#and the medic has to be like 'harley look we can get a cup of coffee or something just please stop getting beaten up so you can talk to me' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hintofelation99 · 3 years

Note

Sick day headcannons!!!!!!!

Hell yeah, I do have a post on this already (linked here) but sick day headcanons are some of my favs so let’s do some more! (Just btw there will be some repeats but that just means I rlly like that headcanon)

Dick

Dick: Oh no, god no!

Wally: What’s wrong?!

Dick: I’m dying!

Wally, suspicious: Okay…

Dick: Please Wally this is serious, I need help!

Wally, deciding to take Dick seriously: Okay, what’s wrong? What do you need?

Dick: Just a coffin. Made of maple- no oak! And roses, preferably white, oh or blue! With baby’s breath. And-

Wally: Dick, what’s wrong?!

Dick: I burnt the roof of my mouth.

Wally leaves.

A good rule of thumb for Dick is the more dramatic he is the less serious the situation. The less dramatic he is the more serious the situation.

He will go into work with a cold and complain the entire day.

If he has something serious that’s contagious he’ll call in sick but just say it’s a slight stomach bug.

If it’s not contagious he will act like everything is completely fine.

One time he did this after getting an injury on patrol and ended up passing out and spending that night and the next day in the ICU.

He has become a bit more responsible over the years, mainly bc he thinks it’s adorable how sweet and cuddly Damian gets.

His favorite sick day activity is eating junk food and watching rom coms under a fuzzy blanket .

Babs

Dick: Please go to bed!

Babs: I am, I am, just one more line of code.

Dick: You’ve said that for the last three hours!

Babs tries to relax when sick but she has trouble actually taking a step back to rest.

Most of the time she’ll take a nightquil then get distracted by something and ends up falling asleep in front of her screen.

Usually Cass or Steph will come over and take care of her.

Steph always makes the best comfort food. And usually Cass will tuck Babs into bed.

Babs loves dozing on the couch to the sound of Cass and Steph laughing in the kitchen as they make her soup.

If Cass and Steph can’t come over she loves talking to them over discord while eating take out. Usually she and Cass just listen to Steph babble or she watches on of them stream something.

She also usually ends up falling asleep.

Jason

Bruce: Are you sick?

Jason: I’m legally dead.

Bruce: That doesn’t-

Jason: So,legally, no. I am not sick.

Jason will forever and always argue that he can’t get sick since he already died.

When he was little he was rarely able to get extra rest when he was sick. Because when he was really little he wanted to go to school to avoid Willis. After Catherine died he was too busy just trying to survive to focus on being healthy.

But when Catherine was alive and Willis was away Jason would stay home from school, and if Catherine was sober she would read to him and sing lullabies. This only happened like twice but Jason cherishes those memories of Catherine.

As a kid if he was ever sent home for being sick he’d get in huge trouble with Willis.

After being adopted the first time he was sent home with a fever he begged Alfred not to tell Bruce and hid in his closet until he stopped crying being sad. Alfred sat by the closet door with soup, a grilled cheese, and tea, reading The Princess Bride aloud until Jason came out. It took two hours.

Jason’s favorite sick day activity is drinking tea and rereading The Princess Bride (with the movie playing quietly in the background) while wearing his Wonder Woman hoodie.

Cass

Steph: Cass why are you patrolling while sick?!

Cass shrugs.

Steph, with a sigh: You’re allowed to take a sick day, okay?

Cass looks unsure but nods.

Steph: C’mon, let’s get you a bath and fuzzy blankets.

Cass forgets that she’s not just a weapon/tool. She forgets that she’s allowed to rest when sick.

Because of this she will keep going no matter what and tends to view ‘taking a sick day’ as a failure.

Steph, Tim, and Babs have been working on this with her. She’s improved a lot now that Tim lost his spleen and gets sick easily.

Now usually Steph cooks for her while Babs lays with her.

Cass isn’t against taking medicine but she never feels like the situation is severe enough to require medication. So someone in the fam has to convince her to take her meds.

She becomes extremely cuddly when sick and will cling to anyone near her.

Her favorite sick day activity is watching old horror movies with Steph or Babs.

Steph

Steph: I’m fine.

Steph: I’m- I have a fever of 104, I should rest.

Stephs mom is a doctor, so she’s used to being told “it’s just a cold, you’re fine”.

Usually she keeps going until she can’t then sleeps for like three days.

But it’s less out of stubbornness and more out of habit. So if someone tells her to rest she’s immediately like “okay!” and takes the sick day.

Babs always calls or comes over to check on her every day that she’s sick.

Cass has been learning how to cook and loves making Steph food when she’s sick.

Tim used to come over but now he always calls.

Stephs favorite sick day activity is sleeping with an ice pack or heating pad, depending on the sickness, with a giant cup of ginger ale and Cass curled up beside her.

Tim

Jason: Tim, are you sick?

Tim, tiredly staring at case files: No I-

Tim is interrupted by a violent coughing fit.

Tim: Oh, I guess I am?

Growing up Tim loved getting sick because it meant the house keeper would come over and take care of him and he might even get a hug.

But she stopped coming over when Tim was ten, his parents thought he was old enough to handle being sick on his own.

Sick days in the manor were a shock to him because he was rarely alone, there was always one family member by his side.

Now that he’s immunocompromised he’s always surrounded by people, he pretends to get annoyed with it but really he loves how much they care.

Dick always sings Romani lullabies and runs his fingers through Tim’s hair. Jason, Duke, and Steph will cook for him. Damian stay by his side and bring him tea. Babs will play video games with him. And Cass does a bit of everything, at least everything other than sing to him.

The family also takes Tim getting sick very seriously so if they here one cough he’s immediately being interrogated and getting his temperature checked.

Tim’s favorite sick day activity is laying under a weighted blanket with a cup of tea and playing video games with Babs, Steph, Duke, and Cass.

Duke

Dick, knocking on Duke’s door: Hey bud, why are you still in bed? I thought we were training together?

Duke: Sorry, I forgot to cancel. I’m sick and don’t think I can handle training today.

Dick: You’re sick?!

Duke: Yeah, but don’t worry I’ve been disinfecting and cleaning so no one else should get sick.

Dick: I’m not worried about getting sick, I’m worried about you!

Duke: …oh, okay.

Growing up sick days were spent at home either resting alone or with one of his parents.

He had to do some fending for himself (like cleaning and making food when his parents weren’t home with him) but nothing extreme or unexpected. So, overall he had pretty normal sick days.

After he parents went missing he was so focused on getting them back and saving them that he never stopped to rest when sick.

Now as a member of the Wayne family his sick days are always spent with someone by his side, at least they are if he tells the family he’s sick.

He’s gotten in trouble several times for not telling Alfred/the family that’s he’s sick. Not because he puts Tim at risk, he like all the family is very cautious about that, but because everyone worries about him and wants to help take care of him.

After several lectures from Alfred he’s finally getting better about telling the family when he’s sick.

His favorite sick day activity is reading Jason’s copy of The Princess Bride while having a bowl of Alfred’s chicken noodle soup.

Damian

Jason: Are you sick?

Damian: N-

Damian sneezes like a kitten.

Damian: No.

Cass, smiling: Sick baby brother, cute sneeze.

Damian tries to be offended but ends up having a sneezing fit.

Steph: That’s so adorable!!

Damian has the most adorable sneezes. He literally sounds like a kitten and the entire family and hero community finds it adorable. Damian hates it.

He used to try and pretend he wasn’t sick and just work through it.

Then he sneezes in front of Harley and Ivy and they cooed over him for an hour.

Now he grumpily secluded himself in his room when sick.

Usually the family will check on him and find that Jon flew over and they’re cuddling on his bed watching cartoons.

When Damian’s sick he really craves spicy food. Like everything he eats he’ll add hot sauce or pepper to. His food is so spicy that only Cass can handle it, like it makes ghost peppers look like child’s play.

His favorite sick day activity is drinking masala chai under one of Tim’s fuzzy blankets while wearing Dick’s old hoodies and surrounding himself with various soft things he stole from his siblings. This is preferably done while eating spicy tomato or lentil soup and watching cartoons with Jon.

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harleybeaumont · 2 years

Text

Love Me The Way I Am- Book 1

Chapter 14

Pairings: Maxwell x Harley (MC), Drake x Liam (implied)

Book: TRR Book 2

Synopsis- After King Liam proposes to Madeleine, Harley and Maxwell grow closer while they attempt to uncover who’s behind her blackmail. Maxwell is hiding a medical condition he’s kept secret for most of his life. Due to his father constantly berating Maxwell during his youth, he believes no one will ever love him.. until Harley comes along and he dares to hope.

A/N- This somewhat follows along with the events in TRR Book 2. I have removed/added certain events to go along with my story! Harley Hughes is my character who is based loosely off of Riley. The other characters belong to PB.

Warnings- language, drinking, sensuality, some NSFW

18+ only

Word count- 1,140

Catch up here

THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER OF Book 1. Book 2 will be out soon! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, or re blogged my story! I appreciate you so much!

Three days and many tests later Maxwell was ready to be released from the hospital. The whole time he was there, Harley never left his side. They talked a lot about his diabetes and he taught her everything he knew.

“So I wear an insulin pump- well, the thing I wear on me is called a pod, and the controller for it is what I call the pump- I change it every three days, so I don't have to give myself shots every time I eat. I usually put it on my stomach or arms or legs. And this is my glucose monitor that I have to change every ten days. It tells me what my blood sugar is constantly, so I don't have to prick my finger..” Maxwell paused as he saw her frantically writing, “Are you taking notes? That's freaking adorable.”

Harley was so happy. It felt so good to have him finally share this with her. She knew it had to be strange for him, since he had been keeping it a secret for basically his whole life. “How did I never feel them on you? Like when we hugged or danced.”

Maxwell shrugged, “I've gotten pretty good at hiding it. I guess I made sure never to let you get close to whatever part of my body I put them on.”

“So.. who else knows?”

“Liam and Drake, and their families.. I think Hana may have suspected something because she's asked me some strange questions before.”

“That's so sad Max- feeling like you have to keep it a secret. It's nothing to be ashamed of. There are so many people in the world who have Type 1 diabetes…” She hugged him tightly. “I'm so sorry your dad made you feel like there was something wrong with you.”

She booped his nose. “You are perfect.”

Maxwell smiled sadly. “Thanks.. You've been amazing, learning everything. I was worried that you wouldn't want anything to do with me if you found out. Deep down I know it's not something to be ashamed of, but..”

“But your dad..” Harley shook her head.

He shrugged. “He told me my whole life that I should get used to being alone. That I would just be a burden to everyone.”

Harley was sick to her stomach. She wanted to go knock the shit out of his dad. If he wasn't in a coma, I would fuck him up. Wait, that feels wrong.. Eh, who cares. Fucking bastard.

“So that's why you were always checking your phone. And why you always ate candy! Your blood sugar was low..” She gasped, “that's why you never let me see you without a shirt! You didn't want me to see your insulin pump or glucose monitor.”

“Yep. Jeez, I didn't realize I made you worry so much.”

She snuggled up with him in his hospital bed. “That's just what happens when you love someone.” She looked up and kissed him and he tenderly cupped her cheek.

Bertrand walked into the room. “The nurse is getting the discharge paperwork ready and then we can- Oh good lord, not again.”

“Sorry, not sorry.” Harley smirked as she pecked him on the lips once more.

Bertrand had been surprisingly accepting about the whole thing, considering the fact that for the past six months, he had been training her to be a queen and marry Liam. She guessed that seeing his brother in a coma, softened him up a bit. Also, maybe the fact that he was there the entire time they confessed their love to each other. She honestly had forgotten all about him the minute she saw Maxwell wake up.

Once they were discharged from the hospital and got back to their hotel room, Harley's phone chimed with a text:

Hana- ‘Are the three of you together right now?’

‘Yes..’

Hana- ‘I'm sending you a link. You need to watch it immediately..’

They all looked at each other nervously as the video loaded.

On the screen, she saw Tariq standing in front of a podium sweating. “I am here today.. to uh.. I'm here today to set the record straight. Lady Harley Hughes did nothing wrong the night that the photographs were taken. Someone gave me a note saying that my room had been changed to hers. When I walked in and saw her.. Um, undressed, I arrogantly assumed that she was trying to make advances on me. She.. definitely made it clear that she was not. I am not sure why this happened or who is responsible for it, but Lady Harley has been unjustly accused and was forced to drop out of the competition as a result. That is all I will say for now. Thank you. “

Bertrand, Maxwell, and Harley looked at each other in shock. “Finally!!” Harley whooped.

Maxwell jumped up and spun Harley around. “Hell ya!”

She quickly dialed Hana and put her on speaker. “Hana, oh my god!”

“I know!” Hana laughed.

“How did this happen? Surely Olivia didn't track him down because it didn't look like his nose had been broken!”

“It was Drake and Liam! After they left the hospital that day, they found him and forced him to make a statement!”

“Aww! God, I love them so much!” Harley's heart was so full. “I love you all so much! Even you Bertrand!” She tweaked his nose and he rolled his eyes.

Hana laughed, “Aw Harley we all love you too!” She lowered her voice, “So how are things going with Maxwell?” She giggled, “When are you two gonna.. You know?”

Harley blushed and coughed loudly, “Hana you're on speaker!”

Hana paused, then spoke flatly, “Oh. Well it was nice speaking with all of you. Goodbye.”

Bertrand closed his eyes and shook his head. “On that note, I am definitely leaving. Congratulations on clearing your name Harley.”

She sat next to Maxwell and they looked away from each other shyly. He broke the silence. “So I can't believe that it's finally done!”

“I know! This has been a pretty great day.” She smiled at him.

“You wanna do anything before we go home tomorrow? Bingo night?” Max laughed and nudged her arm.

She pulled him down next to her on the bed. “How about we stay in and chill for the day? You need your rest.”

*Beep.. Beep.. Beep*. Maxwell's low glucose alarm beeped a warning.

Harley sat up. “But first, let's get you something to eat!”

Maxwell smiled brightly as she pulled out a pack of crackers and a bottle of orange juice. He was so overwhelmed that he thought his heart might burst. Maxwell’s eyes filled with tears and he hugged her tightly. It felt so good being able to share himself with her- the real him, with no secrets. Harley loved him.. Just the way he was.

