#because the gun jammed & not that she could keep resisting.

[plagasitize]

[sylvies-chen]

Can you do 5+6 for brettsey?

5. "You're safe now" + 6. "No one's going to hurt you."

Sylvie's not weak. She's strong. She's a fighter.

That's what Matt keeps reminding himself of as Stella drives through the intersections, sirens blaring.

They’d heard the call for a 10-1 coming from Sylvie exactly seven minutes ago. He's been counting. They'd heard it all, from the scuffling of footsteps to Violet’s voice arguing with another in the background. The call, however, was short-lived and Sylvie’s calls for help were cut short when the line went dead.

The line went dead. And in their world, that’s never a good sign.

They’d taken a call at some old warehouse that’s undergoing construction. When 81 finally pulls up on the scene, however, there’s no one there. No construction crew, no contractors, nobody. All they see is the ambo with doors swung open, not a paramedic in sight. It’s not like Sylvie— or Violet for that matter— to leave the doors open like that, to leave supplies vulnerable and ready for the taking. It makes Matt’s stomach churn, and he finds it increasingly hard to be a Captain right now instead of Sylvie’s boyfriend.

But she’s strong. She won’t give up without a fight.

Casey strides through the front doors of the warehouse, Gallo, Stella, and Mouch trailing behind him and struggling to keep up. His eyes frantically survey the rooms before them. Everything in the building is grimy and unfinished and smells like sawdust. It’s cold. He hates that. Sylvie's warm in every sense of the word, this is no place for her to... to... well, he doesn't want to think about what could have happened here.

There aren’t any more gunshots— at least not ones they can hear, the warehouse only has two levels, thankfully, so they make haste and clear the first floor quickly as CPD’s squad car sirens wail in the distance. They probably received the call too, he thinks.

“Fire department, call out,” Mouch shouts aimlessly, hoping for a response. It’s dead silent.

“Brett, Violet,” Stella yells, checking the last room. “Call out if you can hear us.”

Still nothing.

Matt’s heart feels like it’s drowning in that dreaded silence.

“We’re up here!” Suddenly, they hear a voice coming from the second floor— one he instantly recognizes as Sylvie’s. She sounds panicked, and he immediately darts towards the staircase across the room.

Then, the single, harrowing gunshot goes off.

He doesn’t know what to think. He’s two steps up the staircase when the loud shot echoes throughout the warehouse, bouncing off the tinny walls and reverberating in his chest. It makes him stop dead in his tracks. In that moment, he swears he died a little and he knows then that he’s not being a Captain anymore. Because screw that. This is the woman he loves. He just needs to make sure she’s okay.

He’s only paralyzed with fear for a brief moment though until he turns around to see Stella staring at him, wide-eyed with worry. Then, everything snaps back into place. He bounds up the stairs, skipping a couple of steps with each stride, and moves into the first room. Gallo, Mouch, and Kidd all follow as quickly as they can, their boots thudding against the concrete. There, they finally set their eyes on the scene before them.

Sylvie’s there, and so is Violet. There’s a man next to Violet, lying on the floor and bleeding out as Violet keeps the pressure on his wound. Sylvie’s standing a few feet in front of Violet, holding the gun at her side as her hands tremble and she lets out a relieved sigh.

She’s alive. She looks sweaty and panic stricken, but she’s alive.

Matt turns to the man he hears grumble in the opposite corner of the room and half expects him to be bleeding. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Sylvie had shot someone in self-defence— and he certainly wouldn’t blame her. He can picture a struggle that somehow led to her taking this guy’s gun and… he doesn’t know. He’s still trying to process the whole scene himself; he’s barely past the pure relief that Sylvie is alright. But he turns as Gallo moves to check on Violet and the victim she’s tending to, and sees that the guy in the opposite corner isn’t injured at all. His hands are raised and he eyes Sylvie nervously. It confuses Matt but he snaps back to Sylvie quickly and runs over to her. To hell with the other guy. Stella and Mouch can take care of him— or CPD, now that the cops are flooding into the room. For now, Sylvie is his priority.

For now and for forever.

“Sylvie,” he exhales, his hands flying to her face as soon as he reaches her and brushing her hair out of her face. The temptation to pull her into his embrace and never let go is tempting but he resists it. For the moment, at least. “What happened?”

“I… I…” Sylvie sputters, her eyes darting between nothing frantically. “He had the gun to my head.”

“What?”

“He had the gun to my head and it- it just… didn’t go off,” she explains, still in shock. She’s shaking, her gaze is hollow, and her muscles tense.

“We came in and this guy had already been shot— the charming guy with the gun over there said something about trespassing on the warehouse property,” Violet explains from behind her, still in shock herself as she keeps pressure on the wound. It’s the first time Matt realize that Gallo’s gone, and then remembers hearing Violet ordering him to get the stretcher at one point. “We… we thought we were both dead. He was in some kind of fit of anger and then- then he just pointed the gun at us.”

“But the gunshot—”

“He shot at the wall to try and scare us,” Sylvie tells him. “I risked responding to you guys and he shot at us that time. That’s when the gun jammed. When I realized it did, I just tried as hard as I could to yank it out of his hand and hoped for the best. I… oh God, I can’t believe he— that I… I mean I almost…”

Matt brows arch inwards, his heart aching for Sylvie. He knows better than anyone how scary that kind of situation can be. He’s been through the exact same thing and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But she’d been there for him then so he’s here for her now, without a flash of hesitation.

“Hey, you did good,” he assures her. “You did so good, baby. You’re strong, you know that, right?”

He says it because it’s true. She’s alive, she’s okay. And that’s her own doing, because of her own strength. Not his.

She nods absentmindedly, too distracted by everything going on around her. CPD is rounding up the warehouse worker, Kidd and Mouch are helping Gallo move the victim out on a headboard while Violet wipes at her sweaty brow and sits back against the wall, just as panicked as Sylvie. Everything is dying down, people are busy doing their jobs or distracted.

When she looks around and realizes this, she looks back up at Matt. His hands move to rub gentle circles on her arms and pulls her in for a hug. And then, as if brought on by his embrace alone, the damn just sort of… breaks.

First, her muscles relax under his arms. She exhales heavily, tears finally streaming down her cheeks. He knows this because her face is buried so deep into the crook of his neck that he can feel her tears dampen his white shirt. The strength she’d needed to get through something like that, the adrenaline, the shock. It all wears off as soon as she’s met with the familiar embrace. It serves as a reminder that here, with him, she’s always allowed to be vulnerable.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He knows that she knows it. But he repeats it anyway until she believes it and, maybe, until he himself believes it.

[lalainajanes]

This completes column #2 on my bingo card, the square was “Eager Backstage Groupie”

Another Shot of Courage

 Saturday, May 1st, 8:16 AM

Caroline wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, in the little black dress she'd worn to Kat's birthday party, with a headache and a foul-tasting mouth. She's sprawled in the middle of a very large mattress, so the first thing Caroline does is explore. She stretches her arms out tentatively, expecting to poke someone (hopefully an unobjectionable someone) awake.

She appears to be alone, and Caroline relaxes into the fluffy pillows. She wiggles experimentally, satisfied when her bra and underwear dig into uncomfortable areas and gives in to the temptation to burrow under the duvet.

She just needs a minute to regret her life choices before she confronts them. Caroline sighs, stretches, and her fuzzy head begins to clear, memories sharpening.

And yikes.

Can she stay in her self-made blanket fort forever? A lot of her conduct last night had been highly irrational, some of it downright hypocritical. She is a public relations professional, highly sought after. Her clients pay many pretty pennies for her services.

Had she seriously mauled Klaus Mikaelson in one of the trendiest clubs in LA?

Caroline tugs down the blanket, intent on confirming her suspicions, allowing her to look around and study the room with new eyes.

There's a brick fireplace at the end of the bed, a wide armchair in front of it – not particularly revealing. Her eyes flick to the left. There's nothing, but dark curtains pulled tight over a wall of windows.

When she looks to the right, there's a smoking gun. Well, kind of. It's a drafting table, an easel, and shelves featuring paintbrushes, haphazardly stacked sketchbooks, and a bunch of other things that Caroline doesn't currently have the brainpower to identify.

She considers slipping out of bed and checking to see if those curtains cover any kind of door. She thinks it's logical to assume so. She's only been to Klaus' home a few times, tries to insist they meet at her office. She's never ventured far beyond the kitchen and living rooms, but it's a Spanish-style bungalow on a sprawling lot. Why wouldn't he have a walk out into the yard from his bedroom?

She discards the idea with some regret. Running away without a word is a coward's move and would probably backfire. Klaus is still her client, whatever psychosis had gripped Caroline last night, and it's not like she could dump him via email at this point. He's got a huge movie coming in three weeks, and they're flying to London tomorrow to begin the premiere tour. She could probably pass it on to another publicist, but she'd still be on the hook, would have to coordinate her plans long-distance.

Selfishly, Caroline hopes that's not necessary. She'd hate for someone else to reap the benefits of her hard work.

She heaves herself into a sitting position, wincing when her head throbs. Her stomach seems solid, with no hint of queasiness, so that's a plus. Caroline tosses the covers aside, shifts until her legs slide over the side of the bed. She catches a glimpse of herself in a mirror through the open closet door and cringes.

She'd done an excellent smoky eye last night, and it's migrated all over her face. She doesn't even want to consider how long it's going to take to detangle her hair. She decides she can wait a bit to hunt down Klaus, stepping forward and twisting the knob on the closed door. "Jackpot," Caroline mutters, walking into Klaus' bathroom. There's a stack of towels on the counter, and she figures it won't hurt to take a shower.

She'd had her tongue in his mouth and had apparently kicked him out of his bed, so what's one more presumption?

Friday, April 30th, 10:47 PM

In the VIP lounge Kat had rented, elevated above the main dance floor, Caroline waves away a shot of tequila. She'd had one during the birthday toast, wine at dinner. Had just ordered an overpriced cocktail. She's pleasantly tipsy but needs to pace herself because she can't get too drunk tonight.

Besides, Caroline and tequila have a complicated relationship.

Kat boos her, a few of the other girls joining in. Caroline laughs, "I know, I'm boring. I have a million things to do tomorrow to make sure I'm ready to live out of a suitcase for weeks."

Katherine scoffs, "Just make Klaus buy you anything you forget. What good is a guy who's hot for you and makes big fat superhero movie paychecks if he won't buy you pretty things?"

They've discussed this a bajillion times. Caroline has actually run away from this exact conversation, shouting nonsense syllables, with her fingers jammed in her ear, as if she and Katherine still fight over Barbies and who gets to wear dress-up trunk's best princess dress.

Caroline still can't resist arguing – it's a character flaw. "He's my client. That's it."

"Oh, please. Men in this town bone their clients all the time."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Usually, this is the part where Katherine tries to convince her that Klaus is dying to be boned – her words, not Caroline's – but she gets distracted, squinting across the bar. Kat's lips curl, expression growing sly, "It appears my argument is moot."

Um, what? Katherine's literally never backed down from an argument in the twenty-plus years they've been friends. Puzzled, Caroline turns, trying to see what caught Kat's attention.

The club features several VIP lounges, each located at the top of a short staircase and decorated with wide velvet sofas and crystal chandeliers. There's an attendant who keeps booze and food flowing. It's clever – the sofas are inviting and squishy, tend to force people close together. The chandeliers ensure that anyone who happens to take a picture can get a decent shot, and the free flow of liquor has lowered the inhibitions of at least half a dozen celebrities, resulting in photos that send the gossip blogs into a tizzy as soon as they hit the internet.

When Caroline spots Klaus across the way, a redheaded model sprawled in his lap, she's immediately fuming.

"Looks like he got tired of waiting," Kat drawls. "Wanna reconsider the tequila?"

"Katherine. I love you. But zip it."

Katherine makes a face but leaves Caroline alone, turning to another one of their friends and asking a question. Caroline takes a deep breath, counts to ten.

She'd busted her ass to make him appear family-friendly enough to land the movie with the very PR-conscious studio that had netted him the big fat checks Katherine had just been crowing over. He's jeopardizing that on the eve of the most significant press tour of his career.

She looks over again, leaning forward. The redhead's moved away, she's sitting at Klaus' side, and they now appear to be merely engaged in conversation. Caroline does her best to think like a photographer – is there an angle that could make the scene look tawdry?

Probably not. So really, Klaus isn't jeopardizing anything.

Caroline's anger doesn't cool at the revelation.

She's so screwed.

She's on her feet before she decides to be, stalking down the stairs. She hears Katherine yelling borderline lewd encouragement at her back, but Caroline knows better than to take her advice.

She's marching over to diffuse, not inflame.

Hopefully.

Saturday, May 1st, 9:01 AM

She finds Klaus in his living room, asleep, his legs hanging awkwardly over the arm of a too-short couch, his torso twisted so awkwardly that Caroline's back twinges sympathetically. With the confirmation that she had stolen his bed, more of Caroline's irritation fades. The shower had helped, as had the bottle of water she'd guzzled and the three Tylenol she'd popped.

She takes a seat on his coffee table, setting down her second bottle of water. Caroline reaches out, shaking his shoulder gently. "Klaus," she murmurs when he begins to stir. "Wake up."

She could probably leave him to sleep. Klaus' stylist will handle most of his packing; he's borrowed a dizzying volume of outfits and accessories for Klaus to wear on this trip. The announcement won't come for another two weeks, but Klaus is shooting a Dior cologne ad once his press obligations wrap. The brand had requested he start wearing the newest line. Caroline had attended the last fitting, and she'd had a hard time keeping her blatant ogling under wraps.

Klaus looks good in ratty jeans, in a suit tailored to his measurements? Just about anyone attracted to men would have struggled not to appreciate the sight.

That's how Caroline had justified letting her emails pile up that afternoon.

She'd been a little worried about her control slipping on this trip, once they were alone in the hotel, and Klaus dropped the shiny, press-perfect façade he's learned to maintain. Caroline had designed that mask to appeal to the broadest possible audience. Doing interview prep has unfortunately only emphasized how much more she likes Klaus without it.

Klaus stretches, eyes fluttering open. "Good morning," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep. "I hope you slept better than I did."

Caroline winces, "Don’t you have a guest room or two you could have shoved me in?”

He smiles lazily, “You were quite insistent on touring my bedroom.”

Her eyes slam shut, face heating, “And that is why I don’t drink tequila unsupervised,” she grumbles.

He laughs, sitting up, his legs bracketing hers. He reaches for her water bottle and helps himself to a sip. Caroline leans back, fishing the Tylenol out of the pocket of the hoodie she’d stolen from his closet. She’d needed something bulkier to hide the fact she hadn’t been able to convince herself to strap her bra back on. “Do you want these?” she asks, rattling the bottle.

Klaus shakes his head, “I’m not hungover. I didn’t drink at all, and you stole that shot of tequila that was meant for me, remember?”

Ohhh no. She’d forgotten about that. She’d stolen his and the model’s.

Which, in hindsight, goes a long way to explaining what had happened after. Caroline’s problem with tequila is that once she starts, she has a hard time stopping. It heightens her usually non-existent impulsive streak, leads to sub-par decisions.

Occasionally, tequila does make her clothes fall off.

Caroline buries her hands in her face, wishing she hadn’t tied her hair back. She’s mortified, probably growing splotchy. “I am so sorry,” she mutters.

Klaus sighs, tries to tug her hands away. Caroline resists, tensing her muscles, wishes she’d gone with her first instinct and fled out the backdoor. He rests his hands on her knees, squeezing, voice dipping into coaxing tones. “No apology necessary. I’m not the least bit upset.”

Unfortunately, Caroline’s totally up to the task of being upset enough for the both of them.

Friday, April 30th, 10:53 PM

Once the attendant in Klaus VIP area confirms that he does know Caroline and lets her up the stairs, Klaus has managed to increase the distance between his body and the model’s. He seems pleased to see her, grabbing her hand and tugging her to sit next to him on the couch.

