#and to say collective bargaining is going to fix the issue is... well... not uh... supported by history

[thetrekkiehasthephonebox]

dear lord

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

Thriller one shot

This is based off  (and entirely a rip off of) of this post by @hagelpaimon​ so please go and show that more love

sub! Leo x fem! reader

Summery: You and Leo decide that it would be fun to break into an old, supposedly haunted, house and have some Halloween fun of your own but you both get more than you bargained for.

Warnings: NSFW, alcohol mentions, death mentions

((A/N: This is my first time writing sub! Leo so please be gentle with me, I’m still getting used to the idea of him as a sub and loving it tbh))

You don’t know how you convinced him, maybe it was the run chocolate bars or, maybe, it was the 7 shots of Jäger that you told him we “traditional” and “festive” to take on the spookiest night of the year. You may have....Overstated their importance on Halloween just for the fun of it. Either way, here you both are; standing, holding hands, inside on of the city’s oldest and supposedly most haunted houses.

It was derelict and disgusting to be quite frank. Cobwebs hung from every corner of it’s rooms, dust everywhere, broken glass from kids who had come here to drink on a dare and old discarded pieces of clothing from the homeless who just needed a place to get out of the cold and rain of New York in the fall. The smell of must was thick in the air, almost tangible in it’s heavy, wafting nature.

The place must have been beautiful, once. But now it was long abandoned after its previous owner who showed no interest in renting or fixing the place up, had died suddenly of coronary issues last month. The place has become the sight of many rumours since then. Why had he died? At the age of 57 it’s not like he was ancient. Maybe it was his rotten heart from all the things he knew had taken place here? Maybe he made a deal with the devil and the devil came to collect?

You take Leo’s hand and move him closer towards what appears to be the living room of this ornate and decaying place.

“Y’know, I heard they practised witchcraft in the basement. Child sacrifices to Satan and all that”

“Don’t even start with that, you know witches creep me out!” He whispers.

“Well, it’s true! They say killing kids is what makes their broomsticks fly!”

You kind of giggle at the ridiculousness of it all and pull yourself closer to his form, trailing and hand down his shell to imitate a spider’s legs and making an “ooohhh” sounds as you do. He brushes you off with a laugh.

“What else you heard about this place, then? Since you’re the expert” He asks

His words are slightly slurred, as are yours, which only makes this trip more fun. That, on top of the fact that you were still riding the high of convincing him to do something as mildly illegal as trespassing on private property. 

“Well” You begin “The seances that took place here were supposed to be something else. Business men who were looking for advice from beyond the grave, grieving widows, parents who had lost a child...They all flocked here to see what the old woman had to offer. And supposedly, always came away with a more dull and fearful look in their eye from what they found out. My friend said that if you walk around the living room 13 times, it’s supposed to open a portal to another world. One that our kind isn’t meant to see. Wanna try?”

He shudders at that, clearly your tales of the abhorrent and paranormal are getting to him. He takes another sip from his flask before ruefully shaking his head, clearly regretting letting you talk him into coming here.

“Hey, big guy, it’s ok!” you tell him as you place both hands on his shoulders and press your front to his torso. “I’m just messing with you, none of that stuff is real”

As if by cliche tv show timing, a group of birds fly out of the fire place making a huge, terrifying noise as they do and you and Leo crouch down, shielding your faces with your arms as you both let out small frightened squeals. Laughing afterwards at your own terror.

The half light makes him even more beautiful, his blue mask tightly pulled around his upper face and his big blue eyes shining in the light from the street lamps outside. You lean in and kiss him and his hands automatically go to your waist, trailing patterns in the exposed skin of your mid drift.

You pull away to make a theatrical “booOOoo” sound as you wiggle your fingers in a witchy way and you both laugh and shush each other as you do. You’re the only two in the house, as far as you know, but there’s no telling what spirits you could awake with your noise now that the veil between your world and the next is at its thinnest. 

You tour the house a little more, both becoming very handsy with one another as you go from room to room, still trying to scare the pants of the other one.

No matter what you say or what horrors you make up, no ghouls or ghosts jump out at you, no banshees scream and the devil himself appears to be otherwise occupied in hell. There are no bumps in the night, just the gentle sounds of you and your lover giggling and whispering scary tales to send shivers down your spines.

You get to the hallway on your rounds and decide to give this place one new tale for people to talk about. You push Leo up against the wall which is no easy feat considering he stands at a good 6′5 and is all muscle. But you manage it no less and begin to kiss at his mouth and neck, trailing kisses down his jawline. He still tastes like alcohol and chocolate which is pleasant. His hands go to your ass, grabbing and pawing at it as if he can’t get enough of you.

“you’re such a good boy, Leo” you tell him as he bites at your neck in a needy way “always so good to me” 

He churrs at your praise and you can feel a smile cross his lips. God when he’s tipsy it’s so easy to get him into the mood. His actions become more desperate and eager, almost ripping your t-shirt open but you waggle a disproving finger at him before taking it off and undoing his belt. Your underwear is a different story, however. The second your jeans come off his hands are at your crotch and ripping at the material of your panties. Another pair bites the dust. 

