smiled, “Let’s do that!!”

The three of you continued to play all the games in the arcade until the store assistants had to force you out of the centre. You huffed as you looked chewed on one of the sweets you had won from the arcade.

“Why is it you spend so much money on so many games to win as many tickets as you possibly can, and yet you walk away with THE WORST prize. I mean…how many tickets did we win?”

“Like 5000?” Dan guessed, shrugging his jacket off to wrap around your shoulders as the evening had become cold.

“And what did we win?!” You gestured towards the sad collection of prizes in your backpack, “10 sweets, a key ring and what? A small figurine?”

“It will go well with our collection!” Phil smiled happily, having chosen the pocket-sized pop vinyl figure himself.

“I’m starved…how does Pizza sound for dinner?” You suggested.

“You staying again?” Phil asked.

“If that’s not a problem? I enjoy staying with you guys”

“No! No! No problem at all. We love having you at home” Dan smiled, taking your bag.

“Great, I’ll order the pizza,” you said, grabbing your phone and calling the local pizza place. Phil grabbed Dan and dragged him forward slightly, out of hearing range from you.

“Dan, I’m thinking about asking Y/N out on a date”

“What? No!” Dan said quickly, “I want to ask her out”

“You can’t be serious” Phil laughed, stopping when he realised Dan was, in fact, serious, “Oh you are…”

“I think she likes me too,” Dan said softly, looking over and smiling at you.

“No, no. She likes me. You should see the way that she acted around me in the 4D pod”

“Phil, don’t be ridiculous. She sees you as a brother. But I think I have a chance!”

“What makes you think that she doesn’t see YOU as a brother!” Phil argued. The two of them began to bicker at each other about who should be allowed to take you on a date but they were quickly interrupted when you skipped back over.

“Alright guys, Pizza’s-“

“Y/N WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME!” The boys asked in unison, making you step back in surprise.

“W-w-what?” You laughed breathily.

“Y/N, I really like you,” Dan said softly.

“And I really, REALLY like you” Phil added.

“I want to take you-“

“No” Phil interrupted Dan, “I want to-“

“You should go out with me, Y/N”

“No Y/N, you should-“

The two boys spoke and argued over each other as they tried to get your attention.

“BOYS! BOYS! STOP IT!” You shouted, making the two of them stop instantly, “Let me make this easy for you”

“And go out with me” Dan whispered.

“No me” Phil whispered even more quietly than Dan.

“Don’t start, Phil…” Dan warned, feeling frustrated.

“GUYS, I’M GAY!”

#dan howell #danisnotonfire #dan howell imagine #dan howell x reader #danisnotinteresting #danisnotonfire x reader #amazingphil #phil lester #Phil x reader #amazingphil x reader #Dan and Phil #amazingphanisnotonfire #phan #phandom #danandphilgames #danandphil imagine

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crescentmoon223 · 5 years

Text

Two Worlds Collide Chapter 15

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Chapter 15

(read it from the beginning here)

Scully was going to throw up. Her stomach twisted painfully, and her eyes watered. She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, attempting to steady herself. As she stared at herself in the mirror over the sink, she was transported back in time over eleven years to a different morning, a different mirror, a different reason for the nausea in her belly and the fear in her heart.

That morning—the morning after she’d learned she was pregnant and that Mulder had been abducted—she’d been in a state of fear unlike anything she’d ever experienced. That fear had stayed with her throughout her pregnancy and William’s first year of life. It had ultimately forced her to give him up, and even then, she’d lived with the nightmare in her mind. Was he okay? Was he safe? Had she done enough?

Today, those questions would be answered.

Today, she was going to see her son.

No matter what happened once she got to the party, she would see him. And that would have to be enough, because the rest of it—his reaction to seeing her, her reaction to seeing him, the Van De Kamps reaction to any of it—was all so overwhelming that she was standing here in the bathroom on the verge of throwing up just thinking about it.

She closed her eyes, trying to take slow, deep breaths, but all she could do was gasp against the tightness in her chest. And then Stella’s hands slid around her waist, settling over the churning depths of Scully’s stomach, warm and soothing. Her body pressed against Scully’s from behind, chin over her shoulder, cheek to cheek.

“It’s going to be wonderful,” she said quietly.

Scully inhaled against Stella’s palms. “What if it’s not? What if he gets upset when he sees me? What if we don’t recognize each other? What if the whole afternoon is awkward, or they ask me to leave?”

“Then you come back here and cry in my arms and know that you tried,” Stella said. “But it’s not going to happen that way. You may not recognize each other, and it may be awkward at first, but this is going to end up being a good thing for you both. I’m certain of it.”

Tears slipped over Scully’s cheeks, and she swiped at them with her fingers, trying not to smudge her eye makeup. “What if he doesn’t like the present I got him?”

“He’s an eleven-year-old boy. It won’t be the first or last time he dislikes a gift.”

“But it’s the first gift I’ve bought him since he was a baby,” she whispered.

“Dana…” Stella kissed her cheek. “He won’t remember what you bought him, but he’ll remember that you were there.”

Scully nodded, trying to absorb the truth of Stella’s words over the almost overwhelming sensations of fear and insecurity swirling inside her. “What if he hates me for giving him up?”

“If he hated you, he wouldn’t have invited you to his birthday party.”

“You’re right. Okay. I’m going.”

“Call me if you need me,” Stella said, pulling her in for a hug and a kiss. “You’re taking the car, but I’m sure I could hitchhike on a moose or something if you need someone to come rescue you.”

Scully smiled as she pressed another kiss against Stella’s lips, immensely grateful for her attempts at distracting her. “Thank you.”

“Text me anyway,” Stella said. “Let me know how it’s going.”

“I will.” Scully gathered her purse and the wrapped gift and headed for the door. With one last look over her shoulder at Stella, she climbed inside the car and set out. According to the GPS, the Van De Kamps’ farm was about forty-five minutes from here.

What was the etiquette for greeting the son you gave up for adoption? For greeting his new family? No matter what Stella said, the afternoon had the potential to be horribly awkward for everyone involved. In less than an hour, she would see William. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. Could she hug him, or would that be too much?

“Too much,” she whispered to herself. She needed to get her emotions under control before she arrived.

You should be here too, Mulder.

But there was no point dwelling on it now. She’d survive this afternoon—good or bad—and then she’d go home to Stella. Even if William regretted inviting her, even if he hated her for giving him away, even if she did nothing but watch awkwardly from the sidelines, she would leave with the peace of mind of knowing what his life was like now. She would know what his voice sounded like, how he walked, what flavor of cake was his favorite.

She would know he was safe.

As she turned onto the road the Van De Kamps lived on, she became aware that the car behind her had been there for several turns now. Another party guest, no doubt. Arriving alongside someone she’d never met who knew her son better than she did was probably the worst way to make her entrance, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

She drove past open, grassy fields until a large farmhouse came into view. Children ran on the lawn, and a cluster of balloons floated from the mailbox. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach clenched. Please don’t puke now. Not now. She pulled into the driveway and found an empty spot to park.

The sedan that had been following her pulled in beside her. Definitely another party guest. Here she was, about to have a panic attack in front of a stranger. She caught a glimpse of the driver, and her heart somersaulted into her throat.

Mulder.

She hadn’t seen him in months, not since they met for breakfast right after she accepted her fellowship in London. The sight of him now had her whole body trembling with relief. Oh, thank God. They were going to do this together after all. Their eyes locked, and an avalanche of memories shook loose inside her, late nights in their basement office, a million different hotel rooms and hospital beds, the well-worn couch in living room of their house where she’d told him she was leaving.

She climbed out of her car and walked to his. He stood, and she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent, salty like the sunflower seeds he’d eaten on the way here. Had he always been so tall? She buried her face against the wide expanse of his chest. “You came.”

“I got to thinking after we talked,” he said. “Decided this is the kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you don’t say no to.”