#trr fanfic #the royal romance #choices trr #maxwell beaumont #maxwell x mc #bertrand beaumont #hana lee #drake walker #liam rys #cordonia #type 1 diabetes #omnipod #dexcom #love me the way i am #lmtwia

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stark-tony · 4 years

Text

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 2

part 1

Queer Eye for the Cacti by silentsaebyeok

summary: He bought one-hundred cacti on Amazon! Pepper was going to kill him!

What had possessed him to do such a thing? He never went on shopping sprees when drunk. That just wasn’t a Tony Stark type of thing to do. And in all honesty, he was astonished he even remembered the Amazon password.

Tony makes an interesting purchase while drunk. What he doesn’t expect is for said purchase to bite him in the ass in the worst possible way.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Tumblr Posts by Jen27ny

summary: Literally what the title says. All the prompts and one-shots I post on tumblr.

pairings: pepperony, spideychelle

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warnings:

It Lasts for Always by YellowDistress

summary: Peter has never asked anyone to kill for him, especially not Tony.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Cursed Christmas by sahiya

summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.

It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.

pairings: pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Keeping your head up by frostysunflowers

summary: It’s been a while, a long while, since Tony felt this defenceless. He’s without a suit, the manacle around his ankle is solid steel, and he can’t see a single way out.

He’s been here before, but back then there had been tools, resources, options.

Here, there’s just the walls, his missing kid and the water.

The water.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: kidnapping

Young, Dumb and Suffering by wordscorrupt

summary: In a moment of desperation, Peter decides to take Steve's pain medication to relieve a migraine.

Peter accidentally overdoses on pain medication.

pairings: none

tags:

warnings:

Midnight Oil by JolinarJackson

summary: After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: hurt/comfort, angst

warnings: none

Love Will Remind Us Who We Are by blondsak

summary: There had been many times in Tony’s life when he’d known the piercing clarity that separated a Good Day from a Bad Day. Had known the ways in which, upon first waking, one’s soul would strike a balance between agony and relief either in your favor, or not.

But none of his earlier Good and Bad times had prepared him for his reality now.

Nine months after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony is still reckoning with the toll the final snap took on his body. Between grueling physical therapy, near-constant pain, and the inability to so much as tie his own shoes, well-- things aren’t exactly like Tony had imagined.

Luckily for him, there’s a certain kid from Queens who won’t let Tony give up so easily.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Summertime Sickness by Spideysickfics

summary: "Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

An Irondad camping trip and sickfic to soothe your soul

pairings: none

tags:

warnings: none

to break in these bones by searchingforstars

summary: “We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

or, Peter doesn't listen to Tony, pisses off someone dangerous and ends up on the wrong end of a baseball bat.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

5 Times Peter Gave Tony Something by impravidus

summary: and the 1 time Tony gave him something back

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

You'll Be Here (in My Heart) by seekrest

summary: The morning that Tony’s life changed forever began as his days usually began now — shuffling into the kitchen half asleep, going through the motions as he searched for Pepper’s favorite coffee mug.

Tony stifled a yawn, grabbing the Black Panther novelty mug she adored while he grabbed one that Morgan had made them years ago - one that made her now cringe with embarrassment anytime she saw him use it, the childish scribbles that made him laugh.

He sets Morgan’s creation down on the countertop as he reaches for the Black Panther mug, it being just barely out of reach for when Pepper has put it last.

“Damn thing.” Tony mutters to himself, fingers barely brushing against it before he grabs it - going to set it down on the counter only to be surprised when Pepper walks in from the bedroom, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Morning. You know, you and I need to have a talk about about your choice of mugs. I know T’Challa somehow perfected the cup warmer thing here but you could at least show a little—“

“Michelle’s in labor.”

pairings: spideychelle

tags: angst

warnings: none

the little things we don't say out loud by JBS_Forever

summary: “It's not funny,” Peter says, voice catching as he whines, “This is life or death, Ned. I'm actually dying.”

On the other end of the line, Ned sighs, amused and not at all concerned. “So you're Mr. Stark's secret Santa. It's not that bad.”

- - -

In which Peter is Tony's secret Santa, and it is, in fact, that bad.

pairings: none

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: none

Hiking Essentials: A backpack, plenty of water, and a Spider-kid by kiwifeather

summary: Morgan, Peter, and Tony enjoy each other's company on a hike through the woods while Peter is staying with them for the weekend. Father-and-son bonding ensues

(Takes place after the snap but Tony survives because this is the good timeline and we know that Tony deserved a happy ending)

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

In Case of Emergency by Bowtiez

summary: Babysitting his little sister at the Stark's lakeside cabin seems like quite the gig for 17-year-old Peter. Of course he's got that covered- he's a mature individual and he can watch over a five-year-old for forty-eight hours.

On a totally unrelated note, did anyone know that super-healing doesn't really work on bacterial infections? It's a good thing Morgan knows what to do. Well... it's probably a good thing?

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Three Times Tony Stark Used Italian Nicknames and One Time He Received One by MCUsic_to_my_ears

summary: Tony can't help but slip into his Italian when with his children.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

More Ancient Than Magic by ironfamjam

summary: Life isn't exactly normal when your Head of House is also kinda your father-figure and his daughter is kinda sorta your little sister.

It's also not normal when the bad guys your real-life-war-hero-not-actually-dad defeated in The Great War threaten to return and you're still just trying to finish your Charms essay.

But Professor Stark asked him to protect Morgan. And that's what he's going to do.

Even if it breaks him.

The mini Hogwarts AU

pairings: spideychelle, pepperony

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: torture

Peaches by peterparkr

summary: There’s no response, not even a faint twinge of muscle. Peter tries to listen for a heartbeat, but he can’t seem to focus enough to pinpoint it. Another bubble of thought starts to rise. This could be the reason his spidey-sense is going haywire. Tony could be—

He pushes the bubble down.

Peter and Tony find themselves stranded in the woods after an Avengers mission

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Snowflakes by Jen27ny

summary: Tony just wants to see his kids happy - which means letting Morgan stick as many snowflakes to the window as she likes, and making Peter talk about his nightmares.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies by baloobird

summary: Tony is spending a fun afternoon baking cookies with his kids, but his older one isn't acting like himself.

Whatever the problem is, it's up to the now-retired hero to figure it out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: bullying, acephobia

An MIT Halloween by bethy_277

summary: Coming to MIT had been difficult, having almost lost his mentor when he had snapped to save the entire universe, and Peter had really struggled. If it hadn’t been for Ned and Harley- who he had met shortly after he came back and become good friends with- he didn’t think he would have made it past the first few weeks at school. He had called both May and Tony that first week, hysterical and begging to come back to New York. May had been patient, Tony had been ready to get in his car to drive to him to help him through it, and Harley and Ned had been there and talked him down both times.

** Peter is a college student at MIT and Tony brings Morgan up for some trick-or-treating.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Someone Take Me Home by GallagherHunter

summary: More than a month since May's death Peter is having a less than stellar day at school in the hopes of making it through the day so he can get to the apartment where he's been living with Tony since his world came crashing around him. Meanwhile, Tony has been advised to adopt Peter to assure him he won't leave him.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

It’s Gonna Be Lit by Pawprinter

summary: What Christmas gift does one get for the man who seemingly has everything?

Peter is struggling to find out.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

I'll Be Home For Christmas by snarkymuch

summary: May gets called away for work, and Tony steps in to make sure Peter isn't alone for Christmas. Harley, Morgan, and Peter being adorable kids, and Tony being a great dad.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The power of makeup by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter shows up to a prestigious awards ceremony with a black eye and a whole lot of regret.

Tony raids Pepper's purse and decides to improvise.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

if you'll be my star, i'll be your sky by ftmpeter

summary: There are two things Tony learns about Peter after Morgan is born.

The first thing is that when it comes to kids, he's a natural.

The second thing is that he's a self-sacrificing little shit.

(Tony already knew that. He has the gray hairs to prove it. But. Still.)

It isn't the kind of self-sacrificing that will get him killed or seriously injured - thank God - but it's just as annoying. Maybe even more, because while he can ground Peter from Spider-Man, he can't exactly ground him from staying up all night to make sure Morgan sleeps through it.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

give the cookies a miss by searchingforstars

summary: “Surprise!” Morgan exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She gestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

or, Peter is poisoned by the ones he trusts most.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

i want to be with you 'til the whole world ends by searchingforstars

summary: The last thing he does as his eyes slip shut is wrap his arms tighter around Peter, as tight as he can manage when it feels like the life is draining from him.

Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry I couldn't do it, but please, please, someone look after this kid for me.

Tony would give anything to make sure that Peter Parker is safe.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much left to give. He’s about to have nothing left to give.

The world goes dark.

He drifts away.

Or, Peter and Tony nearly lose each other.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Of bright autumn days and things that go bump in the night by frostysunflowers

summary: Halloween/fall themed fics featuring plenty of fluff, feels and seasonal shenanigans!

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings: none

Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection by seekrest

summary:

pairings: spideychelle

tags:

warnings:

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #my fic recs #kidnapping tw #torture tw #acephobia tw #bullying tw

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 4 years

Note

Hi! I’d like to request #17, with Philip and Chase (and bonus Shoutarou with another Drive character, if you like). I just have this need for Philip to interact with all my favorite characters, and your W crossovers are delightful. ^_^

17. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Really, Shoutaro thinks, it shows a lot of restraint from Philip that he managed to wait a full week after discovering that Roidmudes were back in the world before he insisted on meeting one. Not that he’s unrestrained, of course. In fact, he’s gotten a lot better over the years about not overwhelming people with his academic enthusiasm. But there’s academic enthusiasm, and then there’s his increasing interest in the various unusual friends their junior Riders have picked up. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement since he first heard that Dr. Sawagami had run successful preliminary trials in her project to bring back the Roidmudes.

Of course, Philip could ask to speak with one or more Roidmudes all he liked, it had taken some time to arrange it. They’d had to talk to Terui, and he’d called Drive, and Drive had spoken to the four now-living Roidmudes, and then it had still taken two more months after that before anything could be scheduled just due to the tremendous problems Drive’s friends were having getting the Roidmudes legal status.

Now, though, the day's come, and Philip is enthusiastically shaking the hand of a man so color-coordinated that he could put Terui to shame and saying, "It's a absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chase, thank you for coming, I appreciate it. Would you like coffee? I don’t know if you eat.”

Chase stares at him for only a very brief moment before saying, “Thank you, I do not drink coffee.”

Next to Chase--towering over him, in fact over all of them--is a man in a red coat with a thoughtful look on his face, and Shoutaro has to think for a moment before he recalls the last few messages he’d gotten. “And you’re...Heart, right? I’m Hidari Shoutaro, and this is Philip.”

Philip blinks. “This isn’t Mach? I thought Shijima Gou would be accompanying Chase to Fuuto. Shoutaro, I’m sorry, did I forget to introduce you?”

“It’s all right, partner, you were pretty excited. No, you remember the email, Gou was tied up with something last-minute.”

“By which he means he forgot that Professor Harley was going to be in Japan and expecting to see him.” Heart smiles, although he’s watching Philip with something that might be suspicion. “So I volunteered to come along, I’m always interested in making new friends.”

Chase glances at him. “You are overprotective.”

Heart makes a hm noise that doesn’t sound entirely like disagreement.

“Heart, Heart...” Philip’s eyes light up. “Yes, you’re also a Roidmude! Terui had said you weren’t interested in being interviewed, I don’t suppose you’ve had a change of heart? Forgive me, that wasn’t intended to be a play on words.”

Heart wavers for a moment, and Shoutaro can’t quite figure out whether it’s due to shyness or actual discomfort, so it’s probably fortunate that Chase is the one who answers. “Heart is not comfortable with discussing the past.”

“Ah. Yes, I entirely understand. Would you like coffee?”

“Now who’s overprotective?” But Heart relaxes visibly. “Yes, coffee would be wonderful, thank you.”

"Terui Ryuu said you and the other Roidmudes were having difficulties with your legal status, do you mind if I ask what they were? I know there are existing procedures for establishing the legal identities of non-humans, it's been done for two Bugsters in Seito. Well, three. Two and a half? Dr. Kujou is a complication."

Philip, Chase finds, is refreshingly blunt. He doesn't talk around issues the way many humans do, he cuts directly to the point, and moreover he seems pleased when Chase does the same. "There was an attempt to declare the Roidmudes property of the Japanese government."

"Oh.” Philip blinks several times, rapidly. “That's offensive, I imagine you all objected strenuously."

"Yes." Chase takes a sip of his tea. "And then once it was conclusively determined that we were people, there was the question of criminal charges."

"Really? Against you?"

"Against all of us. Heart, primarily. Brain and Medic were considered accomplices."

"I imagine your being a Kamen Rider helped with your case?"

"To an extent. I am not considered a threat. As it stands, we are no longer capable of causing gravity surges or otherwise wielding serious destructive force, and are under intermittent observation. The current legal debate centers around whether a Roidmude can be considered to have experienced mental duress."

“Hm. Really? Compelling. I wouldn’t think that was a debate at all.”

Chase considers this carefully before replying. “Why would you say that?”

“If Roidmudes are people, which they certainly are, then they can of course experience mental duress, or indeed any form of psychological distress.” Philip stares into space, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “Unfortunately I’ve found that one of the hallmarks of personhood is a capacity for acute suffering. A being self-aware enough to love must also be self-aware enough to fear losing that which they love, and that fear can naturally be leaned upon by the unethical to coerce.” More staring into space. “Or simply to terrorize. It’s even more unfortunate when one realizes that unethical people of that type will likely always exist.”

“I...had not considered this previously.” Chase frowns, slowly. He’s experiencing an unfamiliar emotion--not that there are many emotions truly familiar to him, but this one contains elements of both surprise and happiness, and he is not clear on how one might express it.

He likes Philip, he realizes. He would like to be friends with Philip. Perhaps this is how Heart feels all the time.

“If this is the case, then in your determination, do Roidmudes have souls? I am not clear on what a soul is meant to be, but it has been the subject of discussion.”