Normally Leo is all romance and candles, but get a few shots in him and he becomes a yearning, aching mess which only turns you on more, his primal need for you. The kiss becomes more wet and intense as his tongue slides in and out of your mouth.

“Please, I need you” he begs

“are you going to be good for me? Like I know you can be” You ask

He nods enthusiastically and smiles that adorable little smile that he saves only for when you dominate him. Wrapping a tender hand around his throat and taking the other to his already hard member you line him up with your entrance while you both still stand in the hallway. It’s not the easiest position to fuck in but neither of you trusts the floor or couch of this decaying house so upright will have to do. You sink down on his cock and the moan he gives out is enough to make you wetter.

He pumps into you a few times, causing an unbelievable sensation but you have to be strong and tighten your grip on his throat.

“Uh uh uh! Who’s in control here?” You look into his eyes

“You are, miss” he replies.

“So, submit to me” you use that goddess voice you put on for when he needs to be put in his place.

“I submit” he finally says.

You bounce on his dick a few more times before returning to the kiss, placing your free hand against the wall behind Leo’s head to stabilise yourself. He’s so big you can feel him nearly splitting you open but it feels too good for you to care. Eventually you let him begin to thrust into you when your legs become a little tired and you can’t go as fast as you were hoping, but you make sure he knows that you’re still the one running the show.

“So handsome and strong, tell me, Leo, how’d you get to be so cute?” 

He smiles at that and looks away bashfully but he can’t hide the little moans that rise from his throat. 

“You’re always such a good boy for me, tell me how good you are” you demand

“I’m so good, but only for you. I’m your good boy” he pants, clearly nearing his climax

“No one can get me wet like you, no one makes me cream myself like you do, baby” you say breathlessly.

His movements become faster and more sloppy, more hungry. The way he hits all the right spots inside of you is like perfection and his hands are still firmly grabbing your ass to secure his position inside you. 

He has the dumbest, goofy smile on his face from the praise you’re giving him and it makes you want to laugh, he turns into a fucking smitten teenager when you take control. It’s adorable. Your free hand moves to between your legs to rub your clit now that you’re both close and with a few more thrusts of his enormous dick you’re over the edge and yelling his name into the crook of his neck.  

He’s still going, still panting and moaning as he nears him own release and the over stimulation is gives you is like nothing you’ve ever had before, no one can fuck like Leo.

But a few moments later he groans into your ear and it’s clear he’s just reached his high, too.

“Tsk tsk, blue boy. Did I say you could cum as well?” you scold.

He looks a little embarrassed and turns away but you can feel his cock twitch inside you from your telling off. He loves praise but rules are what makes him most heated.

After you’ve both separated and got your clothes back on (all apart from your ripped panties which you decide to leave, let other people make up their minds about what happened here with them) you take his hand once more.

“Wanna see what’s in the basement? Maybe something will jump out at us!” you tease.

He laughs you off 

“Your obsession with ghosts will be the death of me” he jokes

“Well, in the immortal words of MJ, I think we just found out that I can thrill you more than any ghost would ever dare try” you say, raising a coy eyebrow and smiling at him. He blushes, thinking back to the events of a few minutes ago and rubbing the back of his neck.

You decide that maybe it’s best hat you both get back home and leave the ghost hunting to less horny professionals, besides the only wailing that came from this house tonight was from the throws of passion you and Leo were in.

You give him a quick, playful smack on the ass as you turn to leave which makes him jump

“What? It was a spirit” you say when he turns to look at you.

You both laugh before shutting the door behind you. You could tell Leo was starting to really enjoy Halloween, for once.

Fin.

[god--baby]

nice to meet you ch 4 (SFW)

belch huggins x ambiguously gendered reader

masterpost

previously on: things go badly at a party, and belch saves the day. you kiss him on the cheek. 

summary: after having pancakes with him, belch invites you to hang out with him and the guys. 

word count: 3194

tag list: @cordysblog @heckstetter @sabertooth-potato @purplezebra68 @agespenst @tonguepopperr @daddywise-issues

The next afternoon, you woke with a headache to your phone ringing.

It was Belch.

“Hello?” you croaked.

“Hey, you,” he said. You could hear him smiling.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Your car’s ready.”

You sighed and rolled over onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

“Awesome,” you said.

“Yeah. Took some doing, but it’s fine.”

“Cool.”

Suddenly, you remembered the kiss. Your face flushed, and you hoped he wouldn’t bring it up. You weren’t sure if your heart could take it.

“You okay?” he asked. “No offense, but you sound like shit.”

“Hungover,” you groaned. “I was stupid and didn’t drink any water last night.”

Your mom called up the stairs to you. You couldn’t catch what she was saying, so you pulled the phone away from your ear.

“What?” you yelled.

“Pancakes,” she said. Now, she was standing at your bedroom door, peeking in. “Who you talking to?”

You put your hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

“Cute boy,” you said.

