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peachbear88 · 3 years

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Fight For It

Summary: Everything was fine and dandy between Wanda and Natasha until you joined. What measures will the two go to to have you for their own?

Series Warnings: Angst, fluff.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader/Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 987

-=+=-

"It's not everyday you see a pretty girl around here," a suave voice speaks up from behind you and you jump in fright, dropping the mug. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry." A gorgeous woman with bright red hair cascading down her back in a neat braid leans down to to pick up the chipped cup. "Didn't realize I was so terrifying." You chuckle uneasily, watching her warily as she hands it back to you. "Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff."

"I'm Y/-" An obnoxious beeping fills the room. Natasha checks her watch before flashing you a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry. I have a meeting to get to. Something about a new recruit. If I had a choice, I'd stay here but-" A gentle, sing song voice rings out.

"Y/N? It's almost time for your interview." The two of you turn to see Wanda, her hands resting easily in the pocket of her worn, grey cardigan. "Oh. I see you've already met Natasha."

If you can even call making a fool of yourself in front of her as 'meeting her' then sure.

Wanda's dark brown eyebrows furrow making your heart skip a beat.

"Well, we better get going." She turns around abruptly, walking briskly down the long corridor. You sprint after her, as Natasha watches you amusedly.

-=+=-

"So, what are your intentions here?" A man with dark, cropped hair leans over the desk, shining a bright desk lamp in your eyes, making you squint.

"Oh Tony, stop with the dramatics." He rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair.

"But that's the fun part!" A charming man with a boyish grin and a slightly overgrown crewcut, Steve, rolls his eyes before extending his hand at you.

"Don't mind Tony, he's just a nuisance. I've read your file. Specialized soldier nicknamed 'Blood Angel' until a few years ago, making your own weapons that best suited your abilities such as taser repulsors and mechanical wings connected to your mind?" Tony's eyebrow arches upwards. "Impressive. Sam will be very happy to know there's another flyer on the team." Your eyes widen.

"Does that mean I'm hired?" Steve smiles at you.

"You're hired young grasshopper!" Tony pops out, flashing you a toothy grin.

Natasha smiles from the corner of the room, in her own little world, watching as you celebrate internally, allowing yourself a little fistpump as you exit the room.

Wanda watches Nat, her eyes narrowing as she follows her line of sight. She frowns as Nat smiles dreamily at your retreating figure. Clearly, she had some competition now. This was about to get a whole lot messier.

-=+=-

You groan, your back throbbing as you pick yourself up off the floor.

"I'm out. Someone call 911." A breathy laugh echoes out from behind you.

"You can't just tap out like that, you look too good under me. I won't let you go easily." Nat smirks.

"You heard her. She wants out. Stop trying to break her back." A thick accent snarks. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the onslaught of nasty comments.

"I'm sure she'd love for me to break her back. Just not in the way you think witchy. Isn't that right котенок (kitten)?" Nat smirks as Wanda scowls, offering you a hand which you gratefully accept.

You open your mouth to respond but Wanda cuts you off, wrenching your hand from Nat's grasp possessively. She reaches out for your hand but a sharp glare from Wanda has her retracting her hand.

"Come, I made you your favorite!" You perk up instantly.

"Instant noodles?" Her cheerful smile falters.

"Er- No. Paprikash." Nat snickers from behind you. You elbow her, turning back to Wanda with a grateful, slightly overblown smile.

"That sounds great! Thank you Wan!" Your hand slips from hers as you skip towards the kitchen. Wanda's eyes follow your figure, a dopey smile on her face.

"Whipped."

Natasha spent the rest of the afternoon in the med bay.

-=+=-

"Natty! I've been looking for you!" You exclaim, rushing towards the disgruntled Russian, muttering something about 'magic' and 'gonna kill that god damn witch'.

Her angry façade falters as you grab her hand, leading her down the bland corridors of the compound, your bare feet slapping against the concrete floor.

'Y-You have?" She can feel her cheeks heat up at the thought.

"Y/N!" Wanda smiles cheerily watching as your deep Y/E/C eyes twinkle with delight. Her smile falters as her eyes land on Natasha who's scowl returns instantly at the sight of the brunette witch. "Oh. I was under the impression we'd be alone."

"Yeah but I remembered Nat and I thought 'hey, the more the merrier'!" You exclaim oblivious to the glowering stares exchanged between the two women. You clap your hands excitedly, sliding into the seat in front of you.

"Well it was beef stroganoff but-" she pulls the lid off the dish. "There's only enough for two." She smiles triumphantly at Nat, who sticks her tongue out.

"That's okay! I can share with Nat!" Wanda's slick smile slides off her face as you spoon-feed Natasha a slice of the stroganoff.

"Mmmmm... Delicious." Nat smiles deviously, licking her lips seductively as you giggle shyly. Wanda scowls, flopping back into her chair in defeat.

-=+=-

"Y/L/N where are you?" You skulk through the shadows, keeping a wary eye for enemies hidden in the cracks and crevices of the worn down headquarters.

"I found a compartment. Looks like it's meant to sustain human life as well as protect against any explosions. In other words, bomb-proof," you run your hands along the insulated wall of the small bunker.

"Fall in! We wait for backup before going in!" Steve's voice is strong, commanding but you ignore it, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The door slams shut behind you. You whirl around to find a man, rifle in hand, aimed straight for your head. He smiles wickedly, giving you a mock wave.

"мастер (master) sends his best."

-=+=-

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain-likes2read

#wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #writtenbypeach

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kleenexwoman · 3 years

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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"It's not so bad if you're dedicated," Napoleon said. "I like the idea of security. I've wanted to do something like this ever since I was twelve, and I realized, look...the world is really fucked up, you know? You can get attacked for no reason. Things just fall apart and go crazy for no reason. We need people to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Okay," Illya said, "and the way to do that isn't to charge into places you think might be dangerous with a bunch of guns and body armor."

"It's not just charging in and shooting up shit," Napoleon said. "They provide restructuring services, too. They fix the economy, find someone to be in charge, institute democracy...all that good stuff."

"Sometimes you need to go in and kick ass before you can fuck around with democracy." Angel said from the kitchen. "Can you think of a better way to make sure people aren't just bombing the shit out of each other? It's all about pacifying."

from "bananas and guns and bananas" https://archiveofourown.org/works/296945/chapters/475602

I started writing this in 2011. Ten years after 9/11. The Arab Spring and Occupy Wall Street were on everyone's mind. I'd gotten into Man from UNCLE, a premier example of 60's spy-fi, during my college years when I was starting to learn about the American history I didn't get in high school--I was fangirling over secret agents in fiction while reading about how the CIA sent troops into Central and South America to destabilize economies and ultimately buy up cheap land from the puppet dictators they installed. The Secret Service fuckin investigated my little brother for signing a dumb Internet petition! I was working at OnStar, sending weak-ass apology emails to people who were angry at the company about not pulling their ads from the future Worst President To Date's reality show, where he was sowing the seeds of fascism. Then I started getting emails from people who were upset because OnStar was going to track their every move and tell the cops if they'd broken a traffic law (that was not what was happening, actually). Anyway, here you have skater prep Napoleon trying to figure out if he should join the equivalent of Blackwater or not (hint: don't join a mercenary army to invade the Middle East), which I am equating with THRUSH because I am not trying to be subtle.

Billboards popped up and fell away as Bucky sped south. Bulova watches, the new Ford Hydra seating eight, Who Murdered Me? Call If You Know, ginger ale, potato chips, Wrongful Death? Make Them Pay, menthol cigarettes, Quit Smoking Now, N’Jadaka Stevens for Mayor, smooth Canadian whiskey, Did the Crime? Don’t Do Time, God Loves You. The billboards gave way to a twinkling fairyland with arching towers that belched smoke and flames and burned the inside of Bucky’s nostrils, and then billboards again for Marathon oil, the new Ford Othala, Hill’s Clean-Burning Propane, petroleum jelly, plastic bags and plastic toys and water in plastic bottles, more and more and more billboards until everything was hidden behind concrete and advertisements.

from "Coffee in Paradise" https://archiveofourown.org/works/33429637?view_full_work=true

Bulova watches: Detroit has Shinola watches, but the Bulova watch was the first ever commercial, and I can only imagine what kind of weird anxiety might have plagued me if I was innocently watching TV and without warning or explanation a test card watch appeared on my screen and ticked for a full minute. The new Ford Hydra seating eight and the Ford Othala: Henry Ford was a huge anti-Semite and a megalomaniac and literally killed people for striking and fucked up not just the American worker but also the American school system and any hope Detroit ever had for a decent public transportation system and ooh I hate him I hate him I hate him. Anyway, Othala or Odal is the rune equivalent for O, which means "inheritance," and which happens to be the first letter of Odin's name. Neo-Nazis like this because it's easy and they are stupid, and also because of the whole heritage/Odinist thing. Odin's ACTUAL rune is Ansuz aka Os, which means "god" but also means "voice or mouth" and is considered by many to be a rune of divine inspiration. Who Murdered Me? Call If You Know, Wrongful Death? Make Them Pay, Did the Crime? Don’t Do Time, God Loves You: These are all billboards I've seen around Detroit. Tiplines for murders, especially with the faces of the victims, absolutely designed to produce a huge guilt reaction. Plenty of wrongful death lawyers, usually medical malpractice or injury lawyers. Did you know that the Open and Obvious Doctrine, as passed by the Michigan Supreme Court, rules that it's basically your fault if you get hurt by something you can see is wrong? Even if you're fucking blind and literally can't see it? Look up Sidorowicz v. Chicken Shack. Anyway, so here we have finding the killer, getting recompense, the question of prison, and ultimate forgiveness. THEMES. ginger ale, potato chips, menthol cigarettes, Quit Smoking Now, smooth Canadian whiskey: The ginger ale is obviously Vernor's and the potato chips are Better Made--if you like the burnt chips, you should check out their Rainbow Chips because they are ALL THE BURNT CHIPS. They're my favorite. Consider this a recommendation. The smooth Canadian whiskey is a sneaky reference to my great-grandfather, who liked whiskey so much it was his Purple Gang nickname. They got it from Canada. Also, I realized recently that literally the only thing I miss about smoking cigarettes (besides that they're cheaper than weed) is when I got the ones with the little ball of mint oil inside the filters and I got to pop them. I make my friends who smoke let me do it so that I don't start smoking again. N'Jadaka Stevens for Mayor: Killmonger there, running for mayor. The billboards gave way to a twinkling fairyland with arching towers that belched smoke and flames and burned the inside of Bucky’s nostrils: When you cross the Detroit River via I-75 there's actual Detroit on on side and on the other there's a Fucking Gigantic oil refinery. @teadrinkingwolfgirl wrote a poem comparing an oil refinery in Texas to a fairyland and that really stuck with me, it does look eerily like a fairy city especially in the dark when it's all twinkling lights and towers. Marathon oil, the new Ford Othala, Hill’s Clean-Burning Propane, petroleum jelly, plastic bags and plastic toys and water in plastic bottles: all petroleum products being advertised around the refinery! You can get really cheap gas at the Marathon attached to the refinery. I assume it's also freshest and tastiest there. To the cars, I mean. Hill's Clean-Burning Propane is a nod to Hank Hill.