“I’m so glad.” She straightened, swiping at her cheeks, so glad to see him she could hardly speak. She, Mulder, and William had only ever spent two days together as a family. Today had to feel even more monumental to him than it did for her. At least she had seen William smile, held his hand, watched him crawl. But then again, maybe that made this harder for her. Mulder had never gotten the chance to know his son. William was less tangible for him. So much more of her heart was at stake.

He pulled an enormous gift bag out of the back of his car, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, he’d show up with the biggest gift. She picked up her own gift, and hand in hand, they made their way toward the house.

A couple a little bit older than her and Mulder approached with welcoming smiles and apprehension in their eyes. Scully gulped, cheeks hot, throat dry. Mulder’s hand pressed against the small of her back, a silent gesture of support.

“You must be Fox and Dana,” the woman said. “I’m Marsha Van De Kamp, and this is my husband, Tom.”

Scully nodded, trying desperately to focus, to keep her eyes from scanning the yard, looking for William. Would she recognize him? Would he recognize her? “It’s so nice to meet you. I can’t possibly tell you how much it means to me—to us—to be here today.”

“You can thank Will for that,” Marsha said. “But it’s nice to meet you too, genuinely so.”

Even Mulder seemed to feel the gravity of the situation, offering polite greetings as he shook hands with Tom and Marsha without a single joke.

“Will went inside with a couple of his friends,” Marsha told them. “But I’m sure they’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay.” She felt equal parts relieved to know that he wasn’t here yet and desperate to get their reunion over with before she had a nervous breakdown from the anticipation.

“Please just…follow his lead,” Tom said gruffly. “It’s his birthday party.”

“We’re just here for the cake,” Mulder said with a wink.

“Mulder,” she hissed, horrified, but the Van De Kamps were laughing.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Marsha said.

“The last thing I would ever want is to make him feel uncomfortable, today or any other day,” Scully said quietly, overcome with gratitude for these people who’d raised her son and then been generous enough to invite his birth parents back into his life, which was surely as awkward and stressful for them as it was for her and Mulder.

“The gift table is over there,” Tom said, gesturing toward the house.

“Thanks,” Mulder told him. He led the way, and she followed, glad for a moment to catch her breath before whatever came next. Mulder gave her hand a squeeze after he’d set his enormous gift bag on the table.

She turned to face the yard full of people she didn’t know, and…there he was. A red-haired boy raced across the lawn toward her and Mulder, and time seemed to stop. Her pulse thudded in her ears, and her hand, still gripped in Mulder’s, turned cold and clammy. On any random day, on any random street, she would have known immediately that he was hers. Hers and Mulders.

William’s hair was the same bright, copper red hers had been as a child, although these days, her red hair came from a bottle. He was tall and lanky like his father, with the same inquisitive hazel eyes. He skidded to a stop in front of her, a wand in one hand, popsicle in the other. “Are you Dana?” he asked.

She nodded, swallowing over the painful lump in her throat. “And you’re Will.”

He smiled, head bobbing in affirmation before he turned to Mulder. “Fox?”

“Yeah.” He stuck out a hand, which Will took. “But you can call me Mulder. Everyone does, even your mother.”

Scully gasped, hoping desperately that Mulder hadn’t overstepped by calling her William’s mother, but the boy was still smiling. Then she realized he’d probably thought Mulder was talking about Marsha Van De Kamp, and she wanted to cry.

“Mulder?” Will made a face. “That sounds weird.”

“I guess it does,” Mulder agreed, “until you get used to it.”

Tom and Marsha walked over. “I see you’ve met.”

“Yes.” Scully forced herself to smile, hoping she looked less hysterical than she felt.

Will looked at her before turning toward the Van De Kamps, as if waiting for them to tell him what should happen next. Scully found herself wishing for the same thing.

“Well, we’re all very glad you’re here,” Marsha said graciously.

Scully murmured her thanks, looking down at her tightly clasped hands to avoid staring too much at Will. Mulder commented on the horses visible in the pasture behind the house, asking which one Will rode. He pointed out a brown and white horse named Fidget. Mulder and the Van De Kamps walked toward the pasture, and suddenly, Scully was alone with her son.

She looked at Will, who was still watching her closely out of those eyes so like his father’s, coppery hair shining in the sun. He was almost as tall as she was. Somehow, she’d never expected that. He looked closer to a teen than a boy.

“I can’t quite believe I’m standing here,” she admitted. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“My mom said it was too dangerous for you to keep me when I was a baby,” Will said, taking another bite of his popsicle. Something in his expression had changed, a hesitance there that hadn’t been before.

“Yes, that’s true.” She gripped her hands together, not sure what to do with them. “There were some very bad people after us. Mulder had to go into hiding, and I…I couldn’t keep you safe, no matter how hard I tried or how much I loved you.”

“Are you like spies or something?” he asked, eyes wide, and she wondered what scenarios he’d envisioned over the years to explain to himself why she’d had to give him up. Probably nothing he’d imagined was as outrageous—or dangerous—as their reality had been.

“No,” she answered his question with a laugh. “But we were FBI agents at the time.”

“Secret agents?” Will asked.

“Something like that,” she agreed with a smile. “I’m a doctor now.”

“That’s kinda boring.” He swallowed the last bite of his popsicle and shoved the stick into his pocket. “You should have stayed a secret agent.”

“But then I might not have been able to come today.”

“I guess.” He flicked the wand in his hand as if performing a magic spell. “What house are you?”

“House?” she asked, her mind going to the rented cabin where Stella was currently sitting, waiting to hear from her.

“At Hogwarts,” Will clarified. “Have you been sorted yet?”

“Oh.” She smiled as realized he was talking about Harry Potter. “No, I haven’t.”

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” he told her, “although I wish I was a Gryffindor, like Harry and all the Weasleys. Both of my parents are Hufflepuffs.” He made a face as if being a Hufflepuff was lame.

“I don’t think I’d mind being a Hufflepuff,” she hedged, not wanting to come between Will and his parents. “They seem like the nicest ones, although I’ve only read the first book.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Can I see your phone?”

“Um, sure.” She pulled it out of her back pocket and unlocked it, swiping away a good luck text from Stella that made her eyes sting before handing it to Will.

He tapped at it for a few seconds before handing it back. “Just answer these questions, and it’ll sort you.”

There was a quiz on her screen. She clicked through the questions quickly, trying to give them the attention they deserved but unable to truly concentrate on anything but the fact that her son was standing in front of her. Her knees shook furiously, and tears pushed at the backs of her eyes as she hit SUBMIT at the bottom of the quiz.

“I can’t look,” she said, handing her phone back to him. “The suspense is killing me. You tell me what I got.”

Will looked at her phone. “You’re a Ravenclaw! Like me.”

“No way.” She grinned as a rogue tear broke free and splashed over her cheek. “Let me see.”

He turned the phone toward her, showing her the blue Ravenclaw logo on the screen. “Ravenclaw is the smartest house. Wait until I tell my parents.” His smile faltered, and he handed the phone back quickly. “I mean…”

She pocketed it and reached for his hand. “They’ll always be your parents, Will. I’m just…well, I’m someone who loves you very much and is so ridiculously glad to be here today for your party.”

“It’s weird,” Will admitted, looking down at his shoes.

“It is weird,” she agreed. “I’m glad we both think so.”

This earned her a smile and a brief glance in her direction. “You look like me.”

“I noticed that too.” It hit her like a punch to the gut every time she looked at him.

“Everyone always asks me where I got my red hair.”

She touched a wayward strand of her hair reflexively. “Now you know, but you don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

“It can be our secret,” he said.

She smiled. “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?”

He hesitated, glancing over at his parents, who were still talking to Mulder, before giving her a shy smile. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

She extended her arms, and Will leaned in as she folded her arms around him. She inhaled the scent of his hair, remembering the last time she’d held him, the little hat with the pointy ears and the way he’d giggled in her arms. Her heart swelled inside her chest so that a few cracks in its surface seemed to repair themselves as the lanky boy in her arms hugged her back.