“Ooh. Invite him over. We want to say thank you. Pancakes work for that, don’t they?”

You smiled.

“Sure,” you said. Then, you shooed her away.

“What was that?” Belch asked when you put the phone back to your ear.

“What was what?” you asked.

“You called me cute?”

You covered your eyes with one hand. Fuck.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” you groaned.

“You think I’m cute?”

You blushed.

“Yeah…”

“Cool. I think you’re cute, too.”

You grinned. “Okay.” Then you paused. “You doing anything right now?”

“No. I just got off work, since I finished your car.”

“Cool. You wanna come over? My parents are making pancakes. And they want to say thanks for fixing my car.”

“They really don’t have to,” he said.

“No, I know. But you know.”

“Well, I guess I can stop by. The guys and I are meeting up in an hour, so I can’t stay long.”

“That’s fine. Just come and eat, it doesn’t matter how long you stay.”

“’Kay. I’ll be there soon.”

You hung up and flung yourself out of bed, looking in the mirror. You were a fucking mess. You had the vestiges of last night’s makeup still on, and your hair was still pinned up. You decided to leave your hair, fix it a little bit, but god knew that if you tried to take it down, it would be a mess.

You got dressed and took your makeup off. You figured that you’d just leave it bare like that, at least for right now. Besides, your lipstick would just come right off while you were eating, so what was the point?

The doorbell rang, and you ran down the stairs, barefoot. You were just wearing a big tee shirt and pants, and you met your mom at the door. You gestured to yourself, silently asking her how you looked. She gave you a thumbs-up.

You opened the door with a smile. Belch was standing there with his back turned, and he turned around to see you. When he did, he grinned.

“Hey,” he said.

“Reggie,” your mom said. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

You had to check yourself and remember that to your parents, he was just Reggie.

“Same to you, ma’am.”

“Well, come in,” you said.

You led him into the house, into the breakfast nook. You pushed him down into the corner of the nook, your mom putting a plate in front of him. Your dad came over with a frying pan and spatula in hand, putting a pancake on Belch’s plate.

“I’ll be back with another in just a second,” he said.

You sat next to Belch, starting in on your own pancakes, trying not to loo at him too much. Not as much as you wanted to, at least.

He had a small cut over one of his eyes. You looked at his hands, and the knuckles were red and sore, one of them bearing a cut, the others scraped.

Your mom got up to help your dad and you leaned into him.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Huh?”

“You look a little rough. What happened?”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it.”

“I decide what I worry about,” you said. “What happened?”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Belch,” you said. He seemed unshaken, holding your eye. “Reggie.”

He blushed and looked at his plate.

“Just took care of those guys who were bothering you,” he said.

“Oh,” you said. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “The guys helped me out, wasn’t like it was me against three.”

“They did?”

You couldn’t imagine any of the other guys helping out with something like that. They were bullies, too.

That was something you didn’t like to think about when it came to Belch. He was part of a gang of bullies that had the school on its knees.

“Yeah. We may not be good guys, but we can’t stand guys like that.”

“Guys like what?” asked your dad, walking back in with another pancake for Belch.

“Uh,” you said.

You looked at Belch, wondering how much of the truth you should go with.

He answered for you.

“Guys who don’t take no for an answer,” he said. “Three guys cornered someone at the party last night. Me and my guys took care of it.”

“Hm,” said your mom. She sat down. “So that’s why you look a little roughed up today.”

“Mom.”

“I’m allowed to make observations,” she said, cutting into her own pancakes with the side of her fork.

“Mom.”

“If we don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to,” said your dad, always afraid of confrontation.

“I’d like it if we didn’t, sir,” said Belch.

“Well, okay,” your dad said, putting another pancake on Belch’s plate.

“So, what are you doing today, Reggie? Work?” your mom asked.

“No, ma’am. I’m hanging out with my boys today. Actually,” he said, turning to you, “I was wondering if you wanted to come along.”

You blushed.

“What would we be doing?” you asked, playing with your food and pretending to not be that interested.

“Mostly just messing around. Might go back to Henry’s house if his dad’s not around.”

“Henry?” your mom asked. “Which one is he? The bottle blonde I met the other day?”

“No, ma’am. That’s Vic. Henry is Officer Bowers’ son.”

“Ah,” said your dad. He shot you a look that told you exactly what he thought of Officer Bowers.

They’d had a brief run-in over a rolled stop sign. Your dad was a lover, not a fighter, so he would never be a fan of the police.

“Who else will be there?” your mom asked. “Henry, Vic, you?”

“And Patrick. Hockstetter.”

“Hm.”

Neither of your parents had heard of him, and you were glad. It wasn’t like they’d stop you if they had — they always let you make your own decisions — but still. To go anywhere with a boy like that was asking for trouble.

Today, you felt like a little trouble would be okay.

“When can we go?” you asked.

“Just as soon as you’re ready,” he said.

“Okay.”

You both finished your pancakes and you led him upstairs to your room. You wished it wasn’t so messy, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were glad — having someone else in your room was intimate, vulnerable.