Philip actually laughs. “The nature of the soul is one of the few topics on which I’m not the man to ask, for that you might want to talk to Ghost. In fact, I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss it with you. But in my limited experience with the subject--yes, I would think that Roidmudes have souls.” He takes a long drink of coffee. “Please excuse me if this is an indelicate question, I’ve been trying not to ask these things so abruptly lately, but my research indicated that Roidmudes have a more robotic base form onto which your human guises are layered, may I see it?”

They’re at the Windscale boutique getting Heart a suit.

They’d been discussing the Agency, and Heart mentioned having been a detective very briefly and seemed interested in the work, and this had led very naturally to talking about the boss, and from there to what Shoutaro had learned from him. Including, crucially, manner of dress, a topic that Heart seems fascinated by.

“I’d thought you could just sort of...shapeshift your clothing,” Shoutaro says. “At least, Bugsters do that, and Philip had mentioned that you do something similar.”

“Well, I can.” Heart plucks at the furred cuff of his coat. “But Tomari Kiriko’s suggested that I might adjust better to living among humans if I try to pick up some of their habits, little ones, and I like clothing.” A smile flashes across his face. “Mostly I’ve been borrowing things from Tomari Shinnosuke. He’s indicated that he’d like me to stop, though, because apparently he’s tired of having to come find me if he’s missing something he wants.”

“That’s Drive and his wife, right? We’ve never actually properly met, it’s sort of an oversight on Philip’s and my part.” Shoutaro frowns. “Do you live with him?”

Another flash of smile. “For the moment, yes. I was...revived...several months before the other Roidmudes, and they offered to let me stay with them. Mostly I watch Eiji for them and help Kiriko with housework. I’m learning how to cook. Brain and Medic are staying with other friends of Tomari Shinnosuke’s until the authorities can stop arguing about us and let us find a place of our own.”

“Well...” Shoutaro squints up at him for a moment, trying not to resent the man for being taller than him. “What kind of clothing do you like? I’m not exactly an expert on men’s fashion, but I like to think I know a little bit about it.”

This time it’s not a flash, the smile stays as Heart says, “Well, I have to say, the suits that Tomari Shinnosuke and his colleagues wear aren’t very interesting, but I do like your outfit quite a lot, it’s very sharp.”

So now Heart is trying on hats, and the Windscale salesgirls are losing their minds over how handsome he is. Normally Shoutaro would be a little jealous, they’re so used to him at this point that nothing about him is interesting to them, but he can’t quite bring himself to be. Not when Heart looks so pleased to be doing such an ordinary thing. Anyway, he’s letting Shoutaro pick everything out, and it’s so rare for someone else to be this trusting of Shoutaro’s fashion sense.

He also looks very good in a three-piece suit. But then, Shoutaro thinks, straightening his waistcoat, doesn’t everyone?

“What do you think of this one, my friend?”

Shoutaro looks at the latest hat Heart’s picked out and says, after a moment’s thought, “I think you look like a real man.”

Heart pauses. “Is that a good thing in this context?”

“Yes. The best thing I can think of, really. I mean, not that it’s bad to be a woman, but--listen, what I mean is, you look good, it suits you. Do you, uh, do you like to read at all?”

“Yes, sometimes, why?”

“We’re going to a bookstore after this, there are a couple of authors I think you’d enjoy.”

“Thank you for allowing me to examine you,” Philip says, when Chase shifts back into the human form that he’s finding more and more preferable to Proto-Zero’s, “it’s been a tremendous help to me. It’s--the many varieties of personhood that exist within the modern world are terribly compelling, but so few people are willing to speak about it at any length. Which I understand, but it does make study difficult.”

Chase nods. “I understand.” Beat. “You say personhood, but not humanity?”

“They’re hardly synonymous. Like circles and ovals. Every human is a person, but not every person is human. I haven’t always fit the precise definition of human myself.” Philip’s hand stills in the middle of a furious bout of note-taking, his face taking on a faraway look that Chase is learning to recognize. “What was death like for you? If you don’t mind my asking. Personally, I find the memory very difficult to grasp. Like a dream. I know that it happened, but when I reach for it, it slips out of my fingers.”

“It was...” It takes some time to find the way to phrase the answer. “Silent. And then when it ceased to be silent, it was because I was alive again.”

Philip nods, and takes more notes, and says, “Thank you for sharing that, I appreciate it. It’s...most people I know have never died. It’s difficult to explain to them.” The notebook snaps shut suddenly, Philip’s pen slides into its spiral binding right before it’s set aside. “Now. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Chase blinks, slowly, several times, before replying. “How do you mean?”

“You. And your fellow Roidmudes. This is not an easy world to live in, especially when one’s personhood is treated as a subject for debate instead of a given. I would like--I hope that you’ll consider me a friend. I would like you to be my friend. And as a friend I would like to offer you and the other Roidmudes whatever help I can in establishing yourselves as people deserving of independent lives.” Philip grins at him. “At the very least I’m wonderful at winning debates.”

When Philip and Chase emerge from the garage, the first thing they see is Heart sitting in one of the front room chairs with an elderly gray cat asleep on his legs, and a much younger marmalade cat draped around his neck like an ungainly scarf. His red coat is nowhere in sight; he is, instead, wearing a black three-piece suit, a vividly red shirt, and a burgundy necktie with a heart-shaped pin in it. He's also engrossed in a book in English, although when they enter the room he glances up and says, cheerfully, "Hello."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Heart, I see Shoutaro's actually succeeded in his quest to get someone else to like Windscale as much as he does, you look very good. Are you enjoying Raymond Chandler? Shoutaro, is that Mrs. Mizuishi's kitten on our friend's shoulders? Where was he this time? Mrs. Mizuishi is a bit absent-minded," Philip says to Chase, "Chobi frequently wanders off when she's looking elsewhere."

"Yes, she called when we were on our way back from the bookstore." Shoutaro's sitting at the desk, in the middle of typing what looks like a list. "He'd only gotten up a tree, Heart helped me get him down. Mrs. Mizuishi’s coming to pick him up soon."

"And I see he has Mick's approval as well."

The gray cat opens one eye and gives Philip an unamused look, as if to say, “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” only to begin purring when Heart absently reaches down to scratch his ears.

Chase sits down next to Heart while Philip goes over to speak to Shoutaro and is immediately investigated by the orange cat, who sniffs at his ear briefly and then gets up and hops from Heart’s shoulders to his. “What are you reading?”

“A collection of detective stories. Hidari Shoutaro gave it to me. He’s making me a list of movies that I might enjoy, I think I like detectives.” Heart leans slightly so that his arm brushes Chase’s. “It’s nice to have made a new friend. I hope the questioning wasn’t too intrusive?”

After a moment’s consideration, Chase says, “No. It was an enjoyable conversation.” He reaches up offer the orange cat his hand to smell. “I think it would be safe to say that Philip is a friend as well.”

Heart breaks into a smile. “That’s wonderful! I’m very glad to hear it.”

“However, I think we are expected to return to the city shortly.”

“Right, yes, I suppose we are.”

Over at the desk, Shoutaro pulls the paper out of his typewriter, blows on it to make sure that the ink is dry, and then folds it up and tucks it into an envelope. “Here, Heart, I’ve got that list for you. And my email address is at the bottom, please let me know which one you like best, you have no idea how long it’s taken me to find someone else who’d want to watch any of this stuff. I mean, Philip watches them with me, but other than that.”

Philip laughs quietly. “I do enjoy them, partner, I’m just not as passionate about them as you are.”

Heart carefully moves Mick onto the coffee table and stands up, reaching for a black hat with a red band that Chase hadn’t previously noticed hanging off the back of his chair. Chase, similarly, has to untangle himself from the orange cat, which objects strenuously to being moved and then promptly falls asleep in his chair as soon as he’s on his feet.

“I hope you’ll visit again,” Philip says as they’re shaking hands, “for non-research purposes, of course.”

Chase nods. “I would like that.”

Next to him, Heart tucks the envelope from Shoutaro into his suit jacket and says, “Maybe we can bring Brain along next time, I think they’d get along.”

They head out the door as a group, Shoutaro saying, “You’re going to email me, right, I need to know whether you like Spade or Marlowe better.”

“Of course, although I can tell you right now that just from the reading I’ve already done I like Marlowe quite a lot.”

One more round of handshakes as they all stand next to Chase’s motorcycle, and the last thing Philip says to Chase is, “Thank you again, so much. It was a pleasure to meet you. It’s wonderful to have new friends.”

Chase nods, says, “Likewise,” and resolves to visit again as soon as it’s feasible.

#philip #chase roidmude #hidari shoutaro #heart roidmude #fanfiction #toku-fangirl-2015

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer. Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

“Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear. “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.” Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face. “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse. “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student. “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal. “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.” “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised. She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other. “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

“Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door. “Sam?” The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks. “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters. “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas. “Get in,” she tells him.

Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

“Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.” Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package. Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs. “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness. “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch. “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade. She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

“One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening. The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror. “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door. “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam’s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

“Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

“Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.” “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm. Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.” “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.” Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

“Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again. “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again. “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder. “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling. “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act. “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away. He nods, swallowing hard. “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him. “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?” “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed. “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

“Zo?” The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say. “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--” “Don’t mention it.”

Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon. “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.” “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down. “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination. “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be. “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse. “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point. “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression. “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.” “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.” She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back. “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.” “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans. His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?” Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him. “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.” “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side. “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests. “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled. “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.” Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?” Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.” “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

“You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time. “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?” “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies. Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place. “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends. Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.” “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders. Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up. “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully. “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern. “Complicated case?” Dean comments. “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.” “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures. “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes. “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time. “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

“Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her. Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time. “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.” “Be careful,” Sam offers. Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

“I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue. Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself. “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night. Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

“Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong. Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street. “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition. “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off. “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.” “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back. “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind. “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.” “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago. “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.” The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.” Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?” “I am,” Same confirms. “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead. “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?” “Waco it is,” Dean agrees. Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too. “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage. “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware. He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

“Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!” “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him. “Calm down?! She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode. “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator. Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

“For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.” “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions. “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural OFC #Supernatural #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #dean winchester x ofc #Sam Winchester x ofc #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #STSS #In Bad Waters #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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venusflytrps-a · 3 years

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ANSWERED ASK - HARLEY

@chrmatiica ( pamela ) “ if i tell you to leave me behind, would you listen? ”

She was seething, her mind literally seeing red after what these ASSHOLES had done to her Red. And now they’d shot her?! Oh boy, were they gonna pay. Harley swiftly takes out the remaining guards before running back to Ivy, helping her up and moving them into the nearest room that looked like some sort of lab. Footsteps of more guards sound closeby so after resting Red against the wall, Harley secures the room with a nearby table. “Not a chance, Pammy. I’m the therapist, remember. I listen. You talk.” She quips as if it was so obvious. As if her therapist accreditation was still valid. She keeps talking as she darts about the room, looking for some kind of drugs, adrenaline, plants. Anything to help heal Ivy from whatever these asshat scientists had injected her with. The harlequinn tries to hide the nerves in her voice as the foorsteps get closer, as the silence begins to feel too long that she has to check back on her redheaded companion to make sure her worst nightmare hasn’t come true. “So keep talkin’, I think we could really have a breakthrough y’know-Aha!”

An excited squeal as she lifts the plant above her head triumphantly, racing it over to Ivy. She kneels down beside her with a large grin, holding out the plant out like a proud puppy, eyes wide, blue and hopeful. That’s when she feels the hard, plasticky leaves and feels her heart drop. It was fucking fake! Harley’s eyes and smile are frozen momentarily, but anyone who knew her would be able to see the madness swirling in her eyes, her insides cracking at the disappointment. She wants to retreat into herself, she wants to pretend the plant isn’t fake and Ivy can make it work. Become lost in a new fake reality. One surrounded by vines that would swoop them out of here and patch Ivy right up. It is only as she begins to see Red drift that she snaps out it. The plant fraud is thrown behind her and painted nails cup Ivy’s faded green skin, forcing her head back to face her, forcing her greens to open once more. “Hey!” She cries, tears welling in the madness of her blues. Stay with me, Red. Please. Jaw tightens as her brain refocuses and she tries to pull herself together. “We still have 55 minutes of this therapy session so you better not fall asleep on me!” There is a loud bang at the metal door beside them. And another. “CAN YA NOT SEE I’M TRYIN TO TREAT A PATIENT HERE?!” She screams. Mind back in focus, she’s back on her feet searching for resources again. “What kinda medical facility is this? Sheesh!” One last glance back at Ivy, a soft smile says what she really means. I’m gonna get us both outta here.

#uno reversed it and answered this one and did it the other way around because I guess I love pain and am in a harley mood tonight #chrmatiica #harley

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asthesamcroflies · 4 years

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PROMPT: Cold Comfort

It had been Jax she had sobbed for at first, too over-wrought to fully realise why, but with hindsight, she’d come to suppose her subconscious had recognised the young president as the one with the power to fix it. To make sure this never happened to any other unsuspecting girls.

She was open-minded, knew from experience there was a kink for just about every damn thing. Hell, that was how she’d made a living for years. Kept a roof over her little boy’s head. Now she had two more kids in her sole care - vulnerable kids who had endured more violent loss than most adults would know how to cope with. For them, she’d been prepared to take a risk, branch out. But this …

She hadn’t been prepared for this.

Humiliation was one thing, she could bear that if she had to. And she had felt she had to. Money was already tight and while she could just about stand to let herself be further used and objectified when she thought it was on her terms, her pride just wouldn’t let her accept a handout. Not from her mom and not from the club. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, take charity. Not even from family.

But outright torture … She hadn’t seen that coming. Maybe she should have.

Chibs had tried his best to both soothe her and get to the bottom of it all, anger and sympathy warring for dominance on his scarred face even before he knew anything like the whole story. But she couldn’t let herself be cleaned up until she knew she had done everything she could to shut down that vile place. What consenting adults got up to was their business, but she hadn’t agreed to that. To any of it.

And neither had the other women.

So, still bloody and tear-streaked, she’d been loaded back into Ima’s car and driven to Diosa and to Jax, with Harleys behind them all the way. She’d stared out the window blankly on the journey, tearful, but kind of numb. On finally seeing the handsome blond biker though, his eyes widening at the state of her, remembering his sorrow and kindness at her husband’s wake, the floodgates had broken completely and she had simply sobbed for Opie as she crumpled in the arms of his shocked best friend. She knew all too well that Opie wasn’t coming back, but in that moment, he was all she’d wanted. The only place she’d truly have felt safe was wrapped in his big arms.