He pulled free as Mulder and the Van De Kamps approached, and before she’d had a chance to catch her breath, Mulder was taking the house quiz, forehead wrinkled in confusion, obviously having no idea what Hogwarts houses were but eager to play along.

“Oh wow,” Will announced once Mulder had finished taking the quiz. “You’re a Gryffindor. That’s really cool. I’m jealous.”

Mulder beamed at this news, cracking a joke about his bravery. Will ran off, returning a minute later with a blue and gray striped scarf for Scully and a red and yellow one for Mulder. Then he was off again, joining a group of boys his age as they passed around a portable gaming device.

Scully fingered the blue scarf at her neck, suddenly unable to breathe. Her lungs felt heavy and useless, and tears pressed behind her eyes. She cleared her throat, turning to Marsha. “Could you point me toward the restroom?”

“Oh, sure. It’s down the hall on the right.” She gestured toward the front door of the house.

“Thank you.” She excused herself to walk inside, intent on getting herself behind a closed door before she fell apart. But as she walked through the living room, she found herself unexpectedly surrounded by photos. Pictures of Will riding his horse, smiling family portraits, class photos. A life lived without her.

She pressed a hand over her mouth as she rushed for the bathroom, finding it just as the tears broke free. She sat on the closed toilet, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed until the pressure in her chest had eased.

Will was happy. He was a normal kid, living the life she’d wanted for him, the life she’d been unable to give him. It was such a relief, even as it tore her heart out all over again. Her son, her own flesh and blood, was a stranger to her now. It was going to absolutely kill her to walk away at the end of this party, even though she was fiercely grateful for having had the opportunity to come.

Once she’d gotten control of her emotions, she stood and walked to the sink to splash water on her face, then slid her phone out of her pocket and dialed Stella.

She answered on the first ring. “How is it?”

“Well, I’m currently crying in the bathroom,” Scully whispered, sniffling as she patted her eyes, trying to get rid of the redness.

“Oh, Dana…”

“No, it’s good, it really is. I…I hugged him.” The words tumbled out of her in a rush. “He’s a great kid. And Mulder’s here. It’s just overwhelming.”

Stella let out an audible sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. Okay, get yourself together now and go back out there. Save the tears until you get home so I can dry them for you.”

She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, tears miraculously dissipating at Stella’s words. “Yes.”

“You’ve got this,” Stella told her. “Will is a lucky lad to have two sets of parents who love him. Now go back to the party. I’ll be here for you when you get home.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and blew out another breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Bye,” she whispered, ending the call. She stood and splashed more water on her face, no longer caring about her makeup. Luckily, her complexion cooled as quickly as it heated, and the splotchiness from her tears was already fading.

After a few more deep breaths, she left the bathroom, surprised to find Mulder sitting on the couch in the living room, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his feet. He looked up as she approached, offering her a sad smile. “You okay?”

“Yes and no.” She sat beside him, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you?” She looked up at him. “How are you doing?”

“I guess he feels real to me now in a way he never did before.” Mulder stared at the pictures on the wall, a look of such intense longing on his face that her heart pinched.

“That’s a good thing, I think.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.” She rested her head against his chest, just breathing in the closeness between them. Maybe, after everything they’d been through, they deserved this day, this chance to make memories with their son. Maybe it would give them closure. Maybe even peace.

“Me too, Scully.”

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

“My number hasn’t changed,” he joked.

“I know.” She sat up, giving his knee a squeeze. “Come on. We should get back to the party.”

He stood, walking over to pick up a photo of Will. “No denying he’s our kid, is there?”

“No.” She’d seen the resemblance in the photos the Van De Kamps sent last year, but it still hadn’t prepared her for seeing him in person. In some ways, it made things easier, because it made the connection between them more visible. But at the same time, it made her even more aware of what she’d lost.

She slid her hand into Mulder’s as they walked outside. They made their way to the refreshment table and grabbed sodas, watching as the boys played, acting out scenes from the Harry Potter movies. Marsha approached, a hesitant smile on her face.

“I’m really glad you both could make it,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but Will was so insistent that he wanted to meet you. Now that you’re here, well…I can see that it was a good thing.”

“I will treasure this day forever,” Scully told her. “Truly.”

“I’m glad,” Marsha said, leaning in to give her an impulsive hug. “I really am.”

“I don’t think I can ever properly thank you for it.” Scully brushed away a tear.

The boys raced up then, asking about cake and presents, and soon they’d all gathered around a rectangular folding table covered in a plastic tablecloth with a chocolate cake at one end. Will sat at the head of the table, smiling broadly as everyone sang to him. Scully felt like she might be having an out of body experience, watching herself from above as she clutched Mulder’s hand and sang Happy Birthday to their son.

She pulled out her cell phone and took a quick picture as Will leaned forward to blow out his candles, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any bounds, but everyone around her had their phones up, taking photos. Slices of cake were quickly doled out, and she and Mulder found a quiet spot beneath a large tree to eat their cake while the kids sat at the table.

“This day wouldn’t have been the same without you,” she told him, grinning as he wiped a spot of frosting from her cheek.

“I’m glad I came.”

After the cake had been eaten, it was time to open presents. Will kept his seat at the head of the table, laughing and shouting as he unwrapped gifts, seemingly thrilled with everything he received. When her box landed on the table in front of him, Scully felt her whole body flush. Truthfully, she had no idea what he liked.

“It’s from Dana,” Will announced, and everyone turned to look at her.

She wanted to melt through the grass at her feet. Did these people know she was his mother? Did they judge her for giving him up? Did they wish she wasn’t here?

Will wasted no time ripping the paper off the box, and the party guests’ attention refocused on him as he whooped. “A Lego Hogwarts set! I had been wanting this one.” He turned to smile at her. “Thank you, Dana.”

“You’re welcome,” she managed to say.

Will ripped through a few more gifts—and received another Lego Hogwarts set, although thankfully a different one—before Mulder’s giant gift bag reached the table. Will pawed through the tissue paper inside before pulling out a baseball bat, glove, and a handful of balls.

Once he’d finished opening gifts, Will rejoined his friends, trying out the Nerf gun one of them had given him. People started to say their goodbyes, and Scully felt a wave of helplessness rise up inside her that it would soon be her turn to say goodbye too.

But before she could quite make up her mind to leave, Will ran up to them, turning to Mulder. “Will you show me how to hit the ball?”

Mulder beamed like someone had just given him an all-access key to Area 51. “Yeah, I’d love to.” As they walked off together, Mulder was already demonstrating the proper way to hold the bat.

Hips before hands.

She remembered that long-ago day when he’d shown her how to bat. She’d played along, so desperately infatuated with him that she couldn’t bring herself to remind him that she had two brothers. She knew how to hit a friggin’ ball. But damn, that had been a good day.

She watched as Mulder helped Will with his stance, snapping more pictures with her phone. How many times over the years had he longed for the chance to teach his son how to hit a ball? The sight of him with Will now had her fighting back tears all over again.

They’d lost so much.

Today, they’d regained a little bit of it. Mulder and Will spent about a half an hour together, with Mulder leading the makeshift batting practice. Around them, party guests headed to their cars. Scully wasn’t sure whether she should stay or go, but she couldn’t quite make herself go.

Finally, Mulder and Will walked off to put the bat away, Mulder’s hand resting on Will’s shoulder, the perfect image of a father and son. When they returned, she decided there was no more postponing the inevitable. “Thank you so much for inviting us to your party, Will.”

He smiled at her. “You’re welcome. And thanks for the Legos. I can’t wait to put it together.”

Send me a picture of it when you’re finished, she wanted to say. But the reality was, she might never see or speak to him again. She held up her phone. “Would you mind if I took a picture of us to remember today by?”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” he agreed, coming to stand beside her.

“I’ll take it for you,” Marsha offered.

“Thank you,” Scully told her, hoping her words expressed her true gratitude for the moment. She stood next to Will, one arm over his shoulders as they smiled for the photo.