You sat in front of your mirror and started putting your makeup on.

“You wear makeup every day?” he asked.

“Yeah. Unless I’m staying at home,” you said.

“Huh. I like — I like your face without it,” he said. “Not that you look bad with it, but. You know.”

You smiled, watching him in the mirror.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He smiled, then went to looking at your music collection.

You finished your face quickly, then grabbed a jacket and shoved your cigarettes and the second joint from last night into the pockets.

“Ready?” you asked.

“If you are.”

“Let’s go, then.”

You went out to your car, saying goodbye to your parents as you went. Then, you climbed in the passenger seat. Belch pulled away from the curb, nodding his head to the hard rock coming out of the stereo.

“Metallica,” you said.

“Mm. You like them?”

“Enough. They’re not my favorite, but they’re okay.”

You were quiet for the next part of the ride, until you stopped to pick up Vic.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said.

You went to give him your seat, and Belch made a noise telling you to stay where you were. Vic lifted himself through the window into the back seat.

Then, you were off again, heading to someone else’s house. You drove through a nice residential street, pulling up to a beautiful house. Henry and Patrick were waiting outside.

“Hey, you,” said Patrick, grinning at you like he wanted to take a bite out of you.

He lifted himself into the back, too.

“Move,” said Henry.

You looked at him, then at Belch.

“Guest gets the front seat, Henry,” he said.

“Since when?”

“Since it’s my car. Get in the back.”

“Bullshit. I always sit in the front.”

“Not today. Now do it.”

Letting out a short growl, Henry climbed into the back seat, forcing Vic to sit in the middle.

“We have an interloper in our midst, boys,” said Patrick. You looked back at him. That same terrifying smile was on his face. “What should we do about it?”

“Nothing, not if you want me to share my weed,” you shot back before Belch could say anything.

Belch clapped his hand on your knee, letting it rest there for just a second before he pulled it back, putting it on the steering wheel.

You forced yourself not to react. It was probably nothing.

It didn’t feel like nothing, but you could make yourself think that.

“You drive a hard bargain, pretty little thing,” Patrick cooed. “I like your style.”

“You call me that again, and you don’t get any,” you said coolly.

He snorted.

“I mean it.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Henry, your dad still on duty?” asked Belch.

“Yeah. Fuckin’ asshole’s out until eleven.”

“Should we go to your place?”

“Sure.”

You drove out to the outskirts of town, over hills and around bends that you hadn’t yet taken time to explore. You ended up at an old farmhouse with a mailbox reading BOWERS.

So, this was his place. Huh.

You all got out of the car, Henry bitching about having to sit in the back. Then, you went inside. Henry walked into what you assumed was his bedroom and came back with a bottle of whiskey, three quarters full.

“C’mon,” he said, beckoning for your benefit.

You followed the gang out to a barn that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. There was a ladder leading up to a hay loft, and Patrick gave a theatrical bow, his hand out to it.

“After you, sweet cheeks.”

“Patrick,” said Belch sharply.

You climbed the ladder, pretending you couldn’t hear them whispering to each other.

“You either make your move or I will,” Patrick hissed.

“Maybe I want to take my fuckin’ time, asshole.”

“Don’t take too long.”

You got to the hay loft and settled yourself up against the wall. The guys followed you, settling around you. Belch sat right next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. You took out your joint and started digging around for a lighter. You’d forgotten to bring yours, it seemed.

“Got a light?” you asked Patrick. You remembered his lighter vividly from just the other day.

“For you, baby? Anything,” he said, holding out his lighter, the flame flicked on.

“Call me that again,” you said. “See where it gets you.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m dying to see.”

You lit up the end of the joint. Then, you exhaled.

“You know where it’d get you?”

“Please tell me.”

“A fuckload of nowhere.”

He laughed, delighted. He thought you were playing coy with him, but you couldn’t be less interested in someone.

Not with Belch sitting right next to you, your lips on his cheek the only thing your body could seem to remember.

“I’m not joking, Patrick,” you said, passing the joint to Belch.

Patrick took the bottle of whiskey from Henry, taking a swig and handing it back.

“Who cares if you are or aren’t?” he asked, shaking his head.

You just looked at him. Then you shrugged. Indifference might do you better than protesting too much.

The joint got passed around, and the whiskey, and in fifteen minutes, everyone was gently fucked up.

You sighed and laid your head up against Belch’s upper arm. He huffed and looked down at you.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Much better. ‘Specially now I know those guys got what was coming to them,” you said.

You were still a little bit scared of how wrong your night could have gone. How bad of a turn it could have taken.

“Oh, those pussies,” snorted Henry. “Useless. Begged us to stop.”

“Still can’t believe how much that blonde one bled,” said Vic, gloating. He was probably the one to make him bleed, then.

“Thanks, guys,” you said.

You looked at your hands, picked at your nail polish, a deep purple.

“I told you, it was nothing,” said Belch.

“It wasn’t nothing.”

He shrugged, your head moving with his shoulder.

You shrugged, too, bumping his arm with yours. He smiled down at you.