Close enough that they’re connected thigh to shoulder.

The model, whose name Caroline doesn’t particularly care about, is less welcoming. She glares daggers at Caroline’s hand, still enclosed in Klaus’. He makes polite introductions. “Genevieve, this is my publicist and very good friend, Caroline Forbes. Caroline, Genevieve. She’s a friend of Kol’s.”

Klaus’ younger brother is also an actor, still firmly in the throes of his wild child phase. Caroline finds him entertaining, despite her best intentions, but he’s known to delight in making her job more complicated. She glances around suspiciously, “Is Kol here?”

Klaus gestures vaguely to the dance floor. “Somewhere. He dragged me out to celebrate a pilot he booked, then disappeared.”

Hmm, that could lead to disaster. Caroline wonders if she should shoot his publicist a text as a professional courtesy.

Caroline smiles at Genevieve sharply, “So sweet of you to keep Klaus company.” It’s mean, but Caroline wonders if Genevieve has somehow heard about Klaus’ Dior deal through the grapevine. Maybe she’s aiming for a co-starring role – Caroline’s read the treatment for the commercial; it’s supposed to be streamy.

Oh, good lord, High School Caroline has somehow time traveled and taken over her body.

Genevieve pastes on an equally fake smile (at least Caroline’s not the only one regressing). Before she can snipe back, a silver tray is set in front of them, two shots resting on it. The attendant catches Caroline’s eye, “Can I get you anything, Miss?”

Klaus interrupts, squeezes her hand in an absent apology, “Sorry, there must be some mistake. I ordered a water.”

He’s contractually obligated to maintain a ridiculously chiseled body. Caroline’s got a reminder in her phone to order him a pile of celebratory spaghetti after his press obligations are officially over and he can relax for a few months.

The attendant’s eyes flit to Genevieve in confusion, “I…”

“I cancelled that,” she chirps, sliding her hand up Klaus’ arm. Genevieve leans in, tone lowering to what Caroline thinks is supposed to be a seductive level. “Figured we would toast.”

Caroline catches it because she’s practically plastered to Klaus’ other side. “Who toasts with tequila?” she asks. “Other than creeps at bars, I mean.”

Had Caroline not been well acquainted with Katherine Pierce, she might have been intimidated by Genevieve's attempt at a lethal glare.

Caroline stares back, reaching blindly for the first shot. She tosses it back, then the second, fighting the shudder that wants to wrack her frame through sheer willpower alone.

“Bitch,” Genevieve mutters, standing and flouncing away.

It’s petty, but Caroline savors her win.

Klaus is staring at her oddly, a touch concerned. “Maybe we should get you some water, love.”

Saturday, May 1st, 9:04 AM

“There were more shots when I got back to Kat’s party,” Caroline moans. “I’m going to kill her. She knows my weaknesses.”

“While I am reluctant to defend your irritating friend, she did seem rather intent on her fun. It was her birthday, wasn’t it?”

Caroline nods, “Yeah. And Kat’s always been firmly convinced that she should get to do whatever her little black heart desires on her birthday.”

“She did insist I ensure you get home safely. I’m afraid you were rather reluctant to supply your address.”

She sighs, finally dropping her hands. “Honestly, I just moved into a condo. I might not have remembered it.” That’s the less embarrassing option. It’s probably more likely that tequila drunk Caroline had crafted a plan to seduce Klaus, and step one entailed getting invited to his house. “I know you said not to apologize, but I obviously put you out. I’m supposed to babysit you, not the other way around.”

Klaus laughs, his knee nudging hers. “I haven’t needed that for ages, as you well know.”

He has a point – Caroline likely wouldn’t have agreed to take him on if he was still indulging in public drunkenness and paparazzi punching. When she’d first met with Klaus, it had been out of curiosity. She’d made a comfortable living from her client roster, did not need to take on the project of a difficult actor.

Klaus’ bad behavior had been a few years in the past, and he’d just come off a run of festival darlings and had produced a surprise hit sci-fi drama. He’d been frustrated by the doors that remained firmly shut to him, had laid his ambitions on the table.

Caroline had been intrigued. While she’s excellent at her job, but it’s always easier to work her magic with clients who are willing to dive into the work. Klaus’ talent was undeniable; she’d thought he could be a household name with the right opportunity. She’d agreed to take him on, and three years later, it’s paid off.

Caroline tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands, eyes on the frayed trim. “I was mad when I saw you last night, and that wasn’t fair. You’d set you were resting up for the press tour, but it’s not my business if you changed your mind.”

“Did you think I was resuming some bad habits?” Klaus asks. “I know that particular venue has a… reputation. Probably why Kol picked it.”

Caroline sneaks a glance at him, trying to gauge how he feels, but he’s not giving much away. “No, not really. I trust you. I wasn’t thinking super logically.”

She has to admit, at least to herself, that she’d been jealous. Caroline’s going to have to think about how deep that goes, if the feelings that had slapped her in the face last night will prevent their working relationship from being effective. What if Klaus meets someone? Will she be able to plant sneaky tidbits about how happy they are, scour the gossip blogs for rumors that could become issues?

“You? Not thinking logically? However could that be?”

She glares at him, though she knows his teasing is good-natured. “Some of it was the booze. I totally wouldn’t have hauled you onto the dance floor without it. And I wouldn’t have… well, you were there.”

She’s not up to list her transgressions. If Klaus hadn’t been drinking, then his memory of her wandering hands, her flirtatious comments, and heated invitations should be crystal clear. Caroline had been drunk, and she’s having a hard time not dwelling on the kiss – which, to be fair, Klaus had enthusiastically participated in – that she’d initiated.

“I was there. I have no objections to anything that occurred last night, save perhaps wishing you’d been sober.” Her head snaps up, eyes widening in shock, and Klaus laughs incredulously. “Surely you must know of my interest in you, Caroline.”

She’s suspected, but she’s also well aware that Klaus has no shortage of offers. Last night is proof of that. Caroline has always assumed that take one of them, at some point, and his flirtatiousness with her would fade away. She’d dated an actor or two when she’d moved to LA after wrapping up college. Caroline had been working insane hours then, trying to claw her way past the other assistants at the agency where she’d worked. Her exes from that time period had been quick to move on once they realized she wasn’t willing to center her universe around them.

“Interest can be fleeting.”

“It’s been three years.”

“You never made a real move.”

Again, Klaus counters quickly. “You’d not have accepted, and then you’d likely have pawned me off on someone else.”

Yeah, he’s got a point there. “I’m your publicist.”

“I have no objection to mixing business with pleasure. If you do, I suppose I’m willing to suffer a less competent publicist.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’ve been plotting.”

Klaus shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “Perhaps a bit. I’ve always been entirely honest with you, I merely prevented a situation that would lessen the time we spent together until such a time as you were ready to consider me in a romantic light.”

“That’s a lot of words to confess you’ve been trying to flirt me into submission while flashing your hot body at every opportunity,” Caroline grumbles.

Klaus’ smile widens, dimples now visible. “It seems to have worked. Assuming that you meant the things you said to me last night?”

“I…” she hadn’t been expecting him to ask her that directly. She should have been – Klaus is skilled at choosing the best way to catch someone off guard. Caroline glances away from him, eyes catching on the clock across the room. Crap. She has so much to do. “I have to go,” Caroline tells him, standing up.

His eyes narrow,  and his head tips to the side, like he’s searching for a sign of weakness. Both telltale indicators that Klaus is gearing up to argue. Caroline holds up a hand, “I know, okay? This looks like I’m running away, and technically I am, but this is not the time to begin that mixing you mentioned. We’ve both worked too hard to risk screwing up the next few weeks. Did you read your contract? The fines for non-compliance are no joke.”

“Now is not the time,” Klaus says slowly. “Meaning?”

“We table it now. I’m open to a discussion later.” Three weeks is plenty of time for her to sort out where she stands, right? Caroline never sleeps on flights anyway.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I want a timeline. I understand that you feel obligated to ensure this press tour goes smoothly, but you can only use it as an excuse until it’s over, love. I’m prepared to be persuasive.”

“What, do you want me to schedule something on your calendar? Maybe set an agenda?”

“No need to be so formal. Just agree to have dinner with me once we return. Here, if you’d like, so we don’t risk inflaming the tabloids before you’re ready.”

“You seem awfully sure that this is going to go a certain way. So eager to fire me?”

Klaus gets to his feet, and Caroline sucks in a nervous breath. Sitting across from each other, he’d been a reasonable distance away. Now, with both of them standing in the narrow gap between his couch and coffee table, if one of them breathes too deeply or shifts deliberately, they’ll be plastered together.

She’s tempted despite knowing she’s right about the timing.

Klaus rests his hand on her waist and turns them so Caroline could step back if she wanted to.

She stays where she is.

A tiny smile curls Klaus’ lips and his hand moves, pressing her closer. “As much as I enjoyed your more… explicit ramblings last night, I must confess my favorite revelation was when you confessed to just how long you’ve had them.”

Caroline, not for the first time, curses tequila’s wretched existence.

Wednesday, May 5th 2:20 PM

The meet and greets are going to kill her.

Caroline had thought they were a good idea when she’d poured through the itinerary the studio had sent over. Inviting popular bloggers, auctioning off tickets for charity, allowing fans to enter random draws – it’s great PR and provides the opportunity for viral moments, while also controlling the environment.

Caroline’s leaning against one of the walls, unnoticed, eyes on her client.

A lot of eyes are on her client, some of which irritate Caroline more than others. The two teenage girls, trailed by an exasperated dad, who’d both burst into tears when Klaus had smiled at them? Totally adorable. The nerdy college student who’d grilled Klaus about his character’s comic backstory? Kind of a pain, but Klaus had done his homework, and Caroline had been impressed.

And annoyed. Excessive preparation is very attractive and unhelpful at this juncture of the press tour. Caroline’s already begun to reconsider what they’d agreed to, wonders if knocking on his hotel room door on the last night would be such a bad thing.

That line of thinking might be overly influenced by the scene in front of her.

Klaus is speaking with a woman in an afternoon inappropriate silver dress. Caroline’s sorely tempted to have her escorted out by security. She’d slipped a key card into the back pocket of Klaus’ jeans within 90 seconds of meeting him.

He’s handed it back, said something that made her laugh. They’re still talking.

Klaus glances up, eyes landing on her immediately. Caroline hastily tries to soften her irritated expression lest he guesses its reason. Klaus smiles, subtly tips his water bottle in her direction. Silver Dress invades his personal space a little more.

Ugh. It’s gonna be a long three weeks.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Out of the Lion’s Den

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of rape (not against the reader), attempted rape and assault (against the reader) angst, cursing, insults, the usual super dramatic shit you see in the taken down of an unsub

A/N: Wowie wow wow wow, so this is kinda long. And I know I said I was gonna post it like two days ago, HOWEVER! In my defense, I started writing it and then about halfway through I accidentally closed tumblr so it deleted everything I had. So I went to bed defeated. But it’s here now, that’s the important thing, right? Remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and just be your usual amazing selves and give me the attention that my parents never gave me as the oldest of eight. As always, THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING ME AND I APPRECIATE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four ]

December 1998

It felt good to be back home in Georgia. The wind whipped at the trees outside of the diner you and you best friend were currently catching up at. The waitress, Flora, knows you by name and sets your usual in front of you with a ruffle of your hair and a couple of southern endearments.

“Tell me everything.” Madalyn says, reaching across the table for the ketchup that was placed on your side of the booth. You swat at her hand when she makes a grab for one of your fries. Her laugh is loud and feels like home, making you smile into your drink in a way you haven’t smiled all semester.

“I’d like to preface this conversation by saying that I feel like this would be a much cooler experience if I were the same age as everyone else.” You point out, brushing your growing bangs away from your eyes with an annoyed swat. Her eyes soften with sympathy, swirling a fry into the ketchup tucked into a safe space on her plate. She doesn’t say anything though, knowing that you have more to say.

“The classes are awesome. The campus is beautiful. I learn something new all the time, which was never happening when I was going to school here,” you pause long enough to glance around the room. It’s packed with all kinds of people, from old men clustered at the counter sipping on coffees to construction workers munching on hamburgers during their break, even big families squished into booths and tables for a nice Sunday family lunch.

“But?” You shrug in response, knowing that Madalyn will be able to read you like an open book if you meet her eyes. Across the table, the amateur profiler squints her dark eyes at you with suspicion.

“Everyone just kinda avoids me. The guys are cute, but they’re all nineteen and twenty. Most of the things to do on campus, you have to be eighteen for, so I mostly just spend my time at the library or at Aunt May’s doing homework.” At this, Madalyn stops eating, raising her eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

“I bet your grades are super rad,” You resist the urge to throw a French fry in her face after what she says next. “And besides, I’m the only friend you need in your life.”

“Actually, I have made a kind of friend?” Flora is over before you can finish the drink in your cup, filling the glass with a dark, blue pitcher. When you thank her, she reaches out to pat your cheek, mumbling something about missing you while you were gone.

“Should I be jealous? Is she pretty? She may be a big sister type, but I’m your soulmate.” You laugh into your sandwich having to cover your mouth when you take a bite and the laughter doesn’t go away.

Madalyn has been your best friend for four years, although time seems to have no meaning in your relationship because nobody would doubt it if you told them you’d known her since birth. While most kids in your age group had grown up thinking you were odd, Madalyn had decided that you were just interesting. That interest had turned into a friendship that would span years and miles more than many friendships do.

While the things you both enjoyed, like Leonardo DiCaprio and Ben Affleck, certainly brought you together, it was your differences that made you click like the pieces of a puzzle. Only true friends can debate on opposite sides of an argument and then end the night eating popcorn while watching Space Jam in the living room.

“His name is Harvey.” When Madalyn’s eyebrows go up this time, it is from surprise. You’ve never been one to socialize with anyone of the opposite gender, much less become ‘kinda friends’ with them. Plus, as a young lady of very womanly curves, she’s quite aware of the way some guys cross the line on a regular basis.

“(Y/N)-” You wave your hand in the air, once again pushing at the bangs that keep falling in your face. You should have never cut them in the first place, and you never would have if you realized what a hassle they would be when you started growing them out.

“I don’t like him like that. He’s just a really nice guy, helps me with homework and walks me to a class or two. We’ve never even met up outside of school.” Her eyes are still narrowed, a stray dark wave falling from the hair comb that pins the top half of her hair away from her face.

Eventually, she changes the subject. Trusting that you are smart enough to know when things have gotten out of hand and how to take care of it.

“So why are you growing your bangs out? I thought you liked them. Didn’t you say they make you look more grown up?” You unstick your thighs from the leather booth seat, pinning her with a look that she knows all too well.

“Now that’s a crazy story.” She also makes herself comfortable in her seat, preparing herself for a story. It’s probably a good thing you’re a phenomenal story teller, or else she would have gotten tired of all the stories you tell really quickly.

“So last month a girl comes forward and reports that she was cornered by a man she didn’t know on her way from the library back to her dorm. He held her at gun point and rapes her. It got kinda big, because she was rallying a group of men and women to escort girls around campus. And, I mean, I understand the unease she must feel, and I was sympathetic, but I was kind of confused why there was so much uproar over one rape.”

Having finished your own fries, you reach across the table and steal one from your outraged best friend. Before she can grab it back, you’ve shoved it into your mouth.

“Until a second girl comes forward and says that she reported the same thing happening to her a month ago. The campus, meanwhile, is doing nothing about it. No increased security, no curfew, not even acknowledged them.”

“For two girls?”

“For five,” The pause you take is natural, scooting the bottom of your cup across the tabletop so you could sip from the straw without picking the cup up, but it reads as dramatic effect. “And that’s not even the craziest part.”