Jax had seemed to know he was a poor substitute, but he’d tried his best to offer comfort, his hands in the tangled knots of her hair as he held her close, until his need to know, to put whatever the hell had happened right, kicked in and then took over.

“You gotta talk to me, darlin’,” Jax had said as he pulled back, his tone kind, but firm. “I need to know what happened. Who the fuck did this to you. Tell me, Lyla, and I’ll make it right. I promise.”

So she’d ended up sat on one of Diosa’s comfortable couches, surrounded by bikers, Nero and Gemma, feeling self-conscious in the face of their interrogation, despite the concern in all their eyes. And it was Chibs who had quietly sat down close by her side, taking one of her hands in both of his, the gentle squeeze of his fingers proving to be the support she needed to be able to tell her story.

She didn’t go big into the detail. She knew they wouldn’t judge her for what she did, that their own involvement in the industry allowed them to see past the surface. To realise she was just another single mom trying to get by. That being a porn star didn’t somehow make her any less than human. Not everyone was capable of seeing that. Telling her side of things in that dry, matter-of-fact way was her only means of getting through it without breaking down again though.

And if her delivery was to-the-point and unemotional, it was still countered by the haunted look in her blue eyes. What she had endured had been a wake-up call. Like she’d told the gathered Sons, this hadn’t been her kind of gig. Her entire career had been fluff really. Lot of girl-on-girl. Cutesy almost, playing on her ability to look young and innocent. Or young and naughty, as required. Cages and whips and knives and beatings … That was a dark road she’d never planned on going down.

At the mention of what she’d already gone through at the hands of Frankie Diamonds, supposedly one of their own, she could see the moment it sank in for both Jax and Chibs just how hard that had hit. They hadn’t stopped to think about the knock-on effect, the unexpected consequences of that callous bullet, and that guilt over their unintended thoughtlessness landed heavily on their shoulders. She didn’t blame them though. They couldn’t have known, not when she’d been so determined to get through it alone like she always did.

Chibs’ gentle tucking of her hair behind her ear had been enough to spark fresh tears, his other hand never letting go of hers, giving her the strength to keep going when she just wanted to get away. To curl up and cry.

And then it was done. She’d told them everything she knew and it was in their hands, leaving her free to be whisked back to TM by Gemma, bikers again in tow. The stares of croweaters and hangarounds set her freshly on edge, but before the club matriarch could bark an order for them to make themselves scarce, there was already a reassuring hand at the small of her back.

“This way, darlin’. I got ya.”

Chibs steered her down the corridor to one of the rooms, settling her on the edge of the bed before briefly disappearing, only to return with a basin of water in his hands and a medical bag tucked under one arm.

“I can get Gem or one o’ the other girls if you’d rather,” the Scotsman offered, sitting down beside her again when she shook her head. “Trust me? Good lass. Let’s get ya cleaned up then and you just tell me if I’m hurting you or you need me to stop … Ah, Jesus, lovie, look at this mess … Don’t you be worrying your wee head any more about it – those bastards are gonna answer for this. We’ll make sure o’ it.”

With infinite care and patience, he gently cleansed all the bare skin he could of blood and grime, face, arms, legs, applying ointment where needed and apologising every time she winced.

“I know, pet, I know,” he soothed, clearly hating to have to cause her further pain with the antiseptic. “But you’ll feel better once it’s done …”

It took a second for her to realise the reason for his hesitation, until she felt gentle fingers ease the strap of her skimpy camisole aside to examine yet another wound with an intake of breath.

“How far’s this go?”

The slight drop of her head as she tried to avoid his gaze told him everything he needed to know.

“Fucking animals,” he muttered darkly, trying to consider the best way to handle this. “All right, sweetheart, still trust me?”

Knowing what needed to be done, she managed a little nod.

“Right then …” Chibs said, easing her round to sit with her back to him. “Lift up, lass. That’s it, nice and easy. I’ll be quick as I can.”

He’d peeled the delicate bloodstained lace and silk up and over her head as carefully as he could, before once again setting to work with the soft washcloth, tending to the multiple cuts and grazes marring the pale skin of her back and sides. Then he’d pressed the cloth into her hand and let her manage as best she could herself to take care of her front and high up on her thighs under the thin blanket she’d been wrapped in since first being delivered back to them by Ima. He stayed close though, leaning in on instinct to press a kiss to the back of her head when he realised she was crying again.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, darlin’,” he whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She felt him get up from the bed, hearing a drawer open before he was back and handing her a clean Samcro t-shirt big enough to keep her decent.

“Pull that on for now and Gemma’ll sort ya wi’ something proper to wear before we get you home,” he said, waiting until she’d complied to turn her around so he could look her in the eye. “Better?”

She nodded, tearful all over again at his kindness. “T-Thank you, Chibs,” she whispered.

“I’d say any time, but I don’t wanna be seeing you like this again, love,” he smiled sadly.

Her lips brushing over his took them both by surprise but, suddenly desperate for that comfort, she kissed him again before his brain could catch up.

He was only human and her mouth was soft and sweet as he cupped her small face in his hands and kissed her deeply, letting himself be momentarily blinded to the fact that she was supposed to be a patient of sorts in his care – not to mention that in his mind, and hers, she was still his brother’s wife.

He swore when he pulled away first, as if he’d been burned.

“Shite, sorry – I shouldn’t have--”

Shame and embarrassment washed over her, almost stronger than when they’d first saw what had been done to her. She’d started this. She’d let him see what had been done to her and, just because he’d been kind to her, had thrown herself at him like some desperate slut.

“No, it’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking. Oh my god, I’m so stupid! Sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Lyla,” he tried. “Lyla, stop. Darlin’, it’s okay …”

“It’s not – it’s not okay! You were only trying to help and I just … I don’t know why I thought you’d want a mess like this – why would anyone? I should go. Shit, I’m so embarrassed …”

“Whoa, slow down there, sweetheart,” Chibs tried again, catching her as firmly as he could by the arms while being mindful of her injuries. “Oi, listen to me, you got nothing to be embarrassed about or sorry for. I’m flattered, love, really I am. Gorgeous wee lass like you – nah, don’t be rolling those eyes now. Come on, you’re a fucking stunner, Ly. A few cuts and scrapes ain’t gonna change that. But you’ve been through a hell o’ a time and you ain’t in a good place right now. And since I don’t really fancy being the cause o’ regret on that pretty wee face, what d’ya say we put this on ice at least ‘til you’ve had a rest, straightened yer head out, yeah?”

She stared at him, taking in those warm brown eyes fixed on her, the hands that had slipped into hers again.

“Why are you being so good to me?” she whispered.

A little smile quirked the corner of his mouth at that and he shrugged, leaning in to give her one final little kiss. “You got people who care about you, lass – don’t ever forget that.”

#sons of anarchy #soa #soa imagine #samcro prompt #sons of anarchy imagine #chibs telford #soa chibs #lyla winston #jax teller

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poorboypictures · 3 years

Text

Major America: Ch. 1

Jordon Wilkinson was seven years old when he first learned of Captain America; he and his siblings were told by their grandfather of the time he fought beside Captain America and Bucky in World War II. All were enthralled, but none more than Jordon himself. Jordon began reading all he could about the Captain’s escapades before and during the war, learning his origin, his identity, and his disappearance; taking the hero to heart, Jordon stood up for those who couldn’t stand for themselves throughout his life, even joining the military after the Twin Towers fell, serving seven years before a hip injury took him out of action permanently. In 2012, Captain America resurfaced and Jordon was thrilled to have him as a moral standard in the country again, only to notice a change in the hero over the years.

***

2021, nine years after Captain America was freed from the ice; Major Jordon Wilkinson sits in a security office picking at his spaghetti and meatball lunch, staring intently in thought. Wally Gertz, his partner, is fidgeting with a Rubik’s Cube keychain with his feet up.

“Something wrong?” Wally asks.

Jordon blinks a few times and looks over at Wally. “Hmm?”

“Lunch ended ten minutes ago and usually you finish in five minutes just to keep watch on the feed.”

“No, I just have a lot on my mind.” Jordon takes a bite of his lunch as Wally puts away the cube.

“We’ve been working the same shift together for three years, Jordon; I would think I can read you well enough.”

Jordon sighs and pushes his lunch away before leaning back in his chair.

“You know the phrase ‘never meet your heroes’?”

Wally takes his feet off of the desk and leans forward. “You met him? You met Captain America?” He asks, eyes wide.

Jordon slowly nods. “The saying is true. At least, it wouldn’t have been if I met him when he came out of the ice. He’s changed and I think society was what did it; a man out of time, trying to keep up with the seventy years he missed, and I believe it corrupted him.”

“Sounds plausible; society is a bit of a mess these days.” He straightens his hat. “It’s a shame someone can’t just grab the shield and say ‘I’m the Captain now’.”

Jordon stops completely, an idea forming.

***

Later that day; Jordon is in his apartment on his computer, looking for a shield.

“The shield is the easy part.” He says to himself. “It’s the costume that will be hard to get; how am I going to get an extra thousand dollars for an accurate costume?”

He pauses as something dawns on him.

“Hang on…”

He gets up, grabs his phone, and calls someone as he sits back down at the computer.

“Hello?” Georgie Berke answers the phone.

“Georgie, it’s me, Jordon.”

“Hey, Jordy! How are you doing? How was your nephew’s birthday?”

“Loud, and disruptive, but I love him, so I didn’t leave. So, hey, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How does one get an accurate costume?”

“Jordy.” She says teasingly. “Are you getting into cosplay?”

“Georgie, I’m 43 years old, I don’t do cosplay.”

“I’m 37, Jordy, what’s your point?”

“My point is-.” He says with a tad of frustration. “I want an accurate costume and I would like to know how to get one for a good price.”

“Weeelll… if you had an extra small fortune to spend on one you could do that.”

“Nope.” Jordon shakes his head. “I have bills to pay.”

“Then you could make a costume with your own twist, I’ve seen plenty of cosplayers use this method to save a buck without having to get a cheaply made costume.”

“That sounds doable. Thanks.”

“May I ask what exactly this is for?”

“… No. Bye.”

He hangs up, opens a new tab, and begins searching for his costume-with-a-twist.

***

One week later; Jordon is in his apartment listening to a police scanner app on his phone as he peals masking tape off of the recently painted heater shield; just as Jordon finishes taking the tape off, dispatch warns of an attempted robbery at a nearby bank.

“That’s a mile from here…” Jordon says to himself as he looks at his partly assembled costume on the couch; he looks at the shield and back to the couch, wondering whether he should go without a complete costume.

Jordon sighs and quickly puts the costume on, wearing the shield on his back like a backpack; he jumps down the fire escape and onto a red 2013 Harley-Davidson Breakout, tearing out of the alley way and down the street.

Literally a minute later, Jordon pulls into the alley next to the bank and walks into the rear entrance to hear two men trying to break into the safety deposit boxes; he sneaks up behind them, pulls out his gun, pistol-whips one crook, knocking him out, and knocks out the other with his shield, only for the resounding “clang!” to catch the attention of the crook standing guard at the other side of the room.

The crook shouts at Jordon. “HEY!”

Before Jordon can turn around and shield himself, the gunman shoots him in the thigh and side; Jordon holds in a scream of pain as the gunman empties his magazine into the shield; as the gunman tries to quickly reload, Jordon sprints forward at full speed and punches the man out cold only to find himself in front of the remaining three robbers ready to fire on him.

“Oh, crap…”

Jordon ducks behind the shield as the three men fire at him, emptying their magazines; they stop to taunt him as they reload.

“You supposed to be Captain America or something, man?” One asks.

“He’s got a round shield, you imbecile!” Another taunts.

Jordon takes a deep breath, blocking out the pain from being shot, and pulls out his gun.

“Come on, just like in the military.” He whispers to himself

He stands up and hits the first two gunmen in the shoulder without effort, but he and the third gunman fire at the same time; Jordon hits the gunman in the shoulder same as before, and the gunman hits Jordon in the bicep. The gunman goes down and Jordon holsters his gun, his breathing shaky; he looks around at the employees and citizens getting up from the floor.

“Is everyone okay?” He asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

A man in a suit nods. “Yes, we’re fine, but you need a doctor.”

“I’ve suffered worse, trust me.” Jordon says as he turns to go back the way he came in.

“Wait!” A woman calls. “What do we call you?”

Jordon stops and looks back. “I’m… Major America.”

He heads to the back of the bank to leave.

***

Soon, in Georgie’s apartment, Georgie is watching the news as she sips from a cup of tea; the news anchor is reporting on the bank robbery when the footage of the fight is played on screen. Georgia spews her tea out, coughing.

“JORDY!?”

***

In Jordon’s apartment, Jordon is sitting at his dining table stitching up the wound on his side when his front door bursts open, causing Jordon to jump as Georgie bolts in.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

Jordon grabs some gauze and puts pressure on his wound that has begun bleeding again.

“I really need to lock my door more often.” Jordon says, wincing. “Can you pass me that whiskey?”

He points to the bottle on the kitchen counter and Georgie hands it to him, watching as he takes a swig.

“Why are you drinking while stitching yourself up?” Georgie asks. “How do you even know how to stitch a wound?”

Jordon continues stitching.

“Back in Iraq our field medic got hit by a frag grenade along with a couple others; the anesthetic was apparently hit and drained out so we raided the basement of a bombed bar and the medic taught me how to stitch a wound because I had the steadiest hands.” He takes another swig of whiskey. “Sometimes the old ways are the best.”

He finishes stitching the wound and places some gauze over it.

“Can you hold that while I wrap the wound?”

“Fine.” Georgie huffs as she holds the gauze in place. “Just tell me what you were thinking when you decided to do this?”

“What are you? My mother?” Jordon quips as he finishes wrapping his wound. “I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions.”

“Not when they get you nearly killed!”

Jordon stands up and puts his shirt back on.

“I fought for seven years in a country that hated my guts, I can stand to fight a few more in another country that hates my guts. Doesn’t matter what you say, Georgie, I won’t stop what I’ve started.”

Georgie sighs and crosses her arms in a huff.

“No, you’re right; you’re an adult.”

She notices his bloodied costume and picks up the sweater.

“Also, what kind of costume is this? A baby could do better!”