You held your hand out for the whiskey and took a swig. Then, you laid down, putting your legs in Belch’s lap. He let out a quiet laugh.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Fuck yeah. Slept like a fucking baby, but not long enough.”

“Didn’t I wake you up when I called?”

Vic shot Henry a look. Henry returned it.

“Yeah. But still. I need like, thirteen hours of sleep after I drink.”

He laughed. Then, he lightly touched one of your shoes.

“What do you call these?” he asked.

You actually had to look down at your shoes to remember what you were wearing.

“Uh, winklepickers,” you said.

Henry laughed, long and hard.

“That’s so stupid,” he gasped. “Fuck.”

You chuckled. “I know. But whatever. I like them anyway.”

“I gotta question,” said Patrick.

You groaned, rolling your eyes until they fell on him.

“What is it this time?” you asked.

He grabbed the middle section of his nose and pulled on it.

“Anyone ever put a chain on that and lead you around?” he asked.

You reached up and touched your septum ring.

“I’d kill anyone before it ever got to that,” you said. “It’d hurt like hell.”

“Still healing?”

“Septums are always still healing.”

“Huh.”

“I’m serious. I’ve had this for… a year? I took it out last week to give it a good cleaning and I almost couldn’t get it back in.”

He gave you a lascivious grin.

You groaned. “Whatever you’re gonna say, shut it.”

“Sure thing, baby.”

“Patrick,” said Belch again, sharply.

“Yeah, Patrick,” you said. “Cut that shit out. I’m not your fucking baby.”

As soon as you said it, you remembered those guys from last night. You’d said the same thing to them.

“Fuck,” you groaned.

“What?” asked Belch.

You looked at him, and his eyebrows were drawn together.  

“I just have to keep telling guys I’m not their baby,” you explained. You sounded miserable, because you kinda were.

“Fuck,” said Vic. “Those guys called you that, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.”

He hit Patrick. Patrick hit him back.

“Fuck you, Vic. It’s not my fault. Not like I knew.”

“Not like you’ll stop, either,” said Vic.

“Got that right.”

But he didn’t do it again, at least not where you could hear it.

With the joint smoked down and the sun slowly setting, you stretched and sat up.

“I should probably get back,” you said. “Got laundry to do.”

Vic laughed.

“How many loads of black does it take?”

“Oh god,” you said. “Just imagine me trying to find one specific thing in a heap of everything. It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Well, c’mon,” said Belch. He got to his feet and pulled you up with him, easily lifting you by one arm. “I’ll take you to your car.”

“Oh, nice, I forgot it’s ready.”

As you were climbing down the ladder, you saw Vic lean in and whisper something in Patrick’s ear. You didn’t catch what it was, but you would bet your right arm it was about you.

You walked back to Belch’s car, a little bit fucked and very sleepy.

When you got in, you put a cigarette in your mouth.

“You mind?” you asked around it.

“Nah, go for it.”

You used the cigarette lighter the car had and lit up. You took a drag, slow and even.

“Sorry about Patrick,” he said.

“Me too,” you said.

“What are you sorry about? He’s an asshole, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

He grunted, but didn’t verbally disagree.

You rode in silence. When you got to the shop, your car was waiting on you. It looked cleaner than it had been before.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you — did you wash my car?”

He blushed.

“I took it through a car wash for you,” he said. “It was all covered in pollen.”

You laughed. It was true enough — your car had been covered in green dust for weeks.

“Well, thank you.”

“No problem.”

You got out of his car, running a hand over the trunk of your own. She looked so much better than you remembered her.

God, but you loved your car.

“Hey,” you said. “I was wondering. I’m going to this show tomorrow. This band’s kinda local, and ever since we moved here I’ve wanted to see them. You wanna go with me?”

Truth was, you hadn’t moved far. Just from Portland. But the band was from Etna, and you were dying to finally see them.

“Don’t wanna go alone?”

You flushed, thinking again about last night.

“I just wanna go with you,” you said. You avoided his eye.

“Well, sure. I can go with you. When should I pick you up?”

You smiled. “Nine?”

“Sure.” Then, he paused. “Is it a date?”

You finally looked at him. He was purely curious.

“Do you want it to be?” you asked.

“Kinda. But if you want it to just be friendly, I understand.”

Your smile grew wider.

“It can be a date.”

“Cool.”

Then, you got on your toes again and kissed him on the cheek. It left a little black mark, and you wiped it away with your thumb, chuckling. He smiled.

“Thanks for inviting me today,” you said, one hand on his chest.

“Well. I wanted you to officially meet the guys.”

“They mean a lot to you.”

“Yeah, I guess. They’re assholes, but I like ‘em.”

“They are. But I can see the appeal.” You paused. “Well. ‘Bye.”

“’Bye.”

He watched you get in the car and drive away. A gentle smile played on your lips as you did.

You had a date. A date with a super cute boy. And you were excited. Not scared.

Not scared at all, not about him.

[thetenthdoctorscompanion]

Gospel of the Chosen - Special Sneak Preview!