ok I'm p. tired I'll do the rest tomorrow

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blame-canada · 7 years

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Midnight Snack - Bunny

Butters couldn’t deny that he enjoyed being spoiled. Kenny may not have been the most well-to-do man in town, but he did his best, and it made every treat tastier, and each act sweeter.

Hello friends! It’s about time I wrote some Bunny, eh? I’ve shipped them forever but never been able to finish something, so I took one of the prompts from this month’s South Park Mini-Bomb - Treat - and came up with this. Find it on AO3 here!

“A’ight baby, get ready for some grade A Kenny McCormick special treatment action, because it’s comin’ your way in approximately ten minutes,” his phone said, and Butters cradled it to his cheek, as though the tenderness in which he held it could transfer through the call and kiss Kenny’s ear for him.

“Aw, Kenny,” he said, his voice melting as much as his body did as he sunk into the pillows on his bed, “you shouldn’t have.”

“Too late!” Kenny exclaimed, loudly into the receiver, so much so that Butters had to pull the speaker from his ear just slightly. In doing so, the screen awoke, and the picture he assigned to Kenny’s contact made his heart even warmer. It was a selfie of the two of them together, but it was held by Kenny’s arm, not his, and that somehow made it much more magical. “I provide only the best, and there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.”

“Nothing?” he teased, fiddling with the tassels on the ends of one of his throw pillows, and Kenny laughed, nearly as wonderful through the phone as in person. He had such a musical laugh, so full of life.

“Nothin’ at all, darlin’. Unlock the window for me?” Kenny requested almost unnecessarily, and Butters nodded before realizing that Kenny couldn’t see him doing so.

“You bet! See ya soon, mister man,” he murmured coyly, and he knew he threw Kenny for a loop by the slight pause in his response. He cleared his throat and Butters tried not to laugh.

“You got it. See you. Love you,” he said, in that special way he always said it in which he put too much emphasis on the word ‘love,’ and Butters smiled.

“Love you too, Kenny,” he said. He bid him farewell without goodbye- he didn’t like the word goodbye. It was too final, too concrete, and whenever he said it, he had a superstitious feeling that Kenny would vanish before he got the chance to say ‘hello’ again. Maybe because he was afraid to lose him, or because the days he did disappear felt like torture, but either way, Kenny was a doll to never say it again.

When he hung up the phone, he couldn’t help himself- he let out a small giggle that made his ears feel hot and his stomach tingly, and he rolled back and forth with his phone to his chest in the nest of plushy pillows he wrapped around himself. Oh, he loved him. “I love him so much,” he whispered to himself, as if it might help release the energy that was building in his chest that felt like rainbows and tickled like feathers.

Carefully, with pointed toes donning striped socks, he crossed his bedroom floor and crept to the window to unlock it. He reached under the window sill and felt around blindly with his fingertips until he found the rudimentary notch Kenny had chipped into it for him, and, popping off the little cover fashioned from the displaced wood, he flipped a tiny switch. He gripped the sides of the window frame and tested it, pulling it up just a crack, and true to form, the alarms were left untripped.

Kenny had gone practically ballistic when his father installed the high security electronic locks on his window and door.

It was not a pretty sight, that was for sure, and Butters still felt bad to have subjected Kenny to his sadness. He tried not to cry very much, he really did, but that was a hard one. The sound of metal smacking metal rang in his ears while he cowered on his bed that night, as though his father was driving nails into his skull too.

They hadn’t been dating yet, when Butters begged Kenny for help in a moment of weakness. Even though the nails made it impossible to open his window, Kenny still perched himself on the branch of his oak tree the whole night, looking right into his eyes while they sat silent with each other, their cell phones connected so that they could speak if they wanted to, but for the most part did not. Butters thought that might have been the first time he loved Kenny, gazing into his hardened eyes that still looked at him tenderly despite the rage he could see tensing his shoulders and setting his jaw. Kenny had a protective soul, one made of gold and strong as steel, and it radiated sunshine from his immaculate smiles. He was also, luckily, good with technology, and he designed and installed a workaround for his window within the week.

Butters was startled from his memories by tapping on glass, and when he sat up to look at the noise, he saw another of those toothy grins, framed by dimples and freckles and old white scars. His hands were full so Butters hopped from his bed, moving as quickly as he could as quietly as he could, and he inched the window up bit by bit, careful not to let the wood squeak. As soon as he had it pulled up high enough that his arms were above his head, Kenny swooped forward and kissed his nose.

“Evenin’,” he drawled, a proud smirk on his lips at the way Butters tried not to giggle behind his hands, and he ushered him in, carefully moving away obstacles so he wouldn’t make much noise. Kenny was an expert at breaking into windows though, and he maneuvered like a cat off the tree and into his bedroom. In his hand was a cardboard drink tray that held two plastic cups, each filled with ice cream, milk, and flavored syrup, and a cheap fake cherry to top it off.

“Don’t I just feel like a sorta prince, now,” Butters whispered, and Kenny sat down on the floor cross-legged, tugging the strawberry milkshake from the tray and handing it over to Butters’ waiting hand.

“Only the highest of luxuries for you, my dear,” Kenny said with his usual bravado, enthusiasm shining through even in his hushed murmur. Butters sat across from him and took care to unwrap his straw at the very end so he had most of the paper intact. It increased his chance for a wish, after all, if he could get more paper to knot. Kenny watched him patiently; he knew the routine.

Butters loosely tangled the wrapper and paused a moment, closing his eyes, before tearing it apart. When he opened his eyes again, he saw two clean strips, one in each hand, and it appeared McDonald’s had granted him a wish once more. “Aw Ken, I dunno what to wish for anymore,” he said, the smile on his face hurting his cheeks, and Kenny smiled back, the picture of adoration.

“I can think ‘a plenty of things! Here, lemme try it this time,” Kenny said, and he pulled his straw wrapper to end up with a knot on one end, and no wish to speak of. “Damn,” he muttered, and he shoved the bits of paper into his coat pocket. Kenny never got wishes, and it made him a little sad.

“Maybe next time,” Butters chirped, optimistic, and Kenny’s scowl softened to a slight appreciative smile, the heart-melty kind.

“I doubt it baby, but thank you,” he said. He took a long sip of his drink, and they fell into comfortable silence.

It was a growing colder outside, and the combined chill of the milkshake and the breeze that swirled in past his curtains had him reaching for a blanket. He tugged on his favorite one within reach, an extra soft pastel blue throw that was part of the massive conglomerate of snuggly things he slept with each night on his bed. He wrapped part of it around his shoulders, and used his other hand to gesture at Kenny. “You’re gonna catch cold over there, Kenny,” he whispered, and Kenny chuckled breathily, so prettily.

“I got a coat on, I’m good,” Kenny said, and Butters started to protest, but then he scooched forward, crawling over to cuddle up close to his side and lean into his shoulder. “Won’t complain, though.”

Butters hummed and nuzzled his nose into his messy hair, noting that he’d recently showered and it still smelled like his shampoo. He held his cup with both hands, drinking the last of his precious treat until his straw started to slurp. Kenny had his tucked between them, and he took occasional slower sips as they embraced the world exactly how it fell around them.

Kenny was starting to fall heavier against his side, and Butters, knowing the signs, took Kenny’s cup in the nick of time before he became complete deadweight on his shoulder. His breathing had evened out and deepened, each exhale leaving him in a quiet hiss between a slightly unhinged jaw. The angel upon his shoulder had fallen asleep, but Butters was quite familiar with this routine as well.

He didn’t want to move at first, because he knew the slightest stirring would have him up in a flash and hyperactive to compensate. No, Butters didn’t want that; Kenny was clearly exhausted, having come over immediately after finishing a shift at one of this several jobs, and he knew he never got good sleep in his own bed. Instead, he drank the last few sips of Kenny’s milkshake for him, knowing he wouldn’t mind, and let his sighs of sleepy contentment puff against his collarbone.

Butters glanced at his clock- it was nearing midnight. He set the cup down beside his own emptied one, back in its carrier, and used both arms to gingerly adjust Kenny’s sleeping form to lie over his chest. Kenny hummed in his sleep and wrapped his arm lazily across Butters’ torso, slinging it over one shoulder and squeezing once in an awkward hug. He giggled quietly at his unconscious affections, and rubbed one hand up and down his back to comfort him. His body fit so perfectly against his own, for such an unusual angle. He hoped Kenny could hear his heart beating, and maybe its shouting of “You’re wonderful! You’re perfect! Thank you, Thank you!” too.