“Let me get one of the three of you too,” Marsha offered, and Mulder stepped in beside them. She snapped another photo, and then held up her own phone. “I’d like one too, if you don’t mind. I think we’d all like to remember this day.”

Scully nodded breathlessly, lips shaking as she smiled for the photo. “Thank you.”

And then it was all over. She turned to Will. “I hope you had a great party. Thanks again for inviting me. I’ll never forget it.”

“I won’t either.” He leaned in to give her an impulsive hug. “I’m really glad I got to meet you. Or…re-meet you, or whatever.”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him, memorizing every detail of his face.

“Maybe you can come to my party again next year,” he said.

She tried her very best not to overreact to that, not to scream or cry or leap for the stars. Instead, she just smiled. “I’d love that.”

Mulder and Will said their goodbyes, and she thanked the Van De Kamps again for allowing them to have this day. Then she followed Mulder toward their cars, feeling numb…or drunk…like maybe she was having an incredibly vivid dream that she’d wake from at any moment, alone and miserable in her bed.

She and Mulder stopped by their cars, facing each other. Before she could second guess herself, she flung herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely. He hugged her back, tucking her head beneath his chin the way he’d always done, and it felt so good, so familiar. She exhaled against his shirt, overwhelmed by a sense of affection toward him that she hadn’t felt in years.

She wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he was a part of her life—of her history and her future—in ways that could never be erased.

“Hey Scully, do you want to go get a drink or something?” he asked hesitantly, obviously feeling the connection between them too.

She pulled back, looking into his eyes. “I’m, um, I’m here with someone, Mulder.”

“Oh.” He blinked hard, jaw clenching. “Someone from…from London?”

She nodded. “You know her, actually.”

“Her?” He blinked again. “I do?”

“Stella Gibson.”

He raked a hand through his hair, obviously racking that brilliant brain of his for the name. “The detective we met on the Ronnie Strickland case?”

“Yes.” When she and Mulder first got together, she’d told him about her relationship with Stella, although neither of them had mentioned it since. “We reconnected after I moved to London.”

“And she flew all the way here with you?”

She nodded. “I think the three of us going out for a drink might be…awkward.”

He swallowed, Adams apple bobbing. “Yeah, ah, definitely awkward. But I’m happy for you, Scully. I am.”

“Thank you.” She blew out a breath, leaning in to give him another hug. “And how are you doing, Mulder?”

“I’m good. I’ve been doing more consulting work for the FBI. I even saw Skinner last week.” He grinned at that, and she smiled back.

“That’s amazing,” she said. “Please give him a big hug from me if you see him again.”

“I don’t know about the hug,” Mulder told her. “But I’ll pass along the sentiment.”

“We’re doing okay, aren’t we?” She met his eyes, daring to look directly into them for the first time since she’d walked out of their house over a year ago, no longer afraid of what she might see in those hazel depths.

“Yeah, we are.”

“I’m glad.” She swiped at her eyes. God, how many more tears could she shed today?

“Take care of yourself, Scully.” He walked around to the driver’s side of his rental car.

“You too.” With one final glance over her shoulder, she got into her car and drove away.

#Two Worlds Collide #fanfic #Stella x Scully #stella and scully #The X Files #The Fall #Dana Scully #Stella Gibson

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cheryl-in-a-barrel · 5 years

Note

I loved last nights ep. I wish when Choni were in the bathroom after the argument I wish Toni would have left or something. I live for a little bit of angst but I love all the content we got last night

i think cheryl realized immediately after toni called her out that what she did was wrong so toni was willing to stay and give her a chance to fix things. if the fight escalated more I could have seen toni walking away. but we’ll probably get other angst moments in the future that will go a littler further. (not sure if I’m happy about that or just rrly scared)

THAT BEING SAID, HERE, I WROTE TONI WALKING AWAY.

“Did you know that my uncle hated the fact that I dated girls?” Toni questions, fists balled up at her sides, tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

She didn’t want to fight with Cheryl, fuck, this was the last thing she wanted to be doing. But something about that announcement just really set her off. What Cheryl did isn’t okay, regardless of her reasoning or intentions, Toni will never see a valid excuse to out someone.

She knows what it feels like, and how goddamn damaging it can be.

Toni still remembers the day she was outed to her uncle. Remembers the way he completely exploded when he found out, remembers the way his fists felt against her skin, remembers how cold the streets were after he started locking her out of the trailer.

“That’s why the serpents were so important to me,” Toni continues, looking into her girlfriend’s eyes, hoping and begging that she’ll understand, “They were like, my non-judgemental family, and now I don’t have them.”

Some of Toni’s anger begins simmering off into sadness instead. She never liked talking about her uncle, or what he thought of her sexual preferences. Whenever she did, it would bring her back to that place, the darkest time of her life, and it would fill her with these feelings of guilt or shame or regret or fuck, she doesn’t even know what.

The thought that Cheryl could have just subjected Moose to the same fate, it tore Toni’s heart in half.

“Toni, I’m sorry,” Cheryl’s crying, the tears running down her cheeks so far gone out of her control. She never meant to make the girl who means the whole world to her upset. She wasn’t thinking, acting on impulse, as always, and not taking a second to think about the people that her actions would hurt.

“I didn’t realize—” Cheryl starts softly, desperately wanting to understand, desperately wanting to make all of this just go away.

She’s spent so much of her life only focused on herself, that she has a hard time recognizing what other people need sometimes. This is still new to Cheryl.

“—Of course you didn’t,” Toni interrupts, feeling some of that anger coming back to her. God, she loves Cheryl, but she can’t contain what she’s feeling, not this time. This time was too far.

“Because you’re too busy being Cheryl, causing chaos without thinking of the consequences!”

The words hurt, but Cheryl knows she deserves it.

Even if it feels like she’s just been stabbed in the heart, she deserves it. Ever since her and Toni came back to Riverdale from their summer road trip, Cheryl’s felt like she’s been dreaming. How could she not, with the most incredible girl she could ask for by her side, and the high of their summer long freedom still clinging to the back of her mind. She came back to Riverdale feeling on top of the world, like she could be and do anything she wanted. But now, with Toni looking at with all that disappointment in her teary brown eyes, Cheryl’s finally crashed back down to reality.

This isn’t a dream, and this isn’t shared motel rooms and rock concerts and nights spent at the Viper Room. They were back in Riverdale, back to their normal lives, and Cheryl had to start acting like it a bit more.

“Babe,” Toni takes a deep breath, “I get that you’re pissed at your mom, and that you’re not going to some hoity-toity college, that I could never get into or afford.”

“If it’s about money—“ Cheryl tries, but she knows the words were the wrong ones to say the minute they leave her lips.

“Cheryl, just stop and listen to me!”

Cheryl feels more tears descend down her cheeks, and the air in the room getting just a little harder to breathe.

“Highsmith college was your legacy,” Toni sighs, “and the serpents were mine. Now they’re not.”

There it is.

The confession that’s been sitting on Toni’s tongue ever since they got kicked out, finally out in the open. She tried her best to hold in how much it truly hurt her when they were exiled from her family. Toni even lied to herself for awhile, thinking it wasn’t as bad as it really was, that she didn’t really need the gang to feel loved. But no lie can hold up forever.

Toni’s angry that she’s not in the serpents anymore. She’s angry that her uncle locked her out for liking girls. She’s angry that she feels like she has no control in what happens in her life anymore.

And she’s angry that Cheryl doesn’t get it.

“Toni, I’ll fix this,” Cheryl desperately promises. She can’t stand the pain in her chest, but more than that it’s the pain in Toni’s eyes that’s impossible for her to bare.

She can fix it.

She can.

Cheryl will make it right, she has to, needs to.

“Save it, Cher.”

And just like that her already battered heart shatters to pieces.

“Toni—“ her voice cracks.

“You’ve already done enough,” Toni’s voice is calm, but Cheryl can see the raging storm swimming in her eyes.