Happy September 18th, everyone! In honor of Lazarus Rising, here is a special sneak preview of my upcoming Dean/OC story, Gospel of the Chosen. 

-Brittney

It was shaping up to be weird ass day. 

First off, it was way too hot to be September. Illinois rarely got hotter than eighty degrees, especially in the fall, but the way the sun was shining down made it feel well over a hundred. Then there was this dumpy roadside gas and go. The owners clearly had their priorities way out of whack. Newspapers were up to date, but the food on the shelf hadn’t been checked for weeks—just a fridge of lukewarm water bottles, and a few shelves of expired granola bars. The stacks of skin mags were glossy and new, but the place didn’t have a single road map. What self-respecting pit stop didn’t have a damn road map? 

And then, as luck would have it, there wasn’t a single car in sight. Not on the road, not in the parking lot, not even a half-rusted junk out back he could have fixed up before jumping. No, of course there wasn’t. That was probably snatched up by the last sorry bastard who’d gotten his ass dragged out of hell.

Dean wiped a hand over his forehead—not that it did him much good. His hands were just as sweaty as the rest of him, and every single muscle in his body ached. It felt like he’d been walking for miles and miles, but he wasn’t dumb enough to believe it. All it took was one look at the sky to figure that he’d barely made it one. 

 Well, he thought bitterly. Sitting in a grave for four months probably didn’t do much for his endurance. 

The roaring sound of an engine made his head pop up. A bright blue car was speeding toward him, racing down the side of the opposite side of the road. Dean paused mid-step, changing his gait so that he was strolling backward down the shoulder, his left hand out with a thumb. 

The engine surged, and the car sped past him. 

In the brief glance he’d gotten through the window, he’d caught the woman looking in the opposite direction. But if her sudden burst of speed was anything to go by, she’d definitely seen him. It was all about pretending that she hadn’t seen him—just an honest mistake so she didn’t have to stop and ask if he was alright. 

Not that Dean blamed her. The dangerous stupidity of picking up hitchhikers these days far outweighed the benefit of helping strangers. And he was willing to bet he didn’t look like the most welcoming damsel on the side of the road. He’d just climbed out of his own grave, after all, and he was covered head to toe in dirt and sweat. His hands were bloody from clawing his way through the soil, and he had more than a few scratches from the shattered glass at the gas station. Good looking as he may be, he wasn’t the ideal pick up. 

He didn’t even make it another mile. Exhausted, bruised, and furious with himself, Dean trudged to a stop and sat on the side of the highway. He pushed himself into a slim patch of shade, and rummaged through the shopping bag he’d pilfered from the gas station. Supplies were already dwindling—four protein bars, one pack of mini donuts, and one magazine. And he was already down to his last water bottle. 

He knew he should save it, but even after downing the other three, his throat still felt raw and sandy. He thought of all the dirt that must have collected there while he was lying in his pine box. Then, he thought of all the times his throat had been flayed and sliced and twisted and burned before he’d woken up… 

The thought was gone in an instant, and he cracked open the water bottle. Screw it. He’d figure out a way to avoid dehydration later. 

His eyes lingered on the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties. But he decided against it. Not like he had any energy to spare beating his meat on the side of the road. Not when he still had a few miles’ walk ahead of him. 

Frustration nipped at his knuckles again, and Dean gripped the water bottle a little tighter. He’d called Sam, but the number had been disconnected. That wasn’t exactly a surprise. He and Sam always cycled through burner phones on the job. Best way to avoid the bills was to ditch the name and number. 

But then he’d called Bobby, and the old man hadn’t even let him get a word in edgewise. But that was all part of the job. If it had been Bobby calling him after four months downstairs, Dean probably wouldn’t answer the phone either. Especially when he didn’t have a decent explanation for how he’d gotten out. And Dean didn’t have a clue what he was doing alive and breathing in Pontiac, Illinois. 

But that was exactly why he needed to haul ass to Bobby’s. Nothing he’d ever heard of had the power to bust a soul out of hell. Wriggling out of a deal, sure. He and Sam had helped a few poor bastards weasel their way out of a bargain, but once the Hellhounds got you, there was no coming back. There was no waking up a few months later without a scratch on you. Even a demon couldn’t do that. Not unless someone let them out. 

That was a nasty thought. If one of the big wig demons had let him escape, then there had to be something in it for them, something big. And he damn well wanted to know what it was before it was too late. 

So—no car, no map, no phone, and a few hours’ worth of walking between him and his next water bottle. No problem. 

Dean crushed the empty bottle in his hand, tossing it back into the bag. It couldn’t be that far to the edge of town. He was still in Pontiac as far as he could tell. It was just a matter of getting to the part of Pontiac that actually had buildings, or at least a car he could hot wire. 

Five minutes later, he was back to hiking. He kept his ears sharp, waiting for another car to drive by. This time, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Hell, he’d jump in front of the damn car if that’s what it took to get a ride. 