“The gloves and jacket hadn’t arrived yet, they’ll be here in a couple of days.”

Georgie looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“Are you… Are you cropping a jacket?”

“… Noooo…” Jordon answers reluctantly.

“What color is the jacket?”

“Blue…”

“The only way you’re going to get the look you want is by cropping the jacket.”

“Fine! Yes, I’m going to crop the jacket!” Jordon winces and holds his side after the defeated outburst bothers his wound. “Okay, back to small talk.” He says, pained.

Georgie picks up Jordon’s helmet and mask and gives it a once over.

“Where did you get this?” She asks.

“The helmet was my grandfathers; quick coat of paint and it was perfect.” He takes a swig of whiskey once again. “The mask I found at an antique shop; the tag said it was an aviator’s mask used in the war, but I’ve never seen one like this before.”

“And the shield?”

“Got that online, bought three and tested two of them on my uncles range to see what guns they could handle; surprisingly a lot. I’m going to have to buy more after a while though, I’ll need to make a budget for that.”

“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?” Georgie asks, pulling a chair up next to Jordon.

“I am.”

“Why, though? What on God’s green Earth would get you to do this?” She asks, genuinely concerned.

“America needs a hero who will truly fight for them, a hero who understands what it means to be the little guy, America needs an underdog; do you think Ironman understands what it’s like to live paycheck-to-paycheck, or if Thor understands what it’s like to get mugged and you can’t pay your rent by the end of the week?”

“Probably not…” Georgie says.

“We rely too much on them; yeah, they’ve saved the world, but we don’t need Black Widow to find a stolen car. I’m going to try to be like that spider guy in Manhattan; he sticks to one area and does it well.”

Georgie stands up and stretches.

“If you’re going to do something stupid, I may as well help: if you find any information you can’t track just call me and I’ll see if I can find anything for you; I’m pretty good with computers, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll see you Monday.”

Georgie smiles and leaves the apartment.

***

A couple days later; a young man is being mugged by two men in an alley way, getting beaten; someone clears their throat and the muggers stop and turn to look down the alley to see Major America wearing a complete costume.

“Alright, boys, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He says.

The muggers look at each other and pull their knives.

“Hard way it is.”

He raises his shield and jumps into the fray.

End.

The Incomplete costume.

The Complete Costume.

Don't judge the art too harshly, I know what I have to work on I don't need people pointing it out.

Also, I suck at writing origins, I'm better at writing stories where the reader is assumed to know exactly who the characters are.

#captain america #america #major america #star spangled man #patriotism #patriot #original character #oc art #oc artwork #oc insert #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfics #fanfic writing #oc insert au #au #alternate universe #art #artwork

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venactricisfics · 5 years

Text

Malibu Desert

A night out

@lonelyheart75 @audrie-bryant

Mayans Based Story. Adult Content

Master List

Eighteen

After coffee and breakfast at Vicki’s, she wouldn’t hear of us eating out when she had plenty, I climbed on the back of Bishop’s bike and we rode into town. The gates of the scrap yard rattle open and we pull through.

“It’s still standing,” I comment as I take my helmet off. “I’m almost surprised.”

“So am I,” he takes my hand and we walk up the steps to the clubhouse. “I just need to take care of a few things.”

I give his cheek a peck before releasing his hand, “Hurry or we may end up with a hot pink tufted couch.”

“Don’t rush me, woman,” he says, “I will put my dirty boots on your pink couch.” He shoots me a wink then steps behind the stained glass door. I open my computer and remove the overly feminine options from my Pinterest board. I didn’t doubt Bishop for a second. I also wanted to make the new place /our/ place. Our home together. If he could compromise on Harley art and leather I could meet him in the middle. I love him more than any piece of furniture. Though I think I could squeeze that pink sofa in my new beauty room.

“Yo Malibu,” I lift my eyes from my screen hearing Angel’s voice call out, “Bish wants you.”

“In there?” I glance through the stained glass. In all the time I’d dated Bishop I hadn’t walked past the stained glass. I respected him and the club too much to go uninvited.

“Yeah in there, that’s where he’s at,” Angel responds, his words oozing annoyance.

“Asshole,” I say as I walk timidly through the door. The decor was pretty much what I expected. A long table surrounded by big wooden chairs. I fought back the urge to run my fingers over the table’s artwork.

“Sit,” Bishop motioned to the empty chair between Hank and Creeper. He had his Presidente voice on when he spoke. It was firm, controlling, if I’m honest with myself it excited me. I pushed that thought away, I was called in here to talk business. I take a seat after Angel pulls it out. It was almost daunting having all those eyes aimed in my direction.

“We voted,” Bishop says, voice still booming. “We can cut you in for 10%.”

I quirk a brow, “While I appreciate you agreeing to include me in the business. I’ve already spoken to Vicki and sweetheart, that number seems a little low to me.” Trying to keep my face just as stoic. “I’m fronting all the new expenses and providing all the new connections.” He leans over whispering to Taza then looks to Riz.

“Can you talk to Vicki and get her to kick in part of her cut?” he asks.

“I think she will be ok with that,” Riz answers.

“Then I think we can get you up to 20%,” Bishop states.

“I can settle for 25%,” I respond, “as long as the girls don’t feel the brunt of that cut.” I couldn’t quite read Bishop’s expression. Did I overstep? No, it was more than fair. Vicki and her girls get the majority, the club gets a cut for their protection, and I was kicking in all the costs for remodeling and medical.

“Done,” he picks the massive hammer up and slams it down. Adjourning the meeting. I blink, then blink again.

“That’s it?” I ask, standing as he stands.

“Not much more to discuss,” his face finally relaxes and he gives me a smile as we step back into the bar, his arm draped over my shoulders.

“You’re different in there,” I say as I slip my arm around his waist.

“I have to have my shit together, hermosa,” he tells me, “I earned their respect, I have to make sure that I keep it.”

“I like it,” I lean in keeping my voice low, “your Presidente voice is very hot.”

“Very hot, Bish,” Angel says behind me, “makes my dick hard every time.” I respond to his comment with an elbow to his stomach. “Aw shit,” he responds blocking his stomach from any other blows, “Bish your ole la…” he pauses seeing the look on my face,” your girl is assaulting me.”

“I got no problem with it,” Bishop replies then walks with me to the table with my computer still set up. I show him everything I’d picked out. He agreed with most. I compromised the big fluffy couch for a dark brown leather. And he let me go with the canopy bed with twinkle lights.

“We can have it all delivered and set up by the end of the week,” I start punching in my credit card information.

“I can’t let you buy it all, querida,” he says, taking a sip from his bottle.

“We’re buying it,” I tell him, “I’m just putting my card number.” I rest my hand on his thigh, “If it makes you feel better you can pay for the movers. I got a lot of shit that has to be packed and moved.” He nods and leans pressing his lips to mine.

“Bish,” EZ says standing across the table from us, “I got that thing you wanted done.”

“Thanks, son,” he said, then turned his attention back to me, “You ready to get out of here for a while, querida?”

“Sure,” I responded standing up with him walking out to the front, “Where are we going?”

“Just get on the fucking bike,” he states with a slight smile, “Stop asking questions.” He hands me my helmet. I swing my leg over the bike and rest my hands on his side. “You’re lucky I like it when you’re bossy,” I respond.

We rode out of the city and up into the mountains, to a part of Santo Padre I’d never seen before. The view was awe-inspiring. He helps me off the bike and leads me to a blanket that was spread out over the grass. A picnic basket in the corner.

“It’s beautiful,” I say after settling down with him, “I don’t deserve you.”

He rests his hand on my cheek, “You deserve so much more than me. I’m a fucking biker. I am grateful you ever gave me a second glance.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you on your loud as fuck motorcycle,” I smile locking my gaze with his, “waking me up at all hours.”

“Leave my bike alone, querida,” he says, “I know that bike better than I know your body.” His hand ghosting down my arm making me tremble.

“I’ll take your word for that,” I whisper as I move closer to him, my lips hovering just a breath from his, “you seem to know my body so well.”

“Yes, mi amor,” he presses his lips to mine briefly, “I know you’re hungry, you didn’t eat much at Vicki’s this morning.”

“Then I hope this basket isn’t just for show,” I kiss him back then reach for the basket. It wasn’t just for show, it was filled with steak tortas, chips and salsa, and churros filled with chocolate. It was all delicious.

I slid out of my shoes and let my toes feel the sand beneath my feet as I took in the view. The sun dips on the horizon. Everything from the scenery to the man was perfect. A gentle breeze blows my hair around my face. I turn back smiling as he snaps a picture of me with his phone. I walk back towards him, “Let me see?” He swipes through the shots he took.

He gives me a meaningful look, “Take your shirt off.”

“Here? Now?” I raise a brow.

He nods, “Your skin glows in the moonlight.”

“That’s because I’m pale,” I give him a smile. I glance about realizing we’re in the middle of nowhere, I pull my shirt up over my head and lay it on the blanket beside him. He watches me, eyes dark.

“Now your pants,” Bishop says. I pop the button of my jeans and shimmy them down my hips. His gaze moves over me, as erotic as though it was his touch. He raises up on his knees, his hands cup my hips and his lips press against my stomach. His tongue dances over the waistband of my purple satin panties and he grabs me tighter. My fingers lace through his hair when he inches lower, sucking my clit through my satin panties before peeling them down my legs. Bishop’s hands returned to my hips holding me steady as he ran the flat of his tongue along my slit. I let out a moan as the sensation courses through my body. If he weren’t holding me I would have floated away. My muscles tense and I start to tremble, but he continues probing me with his tongue.

“I’m …” I couldn’t finish the thought before my release rushed over me, my legs shaking and I couldn’t stand. Bishop guides me to lay on the blanket. He trails kisses back up my stomach and then my chest and up my neck. He whispers in my ear with a groan, “I love the way you taste.”

My cheeks still flush at his words, I brush my thumb over his cheek, “I love you, Bishop.”

“Do you, hermosa, or just because I made you cum,” he smirks, “twice.”

“That’s a bonus,” I pressed my lips to his, I moaned, tasting myself on his lips. His leather felt cool pressed to my heated skin. I tug at his belt and my hand slips inside, stroking him.

“You find something you want?” he asked, smirk still tugging at his lips.

“Are you going to give it to me?” I try to push his pants down as he settles between my thighs. He hooks my leg over his arm as he drives into me.

“You know I will,” he groans as he picks up his pace. My hands move over the leather of his kutte then grip tight on his firm shoulders. My hips move to meet his thrusts. I tremble beneath him as my mind goes blank as waves of pleasure flow through every cell in my body. He fixes his eyes with mine before his lips crash into mine at his release.

He rests his forehead against mine as he comes down from his high. I smile as his wallet chain brushes against my bare thigh, “Why am I practically naked out here and you are still fully clothed?”

Bishop smiles, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I’m just fucking lucky.”

“Damn right,” I smile back at him before pressing my lips to his. “Take me home and we can get naked together.”

#bishop losa #obispo losa #bishop x reader #bishop x oc #mayans mc #mayans smut #soa #sons of anarchy

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ruthoakenshield · 4 years

Text

The Lady in the Black Leather (Ch 21)

Catch up here [chapter 20]

Aiden x Scarlett, Graham McTavish, Reader

You, Aiden & Scarlett visit for a while, then Graham shows up with a pretty bouquet of brightly colored daisies and mums with a big sunflower in the middle of it, and a tray with two coffee cups and a brown paper bag in the other hand. He had a ‘get well’ balloon also for you, which was tied to the vase of flowers.

You giggle and thank him for them. He grins and sets the flowers and balloon down on the windowsill next to the ones from Aiden and Scarlett.

He comes and gives you a little hug and kisses your forehead. “How’s my girl doin?” he asks.

You grin, “Don’t let Rich hear you say that!” you tease.

He grins, “Well, me and Gwen laid claim to ya before Rich did, so he’ll have to just deal with it.” He says cheekily, making you giggle. “So, how are ya doin?” he asks.

You shrug. “Tired, my leg hurts, and I’m hungry.” you reply and grin when he sets a bag on the table and hands you a french vanilla cappuccino from the tray.

“Well, breakfast is here now, so at least ya won’t be hungry anymore.” He chuckles. “Don’t they have ya on pain meds?” he asks you.

“Yeah, but I told the nurse I didn’t want them till I had some breakfast in me. I’ll get them in a bit.” You tell Graham.

Grinning, you dig into the bag, seeing pastries like what Todd has delivered each morning. You look up at Graham. “Where did you get these from? They look like the ones Todd has delivered each morning at the shop!” you ask.

He grins. “I got them from the pastry shop that he gets his from. They asked why his shop was closed and then saw the note Rich left on the door this morning. They said to tell ye and Todd that they wish ye both a speedy recovery!” he says with a smile

You grin and take a bite of a strawberry scone and let out a happy little groan. “I love these ones! These and the doughnuts with the icing and the strawberry or cherry fillings! OOOooohhh they are the BEST!” you giggle.

There’s a knock at the door and a young lady is standing at the door with two big bouquets of flowers. “Excuse me Miss, but are you Harley?” she asks.

You nod. “Yes.”

She comes in and tells you, “These are for you. Where would you like them?” She asks.

Your jaw drops. One bouquet is two dozen red and pink roses with baby’s breath and purple lavender filler. The other is a bouquet of 6 yellow roses, brightly colored fuji mums and daisies that were colored brightly with food coloring.

Scarlett gets up and takes the bouquet of red and pink roses. She sets it down on the table and looks for a card. “Aaahhh! Here it is!” she says and hands you the card.

You open it up and see it’s from Richard. “For the love of my life. You mean the world to me, Sweetheart. I hope these brighten your day. I’m thinking about you & know I love you more than anything in the universe! Xoxo – Rich”

You grin and show it to Graham, Aiden & Scarlett. They all smile, and Scarlett puts the card back on the plastic stand and Graham takes the bouquet and puts it on the windowsill next to the other ones.

The delivery gal hands Scarlett the other big bouquet and then heads out to do more deliveries after you thank her for bringing them up.

Scarlett digs around in the bouquet and finds another card. She hands it to you, and you open it up to see it is from the Police Department that Alex, Todd and Jack worked for. It said, “Heard what happened, wishing you a speedy recovery! Our thoughts and prayers are with you! – Inspector Kathleen Walsh & your friends at the NYPD 19th Precinct.”