“Please don’t do this,” Cheryl begs, not even sure what she’s begging for.

Her chest grows tighter, and she can feel Toni slipping away despite the fact that’s she’s standing two feet away from her.

Was standing two feet away from.

Toni starts to walk away without another word, she couldn’t bare being here right now. She just needed some space. Some time to think about this on pour of buried feelings she just dug back up.

Cheryl, entering panic mode and fearing the worst, reaches out to grab Toni’s hand, which stops the other girl in her tracks.

“Toni,” she brokenly pleads, “Don’t leave.”

The word “me” threatens to follow, but Cheryl doesn’t think she’d be able to handle the answer.

Toni uses her other hand to gently pry Cheryl’s off.

With teary eyes, and a broken heart, Toni says, “You went too far this time, Cher.”

And then she leaves, and doesn’t look back.

Cheryl stuck in place watching her whole world walk away from her.

Watching by as she just sabotaged her own happiness once again.

She couldn’t do anything right.

All she can think, as she slides to the bathroom floor and cries her heart out is,

I deserve it.

#choni #cheryl blossom #toni topaz #riverdale #3x12 #choni fanfiction #fanfiction #angst

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tumbler-tidbits · 5 years

Text

Today Is the last Friday of this month so the time has come to post February’s Fic Recs! Please Keep in mind that these have been culminated over a period of a few months (since I’m so far behind) so some links may no longer work thanks to dumblrs porn bots! I have no control of that so if a fic is no longer available PLEASE don’t blame me! These are mostly smut but there is a mix of some fluff and a smidge of angst. All warnings and summaries from the writer are provided!

1)Can’t Keep My Hands to Myself by @bamby0304

Link:HERE

Summary: Misha can’t help himself. It doesn’t matter that you could get caught at any moment, he just has to have you.

Pairing: Misha x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Smut. Dirty talk. Public sex. Fingering. Unprotected sex. Hair pulling

My Review: JFC y’all this one is a panty ruiner! I’ve just recently started reading Misha/Cas smut and boy did this one pull me in! Dom/sub, pinned against the wall, fear of getting caught.... hbdhgshsndmnfv

2)Magical by @supernatural-teamfreewillpage-d

Link:HERE

Summary: Dean’s Pov On A/His Girl Squirting

Pairing: Dean x Female

Warnings: 18+, Squirting, Language, Sexual Thoughts.

My Review: This Awesome smut is from Deans point of view and it makes for a magical scene!

3)The Bet by @maddiepants

Link:HERE

Summary: Y/N can totally go a week without sex. Can't she?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: little bit a plot, lotta bit a porn, little bit of Dom Dean, that’s it i think

My Review: Good God my girl can write the smut! This is so fucking hot, I felt needy!! Jesus I need me some Dean!

4)The Mirror by @wheresthekillswitch

Link:HERE

Summary: The problem isn’t your reflection, it’s the mirror you’re using

Pairing: None

Warnings: self-doubt

My Review: This sweet little drabble speaks volumes for those of us who have insecurities (read: all of us!). Short, sweet, and to the point! Hold your head high.

5)Uncharted Territory by @fatestemptress

Link:HERE

Summary: Dean thought he had done it all. He was wrong.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Smutastic. Rimming. Anal play. Oral (Male Receiving) 18 PLUS ONLY!!

My Review: HOLY FUCKING SHIT. This is not something I ever considered erotic and Jesus christ on a cracker if this didn’t change my mind. THIS WAS FUCKING HOT AS FUCK! The smart ass Dean in the beginning, then the way you described his pleasure... fuck woman you paint a gorgeous fucking picture! Now I’m trying to put out the fire you just caused! Bitches READ IT!!

6)Tell Him How You Feel by @supernatural-jackles

Link:HERE

Summary: Another season of Supernatural has wrapped. You are headed to the wrap party with your two best friends. One being your ex, and the other being yours and your ex’s best friend; the guy you have fallen for over the course of a few months.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, past Jared x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Feels, Fluff, Sweet Smut, Minor Talk of Insecurities.

My Review: This friends to lovers story was incredible! The backstory and how the reader was written in to the lives of Jared and Jensen was perfect! Romantic, sensual, and just so warm and fuzzy! Give it a read, it fulfills your fantasy 😉

7)Being Kept by TheShygirl on AO3

Link:HERE

Summary: Reader is at an out-of-town hotel for a work meeting when a big storm hits. A power outage from the storm leaves her trapped in an elevator with two extremely attractive men who decide to make the most out of a bad situation. From there, her life gets turned upside down as she tries to balance her newfound relationship with work and an intense interest from another man.

Pairing: Please see link

Warnings: Please see link

My Review: This series was recommended to me by several friends! And I’ll be honest, based in the tags and warnings, I would have never read it. But I asked my friends about my concerns and they reassured me. So I trusted them and dove into the story, and HOLY FUCK am I glad that I did! Two things you should know about me, 1) I don’t typically read RPF and 2) I have never read M/M, F/F. And before you jump to conclusions NO I’m not homophobic, I’m straight and read reader insert so M/F is what I gravitate to. WELL this fic changed both of those things with multiple partners/pairings! It was sexy, erotic, romantic, angsty, and fluffy! It left me happy, ecstatic, sad, furious, upset, betrayed, sickened...literally any emotion you can have was portrayed in this fic and I felt every single one! Folks this story is so good that it felt REAL, like BTS this scenario is actually happening in real life. It’s 73 chapters, but trust me it’s worth it and in the end you will be begging for more!!

8)Thunder Rolls by @amanda-teaches

Link:HERE

Summary: When your fear of thunderstorms is triggered, Dean decides to distract you the best way he can- with some good, old-fashioned, mind-blowing sex.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected penetrative sex), swearing; 18+ only

My Review: This was intensely passionate! The sex is hot but the love behind it really makes it great! The authors use of super descriptive descriptions of your pleasure will have you clenching your thighs!

9)Lingering Scents by @kittenofdoomage

Link:HERE

Summary: Dean’s always tried to resist the pull. How long until he can’t anymore?

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Warnings: jealousy, angst, scenting, A/B/O, rough sex, implied breeding, marking, mentions of sort-of cheating.

My Review: whew! If your in to A/B/O fics this one is hot! Dean learns that he can’t fight fate and your more than willing to go along!

10)Cupid Can Shove his arrow right up his... by @bamby0304

Link:HERE

Summary: Valentine’s day sucks when you’ve got no one to send you flowers or serenade you with sweet song. You’re in a mood, stomping around the overcrowded bunker, not caring if you kill the buzz of the couples around you. Luckily for them, however, Sam is quick to distract you.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Little bit of Valentine’s day hate. Smut. Dirty talk. Thigh riding. Fingering. Praise kink. Hair pulling. Panty kink. Biting. Unprotected sex.

My Review: Holy Fucking shit I LOVED THIS! The attitude, the sass, the fucking innuendos... THE FUCKING! Jesus Christ on a crumbled cracker, This one killed. Go beg Amber for MORE of this! And make sure you say PLEASE! We need to see ALL those scenarios played out... Read this one in privacy ladies and have a helper handy 😏😉

11)Only One Woman I Trust by @georgialouisea

Link:HERE

Summary: None

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sophie, Marg.

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing

My Review:This is just absolutely precious! You think you know what’s going on but there’s a surprise! This one will rot your teeth ❤️

12)Edge of Glory by @sculptorofbeginnings

Link:HERE

Summary: A supply run with Dean and Castiel takes an interesting turn.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Castiel

Warnings: This is just Smut. Gratuitous, Endverse, smut. Implied established relationship and previously agreed upon situations.

My Review: Well damn. Shaila gets you revved up right off the bat with an amazing gif! Then sweet fucking sin it gets hotter from there! Ladies save this one for some alone time.... it’s definitely a panty ruiner.

13)Inked Up by @evansrogerskitten

Link:HERE

Summary: Dean most definitely, not at all, really doesn’t, have a crush.