The condensation on the sides of their cups was starting to drip and seep into the carrier they sat inside. Butters watched beads of water drop and disappear within the brown cardboard, and listened to the ticking of the clock above his closet door. It was off by an hour, but the minute hand was still correct. It was past midnight now.

It was well known, by any person in town, that the McCormicks didn’t have much. This unfortunately fell on Kenny, too, and he worked hard at several jobs to help keep his family afloat. Butters wished he could’ve had more of a childhood, instead of the rapid way he had to grow up to care for his siblings and, occasionally, his mother. As a result, Kenny didn’t know how to relax very well, or talk out his feelings. They were working on that, together.

A cheap milkshake from a fast food restaurant would ordinarily mean nothing, could even be considered subpar, if it was anyone but Kenny or anyone but Butters. Kenny scraped what he could together to get him that drink, he knew it, and that made it more valuable than the fanciest milkshake at the fanciest restaurant Butters could think of.

“How lucky,” he whispered, raising his hand to ruffle it through Kenny’s locks. He stirred from his sleep, chirping like a woken cat as of to ask, ‘What? I’m up.’

“Nothin, darlin’, I love you,” Butters said, pressing a gentle kiss into the very top of his head and tickling his nose with his hair, and Kenny hummed again.

“Love you too, baby,” he mumbled, smiling and nuzzling into his chest a bit more before sitting back up. With a big yawn and a stretch Kenny blinked rapidly, forcing himself up so that he could make the trek back home.

“Text me when you get home?” Butters said, feeling the cold absence of his boyfriend already, and Kenny swiped the empty cups and drink tray from the floor as he stood on woozy legs.

“Always,” he said, and with one last grin and a lazy salute with two fingers that made Butters laugh, he climbed back through the window, and headed off to play protector in his living room. The paper straw wrapper that Butters had torn was still on the ground, a remnant that they both missed, and Butters tied both halves to pull again. He got both wishes, and with one, he wished the other could go to Kenny instead.

#spdrabblebomb #south park #fanfiction #south park fanfiction #sp fanfiction #south park fanfic #sp fanfic #butters stotch #kenny mccormick #bunny #bunny sp #sp bunny #butters x kenny #one shot

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ladylynse · 7 years

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At some point, I’d like to write a SuperPhantom fic (Supernatural/Danny Phantom crossover), but in the meantime, have a possible starting point from me. (Post The Ultimate Enemy for DP and sometime in the later seasons of SPN, but nothing with a more definitive time point than that yet.)

Visions: It was supposed to be over. Azazel was dead, and Sam hadn’t had a vision since. Not until he heard the girl’s pleas, at least, and found himself standing in the ruins of a residential neighbourhood.

“Help me, please.” It was a soft murmur, more a repeated prayer than even a tired plea at this point, but it carried easily in the eerie afternoon stillness.

Sam spun, looking for some sign of the girl. He could hear her voice readily enough, but he couldn’t—

“Please. Please, help me.”

The girl could be anywhere. The street Sam stood in looked like a bomb had gone off in the middle of it, but the collapsing buildings on either side, leaning in opposite directions, suggested the real target had been the former home—shop?—on the corner in front of him. It was more rubble than anything else, as much dust as brick, and it had its fair share of twisted metal that he assumed had once been supports. He could see a larger metal structure beyond, though its remains didn’t resemble anything he recognized.

A few feet away from him lay the remnants of some neon monstrosity, a sign that had once spelled something beginning with a giant green F, but despite that, it must have been someone’s house. From what Sam could see, this was a residential neighbourhood. Partial fences interlaced the remains of the buildings, and there was a bright snatch of fabric in the ruin of one home off to the right, a cheery remnant of life before the destruction.

But the closer he looked, the less it seemed like an explosion. There was no hint of a fire, no soot or lingering smell of smoke or acrid tang of chemicals. The buildings looked like they’d been pushed aside, crumbling like sandcastles swiped at by a child pretending to be a monster; it was more the work he’d expect to see from a tornado or a plough wind, but the damage wasn’t quite consistent with that, either. The worst of the damage seemed to be directly at ground level, and it wasn’t consistently strewn like it should be if wind were really the culprit.

Which meant, really, that he and Dean had every reason to be here, even if he couldn’t smell a whiff of sulphur.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” sobbed the girl. “I’m sorry. Just, please, help me.”

Sam started forward, picking his way through the rubble and trying to pinpoint the source of the girl’s voice. “Keep talking,” he called. “I’ll get you out of there.”

Silence, as if his presence had surprised her. Then, “No! Go away!”

Sam altered his course, aiming more off to the left now, toward what might have once been a garage based on its location but which now resembled a pile of broken concrete. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of there. Just keep talking.”

He had no idea where Dean was. He couldn’t remember dropping his brother off at the local bar or getting dropped off to do some research at the library while Dean went to question people. Or maybe he’d gone to question people while Dean had checked into a motel?

It was unnerving, that knowledge gap, but it wasn’t important. Not right now. Not while someone’s life was on the line. If something shifted just the wrong way….

“It’ll be okay,” he repeated as he examined the rubble, trying to figure out how to move it safely. “You’ll be okay.”

The shriek came again, shriller this time, more desperate. “No, no! I’m sorry! Just go away!”

Sam felt the trembling ground before he really realized what he was hearing. He knelt to try to reassure the girl again—lie, most likely, but they were in the business of saving people, and this didn’t look natural—and the vibrations became stronger, rattling chunks of rock on the street and sending dust into the air as the rubble shifted. “Try to brace yourself,” he called, hoping such a thing was possible. “I’m going to get you out of there.”

The girl screamed again, a bloodcurdling screech Sam had heard too often before, and he was blinded by green light.

Sam jerked, breathing rapidly and suddenly realizing that the shaking, the rumbling—that was all normal. That was the car. He and Dean were on the road. The AC/DC screaming through the speakers might have been what had woken him up, but….

Wincing, Sam reached out and turned off the music. He had a splitting headache and was still blinking spots from his eyes after the brilliance of that flash. He needed to get his bearings. He needed—

“Hey, princess, just because you didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night, doesn’t mean—”

“Dean.” Sam hadn’t been sure he could get his voice to work. His tongue felt thick and foreign in his mouth. “I think…I think I….”

He was going to be sick.

Dean, more likely out of a sense of preservation for his precious car than immediate concern over what he probably thought was just a bad dream, hit the brakes and managed to swerve to a halt on the side of the road before Sam was hanging out the door and introducing his stomach contents to the ground.

“Dude, you never should’ve had that salad for lunch. There was probably E. coli on the spinach or something.”

Sam groaned and hung his head between his legs, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

“Here, man,” Dean said, and Sam realized he was holding out a water bottle. “At least rinse out your mouth.”

The water dulled the vile flavour of bile, but Sam didn’t dare drink more than a few sips while his stomach roiled, so he ended up swishing and spitting most of it on the ground.

“You good?”

No. It felt like the car was still moving, even though Sam had his feet planted firmly on the ground. He grunted.

“Migraine?”

Sam could hear the frown in Dean’s voice. “I think….” It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been. They hadn’t fought any djinn in ages, it had been years since his last dose of dream root, and the angels weren’t exactly in a position to mess with them right now. Not like this, anyway. “It felt like a vision.”

The hand that had been rubbing his back stilled. “I thought we were done with that psychic crap. Azazel’s dead. No more Yellow Eyes, no more visions.”

Sam closed his eyes, but the throbbing in his head didn’t want to lessen. “Something must’ve triggered it.”

“Well, what? You’re clean, Sammy. Been clean for years. If you were going to relapse, wouldn’t it have been then?”

Then would have made sense, but Ruby’s blood hadn’t given him premonitions; it had given him the power to force demons out of their hosts, to hold their vessels in place while he ripped their smoking guts from the poor human they’d inhabited.

But he’d seen something this time.

He was sure of it.

Even if it hadn’t been exactly like his visions had once been. He hadn’t seen the cause of the destruction, didn’t know what terrible thing was going to happen unless he could prevent it. And he wasn’t used to being there, seeing things quite like that, because it felt like he’d lived it.

The only name he had—Danny—was far too common to be of any use, and while he was sure he’d recognize the girl’s voice if he heard it again, the only way to find her would be to find the place that had been destroyed. Unfortunately, whatever had caused the destruction had obliterated any street sign that should have been on the corner, so his leads on that were slim.

He remembered the F on the neon sign, distinct even half-buried in the rubble, but he hadn’t bothered to try to read the rest of the word. He hadn’t thought he’d needed to. He’d thought he was already there. That part hadn’t felt like the visions of before, but what else could it be? Dreams faded faster than this. Even those that didn’t shouldn’t leave him blinking spots from eyes that had been shut in sleep, but the afterimage left from that light….

“Just get me somewhere with free Wi-Fi.” Sam knew it wasn’t an answer, but he wasn’t sure he could give one yet. He didn’t have one. He just pulled himself back into the car, shut the door, and leaned back in his seat to stare at a stone chip in the windshield as a focus point until Dean started driving. The chip hadn’t yet spread—Dean intended to get it fixed first—but he could imagine what it would look like if it did. He could imagine what it would look like if the entire windshield shattered.

But that destruction was imagined, not real, and it felt less tangible than what he’d seen.

“Dude, maybe you should—”

“I don’t have time to rest. This is a case, Dean. We need to figure it out and stop it from happening.”

Sam didn’t need to turn his head to feel his brother’s gaze. Finally, he heard Dean shift gears and ease the car back onto the road, and he knew he’d won the first battle. “Tell me everything you remember.”

Clockwork knew what had happened the moment he returned to his tower. The Observants seemed to think he had an endless supply of time and had no qualms about squandering it, but for all their talk, they didn’t understand. They didn’t know which rules could be broken and which could not, and they hadn’t realized the danger when they’d tasked him as being the sole guard for a particularly nasty anachronism.