You look at Graham and Scarlett in surprise. “The police department sent me flowers?” Graham chuckles. “Apparently so Sweetheart!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Well, that was nice!” you state.

They all nod. Graham takes the flowers and puts them on the windowsill as well. “You’re getting quite the collection, Sweetie!” Scarlett teases you.

You grin. “They’re making my room smell nice, that’s for sure!” you say, grinning.

Your doctor knocks on the door casing and then steps in. He talks with you for a bit and checks the wounds on your leg after shooing everyone out into the hall.

He asks you about all the scars on your legs and you explain they go all the way up onto your crotch. You tell him that the ones on your legs were from your last three boyfriends you had before meeting Richard. And you tell him the ones on your crotch were from the ex-boyfriend, Ben, who shot you. You ask him to make a note of you telling him that to put in your medical file. That you don’t want anyone thinking it was Richard who gave you them. You explain you never had reported the abuse from your ex boyfriends because of fear since the ex-boyfriends had all threatened you that if you told they’d go after you and your family. He nods in understanding and makes a note of it in your file.

He tells you that he doesn’t want you walking on the leg for a few days, and that you may use the crutches ONLY to get from your bed to the restroom in your room and then back to your bed for now. You nod. He asks if you need any stronger pain meds and you shake your head.

“I’m due for them when the nurse comes back with them. I told her I wanted to wait to take them till I had some breakfast in me first.” You reply.

He nods and tells you he will check in with you tomorrow morning then and tells you to have a good day.

Your friends come back in after the Doctor leaves and they have another two bouquets. You roll your eyes and giggle. “Now who are these from?” you ask.

Graham sets a small oblong flowerpot on the table with Hyacinths, tulips, daffodils and crocuses on the table in front of you. You grin and take a deep breath. “Oooohhh! Those smell wonderful!!!” you pull the card off the flower pick and read it. It’s from Captain Angel L. Figueroa Jr. & the NYPD 1st precinct and says: “Wishing you a speedy recovery, Harley! Our thoughts and prayers are with you as you recover!”

“Awwww! That’s sweet!” you say and put the card back on the flower pick.

Scarlett takes the planter and puts in on the shelf by the sink so you can smell them when people open the door to enter and exit.

The other bouquet is pink and white stargazer lilies and hot pink roses and lighter pink carnations with some greens. You look at the card and see it’s from Lee Pace. It reads: “Wishing you a speedy recovery and hope you and Phantom are doing well.”

“Oh! Those smell lovely too! It’s gonna smell like a flower shop in here!’ you giggle.

Graham and Aiden chuckle and Graham adds the flowers to your collection on the windowsill.

Scarlett looks at the time and nudges Aiden, who glances up at the clock and sees they need to get going to the studios. “We gotta get going, Harley. I gotta film some scenes this afternoon, and Scarlett’s gonna go check on the shop for you and Todd.” He tells you.

They both give you a hug and tell you they will see you later on. You wave goodbye and they head out.

The nurse comes in with your pain meds. “Are you ready for your meds, Harley?”

You nod and she gives them to you. You down them with your water and she makes a note in your chart on the hospital’s computer. Then she heads out after seeing if you needed anything.

You look at Graham and say, “Now what do we do?”

He chuckles. “Well, what would you like to do?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Graham, can you tell me about your family? I don’t even know their names, you said your wife told you to tell me ‘welcome to the family’.” You said. “You must’ve been telling her about me.”

He chuckled. “Aye, Lass, I told her ‘bout you. How I met you, and how I was tryin’ to hook ya up with Rich. She wanted to see what ya looked like, so I sent her the pics I took.” He explained. “Didn’t want her worrying if the Papparazzi snuck photos of us when we all do stuff together.

Scarlet told me your parents died a few years ago and I mentioned it to Gwen… It was her idea, actually, to ‘adopt’ you, so to speak.” He giggled. Gwen is my wife. Our two daughters are Hope and Honor.” He tells you, “Honor was born in 2006 and Hope was born in 2012.” He says beaming with pride. “I’ll show you pics of them later.” He says. “They live in New Zealand where we have a house.” He tells you.

You look at him surprised. “I thought you were from Scotland, though?” you ask.

He chuckles. “I am, Lass, but I’ve lived all over the world. We decided to settle in New Zealand, though, after living there while we filmed The Hobbit.” He explained.

“Oh! I saw a lot of the bonus features on my Extended Edition DVD’s of the Hobbit. It looks absolutely wonderful! It’s on my bucket list of places to visit someday.” You tell him with a big grin.

He chuckles, “Well, Lass. I’m sure Rich wouldn’t bat an eye taking you to come visit us there. He loved it there as much as we did and considered buying property there, but he’s so busy with filming and such, he said he’d rather wait till he got older and started to slow down with work.” Graham tells you.

“Graham?” you ask.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” he replies.

“I want to do something special for Rich, but I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t like to talk about himself, so trying to find out what kinds of things he likes, I’m finding is rather difficult. Do you think you could help me?” you ask. “I know he likes chocolate ice cream, wine, legos and reading. But that’s about it.”

Graham chuckles. “Yeah, he is an introvert and shy, so whenever people ask him personal questions, he tends to shy away from them.” He tells you. He gives you a few ideas of things Richard would like and suggests to just be observant, “You’ll learn more about him from just observing and listening, than from anything else, Lass.

He’s moody and grumpy sometimes, but don’t let it get to you. It’s just how he gets into characters he portrays. He’ll often take them home with him and struggle to let ‘em go. Maybe having you around will help ‘im with that, Lass.” Graham tells you.

“There’s so much I don’t know about the film industry.” You sigh. “I’ve never seen how one is made from start to finish. He asked if I’d come with him when he travels for the promotional stuff for the film too. I’ve never traveled very much tho. He said something about finding out the details for taking Phantom with too, so I’d feel safe.” You tell Graham.

Graham grins. “It would be nice for him to have ye with, Lass. I know I’d enjoy having you with us. My wife and kids don’t travel much with me. It’s such a long flight from New Zealand to the US and Europe that they don’t make it very often to join me for premieres. It’s a whirlwind of a time, and is exhausting, but it’s a lot of fun too. You get to meet a lot of people and just sit back, relax and talk about the film with interviewers. If you do come with, we’ll be sure ya are well taken care of.” He tells you.

You giggle and grin. “Graham, did you get my dress from Aiden’s? Don’t let Rich know anything about the dress. I don’t want him to see it or see me in it until he picks me up for the event! I want it to be a surprise!” you tell him.

He gives you a positively evil smirk and says, “Your wish, is my command, Sweetie. And yes, I picked it up from Aiden’s last night before I headed home. It’s in my closet in my bedroom, which he won’t dare go into. Scarlett said I should hang it up so it wouldn’t crease the velvet.” He tells you. “I’ll take ye to go have it altered to fit ye when they let ye outta here.” He says.

You grin and happily clap your hands. “I can’t wait!

Graham chuckles and rubs his beard, thinking.

“Graham, do you ever do Skype or Zoom or FaceTime your family? You’re always saying I remind you of your daughters.” You tell him. “I thought it would be nice to say hi to them and talk with them and your wife, if it was okay with you. I don’t know how the time differences work between there and here though.” You mention to him.

He glances up at the clock and you can see him working out the time differences in his head.

“Well, Lass, it’s about 1am there right now. Well, if ya can wait till around 3 or 4 pm our time this afternoon which should be able to give them time to get up and get ready, then we can give them a zoom call, we’ll say “Hi” and I’ll introduce ya to them!” he tells you.

“For now, though, what do ya want to do?” he asks. Phantom comes over and sniffs all the flowers on the windowsill and ‘wuffs’ at them.

“What? Don’t you like all my pretty flowers, Phantom?” you ask. He chuffs and comes walking over to your bedside. Graham smiles and gives him a good scratch. “Do ya need to go outside, Boy?” he asks.

Phantom gives a short yip and Graham stands up. “I’ll go take him out to do his business, then we’ll be right back, Sweetheart. Did someone take him out last night or this morning?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the officer had one of the nurses take Phantom out. You’d have to ask him.” You tell Graham.

He nods and clips the leash on Phantom after he adjusts the service jacket. They head out and Graham stops to talk with the officer. The officer tells him he had one of the nurses take Phantom outside when he needed to go to the bathroom, and she brought him right back up. He did say they played with the rope toy for a bit having a tug of war.

Graham chuckled. “All right. Well, we’ll be back in a bit.” He tells the officer.

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katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Changes - part six Word count: ±5000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part six: Zoë remains one step in front Dean, which annoys the cocky hunter. As new details about the case unravel, both Winchester brothers find out that the independent woman is not planning to share. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

Dean squints when he steps into the light. A clear blue stretches out across the sky, the bright color gradually turning paler as it closes in on the horizon. He’s outside in the parking lot crammed with cars; the desk clerk wasn’t lying when he said he was fully booked. The place doesn’t have a sinister feel to it anymore like it did last night, allowing the hunter to let his guard down on this caffeine-deprived morning. The older Winchester brother needs a fix and he needs it badly. Sam drank all the instant coffee and he refuses to drink that shit from the machine in the lobby.

He expected it to be chilly outside, but the sun feels pleasantly warm. Sam woke him up, turning up the volume of the radio completely during the drum solo of a Guns ‘N Roses song. Not because his little brother likes that particular music, but he does like to watch Dean bolt upward in bed. Payback, because the older Winchester can’t deny that he pulled a similar prank on his brother more than once. Honestly, he’s glad Sammy is starting to mess with him again. It’s been a while since they acted like siblings. The joke was a good wake up call, too, he has to admit, but he still feels hungover: wrecked, tired and in desperate need of a cup of coffee, or several.

Traffic rushes by, most of the cars and trucks entering the city of Rochester. It’s a big town, big enough for people to disappear in without others noticing. For a moment, he thinks of those the shapeshifter already took. Sam found a string of at least three disappearances and that conclusion was drawn from the information he had access to offline while Dean was driving up north. These people could be anywhere. Dead? Probably. Going to die if they don’t find that bastard’s hideout fast? Definitely. But before he can work, he needs food, too. Dunkin’ Donuts, now that would be a treasure in this town.

When he asked Sam where Zoë was, all he got was “out”, followed by, “she’s already getting us lunch” when Dean grabbed his wallet and intended to leave. He went outside anyway, in need of some fresh air. His shoulder is throbbing, shooting daggers through his arm whenever he moves it, but as long as he keeps it still, it’s not too bad. In the bathroom earlier, he did peel the gauze back slightly to check the injury, and he has to admit that he was impressed. He might not be able to stand Zoë, but she did an awesome job removing that bullet and sewing him back together. Plus, the painkillers she offered are a God’s gift.

Slowly, he strolls towards his car. The pitch-black Chevrolet Impala blinks in the sun, chrome glistening. Dean smiles; what a sight for sore eyes. He’s honored to own the car Dad gave him a while back. Not just because she’s such a joy to drive, but because it was Dad’s first car. He kind of owes it to his old man to take good care of her. It’s what he expects him to do; to look after the family. “Hey, Baby,” he greets his Chevy, letting his fingertips glide over the trunk. “Since when have we reached the phase that you call me ‘baby’?”

Dean looks over the top of the Impala and finds Zoë’s Harley parked on the other side, but he can’t spot the owner. When he moves around his car he finds her, laying on her back underneath her bike. “Who says I was talking to you?” Dean returns, leaning against the hood. She crawls from under the Road King and judgmentally observes him for a few seconds, then she grabs a socket wrench and slips back under. “Right, men talk to their cars. I forgot they do that,” she nags.

Dean grins and decides not to respond; it’s still early and he’s not sharp yet. The rhythmical sound of the bolt being turned sounds like music to his ears and he has the sudden urge to pull his tools out of the trunk and get some work done himself. But Baby is fine, she doesn’t need any TLC right now. “What’s wrong with your bike?” Dean asks curiously. “I was in a bit of a hurry last night, probably hit a speed bump. It’s just the gasket, nothing serious,” she explains, keeping her eyes on the exhaust. “And what’s wrong with you?” he rephrases his question. “Excuse me?” Caught off guard, she pauses, but doesn’t make an effort to get out from under her Harley. Dean doesn’t bother to repeat himself. “You heard me.” “There’s nothing wrong with me, Shortbus.” Zoë continues tightening the bolt, faster than she did a moment ago, annoyed about the fact that she doesn’t know where he’s going with this. “Then what is that bandage doing there?” Dean asks smartly. Startled, Zoë sits up and hits her head hard against the chrome outlet of her bike, causing a loud bang. Cursing like a sailor she lands back on the ground. “Ow! Fucking hell!”

She didn’t realize her shirt crawled up. Dean smirks at the string of strong language, but hides his smile when she surfaces from under the bike. Irritated, she pulls down her buttoned shirt to hide the gauze through which a little bit of blood has formed a perfect circle in the shape of a bullet wound. She uncomfortably pretends like neither he nor she saw it and disappears under her Harley again. Dean, of course, isn’t going to let it go. “Did Sam shoot you?” “What?” “Last night he fired two bullets. Did he shoot you?” Dean repeats. The huntress scoffs. “Ha! Your little bro isn’t that fast on the draw.” “I’m not kidding,” he states seriously. “Someone apparently was.”

She gives the bolt one last turn and appears from under the bike, this time without hitting her head. Annoyed, she looks up at him, lightning in her brown eyes. Zoë is nowhere near admitting to him what went down. Shit. How the hell is she gonna talk herself out of this one? “Don’t worry, Sam won’t get the credit,” Zoë comments snarky, as she grabs a dirty cloth and cleans her hands, looking away. “If he didn’t do it, who did?” he interrogates, clearly not accepting a smart answer. “What does it matter? It’s nothing serious,” she mutters, getting up. “It is. You got shot, damn it,” Dean argues. “So did you. How’s that shoulder by the way?” Zoë quickly changes the subject, but Dean is smart enough not to take the bait. “No - no - no,” He shakes his head and grins. “I’m not gonna fall for that one. My shoulder’s fine, thanks, but you’re still answering that question.” She sighs; seems like there’s no way out of this. “It’s not that bad, it was a clean shot,” she assures, still avoiding Dean’s question. “Did you get the bullet out?” Dean asks, almost parental. Zoë narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I got the bullet out.” “Who shot you?” he asks again, slowly this time.