Pairing: Dean x tattooed!Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Cursing a lot cuz it’s Dean. 18+ because you must be an adult to be on my blog

My Review: Ever want to know what goes on inside Dean’s head when he sees a hot girl? This fic is super hilarious and totally fluffy! I love Dean’s internal struggle to keep himself in check 😂 this one is fun!

14)Match Made on Crushbook by @carryonmywaywardwriters-deactiv

Link:HERE

Summary: The douchebags of online dating...

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Online Dating struggles (made from actual chats I’ve gotten...cringe with me). Mutual masturbation. Some dirty talk. A bit of praise!kink. I believe that is all during this part.

My Review: As a girl with a serious praise!kink this one got me all hot a bothered! And as a single female trying to find a relationship... this fic is totally relatable!

15)Good Morning Beautiful by @ladywinchester1967

Link:HERE

Summary: Good Morning Indeed.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), fluff, smut, Dean being a sweetheart. All porn, zero plot.

My Review: Holy fuck this is so.... yes, all the yes! I want this, I NEED this!! God it’s just so fluffy and passionate. LOVE IT

16)Reunited by @saxxxology

Link:HERE

Summary: Sam’s locked in a government prison during the birth of his first child. Reuniting him with his family is the best thing that could have ever happened to him

Pairing: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of killing, Alpha/Omega parenting instincts, non-graphic labor, fluff, lots of happy tears

My Review: OMG this is somewhat heart shattering, but Oh so fluffy! You start off wanting to cry but don’t worry, those will turn to happy tears :)

17)Dangerous Dance by @bamby0304

Link:HERE

Summary: When you first saw him, you knew he wasn’t like any other man that walked through the doors. There was a gleam in his eyes that screamed mischief. A gleam you would come to crave just as much as he craved you, if not more. When you first saw him, you had no idea what you were in for.

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x exotic-dancer!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Angst. Fluff. Pole dancing. Sexy dancing. Smut. Dom!soulless!Sam. Fingering. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Dry humping. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex. Bondage. Breath play. Squirting. Other smut related warnings that I just can’t think of right now.

My Review: Folks grab a fire extinguisher because this series is HOT! 14 chapters of deliciously smutty soulless Sam! What more could you ask for? Amber hits a lot of kinks in this series so you are likely to find something you like or discover a kink you didn’t know you had!!

18)Discipline by @squirrel-moose-winchester

Link:HERE

Summary: After flirting with a suspect to gain information against Sam’s orders, she must suffer the consequences.

Pairing: Dom!Sam x Reader

Warnings: Smut (but not really), Spanking (of a slightly different kind), Implied sex, Rough!Sam

My Review: To steal a line from one of our favorite memes “Mark me down as scared and horny!” Whew! This was unexpectedly hot and a total surprise! Note to self, do not make Sam angry.... or ya know DO!

19)Worthless by @maddiepants

Link:HERE

Summary: It's hard to fight the demons, when they're inside your head.

Characters: Reader, Dean, and Sam

Warnings: thoughts of suicide, talk of possible self harm, self hatred, Dean being a helpful, loving bean, Angst.

My Review: This one is angsty but wow it’s also very poetic! I know many of us struggle with this very scenario and Erica has written it beautifully.

20)Wrecked by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Link:HERE

Summary: After the show, alone in a dark corridor, he shows you exactly what that song means.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Clothed Sex, Wall Sex, Slight Chain Metal Kink, lip biting, Jensen Ackles in that fucking CBGB t-shirt and hat and the wallet chain WTF dude, Let’s pretend he’s single, Like a Wrecking Ball, you know why, Smut, Shameless Smut, Consent is Sexy, NSFW

My Review: JFC if this isn’t every Jensen girls fantasy! This one just ruined me! Wall sex, hand over your mouth, soft nips and kisses *shudders* give it a read!

Taglist: @idreamofplaid @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @pisces-cutie @covered-byroses @currentlyfangirling99 @spnmightkillme @spnfamily-alwayskeepfighting @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @xxhalfbloodprincessxx @supernaturalsammy01 @sammyimpala-67 @lunarboycas @ladywinchester1967 @sweetiepie-dean @fangirl-forevers-world @thoughtslikeaminefield @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @ruthiesconnells @bobasheebaby @evansrogerskitten @missjenniferb @sculptorofbeginnings @kbl1313 @spnskinnyballs @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @justcallmeasmodeus @ain-t-bovvered @purpleskiesandcherrypies @curly-haired-disaster @getnaildbyme @thoughtslikeaminefield @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition

#Fic rec Friday #Final Friday Fic Recs #supernatural #tumbler-tidbits

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thewolfatmydoor · 5 years

Text

For reasons wretched and divine. A “brief” recap of Supernatural season 14 from episode 10 onward.

I wanted to write a post about my thoughts on episode 14x18 and how utterly, ridiculously, romantic that whole fight (whole episode really) between Dean and Cas was. Mostly because the wonderful @bluestar86 asked people to challenge how she felt about it, but also because I just really just wanted to get my thoughts out there. To do that though I ended up feeling like I needed to recap a little bit, especially since this is my first time ever writing down my thoughts that anyone other than my best friend is gonna read. So I am going to recap from 14x10 onward on the things that I remember standing out to me as ‘this is something I need to remember and revisit’, and then I am going to just give my thoughts on 14x18. Pretty much all of this is just going to focus on interactions between Dean and Cas, or the things that affect them both in one way or another so if you don’t wanna read my ramblings on these two idiots in love then I suggest bowing out now, the rest of this is below the cut. If you just want to read my thoughts on 14x18 that is down at the very end!

So hi to those that are still here, nice to see you! As I said I am going from 14x10 mostly because I do not have the patience with my own mind to think that I can keep focus enough to recap all of season 14 so far so yeh...

14x10 - Nihilism

Pamela - How come you only want what you can’t have?

...Besides, you don’t want me. You just like to flirt. I’m a psychic, so I kinda know.

So what does Dean want? What is he hiding from everyone, everyone including himself, except maybe Pamela who is very blatantly there calling us all back to Season 4 and the Dean/Cas meet cute.

All you’ve got to do is look at the top she is wearing, emblazoned with ‘to hell and back’ and the adorable Wings on her necklace to know who she is there to remind you of.

Then we have the Michael inside Dean’s mind - You only tolerate the Angel because you think you owe him, because he ‘gripped you tight and raised you from perdition’ Or, whatever.

Not only is this one of the most iconic lines ever from Cas, it also meant enough to Dean for Michael to be able to find it within his mind and use it against him. Michael could have pretty much said anything to belittle Cas during the conversation in Dean’s mind, and he does go on to say that Cas is a burden who has only made mistake after mistake and that would have been enough, but using that iconic line brought it back to the forefront of our minds and we were able to realise just how important that was to Dean.

And the locking up of Michael in the closet within Deans mind always made me think of Dean locking away the side of himself that he still isn’t ready to confront, because he can’t imagine the outcome of confronting that side of himself being anything other than destructive. Even if he is, as Michael is, fighting tooth and nail to come out.

14x11 - Damaged Goods

Being a Cas-less episode there weren’t too many points in this that stood out to me on the Dean and Cas front.

On the ‘What do you want?’ front though there were all those shirtless cowboys in Donna’s workshop, and although this had absolutely nothing to do with SPN as such it did give me pause when Dean was using the welder because my mind automatically went to Magic Mike XXL (mostly because of Channing Tatum as Magic Mike running his own business as someone who makes furniture?? I don’t remember exactly what his business is, but he does use power tools, welders included in that, and that whole film was about not only one last hurrah but also discovering who you are and WHAT YOU WANT) The only thing I noticed that was intrinsically to do with Cas is that he wasn’t there, so although Dean said that Sam was the only one who could change his mind, we really know that isn’t true because he couldn’t be around Cas at all, and why not, well we find that out in...