They didn’t know what power had been locked into place the moment the original timeline had been overwritten, nor what chronological catastrophe was likely in any timeline that resulted after the inevitable escape.

It had been inevitable. He’d known that. But he’d hoped to twist time so that the damage could be more contained. Now, since it had happened when he’d been trapped in a meeting with the Observants….

Clockwork swept past the twisted remains of the metal thermos and picked up a medallion from the rack on the wall. There was only so much he’d be able to do. The Observants, for all that they would blame him for this, would also insist he not interfere. If he did too much, they’d simply punish those they believed he’d favoured—compensation, as they liked calling it. Things must be returned to the proper equilibrium. They simply didn’t understand that there was more than one acceptable equilibrium. The balance they expected was not the only balance that could be achieved.

Still, action must be taken quickly, and an unexpected catalyst would be the best one. He would see to that; he already had. It would take—had only taken—a little tweak; nothing the Observants would notice unless they looked too closely, and they’d be too distracted to do that.

He opened a portal, stepped out to where young Danny Fenton was frozen mid-step and mid-sentence in a conversation with his friends, and hung the medallion over his chest.

“—n’t get away with—huh?” The halfa’s eyes grew wide as they found his form. “Clockwork? What are you doing here?”

He was creating a very visible distraction, one he hoped would cover up the minor adjustments being made to the timeline and reality itself. “Your future has caught up to you,” he said, watching as confusion melted into fear. “I cannot stop it now. That task must fall to you and those who would help you.”

“Sam and Tucker.”

It was not the only pair he meant, but it was the only pair that could be safely spoken aloud at this time. He did not need to see the Observants to feel their eyes on him. They had marked him the moment he’d crossed into the Real World. He had to choose his words carefully. “Not everything will be as it seems. You will need to—”

“Trust my instincts? Try not to do everything myself? Actually talk to Valerie and Jazz about this? You know Valerie wouldn’t take this well, right?”

He was so very, very young. He shouldn’t need to face something of this magnitude. Not yet, certainly not again.

But Clockwork couldn’t change this. Not anymore. He could only try to nudge things into the proper place so that it could be contained. If he miscalculated….

“Keep the medallion,” he said. “It may yet be of use.”

There were so many ways this could play out, and so few that were preferable.

“Good luck.”

(see more fics)

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suulphr · 4 years

Text

3:44AM APRIL 20th 2020

GONE THROUGH THE EAR BY ACCIDENT, HOUR BY SIX PASSING HOURS

PLAYING SURREALIST TAPES OVER STATIONS LIKE ALWAYS MOVING TRAINS,

UNIVERSAL UV HAM RADIO MARKING TIME WITH REVELATION VERSES WHILE WE SIT WINDING SIGHT

THROUGH THE RISING STEAM OF THE WATER, ALKALINE HOT SPRING WELLS AND FOLDS IN THE ROCK CHIPS LINING STARS IN THE SIDEWALK LIKE

MILLIONS OF LIGHT YEARS OF BROKEN REFLECTIONS THAT CHAR AND WARP MODERNIZED PARALLEL PERSPECTIVE LINES.

WHITE RABBITS FOOT OF TARNISHABLE LUCK LIKE STAINS

ON A NICE RUG DECAPITATING THE THUD OF THE SOUND CRAWLING OUT LOUD

AND LOUDER DOWN THE HALLWAY, WE TURN THE VOLUME UP ALL THE WAY, A JOY TO THE WORLD ON A SATURDAY. FRUIT SOAKING IN ALCOHOL ON OLD TABLES TRYING TO KEEP YOUR WORDS FROM MELTING WHILE EXPLAINING

FAR SPACES OVER LOUD HUMMING LIGHTS THAT CANOPY THE DESERTED STREETS AND TURN WHISPERS INTO LIGHTNING LAUGHTER AND BRING BRIGHT SHARPNESS TO YOUR TEETH. THE SOUND IS CLEAN. I DON’T WORRY BUT I COUNT MY FINGERS AND LIMBS, LOOKING AT THE SKY FOR MACHINES, CIRCLING THE BARS AND WOOD-WORN POSTS THAT ONLY KNOW MISSING SIGNS

OR TONES, HUSHED TRIPPED QUICK OR JUST BORED, NEON GLOW LARGE SQUARE FRONT DESERT SLOT SOUNDS LAYING WARM AND THEN COLD

OVER A HUNDRED SILENCES THAT ARE GROUNDED-DOWN QUIET UNTIL THEY BURN LOUD.

I WAS ALMOST CONVINCED I HAD TO STAY IN ONE PLACE, I HEARD SOMETHING DANGEROUS WELLING UP THROUGH THAT ENDLESS SPACE

BETWEEN TORN UP PRINTED SCRIPT OR WATCHING BLOOD DANCE AND TEETH SHINE WITH SLOW SPEECH THINKING THAT WE STILL HAVE TIME, RED-GOLD CAMERA FLARES AND COLD WATER TURNED ETHYL-FORGETFUL OF HOW IT FEELS TO STEP OVER THAT LINE.

THE MIDDLE POINT TRYING TO WALK STRAIGHT OVER DOUBLE-YELLOW IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT,

STILL WARM FOR SOME HELL’S-HIGH REASON OR THAT THE 40 OUNCE IS SOMETIMES 42 OUNCES, THE FACELESS BOOK SAID I WAS MADE OUT OF CLAY

DESTINED TO FALL SHAPELESS BACK INTO THE GROUND ONE DAY,

I HEARD THE SKY CALL MY NAME

AND I DROWNED STAYING IN PLACE.

WALKING BY CHURCHES I COULD SEE THE STARS SPIN ENCASED BUT I WAS STARING AT THE GROUND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY,

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, THE PAST AND THE FUTURE ARE MADE OF THE SAME THINGS AND THE GOLD IS NOT GOLD.

IN BETWEEN AN EDGE OF THE MIDDLE OF A VALLEY OFF THE COAST,

ONE OF A MILLION LOST WORLDS THAT CRYSTALIZE LIKE HONEY AND SALT TO HOLD A CATCH IN THE SEAM OF THE SEA,

A DIVIDE GROWING WIDE LIKE A FAULT IN THE BEDROCK CARRYING A THOUSAND LEAGUES OF DREAMS.

MOMENTS IN TIME THAT WE REMEMBER IN PEICES,

ALMOST A BEATEN PATH OR IF WE CARVED A WAY OUT OF THE PIECES OF ALMOST PEACE THAT CRASH BETWEEN PEAKS,

THE GAS LINE THAT CRACKS AND THEN LEAKS AND THE CONCRETE THAT GATHERS THE WEIGHT OF THE RAIN AND THEN LEAVES AFTER FREEZING THE GAPS OF SLOW EATING GREEN REVERSED-UV PASSING PAGES OF WEATHER THAT SPEAKS AND PEOPLE THAT DRY THE HYDE TO TURN IT INTO LEATHER WHEN THE SUN HANGS ETERNALLY HIGH, HIGHLIGHTING THE FLOATING SKY, BEING MADE INTO LOCK-GRIPPED DRIVING GLOVES LEAVING BLACK MARKS ON THE ROAD, A PATH WITH NO SIDES, WE FOLLOW THE LINE BECAUSE ITS DRAWN THERE BUT ONLY IN OUR MINDS BECAUSE STAYING STILL MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE YOU CAN STILL HIDE.

I FILLED MY BLOOD WITH CHEMICAL AGGRAVATED LOOSE CONNECTIONS CUT WITH SUGAR AND IT MADE MY EYES ILL TO THE LIGHT.

WE STAY WHEN WE WANT TO LEAVE AND BY THE TIME WE WANT TO GO WE CANT MOVE FROM THE HEAVY SMOKE AND SOMEWHERE OVER THE CREST OF THE WILD WOOD WE SEE FIRES BURNING THE RAGE OUT OF THE BLOOD THAT NEVER SPOKE AND ITS BUBBLING UPWARD OUT OF THE DIRT AND GRAVEL AND ACORN-POISON-FOR-THE-PAST-OF-THE-OAK. ITS A FISHING NET OR A LOOSE FLOOR, ITS AN ILL- TIMED KNOCK ON THE DOOR AND HANDS SEEPING DARK CORNERS WITH NEW STORIES THAT GET SOLD AND WEEPED QUIET DECADES AFTER THE IMAGINARY END OF THE WAR.

MY LEGS SPRAWL UNDER THE MOON AND I RUN WHEN I NEED TO BUT IT FEELS LIKE QUICKSAND AFTER IT RAINS IN JUNE, I SAW AN ANGEL IN MY ROOM, HE LOOKED LIKE THE DARK TORN APART SHADOWS OF ATOM-BOMB DOOM AFTER THE DUST SETTLES EVERYWHERE NO MATTER THE DIRECTION OR THE COLOR OF THE FUMES.

I SAW THE SKY ON FIRE AND AFTER IT WENT DARK I DIDN’T KNOW THE BLUE COMES FROM THE HALOED LIGHT AND NOW THE CLOUDS LOOK RUSTED WITH FLOATING BLOOD AND THE HEAT LEAVES A MARK AND THE PHOTOGRAPH IS RUINED.

I REMEMBER DANCING AND NOT CARING IF ANYONE THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY LISTENING TO NO MUSIC PLAYING. I SMILED UNTIL IT HURT

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daddygraves · 7 years

Text

Inktober Day 16. Defiance

The latest upload of them all. But I had so much fun writing this, I love absorbing myself in the culture of international scenes. Hopefully I’ve portrayed Morocco with justice!

@iffy-kanoknit @melisjevisje

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bombastic barrage of bullets relentlessly hails down upon two spies, splintering wood, cement chips and paint flakes an additional downpour as they charge around the corner of a Marrakesh market street.