Zoë doesn’t answer and saunters up to him, after which she leans against Dean’s Chevy as well. Her hair, still damp from the shower she took earlier and seems black. Despite the crappy night, her natural tan gives her a healthy appearance. The only thing that gives away that she’s tired, are the slightly visible dark circles under her eyes. When she looks aside, she meets Dean’s gaze, who’s waiting for some kind of response. With a sigh, she gives him an answer. “The shapeshifter.” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, needing a moment to analyze her words. He doesn’t know which question he needs to ask first. “You ran into him?”

Zoë averts her gaze, debating her conscience. Should she tell him? She knows he will keep digging until he does, but she could lie, obviously. Oh, what the hell. She might as well give him the whole story. “Yeah, yesterday evening. I had an appointment with a possible next victim, this guy called Cliffer. Turned out the son of a bitch already shed into him,” she explains. “Wait… Cliffer? As in Terry Cliffer?” Dean double checks. She suspiciously tilts her head while looking at him. “Yeah.” “Shit.” He rubs his face, realizing what is going on. “You’re Sharon Evans.” “What? How the hell do you know my alias?” Zoë asks with a tone. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Sam technically did get you shot,” he starts off hesitating. “Beg pardon?!” she cries out, turning towards him, completely stunned. “We rang Cliffer around five yesterday afternoon, to meet up with him,” he admits. She stares at him as the missing links connect. She places a hand on her hips, switching her weight to one leg, radiating her attitude. “Let me guess! FBI?” “Yeah. He asked if Sam was Sharon Evans’s partner. We didn’t realize we were on somebody else’s case,” he admits. “You son of a…”

She swallows down another waterfall of curse words and turns around furiously. That’s why the bastard changed! She didn’t give herself away, those dumbass Winchesters did! It’s a bit of a coincidence that two federal agents call, being on the same case without knowing it. The shapeshifter was tailing Cliffer already, she was suspecting that, but when it learned about the appointments, it changed shape quicker than planned. The fucker knew there was at least one hunter in town. It was on to her! “Fuck!” she exclaims.

Furious, she turns away and walks back and forth between Dean’s car and her bike. Dean just follows her with his eyes, not saying a word. He knows that anything coming out of his mouth will only make her angrier, even if it’s just a smart attempt to lighten the mood. “What time’s that appointment?” “Five-thirty.” “Where?” “A bar. I’m not sure where.” “You don’t know?!” she snaps. “Sam knows. He made the appointment, not me,” he returns. Zoë rolls her eyes and forks her fingers through her hair, staring at the passing traffic for a moment.

“I don’t see why this is a bad thing,” Dean starts off, casually, but she doesn’t take it well. “You don’t see why this is a bad thing? It probably means the real Terry Cliffer is dead!” she hisses, lowering her voice when guests walk out the Motel Six. “You don’t know that. There could be two of them walkin’ around,” Dean argues. “The shifter doesn’t know that we’ve met. That gives us the advantage. It doesn’t know we know.” “What was your major plan then, Hannibal Smith?” she taunts. “I don’t have a plan. Like I said–-” “- Sam’s the geek, I know. God, seems like your folks saved the brains for the second child,” she huffs, turning on her heels as she crosses her arms firmly in front of her chest.

Dean glares at her, offended. Not that she notices, with her back already turned to him. She picks up the tools she used for the repair and puts them back in a small case, resting on the saddle. While she cleans up, Zoë tries to figure out some kind of plan, but if she’s not even sure who Sam actually made that appointment with, then how can she work out a strategy? Big chance that she’ll meet the shifter, but it could very well be Terry, so she can't actually go in guns blazing. Cliffer hasn’t been reported missing yet, even though he has a wife and kids. If he did disappear, they would have called the authorities and Zoë would know about that. Nothing is certain, which makes this job so much more impossible to work.

She stops what she’s doing and stares at the asphalt. Gears are turning in her head as she goes over every scenario. Dean observes her for a moment. “Did you eat?” he asks out of nowhere. “Or have coffee?” “No,” she answers confused; what does that have to do with anything? “Then how the hell can you think properly?” he wonders. She shrugs, only just now realizing that her stomach sounds like there’s a war going on inside. She could certainly go with a good latte macchiato to jumpstart her brain, too. It’s no fun to admit, but Dean has a point. “You’re right. I’m off.” Zoë throws her right leg over her Harley and lands in the black leather saddle. She picks up her old biker jacket from the handlebar and puts it on. “Can I come?” The way Dean asks is like a little boy would, innocent and hopeful, adding ‘pretty please’ with his green eyes without actually pronouncing the words. She chuckles and shakes her head. “Sorry, Dean. I fly solo.” Her engine starts with a satisfying purr instead of the louder sputter it produced earlier. Content, she smiles and puts on her helmet. Dean, on the other hand, looks at her just like that same little boy, disappointed, even though he tries to hide it. Without another word, she turns the throttle and exits the parking lot. Just before she turns on the parallel road to the 52 highway, she glances over her shoulder with a smirk from ear to ear. “Thanks for lunch!” she shouts, overruling the sound of her Harley.

Puzzled Dean watches her drive off. Lunch? What lunch? He feels his pockets, knowing he’s missing something. When the identical roar seems to come closer again; he looks up. The Harley Davidson isn’t exactly coming back, but drives up the ramp going to the city. She heaves her hand victoriously, holding his wallet as she drives by. Dean’s eyes follow her, his jaw dropping to the ground. That dirty little thief! She just stole my wallet! He gapes at Zoë, as she and her Harley merge into busy traffic in the distance. How could she…? When did this…? Stunned, he scoffs. Un-fucking-believable. He, one of the best goddamn hunters in the world, just got pick-pocketed. While shaking his head he turns around and walks back to the lobby, muddling softly. “Son of a bitch.”

An hour later, Zoë slips her key in the lock of room 82 and walks in like she owns the world, a straw coming from her iced latte on-the-go firmly between her lips. “Finally!” Dean complains. He made himself comfortable on the bed with his shoes on the bedspread again, sitting up against the back wall reading a magazine Zoë doesn’t want to know the content of. Sam is behind his laptop, not surprisingly. The older of the brothers smiles happily when he sees the Taco Bell symbol on the paper bags she’s holding. It might have taken her a while to get back, but at least she brought the good stuff.

Without responding to his comment, she throws him back his wallet without Sam noticing, who is occupied by research. Dean catches it with his left hand and answers her victorious grin with an unintelligible mutter. She sets down a small tray with two more coffee containers. “I didn’t know how you guys like your coffee, so I brought you both an Americano,” she says. “Francis over there prefers a half-caf double vanilla latte,” Dean comments, wiggling his eyebrows at his brother, who on his turn glares at him and takes his coffee. As if Dean hasn’t eaten for days, he attacks the burrito, quickly tearing away the paper wrap and taking a big first bite. Zoë isn’t surprised by his manners. Sam, however, can’t help but stare at his brother for a moment and clears his throat, disapprovingly. His sibling doesn’t seem to be bothered at all and lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’. “This is good,” he comments with his mouth full. “Thanks, Zo,” Sam says, after which he also takes a bite of his lunch. “Don’t thank me,” she nods at Dean. “He’s the one who paid.” The younger brother frowns and looks over at Dean for an explanation. Dean and paying the bill? That’s new. He doesn’t need to observe him for long before Dean stops chewing and his facial expression goes blank. Uneasy, he looks away and swallows his bite. Zoë watches him, too, smirking like a cheshire cat. “She - uh,” he pauses, studying his taco for a moment. “She kinda… stole my wallet.” Sam almost chokes on his food and laughs out loud, the action earning a lethal glare. He then continues to look the huntress up and down. “That explains the new jacket.” Dazed, Dean looks up. New jacket? What new jacket? Then he spots the black leather Harley Davidson bomber jacket on Zoë, brand new by the looks of it. “You didn’t,” he reacts, shocked. She grins at him, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I did.” He grinds his teeth, trying to keep calm. “How much was it?” “Not sure, actually. I didn’t bother to check the price tag when I slipped your card,” she returns, utterly satisfied. For a moment Dean just stares at her, his upper lip nervously twitching. What would that jacket be worth? 400, 500 bucks, maybe? “Oh, don’t be such a cheap jerk about it,” she comments, when she notices his expression, as if he has eaten something spicy yet disgusting. “You have at least a dozen more credit cards hidden in the trunk.” “How the hell would you know that?” Dean snarls at her.

As she takes a bite of her burrito, she looks up, digs deep down in her pocket and tosses him his car keys. While she casually continues with her lunch, Dean stares at the keys in his hand with his mouth agape, trying to figure out how the hell she got those as well. Sam has a hard time keeping a straight face, and who could blame him? There’s no finer entertainment than this: Dean is getting played. “You touched my fuckin’ car?” his brother hisses. “Obviously. I need to borrow this, by the way.” Zoë holds up a demon protection amulet. “Give that back, Zoë,” Sam demands, trying to be strict. “What else did you take?” “Some herbs, nothing expensive,” she admits, carelessly. “You fucking thief. What did you take, Sullivan?” It’s Dean who rises to his feet, holding his hand out to collect the stolen items. Reluctant, Zoë reveals a dried vine of Viburnum from her inner pocket. “Gardener over here -” Dean nods at Sam, “- went through a lot of trouble to get ahold of that dead plant you have there. I’d give it back if I were you.” “No. I need it,” she decides a matter of factly. Sam narrows his eyes at the huntress, trying to read her. Why would she need that herb? He stares at it, two dried out plants tied together with a double shoestring. It only works for one thing… “Not for yourself, I hope?” Sam asks, carefully. “A case I’m working on the side, actually. Can’t find the damn plants anywhere,” she clarifies. “Keep the damn twig, but I want the amulet back. Get your own supplies.” Dean ushers Zoë to hand the item over, which she does with a sigh. He snatching his coffee from the table and returns to the bed without thanking her. In fact, he’s not happy at all that she has been sniffing around in his car. The silence that follows is awkward, even for Zoë, and she decides to change the subject.

“I reckon you updated Sam while I was out?” Dean nods, taking a sip of caffeine. “In detail.” “Let me get this straight.” Sam, seated on one of the chairs by the table, leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The shapeshifter knows you’re a hunter.” “It does, but it didn’t know that at the time of the meeting. It knew one of the callers was out to kill him, but for all it cared, I could have been an FBI agent. The fucker shot me anyway,” she elaborates, finishing her drink and tossing it in the trash. Dean crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What’s your point?” “Her point is that if we go to Beetles Bar, pretending to know nothing, it won’t take any risks. If the shifter shows instead of the real Terry Cliffer, it will try to kill us both,” Sam understands. “You guys are not going in,” Zoë makes clear right away, taking a mental note of the bar’s name that Sam just mentioned.

“So, what then? Lure him out and shoot the bastard?” Dean suggests. “Not until I’m sure it’s the shifter, not Terry,” Zoë replies, as she walks over to the fridge. Two confused faces follow her as she opens the door and looks inside. “You’re not making any sense at all,” Dean returns, puzzled, after which he apparently gives up on the conversation and props his feet up on the bed again. “You might actually have made an appointment with the real Cliffer guy, not with that chameleon. No one would be able to tell, unless you shine a flashlight in his face,” she explains, as she takes out three beers.

Sam looks back at Zoë, who beckons one of the bottles to him, but he rejects it. Dean takes both the beers without hesitation. “You’re serious? You haven’t even been up for two hours,“ Sam scolds at the older Winchester brother, astonished by the both of them. “It’s happy hour somewhere,” Zoë defends, puts the bottle against her mouth and takes a swig, earning a grin from Dean. “Want anything else, Sammy boy? Some juice, or milk perhaps?” she coos cheerily as if talking to a child. Dean snorts, almost choking on his beer, but when Sam shoots daggers at him, he quickly takes another sip.

“Don’t call me Sammy,” he warns the huntress, continuing their discussion on the case. “So, there is a possibility that we might actually have a meeting with Terry Cliffer–-” “Okay, stop there for a second. Let me make something very clear: there is no ‘we’.” Zoë leans on the table, her knuckles resting on the surface. Her body language is strictly business all of a sudden; apparently she’s not very happy about Sam and Dean joining in on the case, especially not without her permission. Dean eyes her as he sits up. “You could use our help, Zo.” “Help?” She scoffs. “Thanks to the big ‘help’ you’ve been, I couldn’t finish the case last night!” “That happened, sorry about that. But as long as we’re here, we can offer a hand. Besides, we have an appointment with Cliffer,” Sam argues. “I don’t care. This is my hunt. I’m going to that appointment myself,” she clears up. A quick glance at the clock tells her that it’s a little past three. She still wants to dig up more information on her guy. The boys better get going. “No, you’re not. That’s our appointment,” Dean bounces back. “Seriously? You really wanna fight me on this?” she returns snappily, pushing herself from the table and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That appointment that you scheduled fucked up my entire case! I was here first and I’m gonna end it!” “Oh, come on. How old are you? Five? Haven’t learned how to share yet?” Dean chuckles with an attitude, adding fuel to the fire.

Before Zoë can counter him, Sam comes between the two hot-blooded hunters. “Knock it off, both of you. It will be easier to catch that shapeshifter with three hunters than with one, Zoë. Why don’t we go there together? You lay low and when we find the shapeshifter, we shoot it. We know he’ll probably be in the bar anyway, either as Terry Cliffer or someone else.” “No,” she decides without any consideration. “I’m gonna deal with this alone and I do not need your help.” “I can see that,” Dean comments, nodding at her abdomen, reminding her of the bullet wound that’s covered by her shirt. “Who’s fault is that again?” she snaps. “I’m gonna say it one more time: I fly solo. I don’t do teamwork, certainly not with you two. End of discussion.”

She takes one last sip of her beer and sets the bottle down on the table with a loud bang. “Who do you think you are, ordering us around like that with your ‘end of discussion’? Our dad?” Sam bites back, defensive for the first time today. She freezes at the comparison and turns her head. The boys can see the fury burning in her eyes, as if they just lit the fuse of a bomb that’s about to explode. His comment stirred something inside of her they should have left alone. “I am nothing like your father!” she hisses. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean questions, offended. “Exactly what it sounds like, Winchester,” she counters with a tone. “What did he ever do to you? He exorcised that evil son of a bitch that was wearing you to the prom, for fuck’s sake.” Dean gets up and steps towards her, clearly not too happy about the way she’s talking about his father.