14x12 - Prophet and Loss

Sam - And Cas and Jack, you haven’t even told them. Dean - Okay, well, yeah, that’s because I’m not good with the whole big goodbyes alright? I-I-I don’t need to get shaky on this thing. So Dean can’t say goodbye to Cas (or Jack) because he is worried about getting shaky on this thing, and yet in 14x10 he said Sam was the only one who could change his mind...Hmm not being wholly truthful with yourself there Dean. Then we find out that Sam has told Cas about Dean’s plan anyway. Go Sammy, Go Sammy!! Cas - Sam. Maybe if I spoke to Dean... Sam - It wouldn’t matter. Believe me, I-I I’ve never seen him like this. He won’t listen to me. H-He just- No. If we don’t find some way... Deans gone.

Dean phones Cas to ask him about the case that he is working on with Sam, and Cas’ relief at hearing from Dean is palpable. Cas - Dean! It’s so good to hear from you. Then he drops the bomb that he knows about Deans plan. Cas - I-I know that I’m not supposed to know what I know, but... Dean - Look, I’m fine with my plan okay? We can talk about my plan later. Yeah right Dean because you’re not going to avoid that conversation at all costs. Cas - Wait, Dean, Dean. We need to have a conversation. Dean - Look, I really got to handle this right now okay? So, thank you, and uh... it’s good to hear your voice. What an odd thing to say Dean. Could it be because you thought you were never going to hear Cas’ voice again? The voice of the person you love? Hmm. Then Sam tells us what we already know. Sam - Dean it’s Cas. I HAD TO TELL HIM. Then dundundun we get Doctor Novak. Oh how I enjoyed watching the emotions play across Deans face when he saw Cas in that get-up. But the most important bit of all is the conversation they then have. Cas - Oh, no. No, please don’t compare this with your suicidal plan. Just stop. Dean - Okay, alright. Why don’t we talk about that later? Cas - Because, according to your plan, there won’t be a later. Dean - Cas… if you are a friend of mine, then you will understand that I have to do this and you won’t try to stop me. You think this is easy on me? It has to be done. Cas - So, then, this is goodbye? The pain, and regret, and love on their faces during this actually broke me. I cried more than I expected to, but of course we have to get interrupting moose breaking into the conversation with news about Donatello before anything could even be resolved. Not to worry though because Cas then shows Dean that there may be another way, by performing a miracle and saving Donatello. Dean - Wait. How? I thought he was too far gone. Cas - Dean, if there is a spark – a hope – then I have to try. You taught me that. Our wonderful glowy eyed Angel saves the day... Dean - Now, look at that. It’s a miracle. Yes Dean, because there is always another way. And even though you said Sammy was the only one who could change your mind I do believe that it was actually Cas that made you stop and think. That line again - if there is a spark - a hope - then I have to try. Just like your relationship with Cas, you have to try, even if the outcome is unknown, because hey, it could just be a miracle.

14x13 - Lebanon

Only a couple of things to comment on with this episode thankfully (sorry this is ending up being ridiculously long guys, I appreciate you if you are still here) At some point Sam and Dean obviously told John about their living arrangements... John - Then it’s all true. God, the devil, you boys smack in the middle. Now you live in a secret bunker with an angel and Lucifer’s kid. Confirming that YES CAS DOES LIVE IN THE BUNKER!!! Whilst out in town the boys come across AU Zachariah and Castiel. Sam has no qualms about stabbing Zachariah with his Angel Blade and killing him. But even though it is sadly obvious that this Cas doesn’t know Sam or Dean, he doesn’t kill Cas, only banishes him. In the run up to Sam banishing him, Dean was solely focused on trying to get Cas to recognise them, because of course Dean would be solely focused on Cas. Just look at our boys face!

Back at the bunker we finally get the Dean and John conversation. John - I, uh – I never meant for this. Dean - Dad, we pulled you here. John - No, son. My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you – you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you. I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would… get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family. Dean - I have a family. Yes you do Dean, and the relief on your face when your Cas comes back through the bunker door is nothing short of fantastic. I might even have squealed a little bit.

I am going to whiz through the next few episodes because I imagine most of them are still pretty fresh in peoples minds, and I am tired, and I really want this finished before tonight's episode airs.

14x14 - Ouroboros

Well if this wasn’t some of the most, ugh, I don’t even know what this was. I mean a Bisexual Demigod who not only focused on Dean, even though Sam was also around, but when it was revealed that until seeing them face to face he hadn’t been able to see Cas or Jack, he then focused on Cas as well. I just...WHAT!!!! Also this for me hearkened back to Nihilism and the fear Dean has over what is locked away deep inside himself, because he gets knocked out, and Michael gets free, and he destroys. That doesn’t mean that allowing yourself what you want is going to cause destruction though Dean.

14x15 - Peace of Mind

Cas telling Dean he needs to spend time with their son. Cas being singled out as something different, and wrong. Cas and his hand movements, oh dear chuck. Cas and Sams fight, and how very similar but oh so different it was to Cas and Deans fight. Blatantly showing the difference between the familial connection of Cas and Sam, and the romantic connection of Cas and Dean. Cas telling Dean all about Sams cardigan. So we now know they keep in touch with each other, and gossip. They gossip. Come on how adorably romantic is that, Cas telling his beau about his brothers cardigan. Too cute.

14x16 - Don’t go in the woods

Cas is gone, but how do we know this, because apparently Dean had a conversation with him early that morning about him leaving. Sam - I’ll grab Cas. Dean - He actually left. Sam - What? Dean - Early this morning. Sam - Why? Dean - I don’t know. Something about being cooped up in the bunker for a few weeks. So our lovable, morning grump has had an early morning conversation with Cas about him leaving the bunker for a while. So what Dean, you had the conversation whilst you were, oh I dunno, laying in bed, fingers running through Cas’ hair???

14x17 - Game Night

And so we come to find out where Cas has gone. Looking for God to try and help Jack. But why oh why do you go off and do these things on your own Cas. You need to learn to confide in Dean, and Sam, because when you don’t things turn out bad. Anael - The Winchesters-- they don't know you're here, do they? Cas - Why do you say that? Anael - Oh, I don't know, just a general reek of ill-conceived lone-wolf desperation. I mean come on Cas, even Anael has you sussed. We know you want to protect the people you love, but this is not a good way to go about it. And there we go, that recap went on far longer than I wanted it to, oh well. Now on to why I truly believe that 14x18 was just so full of romantic pain. I’m not going to make this super long now because that took it out of me sorry.