Despite dusk having slipped away hours ago, the day's lingering heat remains trapped in the markets, clinging to stalls and the linen skirts of customers. But there is no time to stop and peruse the beautiful trinkets, or sample the exotic food in a florid melange of hues and colours.

"Galahad! Arthur! Take the next left!" Merlin orders, as the spies barrell through the crush of sweaty bodies in the rowdy market precinct, doing their best not to bowl over the precocious vendors that stepped into their path. Even as black-clad, masked men with semi-automatics thunder after them, paying no heed to the livelihoods they crush underfoot in their destructive path.

"Get down!"

Harry's hand shoves Eggsy's shoulder to the dirt-printed cobblestones as bullets cannonade into the spread of a spice stall, sending intense puffs of grainy powder into the air. Eggsy can taste the intermingling dust and flavour mixed with spit in his mouth. The spice merchant falls, blood blooming and gumming up the fine mounds of powder he so proudly sold.

Another shove from Harry sends Eggsy scrambling behind the next stall showcasing handwoven homewares, before the younger agent finds his feet, sprinting through the masses of bodies as the chorus of panicked screams and gunshots continue. A melee of limbs crawling, jumping, stepping, dragging, women shielding children with their backs, the elderly chivvied away by younger counterparts. A small stampede as Eggsy and Harry turn left, then right, then left again, dodging and weaving through intricately patterned rugs as Merlin barks down the comms link at them.

"Do not retaliate, I repeat, do not. We dinna know which one of these fuckers has the explosives vest on him!"

"Only one way to find out," Harry says grimly, and abruptly changes direction, scooting up a narrow, grime-stained staircase, Eggsy hurrying after him. "What the f-" More bullets ping off the cement-rendered walls of Marrakesh as their pursuers give chase.

"Harry, the fuck are you doing?" Eggsy hollers, as they shove past frightened women who shrink back to the floor, eyes wide with fear behind their vibrant burqas. The elder man hops over a thick balcony railing, and jumps to a nearby flat cement roof, and the newest Galahad is forced to follow suit.

"We'll be sitting ducks up here!" He bellows, looking to his partner with bewilderment and irritation, as Harry scans the murky sea of rooftops before them. Seeming to have made up his mind, the taller man sets off, nimbly springing to the next roof, of rusty corrugated iron.

"Just trust me, Eggsy," Harry calls as they bound from rooftop to roofstop, scrambling over parapets and edges, as shouts and more shots behind them indicate the terrorists are on their tail.

Another jump, and another, as bullets go whistling past their ears, swift invisible blots of death, and one thuds into the back of Eggsy's bulletproof bespoke. A purple medal of pain will blossom in its place, if they survive Moroccan terrorists to see tomorrow. Concrete, then iron, then more concrete, turning back to fire one shot, another, sweat dripping down his face in the glaring moonlight-

There's a crash ahead, and a curse, two bodies fall to Eggsy's pistol and then he turns around. Harry sprawled on the corrugated, moonlit roof of someone's home, a good portion of his calf wedged immovably within it, having crumbled underfoot. His missing eye had indubitably let him down when it came to securing safe footing. Shit.

"Harry get up, I'll hold them off!" Eggsy cries, even as the rain of bullets makes him retreat much further, past Harry, who, grunting, tries to dislodge his foot from the roof.

"It's no use, Eggsy. " There's defeat in Harry's tone, and it doesn't suit him. A cold trickle of what must be sweat runs down Eggsy's spine, as he takes out another terrorist, a bullet sending the bastard careening off the nearby parapet he stood on.

"No." The thought was unthinkable, even as it formed in Eggsy's brain, a tarry, black plague. "Don't you fucking say it-"

"Eggsy." Harry's tone is sharp, as the man twists uncomfortably to fire on the remaining terrorists himself, all of them dropping bar one. Who, realising both Harry and Eggsy's clips were empty, including his own semiautomatic, drops his gun. And pulls from his camouflaged military jacket a thin tube with a button on top, a feral smile cutting his repulsive face.

"Waqad ta'asasat dawlat al'islam, mae aljhad min 'uwlayik aldhyn wahabuu altaqwaa, matuu min ajl al'ilh mae taqrir..."

An iron fist of terror punches through Eggsy's chest. No, no, no -

"Eggsy you have to go." Harry calls, tone sharp, always so proper, even when faced with death. "Go to safehouse Lamp, and do not come back."

'No, no-"

"Leave only when Merlin tells you it is safe, once things have died down, Do you understand?" There's a blazing look on Harry's face, the noble prick, and Eggsy, horror-struck, can't look away.

"Fuck, off, Harry!" He immediately scrambles back in the elder spy's direction panickedly as the terrorist continues to advance, chanting. He's a lot closer to Harry than Eggsy is, and he boy immediately picks up pace, yelling a curse as part of the parapet he's able to step on crumbles away to the ground. Eggsy's sweaty fingers slip, and with a shout, he falls a few meteres, before clinging to the edge of the roof Harry is cemented into "I'm not leaving you-"

"Eggsy, leave." Another pseudo-impact to Eggsy's chest, knocking the wind out of him. "He's going to blow. Go, NOW!"

"ya 'awman alan nafrah shunq ealaa, alshams sutie mushinaan jamieaan maeaan liaintisar majid min rabin."

Dirt crunches beneath the black-clad angel of death, as he clears the final rooftop, and is just metres from Harry. Who, as always, keeps a straight face, as his executioner approaches smugly, singing the final bloody verses of his hellish song. Eggsy pulls with all his might, trying to push himself up, onot the rooftop, to save Harry. He couldn't lose him, not again, no, no-"

"Eggsy! GO!" Merlin screams into the comms link, a background sound of terror, and Eggsy finds it. Find that extra thimble of strength, that golden glow of determination, adrenaline wrenching a guttural roar from his lips.

"Fuck you!"

He bodily rolls himself onto that unstable, iron roof, and with a split second to spare, the terrorist looming over Harry, finger hovering on the trigger, jumps. Eggsy flykicks that motherfucker away from Harry, sending him spiralling off the roof , an earthshaking explosion slamming into both spies as the satanspawn detonates midair.

For a moment, they fall, and with another horrific crash, plummet into the centre of an unsuspecting Morrocan family's living room, landing with two solid thuds on the floor.

Groaning and clutching his ribs, a dust-showered Eggsy pushes the remains of the gobsmacked family's roof off him, creaking to his feet as his head rings. The comms link has disconnected, possibly from the force of the bomb. Fumbling in his suit pocket a little dazedly, he drops every dirham he has, which is more than enough, onto the dinner table, as the five children and frozen mother and father sit, immobile on their cushions.

"lisaqf jadidin. maedhira".

"I believe its pronounced 'my-deer-ha, not may-deer-ha, Eggsy." Harry, equally dust-bathed, comes to stand beside the younger agent, now freed from the confines of the roof. He gazes up at the sizeable hole in the ceiling. "That should be more than enough to cover it."

But two hands plant themselves on Harry's chest, and shove, making the taller man stumble back, eye widening in surprise at the site of an irate Eggsy, swelling with anger, no longer disorientated.

"Fuck you, Harry Hart!"

"I don't care that you're Arthur, I dont care I just directly disobeyed an order, I know what it means, I know Merlin'll crucify me, that I'm in deep shit when we get back."

"You're my partner, you gigantic dick." Eggsy's voice has a tiny waver in it, his eyes filling with tears of relief and frustration. "I love you. Now dont you dare ask me to leave you for dead ever again."

He pokes his finger hard into Harry's chest with those words. But Harry sweeps him into his arms, holding him tightly, murmuring words of apology. They share a dry, dust-flavoured kiss, but not for long. Before the Moroccan father, thunderstruck with fury, bald head aglow, comes to his senses. And plucking his antique scimitar from the wall, chases the two illegal homosexuals from his home with rigour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fun fact- homosexuality is illegal in Morocco. Hope my arabic translation was okish, please correct me if I’ve gotten anything inaccurate in this fic!

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thatweirdmod · 4 years

Text

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 1: Routine

Author: I’m u/thatweirdmod from the explicitliterature subreddit.

STORY:

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 1: Routine

TWO WEEKS AGO:

I hover behind a nude woman, her head and hands imprisoned inside a pillory. She groans as I stuff a vibrator into her vagina.

"Kidney, are you getting this?" I ask, my voice altered by the voice changing mask over my head.

"Sure thing," he responds with a low chuckle.

He’s standing next to me, naked and fully erect, and holding a video camera. He films me forcing my dick inside the woman’s asshole.

She screams. Must be feeling the skin tearing.

"Oh wow, that's so tight," I moan. I keep going, thrusting in and out as deep and fast as I can manage.

The sensations of the constricting, hot little hole on my dick, combined with the vibrations from the toy on the other side of the flesh wall are arousing beyond belief! I hear her sniffling and crying.

"Quick! Get her face." I tell Kidney, while continuing to anally rape the woman.

"Please, please stop," she begs. In response, I give her cheeks a hard smack and double my efforts of destroying her ass with my cock. "It hurts," she mewls, bursting out in tears.

"Ohhh, that's good. I'm gonna come soon," I grunt. "Shoot her from behind now," I say to Kidney. "Look, her pussy's soaking wet from the vibrator, and her asshole is all bloody now." Kidney and I both chuckle in satisfaction.

"Damn, that so hot," he says, and zooms in on her privates while they're getting fucked. "I can't help myself," he says, overcome with lust.

Kidney sets the camera up on the tripod, walks to the front of the woman, and grabs a fistful of her hair. "Suck me," he orders, pushing his erection past her lips. "Suck it as far down your throat as it'll go."

She takes him into her mouth, doing her best to service him as her asshole and vagina are ravaged from behind.