Trying to not lose her cool, Zoë chuckles sarcastically, looks away, and places her hands on her waist. “You owe him,” Dean pushes, halting before her. “I do not owe him a fucking thing,” she snarls fiercely, staring him down. Their eyes battle, waiting for the other to look away, but both Dean and Zoë are determined not to be the first. Her anger towards John Winchester radiates from her; the brothers can both feel it. They struck a nerve, that’s for sure. “I want you out,” Zoë declares without even blinking. “And I’m serious.”

Dean's jaw tenses as he grids his teeth. “Fine.” With a sigh, Sam gets up from the bed and grabs his duffel, Dean already on his way out. The younger brother doesn’t feel like leaving her alone on this case, but Zoë clearly isn’t going to change her mind anytime soon. “If you need us-–” “- I won’t,” she immediately intervenes. “If you do, we’re going south.” He leaves a card on the bed. “Don’t bother, Sam. The stubborn bitch won’t call us anyway,” Dean responds, holding the door.

She ignores his words, annoyed by the slightest sting that his bitter voice leaves. In a quick glance, Zoë sees two phone numbers written down on the card, but she doesn’t intend to pick it up. Sam looks over his shoulder, but he isn’t angry with her. His eyes ask her to please reconsider, but all she returns is a cold gaze. The door closes behind them and the brothers walk down the hallway. “Unbelievable,” Dean scoffs. “What a fucking waste of time.” Their footsteps echo through the hall as they pass the front desk. Sam nods at the younger guy who took over for the day when they exit Motel 6, and enters the parking lot. The sun is still shining and shimmers on the cars passing by on the 52 highway, tires rush over the blacktop. Dean halts on the driver’s side of his Impala.

“Where to?” he asks, opening the door to get in. “We’re staying in town,” Sam decides before he sits down in the passenger seat. “What? No! We have better things to do, Sam,” Dean argues, still mad at the huntress. “I know we do, but I have a bad feeling about this,” Sam admits. Dean sighs. “Here we go again with that feminine intuition shit.” Sam rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t respond to his words. He can’t understand why, but somehow he has the urge to look out for Zoë, almost like it’s instinct. Unnecessary, of course; she has been fine by herself for four years. Why should today be any different? “Let’s just go. You said something about a possible case in Iowa yesterday? If she can handle this, why bother to stick around if we can hunt something else?” Dean reminds him. “One night. We book a motel, check on her, and if she nails it, we leave. She doesn’t even have to know we’re there,” Sam suggests. “I thought you were determined to find Dad?” Dean looks aside at his brother, waiting for a response. “I still am, but we have no lead, not even a single clue where he is,” Sam points out. “Hey, that’s what I’ve been telling you, but it didn’t stop you from looking. You were the one who was all, ‘I gotta find Dad, it’s the only thing I can think of,’ Dean bounces back, imitating his voice. “And now you’re ditching him for some chick?” “I’m not ditching him for some chick!” Sam denies. “Ah, come on. You like her and you know it,” Dean carries on. “I do not like her, Dean! Jess just died, damnit!” he exclaims.

Dean looks away and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. He knows he went too far, so he keeps quiet and turns the ignition. When he flips the key, the V8 motor under the hood growls, impatiently waiting for Dean to back up and hit the road. “You said it yourself: Dad doesn’t want to be found. I don’t see how it’s a bad thing to spend the night here, unless you have some kind of lead I don’t know about,” Sam suggests. “Fine, whatever. As long as that motel has a bed. I really need to get some sleep.”

He puts his car in reverse and looks in the rearview mirror as he guides her out of the parking spot. The shift of his body causes him to grimace, pain cutting through his shoulder. “Feeling alright?” Sam checks. “Yeah, just tired. I need more painkillers, that’s all,” he mutters. Sam takes out his phone and calls a booking agency he had listed in his contacts earlier. As the call goes through, he sighs. It’s going to be a difficult task to find a room with that poker event in town. He waits for someone to pick up on the other side, meanwhile wondering why Zoë got so worked up about their father. Dean has a point; John saved her from that demon, so how could she possibly despise him? Something must have occurred; maybe she crossed paths with him later on and John did something to upset her. She wouldn’t be the first to cross blades with him, after all.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seven here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name @destielhoneybee @fookinghelljensensthighs @heartsaved @idksupernatural @laphirablack @magssteenkamp

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patioasia6 · 4 years

Text

Fat Freezing Cryolipolysis.

3d Lipo Fat Removal Norwich.

Content

Locations That Can Be Dealt With.

Should You Incorporate Coolsculpting With Workout And Weight Loss?

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Can you really freeze away fat? - Now To Love

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Posted: Wed, 04 Dec 2019 08:00:00 GMT [source]

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years

Text

Hindsight

If Jonathan knew then what he knew now, he might have let Scarecrow kill her.

AO3 Link

Arkham Asylum

In Another Lifetime

"We're getting a new intern today." Jonathan only hummed in response, idly twirling his spoon in the grey slop the Arkham commissary passed off as oatmeal. The patients were only allowed an hour for breakfast and he didn't particularly care to spend it listening to Edward gossip about the doctors. Undaunted, his lover continued. "Rumor has it she's fresh out of medical school. You'd think after what happened with Quinzel last year Arkham would have learned better."

"Turnover rate being what it is, Arkham isn't exactly in the position to turn anyone away," Jonathan responded. After what happened with Quinzel though, he was sure this new girl would be on a tight leash. "She'll be running for the door screaming soon enough." As most of the interns did. Of those who remained, half of them were naive enough to think they could make a difference in this hellhole. The others were just as bad as the patients.

Beside him, Edward chuckled. "We'll see. I hope she's not another one of those 'I can cure the Rogues by getting them to talk about their feelings' types. They get so tedious after a while. Still, she's more qualified than the usual lambs they toss us for slaughter, which admittingly isn't saying much. According to my sources, Dr. Young has two Masters-"

The mention of the doctor's name finally pulled Jonathan's attention away from his plastic bowl. "Young? Her first name wouldn't be Penelope by any chance, would it?"

Edward looked surprised. "As a matter of fact, yes." Then his eyes narrowed. "You know her, don't you?"

"I did," Jonathan remembered a young woman, whipsmart, ambitious, arrogant, and painfully naive. "She was my student." She had said once when she was his teaching assistant that she was interested in criminal insanity, in potentially working at Arkham. He shook his head. "Damn fool child. I told her I didn't want to see her here." His reverie was interrupted by the dismissive noise Edward made.

"I don't know why I'm surprised," he said. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before a student of yours made their way here." A mischievous look came over the younger man's face. "She wasn't your teacher's pet, was she?"

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at the implication. "Don't be crass, Edward," he scolded. "She wasn't even twenty when I saw her last."

Edward just laughed. "Well, what do you know. Even the Master of Fear has some lines he won't cross." Any smart retort Jonathan wanted to make in response was interrupted by the movement of the armed guards that monitored the inmates during mealtime. Normally, they stood along the walls, a silent and constant presence, but now they moved forward, their hands on their automatics, moving closer to the patients. Jonathan continued to eat his oatmeal, entirely unconcerned with the display. If there was something worrying about to happen, then the guards would be more violent. This display meant that non-patients were about to enter the cafeteria.

Sure enough, the double doors opened and Dr. Arkham came in, leading a small group of men and women behind him. New employee orientation. "And this is the cafeteria," Jonathan could just make out Arkham saying. "Patients receive an hour for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The medical staff has their separate areas..." The new interns looked at the patients were wide eyes, and Jonathan could catch a few jaws dropping when the little fools caught sight of the Rogues, scattered about the tables. Only one intern seemed entirely unconcerned. She was standing directly behind Arkham, her notebook at the ready, turning a critical eye on the assembled patients. It had been the better part of ten years, but Jonathan recognized Penelope Young instantly. Her appearance remained unchanged, the only difference being that her dark hair was tied up into a bun, rather than the ponytail she had favored in her college years. She seemed to be listening to Arkham intently unlike her fellow interns, only occasionally interrupting to ask questions that he couldn't quite hear. She hadn't changed a bit from when she was his student. In any other circumstance, he supposed he would feel proud.

Her question answered she turned her gaze towards the table he and Edward sat at. She ignored Edward entirely and her gaze locked with Jonathan's. Her eyes widened in recognition, and then, for a brief moment, softened in regret. Then the moment passed, and her face resumed a blank expression. Good girl, Jonathan thought. Show no weakness. This place would eat her alive if she showed even a hint of softness, much like it did Harleen Quinzel. She followed Arkham back out the door without a glance behind at him or any of the other patients who were openly leering at her. Even Edward, Jonathan noticed to his irritation, was studying her intently. "See something that interests you?" he asked coolly.

Edward snapped his head back towards Jonathan. "That girl behind Arkham is Young, isn't she?" he asked. Jonathan's irritation subsided when he saw that his lover's interest was a curiosity rather than anything puerile. He nodded, and Edward chuckled. "I might have known. She has the same resting face that you do, Dearest. She could almost be your sister."

Jonathan shook his head and returned to his oatmeal.

One Year Later

Penelope Young had risen quickly in Arkham Asylum. She was the only intern in that small group that Arkham led to have remained at Arkham, and she had quickly earned a reputation as being an intelligent, ambitious if cold and impersonal doctor. Despite her accomplishments, Arkham had been reluctant to allow her access to the more high-profile patients, no doubt in an attempt to avoid another Harley Quinn. Six months after her arrival however, Jeremiah Arkham died, and his replacement, Quincy Sharp, didn't seem to have the same sense of caution. Six months after Arkham's death, and Penelope was being allowed to treat a Rogue. Not Jonathan himself, of course. Even that blustering fool Sharp knew better than to allow him access to his former student. No, the Rogue Penelope was being allowed to treat was Edward. Jonathan wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"So, today's my first session with Dr. Young," Edward said beside him at their usual table in the Arkham cafeteria. "Any pointers?"

"I haven't interacted with her for almost ten years," Jonathan said. He took a sip of the weak coffee out of his styrofoam cup. "But from what I remember, trying to play to her sympathies isn't going to work. She wasn't a warm person. She was curious, and she didn't take no for an answer. She also didn't suffer fools lightly."

Edward nodded along, tapping his fingers on the table. "So rebuff, deflect, and stump. Excellent." He smirked. "If she thinks I'm going to be as easy to crack as the other mental midgets she's been treating, she's in for a rude awakening."

The bell rang, signifying the end of breakfast. The guards began to get the patients up, rougher now than when Arkham was alive. As they moved single file out of the cafeteria, Jonathan leaned down to whisper into Edward's ear. "She was the only one of my students to defend me when the university fired me."

Jonathan watched Edward's face soften a fraction before his lover reached behind to quickly squeeze his hand. "Say no more. I'll be on my best behavior."

"So, Edward has his first session with that pretty new doctor of his. Are you worried, Professor?" Jonathan ignored Ivy's taunting and continued to read his book. Edward should be joining them any minute in the library for their hour of reading time. Ivy, however, wasn't going to be so easily ignored. "Edward's always had a weakness for pretty things."

"Are you still angry about the plant of yours I accidentally knocked over?" Jonathan asked without looking up. He could hear her snarl and smirked.

"That wasn't an accident and we both know it," Ivy hissed at him. When he didn't respond, she doubled down. "I'm not the only one in Arkham who wonders what exactly Edward sees in you. Perhaps after a session, he'll be wanting his own Harley Quinn."

Jonathan didn't look up, but he noticed that his grip on his book had tightened to the point his knuckles were white. Edward wouldn't. He wouldn't dare. "Are you quite done?" he asked. "This conversation's becoming tedious."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivy smirk. "Touch a nerve, didn't I?" she asked. Before she could say anything more, the doors to the library opened. Jonathan looked up to see Edward walk in, flanked on both sides by guards. His expression was thunderous. The guards escorted him to the table Jonathan and Ivy sat at and stepped away.

"Well?" Jonathan drawled. "How did it go?"

His words served as a starting pistol and Edward began to rant. "Your student is absolutely insufferable, Jonathan! I give her one riddle, one simple, grade-school riddle, and she wants to start me on stronger medication!"

As Edward continued to rant, Jonathan found his grip loosening. Of course, Edward and Penelope would irritate each other. Why had he allowed Isley to get under his skin? He had nothing to fear. Edward was his. He looked back at Ivy, only to see that she was still smirking.

Now

Elliott had walked out of his room, leaving him to his work. Jonathan however, sat frozen in his seat, the words Elliott had said playing in his head over and over again. He did it for a girl...looks like Eddie's moved on...Penelope Young...How? How had this happened? In his worst moments, he'd thought there was a chance that Kyle could slither her way back into Edward's life, but Penelope? His own student? How could she? How could Edward?

He's betrayed you, child.

Jonathan shook his head. "It's a mistake," he said. "He hasn't. He wouldn't."

He has, Scarecrow rasped. He always was a little whore. Always had a weakness for pretty things.

Jonathan's hands were shaking, the vials clattering. This wasn't supposed to happen. Edward was supposed to wait for him, Edward wasn't supposed to move on like Jonathan had never meant anything to him!

How long do you think it took before he found his way into her bed? Weeks? Months?

Jonathan shut his eyes, but he could see the images, see Edward with her.

You should have let me kill her, child.

"She was my student," Jonathan said.

And now she's his lover. Your Edward's lover. And he loves her more than he ever loved you.

With a wild cry, Jonathan threw his beakers against the stone wall, not even flinching as the shards of glass exploded, scattering across his work desk. He took deep, ragged breaths, his chest heaving.

You need to rest. Let me take care of you, child. Edward betrayed you, but I'll always be here. Do you trust me? Will you let me take care of you?

"Yes," Jonathan nodded weakly. "Yes." He shut his eyes. When they snapped open a moment later, Scarecrow was in control.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word," he sang in a low, rasping tone. He returned to Jonathan's work, clearing off the broken glass. He'd never liked Edward, he always knew that sooner or later, he would break Jonathan's heart. He would answer for that soon, him and that slut. They all would. "Scarecrow's gonna burn down the whole damn world..."

#PI verse #just a little evil this tuesday #well #shit

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