14x18 - Absence

So, the episode that seems to have made so many people lose hope actually gave me hope in buckets full. All of that hope came in the form of pain and angst though so I do totally see where people are coming from when they say they just don’t have faith in Destiel anymore. I am saddened by it of course, but I am yet to read any negative thoughts on 14x18 that have swayed me in my belief that it was some of the most romantic bs to come out of season 14 so far. Now we start the episode not knowing 100% what has happened to Mary, neither do Sam and Dean, sure there is a bit of worry, but it isn’t full blown panic yet. The first thing that struck me was how okay Dean was, even though he was worried, he still wasn’t sure he had anything to be worried about, so he was probably more okay than we all were, at least on the Mary and Jack front. With regards to Cas though, he was angry. We knew the instant his phone rang that he was angry. He had been fine whilst on the previous phone call, but as soon as he saw who was calling him his face turned stormy, and just my thoughts but I imagine it was because not only wasn’t Cas there with them and Dean was missing him but that he had probably tried to contact him multiple times already. So he was itching to have it out with Cas but it only stemmed from him being separated from Cas and not because Cas had done anything wrong in his eyes at that point. Then Cas gives him the bad news about Jack, and Dean hangs up on him. Now not only is Dean angry because Cas isn’t at home, but also because Cas kept something from him, and they have been doing so well at being more open with each other that this must have felt like a million steps backwards, especially when you factor in the end result of Cas having kept something from him. (Just imagine how angry Dean is going to be when Cas gets whisked away to the empty.) On to that terrible scene. I didn’t draw any conclusions from the promo and I tried to remain as positive as I could even with fandom imploding around me, but when I watched that scene for the first time it destroyed me. It was so much worse than I had thought, because it wasn’t just anger, it was hurt, and betrayal, and dare I say it - heartbreak, and Dean wondering why Cas had kept something of this magnitude from him. To the point where he could barely even stand to look at Cas, and for most of the exchange he didn’t. This was pure spousal breaking apart. Cas was broken because he knew deep down he should have confided in Dean but he had done it to try and protect his family, to stop them from having to go through the pain of knowing Jack wasn’t okay, but it had just made it worse. So of course Dean said something incredibly hurtful, it is human nature to lash out at those closest to us when we are suffering from immense pain ourselves, and we all know that even though Dean is much better at communicating his feelings nowadays this is still a huge part of his character, so it wasn’t surprising in the slightest that he lashed out the way he did. He wanted to hurt Cas as much as Cas had hurt him, that is unfortunately what happens in relationships. We all say stupid stuff when we are hurting. I don’t excuse what Dean said, but I do understand where it came from.It was made even more obvious that it was more about the dynamic between Dean and Cas having been broken than it was about Mary, because Sam wasn’t angry with Cas, not like Dean was, and Dean wasn’t angry with Sam, not even when Sam pointed out that they had all known that things weren’t right with Jack and that they all shoulder the blame. I am so glad that Sam and Dean had that conversation alone, I really do feel that it put it more in perspective for Dean.I think there is the big conversation and apology coming up for Dean and Cas. We aren’t there yet because Dean is still hurting, but the simple fact that he stopped to listen to what Cas had to say when Cas got back from Heaven, and then that Cas had obviously traveled with them to give Mary her hunters funeral spoke of how much Dean wants Cas there. Even if he can’t bring himself to be close to Cas right now (which Sam is very aware of because he kept Cas from trying to go to comfort Dean knowing it would cause more pain), he needs him in his vicinity.One last point on this episode. The Empty. Cas’ deal whammied me again, unexpectedly, when Duma was the one who came to speak to Cas. Yes I know Heaven is short on Angels, and Naomi was probably busy, but sending Duma down to see Cas really brought the knowledge of his deal back to the front of my mind. I know we are all aware that this is something that needs to be dealt with but I thought that with what needs to happen between Dean and Cas, an apology, a confession maybe, seeing Duma again nailed it home for me that the one thing that will make Cas truly happy is Dean.

#spn #spn spoilers #spn season 14 #spn s14 #spn speculation #spn season 14 partial recap #cas' deal with the empty #hurt dean #hurt cas #familial vs romantic love #dean/cas #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #this whole season has been so romantic #my rambling thoughts #this kinda got away from me #spn meta

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heathenarmyimagines · 6 years

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Title: Annoying

Summary: (Y/N) learns to do more than fear Ivar

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Weeks.

It had been weeks since Ivar had found you with Sigurd and he hadn’t spoken to you since.

You tried all you could, visiting him but he had guards by him, speaking to him while he worked with the blacksmith but he ignored you.

How you missed him.

In all the years of him claiming to dislike you he had never been angry with you, and you didn’t like it.

You missed seeing him roll his eyes at you while trying to hide his amusement, and you missed feeling him hold you close when he though you were sleep.

Sleeping alone was no good without him, even in the much larger and comfortable bed in your new room.

‘I don’t know what to do Ubbe.’ you pouted as sat on the log while Ubbe was hanging up dear heads for target practice.

‘And I do not know what to tell you (Y/N), my brother is unpredictable. My only advise is to tell him that you truly have no interest in Sigurd.’ Ubbe replied.

‘I’ve tried, but he still won’t utter a word to me.’ you said.

‘In that case do the same, ignore him and see what happens.’

‘You think so?’ you asked.

‘Its worth a try.’ he sighed.

You considered it, but before you could fully decide you heard the other three Ragnarsons entering the clearing.

‘Are you not done yet Ubbe?’ Hvitserk said as he sat Ivar down on a tree stump.

‘Hello Ivar.’ you tried.

Of course Ivar said nothing as Ubbe handed him a bow.

‘No need for rudeness Ivar, how are you (Y/N)?’ Sigurd greeted.

‘I was fine before you got here.’ you said as you stood up.

‘Kitty has claws.’ Sigurd smiled as he walked past.

‘Why are you like this Sigurd?’ you asked.

‘Like what?’ he asked turning to face you with an innocent expression.

‘Your stupid feud with your brother means nothing to me, so leave me out of it.’ you spat before walking off.

As you stomped down the path you didn’t see that Ivar was looking at you for the first time in weeks.

That night after your bath you got in bed and forced yourself to sleep, a task that had become a real chore sense your bout with Ivar started. Eventually sleep over came you.

However you were snatched from your dream almost as soon as you’d been taken in.

Your mouth was being covered and your eyes were not adjusted to the darkness of the room yet.

In full panic you grabbed hair of whoever it was on top of you and used all your weight to flip the two of you over.

‘And to think you claimed to be afraid of Sigurd.’

‘Ivar?’ you asked.

‘Were you expecting someone else?’ Ivar asked before he turned you over again and pinned your hands above your head.

‘Ivar, what are you doing?’ you ask, beginning to breath heavily as you truly start to panic.

‘You told me you have no feeling for Sigurd...and I believe you. I did from from the beginning.’ he said.

‘Then why haven’t you spoken to me? It has been weeks Ivar.’

‘Because you said you were scared of him, that he made your heart race with a fear that left you powerless to him. You were so scared of him that you seemed to forget that you had trained with us more often than not...and you best Sigurd almost every time.’ Ivar growled in your face.

You watched as his eyes fill with anger.

‘No one is to have such a power over you, no one but me should make your heart race for any reason. Do you understand?’ he asked as he pulled a dagger from its sheath and placed it at your throat.

All you wanted to do was push him away and run but at the same time you loved the feeling of him being on top of you. Even the coolness of the blade against your heated skin was welcome.

‘I understand, Ivar.’ you whimpered.

The dagger dug a bit deeper into your flesh, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you think it would.

‘You owe much thanks to the Gods (Y/N) for what you are about to receive...as do I.’ Ivar said before he raised the dagger high above you.

For a moment you though that this was it, Ivar would kill you and as scared a you were, you didn’t mind.

It would bring him pleasure, something he so rarely experienced in his hard life.

Ivar brought the knife down and and planted it into the pillow you head rested on.

Before you can let out a breath of relief Ivar crashed his lips onto yours.

The kiss was as violent as he was and every bit as hungry.

He bit at your lips and forced your lips apart to deepen the kiss.

You were so swept away in the chaos of the kiss you didn’t realize Ivar had settled himself between your legs, that is until you felt an unmistakable nudge against your entrance.

When had he pushed up your nightgown you were not sure.

‘Do you feel that?’ Ivar asked.

‘Pretty hard not to.’ you panted as you placed your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself.

Ivar carefully and very slowly pushed into you, making you dig your nails into his skin.

‘Ah...Gods.' you groaned.

Ivar looked down at you and the look of pain that had taken over your face, and waited a bit.

You took a few deep breaths and and relaxed your tensed body and the pain eased into a pleasure.

There it was, the look that meant he could go on without hurting you.

Using the strength in his arms to hold his body over yours, he thrust into you.

‘I-Ivar.’ you gasped.

This was something you had thought of for ages, from the moment you had learned what sex was you wanted to do it with no one but Ivar Lothbrok. Now your fantasy was finally coming true and you were truly thankful to Gods.

Little did you know that the only person more thankful for this than you was Ivar.

He had spent his time ignoring you speaking with his brothers, awkwardly asking them what ways were best to please women and realizing that no woman made his body react the way you did.

It seems the Gods wished him to be with no other woman but you, and who was he to ignore the will of the Gods?

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #Annoying Series #sons of ragnar

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