"Yeah, there you go," Kidney groans. "Keep your mouth opened wide like that so you don't use your teeth."

He pushes her head further onto his stiff penis. She chokes a bit, but keeps on at the deeper level. "Now that's how a real woman gives head," he says, a smirk in his tone. "This is way better than a school girl."

I rip the vibrator out of the woman's cunt, flinging her juices in the process, then shove my dick inside. "Damn, what a horny bitch," I slap her ass, nice and hard. She cries out, causing her to choke on the dick in her mouth. "I'll cream you nice and good, don’t you worry."

Kidney lets out a high pitched grunt, as he jizzes all over the woman's face. I up my pace, jackhammering in and out of her vagina. On the final thrust, I push my penis in up to my balls release my seed deep inside her.

After Kidney and I have satisfied ourselves, we take the woman out of the pillory, shove her down to the ground, then high five each other.

“Alright!” Kidney says. “We got some great footage tonight.”

"Remember," I tell the woman, smirking under my mask. "We recorded everything on video. Unless you want your friends, family, boyfriend, coworkers, and everyone in between to see it, you'll keep quiet about today."

She nods, sitting limply on the ground with fear quivering in her puffy eyes.

"Just think," I continue for good measure, "Of how humiliating it would be if everyone saw this. You, bent in a pillory, completely exposed with your ass in the air. Pussy drooling all over a vibrator, tits hanging down like cow udders, as you're fucked and molested by two random guys.

That's all anyone would be able to see or think about when they saw you. They'd never forget.

Goodbye friend. Goodbye daughter. Goodbye diligent worker. Goodbye whatever you were before. You'd just be the one that got raped- the victim everyone has to tiptoe around.

I bet you can feel it already, the atmosphere turning heavy, the laughter dying, as soon as you enter the room." The woman stares down blankly as I go on. "Sure, everyone would feel bad for you, but no one would want you.

When you'd be with your man, you'd know what he'd be thinking- that his woman was tainted, covered and smothered by other men. You can feel it, can't you? His fingers holding back, never to truly to embrace you again."

I watch her eyes fill with water. "You're no better than a whore now." I tell her, savoring every word.

The tears stream silently down her face and splatter on the concrete floor of the underground bunker.

"But," Kidney adds in, "No one has to know how dirty and damaged you are. After we let you out, you'll be free. You can return to your life as normal, to the joy and acceptance of your friends and family. So..."

He pauses and tosses a water bottle and a bottle of pills over to her.

"Go ahead and take 2 of those. They'll ensure that you won't have to worry about any pregnancy, and the side effects aren't too bad."

She shakily reaches for them, sniffling.

"Just go about your business as usual," Kidney says to the woman as she swallows the pills. "That way, everything will be alright."

PRESENT:

"'Everything will be alright' huh?" I wonder to myself, as I lean back in my seat and sigh.

Kidney is sitting at desk next to mine. He brushes his sandy brown bangs back from his eyes, as he pretends to focuses intently on the school work before him.

I attempt to begin re-playing another night in my mind, but the teacher's rambling is getting on my nerves. I know it's his job, but I can't concentrate like this. It's so fucking hot too, I think, as I flap my white button up shirt to puff air over myself.

"Jeeto!" The teacher snaps. Finally got enough of my obvious inattention, eh?

"Perhaps you can give us the answer?" He says.

Damn, this is so cliche. I have no idea what he was talking about, besides the basic fact that it must have to do with geometry. There's a triangle on the chalkboard. The annoying, salt 'n pepper haired man in front of me crosses his arms, waiting.

"I... *huge yawn interrupts my sentence* I have no idea, man... sir."

Mr. Simon clicks his tongue, putting his hands on his hips like a sassy bitch.

"Well perhaps you can get an idea in detention, young man."

The students around the classroom chuckle and giggle.

I groan and rake a hand through my mid-length, brown hair. What a waste of my lifespan.

After school finally lets out, a familiar scenario plays out again. It's of me walking slowly, taking in nature under the orange hue of evening, with potato chips and diet soda on my mind. The convenience store close to my house is one of my favorite places in this little secluded town.

Outside, I see Kidney. He's leaning against the brick building eating an ice cream thing from the store. I go over to him.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey yourself," Kidney replies, with the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "Have you seen the cutie who just moved here yet?"

"Which one?" I ask. "The way I heard it from those gossipy old nags, the new single dad's a pretty fine piece."

"Maybe so. That just explains where she got it from," Kidney says, grinning fiendishly at the thought of the girl as he licks his ice cream.

"You gonna scare 'em off already? They're probably not even done unpacking," I say.

"Hmm, I think I'm gonna do this the nice way," Kidney answers, a plan gleaming in his eye.

He tosses his ice cream stick on the ground, even though there's a bin a few steps away. "You win 2 tickets to Rocket Roller theme park if you're lucky enough to pick the right Creamtastical Pop," he says.

I laugh. "Don't tell me that's actually got you buying 'em everyday."

"Whatever, man."

"You're just part of the 999,999 that beefs up their sales while they give a sliver of that beef to the 1 in 1,000,000 that wins their shitty prize. A literal sucker, 'cause it's ice cream on a stick."

"But," Kidney says as we walk into the store, "I can't help loving consumerist culture. Indulgence is in the air. Besides, Creamtastical Pops really are the bomb."

"Welcome!" The old woman at the counter says. "If it's not our most frequent customers."

I smile back at her and say, "Hey, Roodle."

Yeah, that's her name- Roodle. She's the manager of this permanently under-staffed store. She's here 6 days every week, in a green polo shirt with her gray hair pulled back into a pony tail, running the register and almost every damn thing in between.

Somehow, I imagine myself in her shoes when I'm that age, and I don't have any problem with it.

Even though it's just a convenience store job, I'd say she busts her ass, so I never sneak too much into the pockets of my dress pants when she dashes into the backroom or down an aisle. You could say I've got boundaries with Roodle.

Kidney's over at the freezers, and I see him slip a Creamtastical Pop into his pocket. But he grabs a 2nd one and holds it openly to purchase.

While I peruse the chips selection, he walks behind the counter. He opens the glass door of the cigarette cabinet, takes a carton like it's totally natural, and walks back out, just before Roodle reappears.

I glance between them, a little nervous. I don't want it to get awkward when I come here because my friend got caught stealing, you know? Roodle didn't notice shit, though.

Fucking hell. If I succeed her, I'm gonna install cameras for sure. Corporate would hear a case and a half from me if they protested.

I'm thinking we've mulled around long enough, so I force myself to decide on two bags of chips and go up to pay.

Kidney and I walk together down the sidewalk, as the nostalgic orange glow around us hints at cooling into night. I glance to my left, taking small satisfaction in how the trajectory of my gaze to Kidney's face is at a slight downward angle.

He's double fisting his ice cream bars, biting one then the other. He hums a happy laugh. "The vanilla one is the one I paid for, the angel. And the chocolate one is the devil one, the one I stole."

I watch him devour the two masses of sugar and fat. The Creamtastical Bar is a dessert more multi-faceted than most people. It's an ice cream sandwich coated in fudge, then smothered in whipped cream, then coated in a chocolate, vanilla, or fruit flavored shell, sometimes with a chopped nut finish.

If just one kind wasn't enough to satisfy their loyal customers, the company has made dozens of variations and limited editions. You'd gain a 100 kilos just by trying each of them.

"By the way, when did you start smoking?" I ask Kidney.

"Huh? Never had," he replies. "I just thought I'd try some cigarettes today. I've been pretty stressed out lately. Maybe a nice drag and a hit of nicotine will hit the spot."

"Nicotine's lame," I say. "If you're gonna smoke something, at least go for weed. I hear it comes with less cancer too."

"Well, cigs come with less cops."

"Not necessarily if you steal them."

"Oh please, Jeeto," Kidney says, smiling. "Good ol' Roodle wouldn't call the cops, even if she did catch me. She's a total push-over. A decent apology is all I'd need."

We walk up the incline that goes past the playground. I observe at the worn down swings and other sad looking equipment. Kidney and I used to hang out here a lot as kids.

The place isn't as fun now that the slide is too short to have a real slide down, and the fall from the monkey bars is too low to fear. Though, we still come back to the swings sometimes.

The swings...

I notice a girl sitting on one alone. "Hey, that's her," Kidney whispers, looking past me.

Speak of the devil, we were just going up to her house so I could get my first look around.

"Who's 'her' anyway?" I ask. "You never told me her name."

"Oh yeah. It's Rilla."

I examine her from where I stand, but a ray of sunlight is blocking some important parts of her from view. Thinking, what the hell, I walk off the sidewalk and start across the grass over to her.

Her head is low, auburn bangs hanging over her forehead. She's in thought, maybe, before she notices me and looks up. My heart doesn't skip a beat or anything, but I'm not unhappy.

"Hi," I say cordially.

She stands, giving me a better look at her legs. She's a little short, but they're nicely proportioned. She's in a skirt that stops teasingly just above her knees.

I'm careful to smile with warmth and not pleasure. "My name's Jeeto. I heard you moved into the neighborhood a few days ago."

"That's right," she says, like the kind of person who has to work past their shyness a little for every word. "I'm Rilla... Rilla Arocci."

"Welcome to Grishee Town, Rilla. It's really nice to meet you."

She returns my smile reservedly. "You too, Jeeto."

"I'm from the Fuma household, which I believe is a straight shot down the street from you," I say. "If you ever need anything, I'll be happy help, alright?"

Rilla nods and says, "Thank you."

"Well, I've gotta go now. See you around."

She says goodbye and we wave to each other as I walk off the playground. Instead of continuing up the slope to her house, I turn back to head home. Just as I start to wonder where Kidney went, I see him hiding behind a tree, with two unmarked ice cream sticks at his feet.

"Playing the voyeur on her's one thing," I say to him. "But I was back there too."