One dark eyebrow raised into her hairline, waiting for you to continue the story and also answer the question.

“Every victim was a freshman, so they’re a little on the younger side, they all had the same hair color and style, all had the same body type, all were the same height, all had the same eye color.” This time you do pause for dramatic effect, using the silence to build the tension.

“And all of them look exactly like me. Bangs and all.”

Madalyn leans forward a little, suddenly very worried about you going back next month. As she hurriedly tries to make sure you are taking the necessary precautions during a scary time like this, Flora floats around the diner, stopping to fill up the cup of a single man just behind your booth. All he has is black coffee, a textbook of some kind is splayed open across the table but he doesn’t seem to be too interested in it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, his ears listening to your every word.

“So in summary, I’m growing out my bangs because that’s obviously apart of this dude’s type.” Madalyn doesn’t protest anymore when you reach for another fry on her plate.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m going to be fine. I’ll even color my hair if you’re so worried.” And the conversation continues, your best friend overly worried about you and your life as a fifteen year old college student, and you masking your fear for appearances sake. Harvey, however, finishes his coffee and asks for the bill.

He thought you were smarter than that. He thought you were smart enough to connect the dots and at least notice that he’d done all of it for you. That you were his everything. Apparently that was wrong. One day you’ll figure it out, of that he is certain.

For now though, you don’t even notices when he passes your table to get to the door.

Present Day

Spencer steps away from the car door, the cool wind hitting his cheeks and tousling his hair. It helps the dizziness in his head, and the nausea in his stomach, but it doesn’t help the sharp pain in his heart. His brain is swimming in all of the information, putting the pieces of the crime scene together like it was a puzzle.

“He left her in the driver’s seat after stabbing her from the backseat, walking around the front before knocking her out and carrying her to his own vehicle.” JJ looks back at the car, peering around crime scene analysts as they hurry about collecting evidence.

“She tried to leave, but her tires spun in the mud.” Rossi notes, nodding to the mud splatter along the sides of your car and the tiny graves each tire has dug into the ground for itself.

“There’s blood in the back.” Spencer finally speaks, looking away from the backseat window and back to his two partners. All eyes flick to the back seat where there is indeed two drops of blood on the floor and a smear of it on the headrest of the passenger seat.

“If he’s in any system then we’ll catch him.” Rossi said, nodding for the techs to collect what they could from the back. Spencer turns back to the car, well aware that there wasn’t anything else here for them the find that would lend them any information as to your whereabouts.

“In a system or not, I will hunt him to the ends of the earth before I let him get away with this.”

Back at the BAU, Prentiss makes calls to your mother and your best friend, Madalyn. Both answer on the first ring, and both are all the more willing to answer any questions that may assist the team in finding the man who had taken you.

“Is there anyone you remember (Y/N) mentioning that maybe stood out to you or her as creepy and stalkerish?” Your mother doesn’t recall anyone, having been focused on so many different cases during your childhood and having been so distant from you since you decided to not become a detective.

Madalyn, however, is quick to answer with a name Prentiss recalls crossing off the list of persons of interest.

“Harvey Morgenstein. They were friends in college, and although it weirded me out because he was a lot older than her at the time, he seemed harmless and I trusted (Y/N). But then he became her agent’s personal assistant all coincidentally and it just seemed too fishy to me.” Prentiss writes the name down, sliding it across the table with a pointed look at Garcia.

As quick as lightning, Harvey’s life history is pulled up between computer screens for both women to delve into.

Harvey is a short man with a wide build that, in earlier pictures, shows him to be more soft than muscly. His hair is dirty blonde but his eyes are two dark circles of coal that seem to pierce through the screen and into the souls of both Penelope and Emily.

“He’s totally not creepy looking.” Garcia remarks sarcastically, eyes sweeping across the information given to her the way Reid’s eyes might fly up and down the pages of a book or a case file.

“Tell me about it.” Emily replies, leaning into the seat designated for those on the team who so wished to give Penelope a visit while remaining off their feet.

“Harvey is a pretty normal guy for the most part. Single child of a Harvey and Lucille Morgenstein. Graduated from Georgetown in 2000 with a major in computer technology, minor in criminology.”

“The same graduating class as (Y/N).” Prentiss notes, her eyes just behind Garcia’s as articles and documents fly around the computer. Where some people talked with their hands, Garcia talked with her screens. The constant tap-tap-tapping of rings and fingers against the keyboard was like the audible churnining of cogs in her brain.

“Yeah, he spent some time as an IT guy at Georgetown before he got a job as a personal assistant. The only spot on his squeaky clean record that I can find is that he was a person of interest in a few rape cases involving some girls on campus back in the late 90’s, but he had alibis for every single one so they let him walk.” The pictures of every victim pop up across the screen in the form of a newspaper article talking about the serial rappings.

Gasps come from both their mouths as the dots connect.

“Call Reid and the others, and then call the agent. I think I may know what is going on.”

A couple of hours later and the pieces are all starting to come together.

Harvey had been the serial rapist from the 90s, attacking women who looked like you out of anger over not having you for himself, and pure obsession. After graduation, he tried to move on by distancing himself from you, but when his mother was diagnosed with cancer he fell back into his old stalkerish ways.

He followed your every move through your agent, who was the only person you spoke to the most outside of your mom and Madalyn.

After a little digging into unsolved rape cases in the area, it was obvious from the victimology and an oddly specific M.O. where he bit each of his victims on the neck, that he had also fallen back into his perverted rapist ways.

Harvey might have been content to stay like that, an obvious self esteem issue keeping him from ever approaching you directly for a date, until a month ago. Not even two days after the death of his sick mother, you and Spencer went on your first date outside of the bookstore. A double trigger.

In a sick and twisted display of love, Harvey started killing people the way you’d written deaths in your books. But with every death you continued to ignore him and see Spencer.

“Eventually it all became too much for him to handle and he snapped, kidnapping (Y/N) and calling to taunt Reid over his victory.” Hotch passed a hand over his face. The sirens blared loudly as they raced for Harvey’s house just outside of Quantico.

“This guy has been stalking her for a ridiculous amount of time.” Morgan commented with a shudder, sympathy and guilt from the earlier interrogation eating at him as the black SUV careens around a corner.

When they bust through his door, clearing each room and finding a creepy amount of pictures and papers about you, they realize that he has taken you somewhere else. And who do you call when you’re at a dead end and you need information?

“You’ve reached Penelope Garcia in the FBI’s Office of Supreme Genius.”

___

Breaking a chair that is nailed to the floor is a lot harder than it sounds, and it already sounds kinda hard.

There was a lot of kicking and hitting and some bruises were definitely starting to form, but the amount of blood coming from your leg was scary. The chances that the knife had nicked your femoral artery were relatively slim, especially given how long you’ve been bleeding, but you couldn’t help but waver on the side of caution.

After several failed attempts of throwing your body into the wood and kicking and hitting and pulling and crying and then repeating the cycle, you managed to pop a leg off. While the base of the leg stayed nailed to the floor, you spent the rest of your time trying to tear the chair from the rest of the legs, when you did you threw the top half against the concrete wall.

Taking two spindles from the back, you quickly scurry back to the mattress and wait for him to return. It’s only a matter of time before he decides to come back down here to taunt you or try something.

In your short time in what Harvey has so lovingly deemed ‘your room,’ you have come to a couple conclusions in an attempt to distract yourself from the excruciating pain in your thigh.

One being that this is not Harvey’s home. Of that you’re one hundred percent certain. Upstairs, you can hear the sound of two sets of feet thudding around. You can only assume this is his childhood home. You remember that his mother had died about a month ago, causing him to resign from his position as your agent’s personal assistant. She had mentioned to you that he planned to help his father as much as he could before he too passed away.

The second being that you were probably going to loose your leg. Any move this way or that sends a thousand knives through every nerve in your body. Your throat is scratchy and sore from how long you’ve been yelling, both in trying to get someone’s attention and in pain.

The light coming from the small window next to the ceiling hasn’t even begun to wane with the falling sun when the door opens again. The chain around your uninjured leg clatters when you pull your knee up to your chest. You don’t even attempt to move the other leg.

Harvey appears in the opening, a tray of food balances in his hands as he shuts the door behind him.

“Find some weapons?” He asks casually, setting the tray beside the lamp as he sinks to his knees on the mattress. Your knuckles are white around each spindle, the inside of your mouth is sensitive to the touch from how much nervous chewing you’ve been doing.

“Get away from me, or I’ll kill you.” You seethe, fighting through the swimming in your head that hasn’t gone away since you woke up here. He gives you a look like you’re a misbehaving child, but it’s soon replaced with anger when you slap him across the face with one of your weapons.

You were hoping the attack would break skin, but all it does is turns the skin over his cheekbone dark red.

Faster than you can blink, he pins both your wrists with one of his hands above your head on the mattress, using the other hand to deftly pluck each spindle from your grip.

“I’ve done so much for you. I’ve given you a room, and a career, and so much more, and yet you attack me.” The wooden spindles hit the wall next to the door, his body lowers to yours in a way you know means more trouble.

“You’re a creep and a perv and I don’t want you to touch me! You’ve done nothing for me. Only for yourself.” In a way that would make any young boy proud to know you, you collect all the spit and bile in your mouth before shooting it into his face. Part of it hits him in the eye, causing him to roar in outrage.

He lets you go, giving you a brief moment of relief, but he only wipes away the loogey before rocking his hand back hard enough to crack against the side of your face. In your moment of disorientation, he flips you to your stomach and undoes the cuff from around your leg. The chain rings against the ground when he tosses it to the side.

His knee went to your back, his hands went to your waist, and the moment you manage to come back to yourself, your fingers clawed at whatever flesh you could find near you. You screamed and flailed as much as you could, the shooting pain of your leg barely noticeable when your body was in panic mode.

All you can think as that this is the kind of thing you read about. People don’t actually get kidnapped and rapped by people they knew in college. But you know that isn’t true either. You are the daughter of a detective, things like this were apart of your everyday life growing up. Just never as personal as you or a friend being the victim. For some reason that makes you fight harder, a sickly feelings creeping into your throat when you felt his fingers brush under the hem of your underwear.

Then a sound pulled you from your hysteria, the door fell to the ground and a swarm of FBI Agents descended upon the concrete basement you still refused to call ‘your room.’ Spencer was the last of them to enter, but the unadulterated fury in his eyes was enough to tell you that was not a decision on his part.

To you, and maybe even everyone else in the room who managed to look at him for longer than a millisecond, he looked like an avenging angel. Every chocolate caramel curl perfectly framed his face, which looked like it was carved out of stone. His jaw was so tense you could slice your finger if your ran it along the edge. The revolver in his hands was unwavering, only growing in steadiness when he caught compromising position you were in.

The sob that came out of your throat was one of relief. Harvey lifted you from the mattress, reaching into his pocket to pull out that damned pocket knife. He held you so close to his chest that it made your skin crawl.

“Harvey Morgensten, drop the weapon.” Morgan’s voice boomed around the room. Harvey held you with one arm tensed around the front of your shoulders and the other holding a knife to your neck.

“She’s mine! You weren’t supposed to be able to find us!” He screamed, you winced away from the shrilling pitch that scraped against the inside of your ear. It caused him to push the knife into the skin over your exposed collarbone, blood beading around the the metal tip. Your heart was hammering beneath your ribs, your hands flexing at your sides, your mind racing for a way to get out of this situation.

Spencer’s lip went up in a snarl, you half expected him to let a growl tear through his chest as if he was a lion standing against an enemy. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention when he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes softening for just a fraction of a second when he looks down at you.

In that fraction of a second all of his defenses fall and you can see all the grief and panic in the bags under his eyes and the raw skin of his bottom lip.

“She was never yours, Harvey.” Spencer says, wincing when Harvey responds by yanking you even closer than before. His breath is hot on your neck, his lips so close that they brush against the skin on the back of your shoulder when he speaks.

“She was never yours, Dr. Reid. She is mine, she always will be.” You cry out in surprise, your fingers coming up to scratch at the arm around your shoulders when a pair of teeth sink into the crook of your neck as if you were the victim of a vampire or something equally supernatural and territorial.

The action has the desired effect on every agent watching, especially Reid, who stumbles forward before Hotch grabs him by the back of his arm. They don’t have a shot, not without hurting you. That much you can tell just from the look they share. It doesn’t take a genius to look around and see that the end of every gun in the room is pierced right through you.

It makes you angry. You grind the back of your teeth together when a dark chuckles echoes from behind you. In your mind’s eye, you see it all happening the way you see a scene from a book playing before you like a movie.

Reaching up with one hand, you grab the onto the arm holding the knife. With the pad of your thumb, you shove every bit of strength you have into the soft skin at the inside of his wrist. At the same time, you pull your head forward before sending it reeling back onto his already broken nose. This time, you can feel the crunch of bones as your skull makes contact with his face.

Simultaneously, he drops the knife to the floor with a cry and drops his arms to reach for his gushing nose. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage the couple of steps forward into Spencer’s arms. In a quick and graceful display of surprising strength, he carries you back into his embrace and spins around to shield you from the monster staggering back toward you.

Prentiss is quick to catch him in his blind pursuit for you, twisting both of his arms back without an ounce of sympathy for his pain. The jingle of handcuffs precede the finality of each click around his wrists.

“Everything I did, I did for you! I made your book come to life, I ruined the reputation of those girls, I did it all for you.” Harvey struggles against the restraints, twisting his body any way that he can to get a glimpse of you curled into Spencer’s chest.

You brain is caught between reality and a distant world, everything around you feels like make believe. Only the feeling of Spencer’s sweater curled into your fingers and his hand on the back of your head feels real. Harvey’s voice is like a recording being played three blocks away, still loud enough to hear but not close enough to focus on. He’s hissing threats and insults at Spencer’s back, that psycho-something in him finally snapping under the circumstances.

Somebody is yelling for a medic and there, just underneath it all, is the sound of someone wailing in such a way that words could never accurately describe the intense pain and grief being carried on every screaming sob. As the events from the last twelve hours come rushing back to you, reality takes the reins of your mind.

It’s you that’s crying like that. That desperate, broken sound is coming from your heaving chest. When your leg finally gives out from under you, the pain too much for your body to bare, he was already there holding you.

The screams fade into small shattered sobs just in time for medics to descend the stairs. Their hands are voices are everywhere, medical jargon flying over your head as they pry your hands from Spencer’s sweater. You pull back from every touch, the thoughts in your brain flying too fast for you to keep up.

It takes them a while to get you to the ambulance, but when they do you start to panic.

“Spencer?!” You cry out, unable to move your head too much due to the neck brace and head strap holding you down. It takes only a second for him to come into view, his eyes glassy and his smile watery. His hand slips into yours before they raise you up to the ambulance, your hand is icy to the touch.

The paramedics had mentioned a possible concussion, excessive blood loss, and signs of acute compartment syndrome. The fact that you had remained conscious and walking this long was a testament to your strong will and fighting spirit.

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, the black around the edges of your vision creeping in despite how hard you fought it. Spencer almost winced from how hard you tightened the grip on his fingers. His mouth moved, but you never heard the response, your mind fading quickly with every second.

“Don’t leave.”

The sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping was what woke you up. Groaning from all the aches and pains that surged up with consciousness, your eyes fluttered open before squinting into the bright hospital lights.

Your mother was the first thing that popped into your field of vision. The last time she had looked at you with such worry, you’d been in the ER after flipping your car into a ditch. In your defense, it was dark and, as a young driver, you over corrected when you hit a patch of standing water.

“Mama?” You pushed up on the bed, the pillow behind your head falling to the space between your lower back and the mattress. Your mom was quick to pick it up and fluff it back behind your head. She must really be concerned. Had they found cancer while you were out or something?