Whether or not he would have survived a minor collision, hitchhiking just didn’t seem to be in the cards for him. The road was quiet. He tried not to let it get to him, because the more he thought about it, the more he worried. Pontiac wasn’t exactly a backroads town. If there weren’t any cars on the road, just how far from the city was he? 

And then he stopped. 

Up ahead, there was a car parked on the shoulder—black, dusty, and almost certainly empty. There wasn’t anyone around for a few miles. Someone had probably broken down on the drive and called for a ride. Of course, it could have been something a lot worse, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was a car, and that meant he didn’t have to walk. 

Dean approached carefully, waiting for some homeless dude to come out swinging and scratching—but the car was definitely abandoned. The backseat had a few slashes in the upholstery, and the body wasn’t in mint condition, but it could still run for sure. He only needed it to carry him a few miles before he upgraded. 

Laughing at his luck, he threw his shopping bag in the passenger seat. He wiped his hands on the shirt around his waist, and popped the hood so he could get to work. And then his smile dropped like a rock. 

There was no fucking engine. 

“Friggen scavengers,” he grumbled, along with a few choice curse words. He kicked the fender for good measure. 

Another car sped down the road, flying past him before he could even lift his head. Dean groaned and wiped a hand down his face again. Time to call it. He had officially used up all of his luck. 

Just as he was starting to think about how desperately he didn’t want to go back to walking—he’d take a nap in the wreck if he weren’t so anxious to talk to Bobby—the silver car slowed down. It rolled along the side of the road, and after an agonizing moment of hesitation, pulled a U-turn and headed back toward him. It coasted to a stop, still a couple hundred feet away, and then the door swung open. 

Dean smirked. He’d take it all back. He was one lucky son of a bitch. 

She was blonde, trim, about half a foot shorter than he was. Most of her body stayed behind the car door, one foot still inside the vehicle. Clearly, she was ready to bolt the second he made the wrong move. Still, she’d stopped. 

“Car trouble?” she called. 

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean, giving the wreck a disparaging look. “You could say that. Don’t suppose you’re a mechanic?” 

“Nope. Sorry.” 

“Eh, it was worth asking.” 

 He quickly closed the hood again. You didn’t have to be a mechanic to notice when the engine was missing from a car. It left a pretty big gap to the untrained eye. 

Dean walked around to the side of the car, and the woman tensed ever so slightly. He could see her hand gripping the door, her body shift as she debated getting back in the car. Not wanting to spook her, he stopped and took a casual step back. He smiled at her and leaned back on the hood to show he had no plans on approaching her. 

He wasn’t entirely sure that it had worked. She kept her face passive as her eyes slid over him. She could have been checking him out or sizing him up as a threat and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

“Should I call you a tow truck?” 

“Nah, I’m fine,” he said with a shrug. Lying was still natural for him, even if he was a bit out of practice. “I called my brother a few times, so I’m just waiting for him to call me back.” 

The blonde nodded, her eyes still narrow. She shifted slightly, and her right arm dropped to the inside of her door. If Dean hadn’t been trained to look for it, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. But he was sure she’d just picked something up. 

“What happened to you?” she asked suddenly. 

“Sorry?” 

“I mean the dirt, the cuts.” Her free hand gestured to his torso. “What happened?” 

“Oh I, uh…fell…” 

Even Dean winced at that. There was no way he’d get off with a lie that bad. 

The woman raised an eyebrow, and her right arm tensed behind the door. “You fell?” 

“Hey, don’t laugh,” he said, trying to sound defensive. The chick was clearly not laughing, but he knew he had to backpedal somehow. “I was trying to walk into town, and I tripped over my own feet. Went rolling down the shoulder into the bushes, so…I figured I’d be better off waiting with the car. It’s—It’s not exactly the most badass way to get a few bruises, but I’m not exactly in the best shape of my life here.” 

He watched her closely this time, looking up from under his lashes. That usually earned him a few bonus points with girls—the whole bashful, nervous thing. He wasn’t exactly betting on it this time, but the girl seemed to think about it at the very least. After a few seconds, she offered him a tight smile. Her arm did not relax. 

“Well, heat exhaustion can be a real bitch.” 

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. Dean sent her his best charming smile, and shrugged again. “But I think I’ll stick with the car this time. Sammy will get one of my voicemails eventually.” 

“Sammy’s your brother?” 

“Yeah, yeah. He’s probably holed up with a book somewhere with his phone on silent. But he’s gotta come get me one of these days, right?” 

“So you’re just gonna wait on the side of the highway in a broken down car until your brother happens to check his messages?” She indulgently tried to restrain a snort. “That’s…either really sweet or really, really dumb.” 

“Probably both,” he agreed. It looked like she was smiling for real now, so he decided to test the waters. “I’m Dean, by the way.” 

Her eyes quickly flicked around her surroundings. Apparently seeing no polite way out of the conversation, she sighed. “Katherine.” 

“Katherine,” he repeated, nodding to himself. “Cute name.” 

“It’s fine.” 