"Very funny," he grumbles. "I told you, not so much as a half hour ago, that I was gonna get Rilla. Where do you get off jumping the gun on me?"

I shrug. "I only introduced myself. You could've come and said hi too."

"Dumbass. One guy is bad enough. Two guys approaching a lone girl is only sure to scare her. Women are pretty fragile, and wary like rabbits, you know. It's a pain, but it's true."

"Rabbits are like that because they know there are foxes in the world. Women know that there are men like us."

"So now it's our fault?" Kidney challenges. "We're not out to kill them like foxes, unless they take it to that level themselves. If they'd just give it up, neither party would have these problems."

“But we don’t really want them to just give it up, do we?” I counter.

“Well, half my point still stands,” Kidney insists.

I just shrug again. "Wanna play some Mortal Kombat at my place?"

"Sure, even if we do already know how it's gonna turn out," Kidney says, now smirking. "Kidney wins! Flawless victory. Fatalityyyyy!"

"If you were a Mortal Kombat character," I begin, "What'd your finisher be anyway?"

"I dunno. It'd have to be something where I tore out their kidneys with my bare hands."

By the time darkness has fallen outside my bedroom window, I've thoroughly gotten my ass beat via console.

My knuckles redden as I squeeze my controller in rage- the diet form of hurling the piece of shit at the wall. Kidney can't stop laughing, which is what's really pissing me off.

"Fuck it," I say. "I'm gonna go get something to eat." I leave my bedroom, slamming the door behind myself.

Soon, I'm listening dully to the sounds of the humming microwave, crickets chirping loudly outside, and grease popping on my buffet takeout. I go back upstairs with my food, and find Kidney scrutinizing my shelf.

"You really oughta hide those DVDs we made better," he whispers to me. "You can't just leave them here with all your normal stuff."

"Why not?" I say lackadaisically. "Unmarked, empty looking discs aren't particularly interesting when they're next to a bunch of movies, TV shows, and porn."

Kidney just frowns. "The whole, 'hidden in plain sight' thing is bound to backfire eventually. You live with your mom and kid sister for fuck's sake, and they don't exactly respect your privacy.

Say one of them gets bored, and decides to kill time by having a look through your stuff. After getting through everything else, they might wanna check if there's anything on those unmarked DVDs.

Hell, what if one of them was even looking for an empty DVD to rip stuff onto. They see those, think there's probably nothing on 'em, and that you won't mind if they take one. It'd all be over then."

"Alright, alright," I groan. "I'll put 'em somewhere else. But where?"

"Inside your mattress would be good. You make a hole in it, put the DVDs in the hole, and sew it back as it was. I bet not even cops would find them there."

"The hell?" I question. "Am I supposed to dig them out and put them back like that every time I wanna watch them?"

"No. You burn them onto your computer, and store the videos in an encrypted, hidden folder.

The DVDs are only supposed to be backup storage, in case you have to delete the stuff off the computer, or its hard drive gets corrupted. Things like that."

"All of this sounds like a huge pain," I say as I stuff my face.

"Come on, it's easy," Kidney assures me.

"If it's so easy, then you can do it yourself," I tell him, and plop down onto my twin sized bed. "My computer's password is 'jeetocheeto69365'."

"Isn't that your username on Runescape? You really are careless," Kidney sighs, and logs on.

By the time I finish my dinner, Kidney is still ripping the DVDs onto the computer. I decide to kill time by getting some preparations together.

"We're going to need more animal tranquilizer after this one," I tell him, as I draw the last bit of liquid from a glass bottle into a small syringe. It's your turn to buy it, so order some online soon, alright?"

"Fine," Kidney agrees.

"And hurry up and get done with that already," I say. "I wanna get going to Mrs. Horatay's house soon."

"Why so impatient?" Kidney asks. "We still have several hours of night left before even the earliest risers start getting up. It's actually still a little early."

"Do you even have to ask why I'm impatient?" I ask as I pack rope into a black backpack. "You've seen her too, after all."

Kidney grins. "If I was her husband, I'd hate to have to leave that rack for a boring business trip, on the week of our anniversary, no less. I'll be sure to give her a good titty fucking in his absence."

I laugh. "It's funny how we've never even spoken to the Horatays, but we know all this shit about them. Gossiping housewives are truly a force to be feared. If I ever get married, it'll be to a quiet woman."

Kidney lets out a scoff. "A ring around the finger is like a collar around the neck. I look at it as a symbol of bondage.

We do most things with our hands and fingers, so rings are placed around them to show that everything you do after marriage is under your spouse's control."

"Are you sure you're not just saying that because your dad's a pussy whipped loser?"

"Tsk," Kidney grumbles, as he removes the final DVD from the tray. "Flip your mattress over, will you. It's time to put these away."

I do as he asks, then watch him go to work on hiding the DVDs.

"You're a pretty good seamstress," I remark. "You'll have to give me an embroidery lesson sometime."

"Say what you want, sewing is a useful practical skill, same as cooking. I won't be dependent on some bitch to take care of me," Kidney says.

"Yeah," I agree. "I'm gonna have to know how to close the mattress on my own after we make new movies anyway."

There's a pause before I ask, "How's Krin doing?"

He bristles. "Why should you care about my little sister?"

I sigh, "What's the problem? You're always complaining about how annoying she is. She's a lot like mine." I grin, then say, "I'd be fine with you fucking Sota, you know."

I notice Kidney swallow, then I laugh.

"I know you want to, man. It's totally obvious."

He has no counter to this.

"How about we strike a deal? I'll slip some roofies to Sota, if you do the same with Krin."

"Krin's not annoying all the time," Kidney says softly. "I've talked about how she badgers me into doing homework and chores and takes my stuff without asking. But, I guess I've never mentioned how it really is between us."

I listen with an eyebrow raised.

"In the town we lived in before, our old man had a pretty nasty fall from grace. The folk there were cliquish to begin with, big families rooted in years of tradition.

So, that incident only ensured that we were completely rejected- all of us Bellourds. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," they'd say, so the adults didn't want their kids around me or Krin.

Nobody really spoke to us. Even if they didn't understand why, we were just rotten apples to be avoided. Even so, we weren't lonely.

We were able to stay together a lot, because we're only a year apart. Things were nice with just the two of us." Kidney smiles in recollection.

"We played around all time back then: hide and seek in the woods, role playing, a lot made up games too... One day, we decided to play doctor in Krin's room.

I can't remember whose idea it was, but I remember that after she checked my breathing, if behind my ears were clean, and everything else, I ended up lying on the pale gray carpet for a "down there checkup."

After my checkup was over, it was my turn to be the doctor, and do the whole routine on her.

After that time, we'd play doctor every few days. And after a while, the patient started to always end up saying, 'Hurry up and get to the down there checkup.' That eventually became all the doctor game was about.

We didn't know much, except that it felt good, and that we didn't wanna get caught doing the down there checkups.

Over time though, we stopped bothering to call them checkups, or asking, 'Wanna play doctor?' We'd just go into a bedroom, close the door behind ourselves, and touch each other.

We didn't stop, even after our family finally got enough money to move here, and we both made other friends. And one time back in junior high, our parents went on vacation.

We had a long day of doing whatever we wanted around the house, got tired, crashed on the couch, and turned the TV on to some lame channel.

I got hard, which wasn't unusual when we were alone, but this time we both felt it was different.

Now, we had all the time in world to go as far as we wanted. That day, when we lost our virginities together, is the most cherished memory I have.

It was amazing, almost heavenly. I'd never felt that close to anyone before. I felt so warm and complete- so happy and at home.

Even now, the honest moments between me and Krin are the most precious things to me. I'm not ready to accept any other man into the picture, Jeeto."

I sigh, "But any other woman is fine?"

"What I do with those other women isn't like what me and Krin have together. They're nothing," Kidney says.

"Krin would be nothing to me, and as for her, she wouldn't even know who it was. That's hardly getting into your precious picture, then, is it?"

"But Krin is something!" Kidney says emphatically. He then reins himself in. "I just don't want anyone doing her that way. End of discussion. I'm going back to my place to change and pick up my bag."

"Alright," I say lazily. "But you know, for someone who I thought hated women, you've got an annoying soft spot for one."

"Meet you at Mrs. Horatay's house," he says.

I watch his back with narrowed eyes as he leaves, wondering if Krin's little pussy would feel as "heavenly" for me if I forced her down on her knees and fucked her.

If and when that happens, I'll let her know that she has her brother to blame the most.

I might have let this go if Kidney didn't make such a big deal about it. But he just made her forbidden fruit, and a woman should understand, how a forbidden fruit is more enticing than all the others in the garden.

#video recording #crime

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routinely-unamoosed-blog · 8 years

Text

Tell Me

Pairing: Protective!Sam x BAMF!Maddie

Word Count: 2,308 words

Summary: Rick interrogates Maddie in the prison with Sam (this is simply just a guess as to what will happen in 12x09 First Blood with Maddie).

Warning(s): All hail the f-bomb/cursing; sarcasm; angst; smartass humor that drives Agent Sanchez insane; physical abuse?

The very cell seemed to become smaller and smaller the more she was locked in this godforsaken prison. Already she’d recognized the chipping brick wall from previous tenants of this lovely little room, and the tally marks behind her bed. She counted twenty-five, plus the beginning of a twenty-sixth. The room was rather dark despite Maddie’s enhanced sight, and the single flickering fluorescent light above the seemingly never-ending walls and the coldness only fueled her Hunter’s instincts to grab anything as a weapon.

From what she could remember from the last time she was here, the bed was more comfortable than before. The pillow was fluffier; the frame didn’t squeak when she moved. Even the toilet that was rusted beyond restoration seemed to lose its sterility. The generators whirring above her seemed louder than the past times they hummed softly to their own beat. Every few details were in fact hazy despite her near-perfect memory. What’s wrong with me? she thought to herself.