“Oh my goodness, (Y/N), you had me so worried.” Gingerly, you pressed the heel of your hand to the bandage that stuck to your hair and the corner of your head. Brushing the butterfly stitches that went across the cut on your cheek, you barely had time to react before she pulled you into a breath-stealing hug.

The wound on your neck smarted with the movement and you hissed in pain. Your mom pulled back, squishing your cheeks between her hands as tears began to collect on her lower lash line. Your mother was not the type to cry, about really anything, as far as you knew of. So to see her tearing up like this only added to the confusion and shock you were already feeling.

“Never join law enforcement. I thought I wanted you to, but I can’t deal with this kidnapping and near-death nonsense. I’m getting too old for it.” She teased tenderly, releasing your face from the death grip of love to wipe away the tears before they fell down her cheeks.

“When did you get here?” You asked, taking note of all the wires and tubes that connected to your body via IVs and sticky pads. A glance down at your leg eased the fear that you might have sustained a leg wound that would take your leg from you. You didn’t move it for fear of the pain you could already feel throbbing to the beat of your heart.

The bed dipped under your mother’s weight as she sat beside you, gathering one of your hands into both of hers. Scars littered the knuckles that had wiped away your tears and taught you to throw punches.

“I only got here about an hour ago, but you’ve had round the clock protection from the FBI so no need to get panicky. I can see that look creeping into your eyes.” Her own eyes squint a little, those highly observant detective skills kicking in. She’s always been able to read you like an open book, making you wonder if she would have been good at profiling.

Of course she would have, your mother was good at everything she set her mind to.

“FBI?” You’re full of so many questions, but they all fall away when you mom shifts out of your line of sight to reveal the sleeping agent tucked away into the corner of the room.

Spencer is curled onto a hospital chair that is placed into a corner beside the window looking out over the parking lot. His back is leaned against the wall, one shoulder leaned against the back of the chair. One long leg is curled into the seat and the other is stretched out next to the chair. From across the room, you can see the shadows his eyelashes cast across his cheekbones in slumber. Oddly enough, your first thought is of Sleeping Beauty.

The sight is enough to make your heart feel like it’s squeezing around a ball of broken glass. Before your mother can read too much into the mixture of emotions that, surely, skew your features, you look away.

“He’s been here since they brought you in. I met his team, they’re a fine group of agents. You didn’t tell me you were friends with anyone in the FBI.” Before she can say anything else, you clear your throat. Putting one hand, a little dramatically, to your chest you give your mother a look you haven’t used since you were a kid trying to stay home from school.

“Mama, I’m a little hungry. Can you get me something to eat?” It works like a charm. You’ve never seen your mother jump so quickly before, she races out the door like a woman on a mission. It warms your aching heart.

“Maybe you should have tried acting.” Spencer’s voice is groggy with sleep as he sits up and stretches into awareness.

“How long have you been awake?” He meets your gaze, his expression soft and earth-shaking. When you imagined seeing Spencer wake up first thing in the morning, it was never in a hospital room while feelings of betrayal and confusion stabbed into your chest.

“Just long enough to hear your mom talk about my team. She’s a nice lady.” He doesn’t move from the chair, sensing the tension in the room the way only a profiler can. He’s afraid that if he gets up, you’ll make him leave. He doesn’t need to know that he’s right.

“How long have I been out?” You’re asking every question except the one you’ve been dying to ask.

“A day. You had a pretty bad concussion and acute compartment syndrome in your leg. They weren’t sure you were going to be able to retain control of the muscle given how long you were kept hostage with it untreated, but I know you’re too stubborn to let that happen.” The silence that follows is stifling, your eyes interlocked in a battle of wills.

Was this the same man that had accused you of being a serial killer?

You’re the first to look away, fidgeting with a fray string from the blanket thrown over your legs.

“I think we need some time apart.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry.” You both speak at the same time, but your words drain the blood from Spencer’s face when they finally register. He had hoped that, by some miracle, you would forgive him of the unforgivable sin he had committed against you in the name of justice. He understood why you didn’t.

“I just,” The threads of the blanket you recognize from your childhood bedroom bump underneath your fingers when you smooth your hand over it, “I want to forgive you. But all I keep thinking is that none of this would have happened to me if you had used all those brains in your head instead of all the insecurities in you heart.”

It’s like a slap across the face, and yet Spencer can’t help but feel like he deserves it. Even still, none of it hurts as much as the crack in your voice and the tears that you try so desperately to blink away before he can see them.

It isn’t often that Spencer Reid is rendered speechless, but the guilt and heartache have stolen all the words of every language and all the breath from the air right out of his mouth.

“It’s still so fresh in my mind, I think if we distance ourselves then we’ll be able to come back to something rather than trying to scramble to bridge together the chasm that has formed between us.”

He wants to argue, everything in him screams that he needs to fight for you, but the look in your eyes stops him. If you need space, then space is what he will give you. Spencer would do anything to make this right. He wishes he had the intelligence and technology to build a time machine and go back to two mornings ago.

“I understand,” he says solemnly, trying to talk around the hurt in his chest that is growing like a tumor. “But I promised I wouldn’t leave you. I’ll give you space, but I’m only giving you the space of the wall between this room and the hallway.”

And then he’s gone, staying true to his word and sinking to the floor outside your room. When you mother comes back, holding a collection of jellos and cookies and granola bars from the hospital cafeteria, her steps falter at the sight of the young doctor outside your door.

Inside you’re curled into yourself, taking very deliberate breaths into the cotton stuffed pillow you have buried into your chest. You half expect your heart monitor to be screaming for the nurses, but despite a small quickening in the constant beeps, it gives away none of your heartbreak.

“(Y/N)?” You look up, meeting your mothers eyes with tear stained cheeks. Your head is going to be throbbing later, but for now you’re only focused on the sharp pains shooting through your ribs and clouding every other pain in your body.

Between one gasp of air and the next, your mother drops all the foods to the chair vacated by Spencer before rushing to pull you into her arms.

“Can you die from a broken heart?” You whimper, feeling like a small child as you bury your head into her chest. She smells like home, running her hand over the back of your head with gentle shushing sounds.

Outside, Spencer wipes at his own tears, a silent statue of sadness protecting you from everything but himself.

[kittenofdoomage]

Traps

@badthingshappenbingo​ Prompt: Compelling Voice

Fandom: Supernatural

Ao3 Link: Traps On Ao3

Rating: Mature

Summary: She’s on Michael’s trail to get Dean back (spoilers for S14)

Characters/Pairing: Michael!Dean, Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 2344

Warnings: angst, angst, angst, mind control, character death. This really is angsty, guys.

She’s too late again. The small cabin - more of a shack really - is empty except for the corpse on the floor, his burned and hollowed out gaze fixed on the ceiling. Michael’s gone, Dean with him, and she’s only following a trail of bodies.

With a weary sigh, she sinks down into the armchair by the door, sliding her hands along the upholstery to clutch the arms tightly. Her phone beeps, so she pulls it out, finding another hit, Singapore this time. There’s no pattern to his movements, except that there’s a body or sometimes bodies, wherever he goes.

Sam’s left voicemails again, begging her to come home. It feels like forever since she’s seen him, but it’s only actually been three weeks. A little more since she’s last laid eyes on Dean, stumbling through the portal from the apocalypse world. She promised Sam she’d go home but she can’t, not until she has him back.

She doesn’t bother telling anyone about the body in the shack, putting her foot to the floor of her battered Honda and gunning it away. Within hours, she’s got another possible sighting, and she’s turning East, still hoping she can get back the only man she’s ever really loved.

Sam calls. She ignores it. Pulls into a motel about sixty miles from where she needs to be because her eyes are closing on her and she can’t try and pretend she doesn’t need to sleep anymore. She manages four hours, still too much, and she’s back on the road, gas pedal pressed down, not even the radio for background noise.

There’s a good chance any song she hears is gonna remind her of Dean, and she’s not sure she’s strong enough to not cry.

The sun’s coming up as she pulls into Bridge Falls, over the steel construct that passes the waterfalls that gave the town their name. It’s picturesque, small-town America, and she hasn’t got a clue what Michael would want here.

A few hours of driving around leave her with nothing but an empty gas tank. She finds a motel, books a room, and tries to contact the witch who’s been tracking Michael for her. He doesn’t answer, and she’s left alone in the quiet, unsure what to do next.

The bedside lamp flickers and she hears wings before she sees him; her breath catches in her throat and she grips the edge of the bed she’s sitting on, staring at him in disbelief.

“You’ve been looking for me,” Michael drawls, inspecting his fingernails as he casually leans against the divider by the door. “Why?”

“You know why,” she rasps back, reaching for the pistol in the back of her pants.

Michael’s not dumb enough for that. She’s surrounded by grace in the next minute, suffocated by it, and the archangel steps towards her, finally looking right at her. Those green eyes she’s so familiar with hold nothing but contempt and amusement, glowing blue as he exerts his power to get into her head.

He’s watching her memories of Dean, right down to the explicit stuff, making her watch too, and there’s curiosity now when he looks at her. “What do you want?” he asks in a low growl.

His question is an order that burrows into her skull and forces an answer from her lips. “D-Dean,” she chokes out, and Michael pulls her to her feet with the squeeze of his hand around thin air.

“And what makes you think I’ll give him back to you?” he murmurs, inches away from her now. He doesn’t even smell like Dean - he smells like burned ozone and embers, like destruction on her tongue. “What makes you think,” Michael continues, lifting his chin, looking at her like she’s a bug that needs to be squashed, “he’s even still alive?”

She doesn’t. But she’s never stopped believing in Dean. She’s seen the things he and Sam have done, the things they’ve defied, and she refuses to believe that this is how it ends for him. Tears are clinging to her lashes as she fights Michael’s hold, staring him dead in the eye.

“I have faith,” she spits bitterly.

Surprisingly, he laughs, and it’s a foreign, stiff sound from Dean’s lips, almost as if the archangel hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. He moves with a mechanical smoothness that belonged to Dean first, turning his back on her but keeping her in his celestial grip.

“Your witch is dead,” he comments; she thinks she might have known that already. “I thought it was Sam at first, he’s usually the one who comes running after Dean, right?”

When she doesn’t say anything, he glances at her, his lips quirking into a smile.

“Answer me,” he commands, and the order is too powerful to resist.

“Yes,” she squeaks. 

“Imagine my surprise when it’s you,” he continues, tilting his head as he finds her duffel bag on the floor. “The girlfriend.” He spits it like it’s a bad word, and she’s helpless to do anything but watch as he rifles through her belongings, finding her wallet and the stupid photo booth picture of her and Dean she’s kept tucked in there for twenty years.

Can Dean hear her? See her? Is he even aware?

“He’s not,” Michael informs her and she grinds her teeth together, willing him out of her head. He finds that funny, chuckling as he tucks the photo into his pocket. “I should send a message,” he whispers, drifting back towards her. “A way to tell Winchester junior that he’s not going to get anywhere,” his hands lifts and he drags his thumb over her bottom lip, “by following me.”

The pinning warmth of his grace recedes. He knows she’s not strong enough to fight him now, he’s seen every corner of her mind. She doesn’t move when he releases her, remaining on the spot, his fingers curled around her jaw now.

“I could snap your neck right now,” he hums, tracing the line of her cheek with one long finger. “Let Sam know where to find your corpse.”

His hand drops to her chest, sliding against the exposed skin where her stolen flannel is hanging open. It’s warm against her collarbone, and so much like Dean that she feels herself weakening, ready to beg for his life.

“I could keep you,” Michael continues. He’s pressing under her shirt now, his hand is almost right over her heart. “You’d do whatever is necessary to get Dean out of this alive, wouldn’t you?” There’s a lie on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t let it fall, shaking as his fingers tuck underneath the strap of her bra. “I can see why he enjoys you,” he purrs. “You’re warm and soft.” He’s closer now, his nose pressed to her cheek as he inhales deeply. “He likes the way you smell.”

Please stop. Please stop. She can’t bring herself to voice her plea. If he’s going to kill her, she wants him to get it over with.

“I don’t think I’ll kill you,” he chuckles.

His hand gets warmer, and it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel good. It’s starting to burn, and she whimpers, trying to pull away.

“Stay still,” he orders, and she can’t help but obey.

The burning gets worse, like it’s reaching into her chest but worse, and she can feel memories slipping from her grasp, stolen away. Each little piece is hacked at, gnawed, burned out of her, and when Micheal finally pulls away, there’s a blank stare on her face.

He’s left a handprint that she’ll forget about in the morning.

“You’re going to sleep now,” he murmurs, the power of his voice just as strong even though he’s stepped away. She blinks three times, and the room is empty, and she doesn’t remember why she was even there in the first place. For a few seconds, she looks around, before a yawn splits her face, so she lies down, drifting off fully-clothed.

When she wakes, it’s daybreak. She packs her bag and checks out, trying to remember why she was even in Bridge Falls. There’s no hunt here, not even a whiff of demonic possession, so she’s back on the road by lunch, pulling into the next store she sees to buy a replacement cellphone. It’s easy to reload the numbers onto it, and almost instantly, she’s barraged by messages.

<<It’s Sam, can you please call me?>>

<<Sam again, just getting worried, it’s been three weeks, can you please call?>>

<<Y/N, please ->>

There’s text messages too, referring to someone called Dean, but she doesn’t know any Sam Winchesters or any Deans. As she’s mulling it over, her phone rings, and she answers, hearing a male voice on the other end.

“Thank god,” he sighs. “I was starting to think you were dead.”

“Who is this?” she demands, frowning at the familiarity in his tone.

He’s obviously surprised by her reaction as he stutters out his name. “It’s Sam, Y/N. Sam Winchester.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong number, dude,” she scoffs and hangs up. He rings twice more, she doesn’t answer and blocks the number.

By nightfall, she’s picked up a case in Lousiana. The odd phone calls have stopped and though it puzzles her, for some reason she doesn’t dwell on it. People are dying, and she’s got a job to do.

Two weeks later, she’s on the trail of a ghoul pack in Minnesota, and she’s stopped for some supplies at a local Walmart. She’s standing in the snack aisle, debating the merits of Cheetos vs Doritos when someone calls her, and at first, she thinks it’s her imagination. It’s repeated, closer, so she turns, raising an eyebrow at the slightly breathless and absolutely gorgeous man standing in front of her.

In the next second, he’s got her arms around her, and she reacts the only way she knows how; she flips him and puts him on his ass, swiftly pulling her gun free from her pants and jamming the muzzle into his chest.

“Who the hell are you?” she demands, and the guy splutters, staring up at her in shock with his hands by his face in surrender.

“Calm down, Y/N!” he stutters out. She narrows her eyes and jabs the gun in harder.

“How do you know my name?”

He seems confused, tilting his head, squinting at her like he needs to double-check what he’s seeing. It’s too familiar, it hurts her head - she pulls away, putting the width of the aisle between them. A security guard appears, giving her a quizzical look. “We all good here?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she snaps back, and he doesn’t seem to particularly care too much, wandering back off to his station.

The guy hasn’t moved from the floor, though he’s lifted himself up onto one elbow, and he’s still staring at her.

“You know me?” she grunts out, retrieving her basket of purchases as he gets to his feet, brushing himself down. His shock seems to have worn off but he’s still giving her a look that makes her feel like he knows her, intimately. The throb in her head becomes a burst of pain, and she hisses, pressing the heel of her palm to the middle of her forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” the man asks, concern in his voice, one hand touching her shoulder.

Someone’s laughing at her, a deep, throaty chuckle, but there’s no one there except her and the guy.

“You know me,” she whispers, blinking at him, and this time it’s a statement, to which he nods, visibly swallowing.

“Let’s get you some air,” he murmurs; she stops him with a hand to his chest.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

He smiles, and it’s a fucking gorgeous smile, reaching right to his eyes. “Dean,” he replies.