His window was closing, and he knew it. He’d lied his ass off about being fine in hopes that she’d offer him a lift anyway, but she might have been too cautious for that to work. Asking for a lift would show his cards, and she was definitely too cautious for that to work. Any second now, she’d climb back in her car and drive off without him, and he’d have another few hours to contemplate how shitty he’d gotten at being persuasive. 

Throwing caution to the wind, Dean cleared his throat. 

“Look, Katherine, I’m gonna be honest with you. I don’t really want to stay here with my car. It’s hot, I’m starving, and uh…all I’ve got out here is a package of mini donuts. Now, you seem like a smart girl. You don’t know me. I’m just some rough looking dude on the side of the highway. So if you want to keep driving, I won’t blame you. But I’d really appreciate a lift to the next town. I—I’ll keep my hands in view the whole time, best behavior. And if I’m not then you can go ahead and use that pepper spray you’re hiding behind your door.” 

It was a gamble—a huge one. How was he supposed to recognize that she was feeling vulnerable without pointing out that she was actually vulnerable? But he figured the worst she could do was spray him or leave him on the side of the highway. Or she could always hit him with her car. 

Well, he’d already decided he was desperate enough to risk a car accident. 

Katherine stared at him, her whole body poised to strike. But she didn’t move to attack him. Instead, she pursed her lips, and tersely said, “It’s actually a billy club.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Old school. Nice.” 

“Well, I guess the element of surprise is out,” she sighed, tossing the club onto the driver’s seat. “Thanks a lot, Dean.” 

“Hey, don’t feel bad. I’m a hard guy to surprise.” 

He could barely believe it, but the next time she looked over at him, she almost looked like she was blushing. She bit her bottom lip, but the smile there still shone through. She ran a hand through her hair, glancing around at the empty road one more time before she relented. 

“Where did you say you were headed?” 

“Just to the next town. Anywhere with a diner.” 

“No, I mean…where are you really headed?” 

She was smirking now, and though he took a few casual steps forward, it never faltered. Dean licked his chapped lips, and offered her a lopsided grin. 

“Sioux Falls, South Dakota. On your way?” 

Katherine cocked an eyebrow. “I could make a pit stop.” 

“Alright then.” 

Dean walked the rest of the way to her car, trying to keep his pace casual but not wanting to give her time to change her mind. Katherine cleared her throat. 

“Uh, don’t you wanna get your stuff?” 

“Hm?” 

 He glanced back at the empty car, thinking of the shopping bag in the passenger seat. Somehow, he didn’t think Busty Asian Beauties was going to help him win Katherine’s trust. So he just waved a hand and shook his head. 

“Oh, nah. Like I said. All I’ve got in there is some donuts.” 

“Right.” She smiled again, walking around to the front of her car to meet him. Her eyes gave him another once over, looser this time than it had been before. She seemed amused, but still a little hesitant, as she offered him a hand. “I’m not gonna regret this, am I?” 

“God, I hope not.” 

Dean couldn’t help it. His tongue snuck out over his lips, and he eyed her short frame with rapidly climbing interest. It had been months since he’d gotten laid, and it felt like it had been decades. But judging by the way Katherine was blushing under those blonde waves, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. 

Yup, he thought to himself. Still got it. 

Katherine’s hand tightened around his, and tugged his body closer to hers. Then, before he could even blink, her left fist smashed into his windpipe. His face slammed into the hood of the car, and he fell like a rock—his head cracking none-too-gently on the asphalt below. 

Dean’s body crumpled to the pavement, and Kat gaped down at him, hands flying to cover her mouth. She had not meant to do that. Alright, well she had meant to punch him, but she had no idea that he was going to go down that easy. What kind of dude got knocked out after one bump on the head? 

“Shit,” she grumbled, resting a hand on her hip. 

She hadn’t really thought this through. She didn’t even know where he was going really, besides a town name a few states away. And the drive was going to take hours. She doubted he’d stay unconscious for all of it, and now that she’d kind of attacked him, he was more than likely to retaliate. So what was she supposed to do? Let him take a nap in the back seat of her Prius and hope that he didn’t remember what happened when he woke up? Right. Cause he was real likely to let her explain herself when he woke up bleeding in the back of a stranger’s car. 

There was really only one thing to do. 

 Kat sighed, popping her trunk and grabbing a roll of duct tape. She wasn’t spectacular at restraining people, but she figured if she just kept layering the tape on then it would do the job. It would at least buy her some time if he woke up and tried to fight back. She rolled it up and down his forearms, and then up and down his shins. She thought about taping his mouth closed, but he did seem to be in pretty rough shape. A gag wasn’t a lot kinder, but at least it would allow him some air to breathe…she hoped… 

Once he was all taped up, she began dragging him around to the back of the car. He was a heavy guy, packed with bone and muscle, but she managed to get him into the trunk without too much of a problem. Laying on his side with his knees tucked up, he fit just about perfectly. Kat stood back to admire her handiwork, and passed the back of her hand over her forehead. 

She had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to blow up in her face. But there was no going back now. Besides, an unconscious Dean Winchester was better than no Dean Winchester at all...