When she had came to, she found herself being dragged by her arms. Her head was still pounding from her fracture skull. Her stomach was throbbing from the pregnancy, let alone the ever-growing fear what the guards or Rick did while she was unconscious. She found it particularly discomforting when she found her clothes were gone, her body placed in a hideous jumpsuit that seemed to hinder some of her movements. She had torn the sleeves off to allow her room to stretch, while she shucked the whole thing off to slice lines in the back for her wings.

The mattress groaned with relief as she stood. Her jaw was tight, as it should be when she was worried. Enochian damnation spells muttered under her breath, and she could just hear the bodies dropping outside her cell door. The sound of the thuds drove a wicked and sickening smile to lift the corners of her mouth, fingers trembling with insanity the longer she stood in the center of her cell, eyelids twitching and lips quivering.

Six weeks. It’s been six fucking weeks since she, Sam and Dean had been arrested on attempted assassination of the President. She was keeping track by the number of feathers that flitted to the concrete floor. While her molting was natural, she was worried she’d lose too many feathers that she wouldn’t be able to fly anymore. The wretched thought made her shudder uncontrollably.

Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she began pacing. Back and forth; back and forth she went. Latin profanity left her dry and bloodied lips while thoughts she didn’t even want to know existed flew across her mind. She stopped after twenty minutes and just . . . stood, staring at the wall in front of her like an insane person.

Hushed voices came from outside her door. Her ears seemed to twitch in the direction of the sound like an animal’s, nostrils flaring as if trying to catch a scent. Her wings flew from her slits, pins and needles sparking in her shoulder blades from disuse. In a near-silent flap, Maddie’s arms reached up above her and grabbed the pipes on the ceiling. She hoisted herself up onto it like she was doing a pull-up, hooking her inner knees over the metal so she hung upside down like a bat. Hell, with her wings, someone was bound to mistake her for a bat.

The door creaked open. Her hair fell from her head, thankfully not long enough to be seen right away. A masked guard in full armor and armed with a government-issued assault rifle stalked in, fingers trembling on the gun. She let out a chuckle so soft she could hear it despite the violent pounding in her head. The guard, whose blood she could hear pumping through his body in fear far greater than any angel she’d seen, stopped in the center of the cell as the door shut and locked. The man’s head turned and glanced at the door.

Whimpers echoed in the confined space as she continued hanging from the pipe. Crossing her arms, Maddie cleared her throat with a grin. The guard yelped and looked upward, brown eyes wide in horror as he stared at her. He looked at be about Dean’s height and weight, tan skin glowing with sweat beneath the armor. The gun cluttered in his hands as he tried loading a round inside of the magazine, but his trembling fingers dropped the bullet. It clattered to the ground, and when he bent to pick it up, Maddie straightened her legs.

She landed on the guard’s back, slamming her knee down on his spine. She heard the gut-wrenching snap of the vertebrae, and a scream flew from his mouth. Maddie’s hand slammed against the man’s lips, humming a shushing sound in his ear despite the horror-filled whimpers that were absorbed in her hand. Her fingers snaked up around his throat, and, with increasing pressure on his trachea, she let the man’s mouth slip free from her palm as she lifted him off his feet.

Her head cocked a bit in confusion like a dog hearing a whistle. She was surprised to see that this man was still breathing, in spite of his collapsed spine and soon-to-be broken windpipe. She smiled softly at the man, whose eyes were beyond wide with terror. She could feel the emotion seeping off of him and soaking into her, only fueling her pumping blood and calm heartbeat. The guard’s voice gurgled in his throat the high she lifted him, until finally she arched her lips up in a snarl as she squeezed his throat, feeling the windpipe collapse in her tenacious grip. Seconds later the man slumped to the ground, eyes staring at nothingness.

The door suddenly opened to reveal Rick standing with his arms clasped in front of him. Today he was clad in an expensive Gucci suit with fancy dress shoes. His graying hair swept upwards in a somewhat sexy way; she couldn’t place the right words to describe it. She smiled at him, twirling her fingers in a flirtatious wave. Rick’s dark eyes glinted with emotion, and only widened a fraction when they landed on the dead guard at her feet. He should have known not to send just one guard in here. That made it too easy.

Without a word, Rick stepped aside and leaned his head into the doorway. Three heavily armored guards stormed in with more shackles and handcuffs than she’d ever seen in her life. She felt the cold metal wrap around her wrists, waist and ankles, one chain in particular coming up between her legs. It almost made her slam her knee into the guard putting it there and letting his hand linger for far too long if it weren’t for the soft barrel of a gun being planted to her forehead.

Finally, Rick smiled and stepped inside, the chains clattering together as the guards continued linking shackles and tightening cuffs. He left the door open, however, a taunting sparkle in his eye as if he were going to offer freedom to her just like that. She narrowed her eyes at him, one corner lifting higher than her smirk would allow to make her seem authoritative despite the situation at hand.

“These won’t hold me, y’know,” she commented softly, wincing when the shackle between her legs rubbed up against her inner thigh. “And I’m dying to kick that sorry little ass of yours again. You and I both know that.”

Rick stormed over and landed a firm slap to her cheek. It stung, but by much when she let out a laugh. The fierceness in his voice sent chills down her spine as he spat, “Oh, I know. I made sure to avoid the reinforced steel chains for what we have in store for you.”

Maddie’s smirk faded a bit; this wasn’t like Rick. She’s known him for about a year before she got out of his case for her street racing debut. The first thing he’d do is interrogate her, and then torture her. Not the other way around. She began protesting, however Rick pressed a hard kiss to her lips. She cringed at how lustful it felt, attempting to talk or get words out to tell him to back the fuck off, but the agent’s hands pressed her head to his. The only thing she could do is slam her heel on his foot, which she graciously did with satisfactory results.

Another slap to her face nearly sent her falling to her knees. She caught herself, however, and stared at Rick with wide eyes. The lust and greed in the man’s face made her feel uneasy, especially when he pulled out a dark hood and covered her head with it.

~* 3 *~

Pale lights invaded her vision as the hood flew off her head. She squinted slightly, which wasn’t like her eyes to do so, and stared at Rick with confusion. The brightly lit interrogation room was an awfully lot like one at a police station, with a metal table chaining her in place and a hard metal chair that made her butt hurt when she shifted around. A video camera was set up across the table, its lens staring at her intently as if with concern as to what she had to say. She knew there was a one-way window behind her. She’d been through this so many times.

But what she wasn’t prepared for was a slumped-over Sam in a jumpsuit similar to hers to the right.

A deep and heavy sigh left her swelling chest. She looked up at the ceiling, thanking any celestial being who somehow made it by chance that they’d see each other again, thankfully without the other being dead. Labored footsteps came behind her, and she saw one of the guards that had helped chain her head to toe stop being Sam. Without his armor on, he was a fairly good-looking guy. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties with dirty blond hair and pale skin, dark eyes popping out despite his ivory complexion.

The guard’s hand grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and pulled his head up, drawing a knife and placing the blade to his cheek. He nicked a soft slice of skin, and Sam let out an exasperated gasp as his eyes flew open. Bags were underneath his eyes, so dark and defined she wondered how much sleep he’d gotten since they were arrested.

Maddie’s heart shattered when he struggled against the handcuffs keeping him chained in place, and his gaze seemed to autonomously look up at the ceiling, as if waiting for that freezing cold water to cascade down upon like it did with Toni. His amber gaze lingered on the guard for a bit, eyes shifting from each skin detail.

“Sammy,” she whispered, looking at the Winchester with sorrow. “Hey. Look at me.” She waited until his head turned in her direction, eyes widening at seeing her. She saw his eyes glaze over with tears of what she hoped was relief that she was alive and well. “This is real. No Toni, okay? I’m real. We are real, got it? Look at me if you need a reminder.”

Suddenly a pained grunt left Sam’s mouth as his head was slammed against the table with a loud bang. She jumped in her place and snarled at the guard, teeth bared and hands wrenching in the handcuffs. The guard looked up at her with a grin, and he stormed over to her, sliding himself on the table with greed in his eyes.

She raised her brow at the man. “Touch me and your lungs won’t be the only thing you’ll be shitting tonight,” she growled at him with defiance in her eyes. The guard seemed shocked at the threat by how his own brow raised on his face.

A door creaked open just in time before the guard could slap her. Rick walked in holding a manila folder and a pocketknife looped on his finger. His head dipped at the man and he whispered, “Mike, take a break. I got this.”

Putting a flirtatious smirk on her face, she watched Mike get up and leave the room, slamming the door in the process. She crossed her legs and bounced her foot, sending a few concerned glances Sam’s way. From what she could tell, he seemed completely fine aside from the bags underneath his eyes and the now bloody nose. She inhaled to ask about Dean when Rick cleared his throat. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh, we shall,” she drawled in a phony English accent, running her tongue along her teeth in a sexy way that made the agent shift on the corner of the table. She arched an eyebrow as she listened intently on what the hell Rick had to say.

“To start with, Mads, what can you tell me about your relationship with Sam here?” He gestured to the youngest Winchester, whose jaw was taut and boasted protectiveness, with the folder. The sound of Sam’s nickname for her being said in Rick’s voice made her sick, and she yanked against the chains as she leaned forward.

She let a smile widen her lips. “From the bottom of my cold, dead heart, fuck you,” she announced, clicking her tongue and leaning back. “I’m not telling you anything, you poor little asshat. And, to be clear on this whole attempted assassination thing on the Prez, we were saving him. Did he ever mention Satan to you or, offer an analogy referring to Lucifer?”

“Maddie, don’t.” She clenched her jaw at Sam’s gritted command. She cast a quick glance his way and nodded her head. He knows, she mouthed at him, winking and looking back at Rick with a sly grin on her face.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #jared padalecki #maddie rayner #sam x maddie #odette annable

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