There’s a thousand images associated with that name, and it’s too much. He’s got her as far as the salsa aisle, and she’s flagging, the pain in her head like a flood, freezing every muscle, constricting her chest. Dean catches her when she falls, cradling her like he would a lover.

Which is exactly what she was, before Michael stripped away two decades of friendship and their final attempt at something real. He’s given it back to her now, but she’s not gonna be able to do anything. It’s a punishment, for not letting him go.

Dean’s begging, crying her name now - there’s a crowd gathering, none of them willing to approach - and she can feel tears in the corners of her eyes. How the hell could she forget him? Dean’s been the center of her universe for so long, she should have known something was wrong.

He’s crying. This punishment wasn’t just for her. The first thing Dean would do is look for her, and Michael’s just reminding him that he’s never going to be free.

She can’t even get the words out for the pain. 

She wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Her chest slows and stops, and Dean cries harder, cupping her cheek as his tears mingle with hers. Someone’s called an ambulance, they’re on their way, he hears it but he doesn’t really hear anything. He tells her he loves her because it might bring her back, he’s managed bigger miracles before, except her skin’s getting cold already and her eyes don’t see anything.

Sam’s there by the time they’re pronouncing time of death, and Dean’s got one of those stupid foil blankets around his shoulders. The EMT tells him it’s shock, and he’s very sorry for his loss; Dean’s quiet, staring at the covered lump of a body where Y/N used to be.

He doesn’t drive home. He lets Sam take care of him. Stays in his room and looks at the picture he found in the pocket of the tux Michael had been wearing. The photo of them, so long ago, when their friendship was the only thing that got him through. Now he feels like he’s got nothing.

Nothing except revenge.

[winterscaptain]

transfer request. part one.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

asking for a transfer request form doesn’t go as planned.  words: ~1500

a/n: this is a little angsty for a minute, but then it gets cute as hell. i’d also be open to continuing this one if there’s interest!

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

Y/N knocks on the door to Aaron’s office and pokes her head in, just like she did yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.

“Got a minute?”

Hotch looks up from his report and beckons her in with one of those smiles that couldn’t be considered a smile if it was anyone else. She closes the door behind her and steps inside.

He sets his pen down and leans forward across his desk, lacing his fingers, giving her his full attention. “What can I do for you, my love?”

The endearment brings a small smile to her face. The end of the day was their favorite, whether in the office or in the field. They could actually be themselves, or as close as they could be away from home. “Do you have a unit transfer request form in that massive desk of yours?” She approaches the desk in question and sits across from him, planting her elbow on the polished surface with her chin in her palm.

The lightness drops out of his face. “For whom?”

She huffs a laugh, missing the shift in his mood. “For me. If we’re finally going to tell Strauss, I’ll need to transfer to another unit. It’s better than living under a microscope and being at risk for conduct hearings every other week.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet. The smile falls from her face.

“Aaron?” She reaches for one of his hands. He leans back and crosses his arms.

He’s out of her reach.

“You’re requesting a transfer.” It isn’t a question. His dark eyes are flinty under the shadow of his furrowed brow. For the first time in years, she’s almost afraid of his severity.

“We knew this was on the table, right?” She searches for the warmth she knows and loves, but comes up short.

The muscle in his jaw flexes, and she sits back. “There’s nothing you wanted more than the BAU,” he says. “You told me that once.”

“Well, it was true...once.” It was safe to say her priorities had shifted in her years with the BAU and her nearly-two years with Aaron. “Being a profiler is not as important to me as it used to be. There are more important things, people in my life now.” You. Jack.

“You are leaving the BAU.” His voice is dangerously quiet. “You’re giving up your profiling career? For what?”

She takes a deep breath and stands, resisting the urge to pace. “For you, Aaron. I’m leaving the BAU because you, Jack, and this family are the most important parts of my life.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You can’t let me do that?”

He heaves a sigh and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll rephrase. I cannot co-sign your departure from your chosen career path for my benefit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right, counselor, because it’s only for your benefit. Because everything I do is for you!” She can’t help but raise her voice.

He shoots out of his chair and slams his hands into the desk in a rare show of frustration. “You cannot give up the BAU for me.”

“It’s my choice, Aaron. I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.” She throws her blazer on the back of the chair, suddenly feeling overheated and shaken. She rolls up her sleeves and begins to pace.

He watches her, his face impassive.

“I decided over a year ago that I would have to choose between you or the BAU. I know that. I knew that. I’ve made peace with it.” She’s still louder than she should be, considering the lack of soundproofing and the open blinds, but she can’t bring herself to care.

His jaw tightens again. This end of the Hotch Glare isn’t any more pleasant than it was years ago.

“Guess what, Aaron? I choose you,” she continues, nearly at a shout. “I choose you and Jack. Every. Single. Time. If you want me to pick the BAU over staying with you,” she throws her hands up, “then we need to take this conversation home and really talk about it.” A spike of fear strikes through her chest. Please don’t end this. Don’t do this to me.

Her outburst lingers in the air, and her lip disappears between her teeth. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.  

+++

Derek and Emily have put money on the outcome of the visible disagreement. Emily has $150 on an engagement. Derek has $50 on an impasse and a week’s worth of snide remarks. They can hear and see everything from downstairs.

"I hate it when mommy and daddy fight," Penelope says, forlorn. Derek wraps an arm around her. 

Spencer returns from the break room holding trail mix. He wordlessly offers it to JJ, who waves him off in favor of her secret desk stash of Bugles. Emily jams a hand into the trail mix bag and shoves a handful into her mouth, her eyes never leaving the window. 

JJ extends her arm, and Derek absconds with a handful of Bugles before she clutches the bag to her chest once more. 

+++

Hotch sighs, pulling a hand down his face. He acknowledged the inevitability of her transfer months ago and refused to accept it. The thought of working without her makes his head hurt.

He isn’t angry at her  - really. The anxiety of losing her in the field. The knowledge that she’s the one. The fear of repeating the mistakes he made with Haley. It ignites something defensive and hot in him. It's not her fault. 

When he finally speaks again, his voice is gentle - apologetic. “There’s no need for that.”

His eyes soften as he walks around his desk and takes her face in his hands, acutely aware that the entire team is watching them from the bullpen. She melts almost immediately and leans into him, her hands instinctively winding around his waist under his blazer.

Let them see. I don’t care.

“I’m sorry.” She can feel his breath in her hair, and the warmth drops into her, soothing her anger and hurt.

“I forgive you.” After a moment, “I’m sorry, too.”

“What are you sorry for?” There's a hint of amusement in his voice, and it makes her smile. 

“I raised my voice at you. We said we wouldn’t do that.”

He kisses the crown of her head and she knows that she’s forgiven. He gently pushes her back to meet her eyes. “I’ll sign the transfer form on one condition.”

Brow furrowed, she looks back at him.

He steps back to sit back at his desk and flips through the file folders in one of the drawers. “You said, during your...impassioned speech that you’ll always choose Jack and me.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He slips the piece of paper onto his desk. “I didn’t want to do this here, but considering the entire team is eavesdropping and spying on us anyway –“ they both look down into the bullpen, and the team, all huddled around JJ’s desk, plead 'not guilty' to the unheard charge by swiftly averting their eyes.

“Now seems as good a time as any.” He slips his hand into his jacket pocket and then tucks it behind his back. The entire team trains their eyes back to the window, very nearly climbing over each other as they try to see inside. JJ and Emily share a knowing look over Spencer's head. 

Y/N steps forward, feeling suddenly and uncomfortably hot again. She shakes her head with a small, disbelieving laugh. “What’s in your hand, Aaron?”

He places a ring on top of the transfer form and slides it toward her.

She takes a trembling breath. “Do you always carry a ring in your pocket, or is this a special occasion?”

“Well…I purchased it with Emily and JJ’s help about a year ago, and I carry it with me everywhere.” He looks at her, and she can see the smile in his eyes. “Why do you think I never let you take my dry cleaning?” He smiles for real this time. "I never let you keep your gun -"

" – In the gun safe." Realization dawns on her face. 

"In the gun safe." 

"You kept that ring in the gun safe overnight. Every night." 

He nods. 

Oh my god. He's so uptight and I love him so much. 

As Aaron walks around his desk, he subtly palms the ring off its surface, keeping it tucked in his hand. He crosses to her, coming to rest by her side. She faces him and belatedly realizes she’s crying, with her hands over her mouth.

“I know you’re not one for tradition –“

“ – and your knee is still bruised," she says, laughing through her tears. 

Chuckling, he brushes tears away from her cheeks. “And my knee is still bruised. So I’ll ask you from right here.” He raises the ring between them. “You have brought life and fun into our lives and our home. You’ve been a mother and friend to Jack when he needed one, loving him like your own son without reservation or hesitation. We’re not always easy to love, but you do it so well.”

Y/N reaches up, carding her fingers through the hair at his temples. He leans into her touch and they look at each other fondly for a moment. Her fingers find the nape of his neck, still playing with his hair. He pulls her flush against him by the small of her back, the ring sparkling between them.

“Marry me?”

read part two here!

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine xoxo

[joshua-flipping-washington]

EllieDina Week - Day 6: Redemption.

Shit, I apologize for this one being late again! But it got away from me, and ended up being my longest story yet. I hope that you guys enjoy .

Rating: Teen and up.

•○°●

Ellie stands stock-still on the worn front porch, the seafoam green paint that used to cover it in bright droves, was peeling off in little chips and flakes. Ellie raises her hand and closes it in a loose fist, her hand is shaking as she brings it forward and knocks on the dark blue front door. With a familiar three toned knock, she closes her eyes and takes a step back.

She counts backwards from ten, and draws in four big breaths and then exhales. Repeating until she feels herself start to calm down. " Dammit, Ellie- Calm yourself! It's just Dina and little Spud! We are just going out on a picnic, nothing too serious. " Ellie grimaced at her own words towards herself, she knew that she had every right to panic. Dina could have cut Ellie out of her and JJ's life, and just moved on. But she'd chosen to let Ellie prove herself, and Ellie would always be eternally grateful for that.

Ellie's green eyed gaze had drifted down to the porch at some point, so when the door went flying open she was quick to raise her head and brace for impact. She crouched down just in time for JJ to come barreling into her arms, giggling with delight as he wrapped his arms around Ellie. " El! I made yew something! " He excitedly moved back a bit, and presented Ellie a bracelet that was made out of twine, she smiled as she held her wrist out.

She watched him struggle for a moment with getting it tied onto her wrist, but once he did, she chuckled as he smiled proudly. His missing front tooth making it ten times more adorable than should be legal. Ellie turned her wrist over and examined the bracelet, it was covered in multicolored beads and had a few charms between a couple of the beads. She ruffled his hair, and grinned at him. " Whoa! This looks super badass, Spud! You made this all by yourself? "

" He made it at school. " Dina's voice suddenly sounded, making Ellie jump slightly and raise her head to stare up at the woman leaning against the door jamb with a loving smile on her face, and the basket for their picnic held in her hands. " He was asked to make a gift for the people who mean the most to him. " Dina raised the hand holding the basket, showing that she was wearing one as well.

Ellie looked back at the bracelet JJ had made for her, then she looked back at him. She sniffed, not at all oblivious to the tears that welled in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, pulling JJ into a small embrace. " Thanks for the new piece, JJ. I will wear it with pride. I still- I can't believe that you are old enough to attend school! " She let him go, and slowly got to her feet.

JJ rushed back past Dina and inside the house as soon as Ellie had released him from the hug. " I forgot! " He shouted as he zoomed upstairs.

Ellie looked at Dina with her brow arched in confusion, but Dina just shrugged her shoulders. Letting her know that she had no idea what he meant by that. " He's a wild card, he could have meant anything. You know, he kind of reminds me of you, when you first came to Jackson. Not the stealing a whole bunch of jerky bit, but just your general personality when you opened up and started talking with me. "

Ellie's mouth fell open with a soft ' oh '. Her eyes shimmered as the memories all came flooding back, and she chuckled. " Well, looks like your work is cut out for you. Having to deal with a replica of tiny fourteen year old me. "

" Yeah, I guess that it is. " Dina said with amusement, she turned to face the stairs as she heard JJ come parading back downstairs. His backpack all packed up and clipped onto him, like he was ready for a weekend of adventuring. " Whoa! What's all that for, buddy? " Dina asked as she watched him walk back onto the porch.

" Nothing, it's a secret. " Was all JJ said, his missing tooth making the his S's sound like he was whistling. He marched down the steps and stopped at the bottom. " I'm ready! " He announced, looking at both Ellie and Dina expectantly.

" Well, alright- As long as it isn't another one of those mice from school. I told you that they are alive, and can't breathe inside of your backpack or pocket. " Dina spoke as she walked out the door, closing it behind her.

JJ gave a firm shake of his head. " No, is not a mouse, Mama. Promise. "

Dina let out a breath of relief, happy to not have to deal with THAT situation again. " Oh, thank god. "

Ellie looked confused at the mention of mice from school, and all it made her think of was shooting rats with a BB gun back in Boston. She walked down the stairs with Dina, gently nudging JJ's shoe with the toe of her boot. " Fine, keep your secrets, Spud! " She teased.

Ellie was trying really hard not to think about the fact that JJ was going to school every weekday and she was missing it, because she lived back where she used to. When Joel was still alive. The place brought back a lot of feelings, especially one's about all she'd done to fuck up her life. But thankfully, she wasn't ever home long enough to be constantly reminded of the past. She just longed for the days when she could cuddle with Dina and JJ in bed, forgetting all the horrors of the world.

JJ gently tugged on the sleeve of Ellie's flannel, pulling her out of her thoughts. " Let's goooo! I'm starving. "

A grin stretched across Ellie's face as the old joke came to her mind, and she couldn't resist. " Hi, starving! I'm Ellie. It's great to meet you. " She said as she shook JJ's hand with great force. Causing him to laugh and try to tug away.

" You are such a dork. " Dina said with a fond smile, beginning to walk in the direction towards the center of town.

Ellie follows after Dina, JJ trailing along beside her. His backpack making an awful lot of ruckus as he bounced around like the happy kid he was. She side-eyed the bag with suspicion, her mind practically teaming with curiosity. What on earth could a four year old have that's so big of a secret, it must be hidden in a backpack?

Dina stopped once they reached the front gates, talking to one of the guards on duty. She had talked with Maria before hand, just to make sure it was safe. But she still needed to let the guards know they were leaving out. She smiled brightly at them, grabbing Ellie and JJ's hands, and leading them out of Jackson's front gate.

Dina drew in a large breath, exhaling happily. " I know it seems dumb, but the air always smells so much more crisp outside the walls. " She laughed as JJ attempted to mimic her, she tickled his sides with wiggly fingers, causing him to shriek in delight.

Ellie couldn't keep the big smile off of her face, she gave a shake of her head in disagreement. " I don't think it's dumb, especially not when I know exactly what you mean. "

《 》

The walk to the picnic spot had been a rather uneventful thing, but JJ's excitement about every little leaf, critter and river definitely made it worth it.

Dina came to a stop right on a gorgeous riverbank, a field of small bright yellow flowers surrounded them. She smiled as she saw the look of awe stretch across her sons face, but she definitely wasn't surprised to see that Ellie was just as mystified. " Ah, I see that you two love the view here already! "

Dina set down the picnic basket and opened it up, pulling out the small fleece blanket she'd brought for them to enjoy their picnic on.

JJ ran around near the waters edge, laughing and giggling as the water splashed up and licked his feet. " It's cold! Ellie, come! Play with me! " He says in excitement as he crouches down and starts splashing at the waters surface.

" Coming, Spud! " Ellie shouts as she jumps over a fallen log and squats down beside JJ at the waters edge, watching as he concentrates on catching imaginary critters. " Look! I caught a big one! " He says as he holds up his empty fist.

" Whoa, nelly! That fish is as big as you were when you were just a little Potato! " Ellie says in excitement, miming the size of the imaginary fish and placing her hands on her head in wonder.

" Alright, enough fishing you two! It's time to eat. " Dina calls out to them from her seat on the blanket, she had been watching them bond for about ten minutes, a loving smile on her face. Despite all they'd been through, Dina knew that Ellie was the missing half that JJ needed in his life.

Both JJ and Ellie rush over to the blanket, laughing as they flop down onto it.

Ellie was amazed by the amount of food that tiny basket had been able to hold, it was packed with fruit, cheese, fresh bread and jam preserves, beef jerky and a big thermos of water. " I have no idea, how you managed to bring this much stuff. But oh man, this is a feast built for a king. "

Dina shook her head with a snort, gently shoving Ellie by the shoulder, before handing out the plates. " Shut up, you dope. It's normal sized picnic basket. "

Ellie stuck her tongue out playfully at Dina, earning a slight kick from the other woman's foot. Oh… How much Ellie had missed this, just spending time and being in the here and now with Dina and JJ.

Dina served all of them the fresh fruit, bread with raspberry preserves, the cheese and jerky as well as a glass of water. They all sat in silence as they ate, listening to the sounds of the forest. The soft babbling of the river, the leaves brushing against each other as a breeze blows through them.

JJ was seated in Dina's lap, he was munching on a piece of apple, while talking excitedly about something he'd learned in school. And Ellie was just beyond herself, head over heels in love as she watched Dina listen to him speak with such patience, love and understanding in those beautiful brown eyes.

The sun was reaching that beautiful golden peak in the sky, and it cast it's golden rays on the both of them. It was a moment Ellie wished she could preserve forever, Dina's freckled face as she laughed and tickled JJ's side.

" I love you. " Ellie blurted out in a firm, matter-of-fact tone. " And I always have, I never stopped. Even when it seemed like I had, and I lost myself. I love you, and- I want things to be like they used to be. I want to wake up in the bed beside you, and prove to you… How much you mean to me. I want to be a constant in JJ's life, I don't want to watch him grow up from the sidelines. " Ellie sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

" And I know, I have no right coming out and saying all of this- But I've been talking about it all with Dr. Monroe. And- And I just needed to get it off my chest, I know that it's stupid- And that all of that is probably the last thing you want, after all I've done. " Ellie didn't realize that she was tearing up until one of the sneaky fuckers slipped down her cheek.

Dina stared at Ellie in shock, her brown eyes flashing with so many different emotions as she searches Ellie's green eyes for any hint that she was fabricating something, anything. But when she saw none of that, and only a look mixed with fear, adoration and love. " Ellie… "

Could Dina let Ellie back into her life like that? Part of her was so unsure, and felt that same fear creeping back up. But she shoved it back down, and told it to shove it. Ellie had been working for two years, to earn back her trust. And… Dina couldn't lie, though she still shielded herself and JJ. Ellie had earned that trust the second she started truly working to fix things in her life. The things that ran deep, and cut to the bone.

Dina's eyes softened as she reached her hand forward and gently caressed Ellie's cheek. " Ellie, you stole my heart the moment I met you. I can't say that it doesn't hurt, when I think back to that night. But- I think that with time, we can mend those wounds. " She leaned forward and pressed a loving kiss to her lips.

JJ giggled and scrambled out of Dina's lap, flopping down onto the blanket in between them. He pulled his backpack off and opened it up, pulling out a small sketchbook that Ellie had found for him. He opened it up to a page it seemed he knew by heart, and proudly showed it to the both of them. It had the words ' My family ' scrawled across the top in typical toddler fashion.

Ellie furiously wiped at her eyes as she observed the drawing, then she laughed and pulled both JJ and Dina into a hug. " Ugh, I love you both so much it physically pains me- Would be a shame... If you were stuck with me. " Ellie said as she pulled back and looked Dina in the eyes. " Dina… I never thought I'd find myself ever saying these words- Especially now. But- What better time than now. Marry me? You wonderful, gorgeous woman. I want to spend the rest of my life, with you and JJ. "

Dina really didn't think that she could be more surprised than she was at Ellie's confession. But she certainly didn't expect to break down in tears, voice thick with emotion as she answered. " Yes, I wouldn't want it any other way. You… Complete us. "

JJ was still a little to young yet to completely grasp the concept, but he was happy because his Mama and Mom were. They spent the rest of the day just spending time together, talking and laughing. They had been given a second chance to grow together as a family.

[spnsisterimagines]

Free Dogs

Summary - Y/N sneaks a dog into the bunker without telling her brothers and she spends several days keeping it away from them until the dog smells the ribs Dean brought home. 

Pairings - Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader, Slight!Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Word Count - 3,672 words 

Who could resist such a cute face? The puppy was a Labrador mix, left alone in a box with the word 'FREE' written on the side in big black marker. He yipped excitedly when Y/N approached, her hand clasped around the plastic bag that held the take-out she was bringing back to the bunker for her brothers to enjoy. The box was cleverly placed between the restaurant and the parking lot where the Impala sat comfortably, not knowing it would be sharing its leather seats with a slobbery, eager guest. 

Y/N truthfully would've just pet him and moved on, knowing well enough how much Dean hated dogs. Not to mention the life they lived was no place for a pet other than Castiel. But how could she just leave him there? He was clearly the last of the bunch and nobody was giving him any attention. Not that he minded. He bounced up and down excitedly in the empty box, trying his best to lick Y/N's hand. 

"I can't, I can't, I can't," Y/N pleaded, jumping from foot to foot, readjusting her grip on the bag. The puppy, on his seventh hop, caught the edge of the box and sent it falling to its side with the puppy flopping over, his ear falling over his big brown eyes. That didn't hinder him in the slightest. He took the opportunity to jump back to his feet and make a dash for Y/N, jumping so his front paws laid across her lap. "Damn it! Okay, fine, you win!" 

The puppy almost seemed to understand that she gave into him, barking excitedly and running in circles. Eventually Y/N bent down and bundled him up in her arms before grabbing the food and running toward the Impala before anyone had a chance to chastise her because Dean was going to be so pissed off if he found out she picked a dog up. As for Sam...he'd most likely just tell her the cons of having a dog around with all the hunting. There was a huge possibility the dog could be hurt. But she couldn't just leave him there! That was cruel, and she knew he'd do the same. 

"Okay, just let me put my jacket over the seats so you don't get hair every-" The puppy seemed to ignore her, jumping from her arms as soon as she opened the passenger door. He quickly made himself comfortable, turning thrice in one place before sitting down. "Oh, God, Dean's gonna disown me. But that's what you want, right?" The puppy panted in response, his tail wagging obnoxiously fast. Deciding to get the drive over with, Y/N rushed to the driver's side and slipped herself inside, jamming the key into the ignition and putting her in drive and taking off back to the bunker where her brothers were waiting impatiently for the food they had asked for. 

The drive didn't take long, but Y/N spent several minutes waiting in the driver's seat. She was in the garage, where Dean had been keeping her since Dorothy had blown through. She calculated how she could sneak the puppy past the living area where Sam and Dean always were to her room and put the puppy there before coming back to give them the food. She decided to make a run for it and hope for the best. She turned to the puppy, looking at him seriously. He sniffed at her face, giving her a lick. 

"Stop, we need to focus," she demanded. "Okay, I'm going to pick you up and I'm going to run to my room and leave you there until I'm done with dinner. I'll come back once the coast is clear and give you water. I'll have to wait until the morning to get you food. How does that sound? Does that sound like a decent plan?" The dog merely stared. "Great, let's go."

Getting him and the food up the long staircase was easier said than done. The puppy was squirming, wanting to explore his new surroundings, but if he ran right to Sam and Dean, everything would be ruined. Y/N grunted, finally making it to the top without much trouble. She slyly peeked over the railing to the main floor, cursing when she saw Sam and Dean sitting at one of the long tables, Sam typing away at his laptop and Dean scrolling mindlessly through his phone. Neither had noticed their sister had returned, nor that she was holding something very much alive that smelled like rain and dirt. She hoped to God the puppy's black fur wouldn't show up on Baby's upholstery, but since when did that guy pull through? 

"Dude, where the hell is she? I'm starving!" Dean grunted, making Y/N freeze midstep on her way to the opposite staircase that led to the hall of rooms for the Men of Letters. "Try and call her."

"I'm sure she's almost here, Dean. Maybe the restaurant was packed," Sam aided, making Y/N sigh in relief. She tip-toed across the stone floor, keeping the puppy close as she descended down the second staircase and sprinted to her room, ripping it open and dumping the puppy unceremoniously on her bed. 

"Stay," she hissed, putting a hand up. "You're welcome to watch TV. Be back in a little bit... I'm going to figure out a name for you while I'm gone." 

Closing the door quietly behind her, she made her way back to her brothers, holding the bag up high for them to see once she was within their sight. 

"Why are you coming back from your room?" Sam asked while Dean dashed and grabbed the bag from her. 

"I, um...I thought I left my phone in there, so I went to check," Y/N lied through her teeth, moving to sit beside him.

"Pie!" Dean exclaimed behind her. "Good job, sis. And is Baby..."

"She's just fine in the garage, De," Y/N smiled, completely nonchalant. Neither of them had a clue there was a living and breathing puppy quite possibly destroying her room at the moment. 

And they didn't notice for about a week. 

Y/N had decided to name him Romeo as a joke, considering Crowley had a personal hell hound he affectionately nicknamed Juliet. She knew the King of Hell would get a kick out of that, but nobody could know Y/N's dark secret. Sam and Dean remained completely in the dark. The only time her cover was nearly blown was when Castiel had arrived on an impromptu visit. 

"Y/N, I couldn't help but overhear something in your room just now," he declared, walking into the library where her and her brothers sat. 

"What were you doing near my room, Cas?" Y/N hastily changed the subject. 

"I was grabbing the journal from Dean's room like he asked. He suspects we're looking for a vampire nest in Atlanta. Did I do something wrong?" Castiel asked curiously, seeing the nervousness on Y/N's face. 

"What are you, hiding a boy?" Sam joked. Dean's head quickly shot up in alarm. Castiel looked rather offended at the thought. 

"No, I'm not hiding a boy when we're supposed to be going on a hunt," Y/N scoffed. "How would I even sneak a boy under your noses?"

"Well, there are many entrances here, so I assume it could be quite easy," Castiel said, shrugging his shoulders as he passed the journal to Dean. 

"I would hope my dear little sister isn't that stupid," Dean said, grabbing the journal and flipping it open. "Because Sam and I are proud gun owners." 

"It's not a boy, it's...you know what? Castiel and I will go check just to prove you wrong. C'mon, Cas," Y/N huffed, jumping to her feet and grabbing his hand. She turned around to Sam and Dean. "And I'm very good with a gun, too, so you would never get the first shot." She stuck out her tongue childishly at him. He mirrored it, also giving her the stink eye. Sam shook his head, giving a small smile as he continued to click through articles on the situation in Atlanta while Y/N pulled Castiel to her room. 

"I have a secret." she said finally, throwing caution to the wind. She understood if she played her cards right, she could get Castiel to help her keep her secret. 

"There is, in fact, a boy in your room?" Castiel asked, deflating slightly at the thought of it.

"What? No!" Y/N scoffed, pulling him toward her door. "Okay...I'm about to show you something, but you have to swear to me you won't tell Dean or Sam anything about it. Especially Dean!"

"Is it something dangerous?"

"Cas, will you just swear?"

"But I am unsure if I will want to tell on you or not. I would like to know first what it will be before I decide."

Y/N gave him a deadpanned stare, her mouth stretched into a frown. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. 

"Fine, I swear."

"Thank you. C'mon," Y/N said, grabbing his hand again and ignoring the tingles in her fingers as she carefully opened the door and pulled him inside. 

Romeo was growing fast in just the span of a week, but he still only came up to Y/N's knees. He now had on a dark red collar with a nametag she had made herself two days prior when she was supposed to procure fake IDs for herself and her brothers when they would go to Atlanta to take care of the vampire nest. It had his name on the front with her phone number on the back. He excitedly ran to her, hopping up on his hind legs in an attempt to reach her face and give her welcoming kisses. 

"It's a dog," Castiel said in surprise.

"Yes, and his name is Romeo," Y/N stated, leaning down to scoop him up in her arms. She held him up for Castiel to see, who backed up in shock as the dog attempted to litter his face with his kisses. "He doesn't bite, Cas. He's the sweetest thing in the world. Look. Romeo, give Mama kissies!" Romeo turned his head to her and eagerly licked her face, his tail wagging. 

"You are hiding a dog from your brothers? Why?"

"You know how Dean is. Remember when he came back from Purgatory and sat in Baby for the first time? He knew automatically there had been a dog inside. If he knows there is one in the bunker, I'm dead meat and he'll kick him out. And Sam's a snitch." 

"You want me to keep Romeo as a secret from your brothers?" Castiel asked, hesitantly putting his hand out for Romeo to sniff. "I think I can do that." 

"Yes! Thank you!" Y/N squealed, putting Romeo down and hugging him close. Castiel flushed a bright pink, his mouth twitching. "Okay...now I need one more favor and I promise never to ask for anything ever again."

"What's that?"

"While my brothers and I are in Atlanta...do you mind coming and checking in on him? Just switch out his food and water bowls and the potty pads? I hate to leave him alone, but if I stay, Sam and Dean will know something's up. I promise I will owe you one," Y/N bit her lip, pressing her hands together almost as though she were praying to him. 

"I suppose that is...doable. Yes, I will help keep Romeo alive until you are back," Castiel smiled.

"Thank you! Now, let's go back before my brothers come looking for us. I'll be back in a little bit, Romeo!" Y/N cooed, bending down to scratch the dog behind the ears before following Castiel out the door. 

Another week had passed and everything was going great. Castiel had successfully kept Romeo taken care of while they took out that vampire nest. Romeo had also practically claimed him as a second owner, getting excited every time Castiel poofed into her room to see her(although, Y/N was sure Castiel just wanted to see the dog). Sam and Dean were none the wiser. 

Romeo was a lively spirit. He loved to play, often taking Y/N's clothes from her dresser and running around her room with it until she caught him and gave him belly rubs before he gave it back. He was falling in love with being her dog, and Y/N was sure she would never be able to give him up even if she tried. She loved him far too much. She wished Sam and Dean could be clued in on him and not have her give him up. She knew Romeo was probably tired of being cooped up in one room. Sometimes, when her brothers went to the bar for a drink, she'd take him out to the park and give him room to run, but when Sam or Dean would text her that they're on their way home, she'd rush to coop Romeo up once more.

That was the system for a long while until Dean spontaneously decided to bring home ribs from the local barbecue place that recently opened. He was excited to sample their famous dishes, whereas Sam and Y/N were content in just eating Chinese take-out. Nothing really seemed to be off as they ate until they heard a loud whine and several scratching noises coming suspiciously from their room area. 

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, already on guard. Y/N froze. 

"U-Um...I left the TV on in my room," Y/N said, accidentally stabbing her chopsticks a little too harshly into her sesame chicken. "Yeah, I was watching...Cujo."

"I thought you hated that movie because of what happens to the dog," Sam cut in, looking down at her. "Every time Dean would put it on in the motel room you'd cry like a baby until he turned it off."

"Well...I tried to watch it all the way through just for you guys," Y/N played it off as best as she could, but they both continued to look down at her oddly. She was always such a terrible liar. Thankfully, Dean was too distracted by his food to care, taking another giant bite out of his ribs. Seeing that their eldest brother wasn't questioning her, Sam decided to shrug it off and continue poking at the rice he was currently munching on. 

Unfortunately, Romeo was stubborn today and gave another loud whine. Y/N tried to overpower it with her own cry, suddenly clutching her side. 

"Lady cramps," she grunted as her brothers stared at her. She needed to get Romeo to calm the hell down before he ruined everything. She slowly inched out of her chair. "You know what? I should go change my...pad. Cramps aren't a good sign for me. It usually means Niagara Falls." Dean and Sam grimaced in disgust. Perfect. That meant they wouldn't follow her. 

"For God's sake, sis, I'm eating!" Dean growled, gesturing to his barbecue platter. 

"Be right back," Y/N smiled, taking off to her room to quiet Romeo down with a treat. This was far too close for comfort. Her brothers would see what she's been hiding. She got to her door. Smelling her from the other side, Romeo got more rambunctious, thrusting his paws at the door, probably scratching up the paint. He whined cutely, wanting to be let out. "Romeo...please. You need to back up and let Mama inside. If Sam and Dean see you, we're both dead. C'mon, now...just let me...NO!"

As soon as the door opened, Romeo bolted past her in the direction of her brothers. Crying under her breath, she took off after him. Of course, Romeo proved to be much faster. Soon she could hear her brother let out a surprised shout. 

"AGH! WHAT THE HELL!"

Y/N grit her teeth, moving faster until she could see Dean's chair completely flipped over along with her brother, who was struggling to move as Romeo eagerly licked his face clean of all the barbecue sauce. Once he was deemed clean, he moved onto the fallen ribs, taking it into his mouth and scurrying to sit behind Y/N's legs and enjoy his treat. 

Sam was frozen in his chair, the rice halfway to his mouth, but he didn't know when to move. Dean slowly sat up, his face glistening with Romeo's slobber. They both looked to Y/N, obviously waiting for her to speak first. 

"I...can explain," she squeaked. "I...I'm dog-sitting for...for a friend. And...he's...well...I'm..."

"I'm gonna kill you," Dean growled under his breath. 

"Fair enough," Y/N replied, nodding. "But look how cute he is!" She moved so they could see Romeo going to town on the ribs. He didn't seem to notice how devastated Dean appeared now that his dinner was lost to a dog he had no idea was even in the bunker. Sam finally put his food down, looking up at Y/N with his mouth still agape. 

"How long has he been here?"

"A few weeks..."

"A few weeks. You've kept that beast in the bunker for a few weeks and now he's eating my supper." Dean grunts, finally getting to his feet. "What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?"

"I was thinking I was saving a poor dog from being all alone? Look, he was the last dog in the box. It was dark, and I was scared he would be left to starve or he'd jump and run into traffic! If anything, I was doing him a favor! And one thing led to another and I just fell in love with him. He's really, really good. He's been getting better at potty training and he even knows a trick! Look, here...Romeo! Sit!"

Romeo quickly dropped the ribs and dropped down into a sitting position, looking up at Y/N expectantly. 

"That's so cool," Sam grinned, but he quickly dropped it as soon as Dean whipped around. "But seriously, seriously irresponsible, Y/N. You know you can't keep a dog."

"But he's been here for a while now and you guys didn't even know! I've been taking very good care of him! Plus...he never even has to leave the bunker. He can stay here a-and Cas can check up on him! Cas likes to do that, he loves Romeo."

"No, there's no way. He is a menace to us all. Look at him!" Dean jabbed a finger to Romeo, who wagged his tail in response, his tongue hanging happily from his mouth. Y/N caught Sam smiling affectionately at him.

"But-"

"No."

"But-"

"No!"

"But if you just-"

"I said no!"

Y/N slumped, defeated. Dean had his arms crossed, and his face pulled into his 'stern' expression. She knew that meant his decision was final. But she just couldn't bring herself to look at Romeo and know he was going to go to a different place. She loved him far too much. She bit her lip, turning to Romeo, who looked up at her, his wide grin still very much wide. He had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that he had ribs and he was happy. He stood from his spot and trotted toward Y/N, butting his head against her leg in an attempt to get her to pet him. 

"Dean, just let her keep the dog," Sam said, getting to his feet. 

Dean scoffed, whipping around toward him. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Look at them!"

Y/N was kneeled down beside Romeo, pulling his head toward her so she could rub him behind the ears. He leaned into her touch, his tail wagging even harder if it were possible. 

"She's had the dog for several weeks. To dump him now would just be cruel," Sam declared, moving around his brother to approach his sister and her pooch. He held out a hand for Romeo to sniff before giving in and scratching him lovingly behind the ears. "I think you're just mad because he took your ribs."

"Wha-that's beside the-" Dean sputtered indignantly before he quickly found himself. "Look, I don't wanna be the bad guy, but this place ain't built for a dog. Our lives aren't built for a dog. We're gone all the time, and if a demon happens to waltz in here and takes the dog out...I don't wanna have to watch the both of you break down over it. I'm sorry, no. We just have to find another home for him."

"But we can train him to run and hide if a stranger ever comes in! And Castiel loves him, he can watch him!" Y/N begged, getting to her feet. Sam remained knelt down, continuing to pet Romeo as he looked up at Dean with his own version of puppy-dog eyes. "Dean, please? I'll never ask for anything! He'll be my responsibility. He's a good dog, I promise!"

Dean shook his head. "Why do you have to make me out to be the bad guy?"

"You're doing that all on your own! Dean, I've never wanted anything more than this. Look at Sam! He's already attached!" Y/N gestured to her other brother. 

"I am attached, Dean. To separate us would be sinful," Sam jokingly said. "C'mon, Dean, just give in! Who knows? You might end up liking him, too!"

Dean looked from his brother to his sister, his face as stubborn as ever. But Y/N and Sam were both begging him while Romeo threw himself onto his back so Sam could rub his stomach. He sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. 

"That dog stays out of my room and off the furniture. If I ever happen to walk onto his...droppings, I will personally go and dump him on Crowley's doorstep. Alright?"

Y/N squealed excitedly, clapping her hands before she threw her arms around her brother. Sam grinned, pulling Romeo close. He loved dogs as much as his sister, so he was excited, too. As for Dean, he gave a soft smile and patted Y/N's head. 

"Alright, squirt, but now you gotta drive into town and get me more of that barbecue since Fido took the rest."

[revrevrew-writblr]

Villain’s Daughter

Couple Things: Amalia’s weakness is touching metal, but enchanted metal acts differently, because once it takes on characteristics of magic it can no longer deter magic. 

Content Warning: Blood, mentions of murder, a fight scene. 

The ricochet of the gun pumped to the beat of her pop music. Amalia didn’t bother with aiming the gun to the center of the target, that wasn’t the purpose of this training. She altered the path of the bullets the second they left the chamber, they hit the chest on the black outline of the man, almost every time. 

Without using her magic, she was a terrible shot. Her father called her cheating ways a ‘horrendous life ending habit.’ 

Would have thought he would be more supportive of my choices, especially considering he does it too. 

While her father had almost the same gifts as her, he lacked a great deal of creativity. He wasn’t wrong about this habit potentially leaving her open to weakness though. The very thing she had control of, had control over her. When she touched the metal of the gun it cut her off from her powers. 

Her dad was right when he said, “you’re not always going to have gloves close by.” 

But she was also right when she shot back, “Then I’ll just hold the gun up with my powers.” 

She didn’t today though, that would be a waste of magic on a perfectly good day. 

Lost in thought she stopped counting the bullets. The gun clicked empty. Amalia’s arm swung down, prepared for a kick back that never came. Her fingers jammed against the small table.

“Ow, Dang it!”

She felt the magic slip out of her before she could stop it. The butt of the gun melted, and with a burning heat it pooled over her gloved hand. She solidified the mess of metal, grasping her arm and biting her lip at burns now forming. Tears leaked out as the healing magic embedded in her arm worked at the skin, the magic left it tingling in a nauseating way.

Taking off her glove, she flexed her hand inspecting her skin, and observing how the enchanted metal that acted as bones underneath colored parts of her hand in gray.

Just great. Now I’ll get an hour lecture from dad as he teaches me how to return the gun to its original shape. Fabulous.  

She slipped the sound resistant headphones off, to rest around her neck. She pulled her mane of curly hair out from under the headphones, wincing as her fingers got caught in a tangle. With some reluctance, she put the glove back on, the melted gun clinging to the fabric, and made her way to her father. 

She pulled open the door to her dad’s office. She let it swing shut behind her. “Hey Da-” 

The door across the office slammed open. Spandex and bright colors assaulted her eyes. Instinct kicked in. Bad instincts. She lifted the gun, putting pressure on her trigger finger, the melted metal didn’t give the familiar click.

Bang.

She felt the metal approaching her before she realized the bullet didn’t come from her gun.

Oh, crap.

For the second time that day, her magic got away from her. It radiated from her chest, all the metal around her melting and evaporating into the air. The concentrated bubble of the evaporated bullet hit her square in the chest. 

She stumbled backwards, it felt like a punch to her chest. She threw her hand up to cover the bruising area, gasping for air that refused to reach her lungs.

Slide down the door and act like your dying. 

Her back hit the door with a thud, and she slid down slowly, still gasping for air. 

“You…” She cocked her head to the side, scrunching her face as she slid down the door. “You shot me?” 

Captain Flight, or as dad calls him, Tweety Bird, stared at her with a brief moment of shock. He approached her slowly. The feathers at the top of his wings flared up, reminding her very much of the way the hair on the back of a dog stood up when threatened.

“Amalia?” The masked hero’s voice sounded confused, he sounded familiar.

Amalia pretended to be spasming, pulling one leg up to her chest and stretched the other in front of her. She gasped loudly, nails digging into her chest. Tweety Bird was almost close enough… 

Now!

In a quick movement she snapped her bent leg out, pushing her foot into Tweety Birds knee. His eyes widened as he fell, his leg bending backwards. He screamed. His hands gripped right above his knee. His large white wings fanned out on the ground. 

His partner hero, Bombs Away, whipped towards the sound. He reacted quickly, throwing a small device her way. It had metal in it. His mistake. She pushed it back towards his hand. It exploded. His hand and forearm turned into red mist. Horrified, Amalia turned to the last Hero not screaming on the ground. Amp. 

Almost a completely useless Hero.

Amp rushed her. He brandished no metal weapon. Quickly thinking Amalia ‘tugged’ magically at Tweety’s gun, it whipped into her hand while forming into a baton. She shoved off the floor. His fist flew towards her face. She dogged it, whipping her baton into his arm as hard as she could. His arm cracked. She beat the baton into the back of his knee, bringing him toppling down. She slammed her baton into the back of his neck, knocking him out.

Hearing a shuffle behind her she turned, Inviso-man stood behind her. The butt of his gun slammed into her forehead before she could react. 

Her world went black.

~~~

She woke up with a pounding headache. Her arms made jangling sounds above her head. Her hands flopped uselessly. She couldn’t feel them. She was half hanging from cuffs attached to a metal railing, half lying on the floor. Her body shook as she engaged her biceps to lift herself into a proper sitting position. Her side screamed at her, having been stretched awkwardly for too long. Relief flooded her as she stopped moving. 

It was short lived.

“I’m trapped in a van. With a dying body- person. Not cool - not cool - so not cool.” The van was devoid of anything more than four superheroes passed out on the floor. Bones bent at sickening angles turned her stomach. Bombs Away was bleeding out from their arm. 

Panic clawed at her, I never wanted to be their enemy! She stared at them in shock, eyes watering. She began pulling at the cuffs with desperation. With a cry of pain, her right arm, made of metal bones, ripped out of its cuff, skin bruising and tearing while her metal bones stood strong. 

Tears streamed down her face as she ripped the next cuff off with her fingers. Blood dripped down her hand, the enchanted metal visible, her skin beginning to kit together. She stared at it far too long, her breath coming faster and faster. She struggled to regain a hold of herself, but as her morbid curiosity overtook her, she looked at the heroes she had taken down. 

Her stomach threatened to come up. 

Her mind screamed at her to leave; to get away before reinforcements showed up. She shut her eyes against the awful scene, but her instincts made her open them again. Her father’s words returning to her, never take your eyes off the enemy. 

Are they really my enemy? “I never wanted this.” she whispered, her head shaking no, a bloody hand over her mouth. Unable to look any more, despite her father’s teaching, she slammed her eyes shut and forced her legs to push her up. She slowly made her way to the door, opening her eyes only when her back was fully turned to the heroes. As her hand grasped the door handle when a small moan came from behind her. 

She turned to Bombs Away, bleeding out onto the floor, if she left now, he would bleed out and die. She will have killed him. 

What should I do?? Father would tell me to run. Her hand gripped the handle harder. I don’t want to be a murder though; I don’t want to be my dad!

But the amount of power it would take to heal him would leave me… vulnerable. How would a group of four heroes treat a Villain's daughter?

Amelia knew how desperate heroes could get to stop Villain, how far they were willing to go to claim every advantage. But these heroes had been in the area a while, and in fascination she had studied them. She didn’t think they would physically hurt her- in a more controlled situation -and Tweety bird seemed to know her. 

Do I save them? Or do I run? They already have my fingerprints from the car - I’d likely have to face them at some point. Indecision squeezed at her gut until finally, she remembered something her science professor said every day at the end of class, ‘Helping others is the way we help ourselves.’ It was stupidly cheesy, but who will protect the city against people like her dad if Bombs Away dies and Tweety has a lame leg? Certainly not Amp. 

Slowly, she pried her fingers off the handle, and keeping her eyes down to avoid anything other than the task at hand, she kneeled next to Bombs Away’s injury. The puddle of blood around her rippled with her movements. She tried not to think as she took in the injuries she had caused. 

Leaning over his body she placed her left hand on his other arm, scanning the dimensions of his bones. Then, ripping out a chunk of metal out of the van’s bed with her mind, she formed the metal into a flipped replica of his bones. Sweat beaded on her brow as she worked on replicating the delicate bones of his hands. 

Her left hand hovered over the metal, providing a visual aid to help her mind direct the magic. She was so used to doing this one handed, it was strange to attempt this feat on another human being. She tried to block out thoughts of the tragic accident that left her with a now dead Hero’s healing magic and an artificial arm. Her right arm hung limply at her side. She swayed a little when she finally set her replica down. 

With shaking, blood stained, fingers, she pulled her faux-leather belt off. She opened the hero’s mouth and placed the leather in between his teeth. She didn’t want him cracking his teeth or biting his tongue off if he woke up during the procedure. 

She pulled up another piece of metal this time shaping it into a small thin disc. She scanned the half arm, locating the best place to saw, right at the elbow. She needed the bones to be wholly metal or wholly bone, anything half bone, half metal would snap too easily. 

She spun the metal, bringing it down to the soft inner arm of his elbow. 

Wait. I’m smarter than this. 

Though she stopped spinning the floating metal, the room still spun as she searched for a tourniquet. There! Inviso-man, who never seemed to be invisible, was wearing a belt. She twisted around and feeling like a creep for she unhooked his belt and pulled it off him. 

She turned around and made a tourniquet above Bombs Away’s elbow and brought the still floating metal to his elbow. She willed it to spin. Half-way through, his eyes flipped open, wide with pain. Panicked she stopped sawing, leaving the metal half embedded into his arms. He gave her a look of such rage, she wondered if this was a good idea after all. He tried to sit up but forgetting his missing arm he slammed back down.

Crap, crap, crap!!! I should have pinned him down with metal. 

Her brain was almost too exhausted to think. 

Moving as quickly as she could, she slapped her hand to his forehead, willing a tiny bit of healing magic to put him to sleep. He shot her another look that promised revenge before he slipped into unconscious. Beginning her work again she levitated the metal bone structure to line up properly, checking his other arm again to be sure. 

She willed binding tendons to attach the metal bones to his actual bones. She willed his flesh to grow over the metal bones. She stopped before she made him fingertips. This was the hard part; the part that would leave her sick for days. 

She pressed her own fingertips into his metal ones and pushed some of her metal magic into the metal. She cried out as she felt the pain of magic leaving her, enchanting objects was so rarely done because it was most often lethal. The healing power, that truly didn’t belong to her, would preserve her from dying from the sickness. Probably.  

At some point in the process, she must have passed out, because she awoke passed out on Bomb’s Away. Grateful everyone else was still unconscious, she finished healing him. She didn’t have enough in her to grow his fingernails, but those would grow on their own later.

She removed the tourniquet from his arm and the belt from his mouth. She turned from him, wavering back and forth. Her eyes met Amp’s. 

He was staring intently at her, he had only an eye mask covering his face. It was a chiseled, handsome face. His eyebrows were furrowed in anger, his nostrils flared, but his mouth was contorted with confusion. He shifted, moaning in pain. He crawled over to her, she sat motionless, fear twisting in her gut. If she moved now, she was going to lose her gut. 

He grasped her arm, a strange feeling trickled in under her skin. It grew swiftly, magic. Amp’s name suddenly made sense to her. He amplified people’s magic; he could give his reserves of magic to other people to allow them to go on for longer. He was doing so now. Her eyes widened in shock. 

Maybe not so useless after all. 

“Heal.” He commanded. 

She nodded, the dizziness fading a little, “This is going to hurt, a lot.” He nodded. She picked up the leather belt and pressed it into his mouth. He bit down. She grabbed his arm, the one she had broken. Her gut twisted, as with a sickening crunch she reset it. 

He fell towards her, screaming, she gritted her teeth, willing herself not to topple backwards. She shoved her, his, healing magic into his arm. The arm settled into place, bone which had chipped off under his skin sliced through flesh to return to its original position. Bone mended; flesh re-grew; it was done. 

With a final burst of power to her, Amp passed out. One last goal before she could follow suit. Tweety’s Knee.

She took the leather belt from Amp’s mouth and crawled on all fours to Tweety. For the final time, she shoved the belt into Tweety’s mouth. 

She had a harder time resetting his knee, his leg was heavy and difficult to move, she fell forward a couple of times before successfully snapping the leg back in place. A couple snaps of bone later, she had it prepped and ready for healing. She poured the last of the magic Amp had given her into Tweety’s knee. 

She leaned back, against the side of the van before she passed out.

[amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes]

Jealous

AN: Here I go with my non-creative titling ass. This was requested 15 years ago and I severely apologize for being so late. Also! I know his name isn’t Dean but I don’t like his Marvel character (there was no flavor!) and used his character from Power. And I wish there was more Darcy; she looks like she’d be a good friend to get in trouble with 

Warnings: Smut, drinking, embarrassment cause that’s my jam, public indecency

Pairing: Sam x Back!Reader

Word Count: 2,592

Green was definitely not your color. You’d pride yourself on your rationality, your ability to assess a situation and determine that what meets the eye is not always correct. But as you sat and nursed your fourth glass of Merlot, envy crept into your stomach and brewed. Giving a deep sigh, you peek over your shoulder to see the same blonde standing too close for your liking. Sam doesn't seem to notice as he continues with his story, the small crowd around him engrossed. Laughter erupts from the group and hers is garishly annoying. You roll your eyes and turn back to your glass, her shrill voice ringing in your ears. 

"You look like you could use a friend. Or a gun." 

You scoff as Darcy takes a seat next to you and playfully bumps your arm. You take another swig of your wine as you hear another round of laughter and yet again, the woman is heard over all. Laying her head on your shoulder, Darcy rolls her eyes up to yours as she sticks out her tongue. 

"You're jealous, Sunshine." 

"Am not." A beat. "Why she gotta laugh so fucking loud?" 

"You mean you don't like her laugh?" Darcy feigns confusion as she imitates the laugh. You turn from her then, lifting the glass to your mouth, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling. Darcy bumps you again and waves down the bartender to order herself a drink. 

"I don't want to be jealous." your whispered confession causing her to turn back to you just as a glass of vodka was placed in front of her. "It's not like I didn't know what I was getting into with Sam, but." Another round of laughter rises and you grind your teeth. 

"You guys are perfect for each other, stop it." She begins taking a deep drink from her glass. "He's not gonna cheat or leave you. You know that." 

You suck your teeth as you chance a glance at Sam. The woman has moved even closer to him and has placed her hand on his bicep and the sight causes you groan and place your head in your hand. Darcy hums to herself before taking another drink. She lifts your glass and forces you to take it as she raises her glass also. Still pouting, you bring the glass to your lips as you both take a big gulp. 

"Let's make a toast! If he does cheat on you, let's begin a hoe phase!" 

"A what?!" The question comes out louder than you intend and Darcy smiles wide.

"You heard me! It'll be fun. Let's belong to the streets." She declares, glass high in the air. You stare at her trying to read her face and before you know it, a fit of giggles erupts from you and Darcy follows suit. 

"Glad you ladies are having a good time." 

You and Darcy both jump as Dean settles on the other side of you. He offers a polite smile to you both before his eyes roam down your body so obviously checking you out. Darcy clears her throat loudly and Dean's eyes snap back up to yours. 

"You look amazing tonight. Beautiful dress. That color looks amazing on you."

"Thank you." You offer a tight smile as you scoot over in an effort to place some distance between you. His eyes drift down your body once more and your breath hitches as discomfort heats your skin. Dean always flirted shamelessly with you which prompted Sam, and Steve, to warn you to not be alone with him. Something about being on probation and not fully trusted, but you didn't concern yourself with the logistics of it. All you knew is that he made you feel like prey and made your anxiety soar. 

"Shame you're over here drinking alone. Would you like some company?" His hand slid to your lower back right above your ass and you tensed. The alcohol in your system begins to turn on you and your stomach churns at the feel of his hand on you. It feels downright filthy way his thumb begins to circle a pattern; goosebumps littering the path his finger takes. Slowed down in your movement, you slide even further away from him, nearly sitting on Darcy's hip, and shake your head. His touch never falters as he moves with you and presses his thigh against your hip. The stool under you begins to tilt over but right as it’s about to topple over, strong hands brace your waist and keep you in place. 

"She’s got enough company, don’t you baby?” Sam’s voice is strained behind you as his hands tightens yet Dean makes no attempt to withdraw his hand from your back. He straightens his posture to size Sam up and Darcy cackles behind her glass. The two men stare each other down but you can’t concentrate on either of them. Your body temperature is rapidly increasing and you don’t know if it’s your nerves or being sandwiched between the men that’s causing the discomfort but you do know one thing; you need to get away from them. Placing your arm on the counter, you swing your legs to the other side of the stool, nearly knocking a protesting Darcy down, and wiggle away from the hands on you. Racing for the exit, you hear Sam call after you but you don’t respond. Instead you place your hand on your chest and focus your breathing. Right as you reach the hallway, you’re yanked against the wall. 

“What's that all about?” Sam whispers close to your face, his warm breath heating you further. You press your back into the wall and turn your head to the side to try to gain some sort of reprieve from the heat but you just can’t get away.

“I need air.”

“Why was that jackass all over you?”  his grip on your arm is firm but not painful. Anger lights his features and as the dimmer lights of the cordor illuminate his face, he almost looks like he could pose a threat. Almost. 

“Go ask him.” You attempt to walk away but Sam stops you by placing his hand on the wall next to your head. You stare back at him in disbelief and cross your arms in defiance. “I’m serious. Go ask him.”

Sam hums as his eyes never leave yours. “Nah, I’m asking you. Why was he feeling you up?”

A frown formed on your face as you continued to stare at him. The buzz you were feeling from the wine was giving you a boost in confidence. Huffing, you jut your hip out and suck your teeth. “If you really were watching us, then you would have seen me practically in Darcy’s lap trying to get away from him.” When you are met with silence, you decide to continue while you still have the moxie. “And that’s more than I can say about you Wilson, with Thumbalina all over you.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Placing your hand flat on his chest, you exaggerated the woman’s laugh, throwing your head back and placing your free hand over your stomach for emphasis. You rolled your eyes when you were done and crossed your arms back before turning to place your left shoulder to the wall and turning away from Sam. “She was all over you.”

You miss the smile that slowly takes form on Sam’s face as he regards the pout you now sport. “Thumbalina?”

You shake your head without turning to him. “The little short fairy girl.”

“Wasn’t she a brunette and not blonde?”

Scoffing, you look over your shoulder to the now grinning man. “Please. Those roots say baby girl is a brunette too.”

Sam laughs loudly at that to which you jump in surprise but quickly regain your composure. He leans into you and presses a kiss to your right shoulder and sighs. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

"Yeah, I bet."

"Come on." He coos, running his hands down your arm. Turning your head away from him, you sigh. The buzz you felt was beginning to fade and in its place a headache was threatening to form. You press your head against the wall as the bass from the song coming from the hall reverberates through your. Your mind briefly wonder what song it is that’s playing before Sam’s

his hands reach your hands and pull you towards him. 

“You know you’re the only fairy for me.” he jokes as you stare deadpan at him. 

“That just…” you smile despite yourself. “Doesn’t sound right.”

“No? How about this? Did you just come out of an oven? Cause you’re hot.”

You cringe at the line and cover your mouth. "So corny!" 

"You think so? Good cause I got more." 

"Please don't-" 

"Do you have an inhaler? Cause you got ass, ma." 

You scrunch your face and shake your head. "Horrible." He laughs at your reaction and steps closer. His hands are on your waist as he pretends to be deep in thought. 

"Are you Google because you have everything I'm searching for." 

You roll your eyes and Sam laughs. You place your hands on his chest as you lean into him. "Stop. Please, I'm begging you."

He cocks an eyebrow before he lets his hands move down to your hips. “I like it when you beg.” his lips met yours and you sigh. You break the kiss far too quickly for Sam and he frowns. 

“I’m mad at you.” 

“I can fix that.” he kisses your forehead as his hand begins to drift down your thigh and slips under the split of your dress. You grab his wrist and tsk as his index finger begins to trace the panty line over your hip. You give him a warning glare as he continues his motions, moving towards the apex of your thighs. “Let me make it better.”

The tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine and you swallow the moan that almost escapes you. Skilled fingers find your covered core and slowly stroke over you. 

"Sam! No!" the grip on his wrist tightens as you nervously glance around the corridor. Heart beating in your ears, you pray no one is watching as an Avenger fingers you at an event. The tabloids would go crazy. “What if someone sees?”

Ignoring your question, his fingers slip past your panties and into your folds. The boldness takes you by surprise as you jolt at the feeling of him at your entrance. He pokes and prods at you before easing two fingers inside of you with no resistance. Sam gives a gloating snicker as you bashfully bury your face in your free hand. Expert fingers work within you and despite your nerves, you relent, widening your stance to give him better access. Your grip on his wrist wanes and Sam leans in to pepper your neck in kisses.  A sound down the corridor makes you freeze and you squeeze Sam’s wrist to try to push him away. The sound sends you scrambling to remove yourself from Sam but he pays it no mind as he increases his speed. You bit your bottom lip to stop yourself from making any noise in case someone really is in the hallway. Sam is unfazed, his movements never falter and you stare at him in disbelief as he brings the index finger of his other hand to his lips and shushes you. The sound recedes and you let out a deep breath. Frowning, you open your mouth to argue when he moves his hand to rest his palm on your clit and presses down. Your orgasm takes you by surprise and your hands fly to your mouth to muffle the near pornographic moan.  

“Are you still mad?” Sam inquires as he kisses your forehead, fingers slowly withdrawing from you. The motion sends small shock waves through your body and you grab onto his shoulders to ground you. You close your eyes and try to form a coherent sentence but you can only say his name in hushed whispers. You want to tell him that this was deviant behavior and if caught this could jeopardize both of your reputations. You open your eyes, hopeful that the eye contact will drive home your point but the words are replaced with a startled gasp. In one swift motion, Sam has your leg up on his hip and your eyes widen as his cock pushes into you. You hiss at the burning stretch and clutch his forearms, nails digging into the sleeve of his dress shirt. 

“Sam, please.” you wince at your voice, weak and needy. You don’t even know what you’re asking of him but whatever it is, you’d gladly accept it. Sam pauses for a moment and studies your face, searching for permission to continue. You want to tell him that this lewd and lascivious behavior may end up with felony charges and a permanent ban from all future events. Instead you lean forward and capture his lips in a frenzied kiss. He allows you to take the lead on the kiss, his momentary submission to you making you clench down on him. His body jerks at the action and you whine, squirming in his grasp. He repositions your leg into the crook of his arm and bucks his hips into yours. Cursing loudly, you press your head against the wall as he sets a merciless pace. After a moment you’re able to catch his rhythm and you grind into him. His movements falter slightly and he tightens his grip on your leg. You mewl at the new position and the sound of Sam’s fervid grunts. A smile forms on your face as you take a moment to regard him. Eyes lust blown, sweat dripping from his forehead, strong arms holding your leg in place. You preen from the sight just as your second orgasm washes over you and you can’t help the loud cry you release. Sam shouts right after you as he meets his release, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. You kiss the tip of his nose as he pushes out a laugh through his ragged breaths. 

“Oops! Hope we aren’t interrupting!” the voice makes the both of you jolt and face the voice. Darcy is standing in the middle of Dean and the woman who was with Sam inside the gala. Anger was written all over Dean’s face, the tips of his ears a deep red. The woman had the good graces to avert her eyes and apologize profusely before she scurried away. Dean gave Sam one last chilling glare before he stormed off, bumping Darcy as he stomped off. Scoffing, Darcy made exaggerated hand motions after him before giving a little wave in his direction. Turning back to you, Darcy cocked an eyebrow as she watched Sam lower your leg. 

“A little privacy?” Sam asked as he fixed his clothing the best he could. Darcy focused on you, your disheveled appearance making a cheshire grin plastered on her face. 

“So much for belonging to the streets.” Darcy rolled her eyes as you laughed. “Guess I’m on these streets alone then.” Darcy sucks her teeth as she begins to walk away from you. Sam gives you a questioning look and you wink at him in response. “Oh and Sam?” glancing over her shoulder, Darcy winks at Sam. “She’s not mad but a few people from inside would like to have a word with you.”

Tagging: @letsby @marvelmaree @golden-ariess @avintagekiss24 @plussizeappreciationfics @dramaqueeenamby @sapphirescrolls @titty-teetee @fumbling-fanfics

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies: Chapter Three

Okaaaay I am so fucking sorry it's been awhile, you guys. But you're not here for my life story and personal bullshit, I'm sure (though please do feel free to ask). So here's chapter three. Enjoy... I hope?

Thank you, as always, to @edward-or-ford for being an excellent beta!

Chapter Three: Sex on the Brain Feel you under my skin; middle of the night, wonder if you feel it, too.- All Time Low, Trouble Is

There was a warm body atop Mabel’s, and lips pressed against hers. There were hands grasping her breasts, then one of them traveled down between her legs.

“Mabel,” gasped a voice as the lips traveled down her neck. A pleasant voice. Deep, but not alarmingly so. It was soothing, familiar. Comforting and arousing all at the same time.

One hand pinched her nipple while the other stroked her, and she gasped out quietly.

When she opened her eyes, Dipper leaned down to kiss her again, and-

Mabel woke with a start, disorientated. Her eyes flitted around the dark room, and she remembered she was at Candy’s. Recognizing Grenda’s sleeping form on the floor and Candy’s even breaths beside her, Mabel sighed quietly.

Well. That was certainly disappointing. Those types of dreams were the worst because she hated waking up from them.

She hadn’t always had so many sex dreams. It was a recent development. And frankly, she wasn’t a fan. Yeah, Dipper was sexy, but like. She knew that already. She didn’t need her subconscious waving a big ol’ flag with “REMEMBER HOW SEXY YOUR BRO IS?” emblazoned on it. She could do without that, thanks ever so much.

It was half an hour before she managed to fall back asleep. She definitely didn’t fill her friends in on the details the next day, even though she probably would’ve if the dream had been about literally anybody except her twin brother.

She was quite sure that when Grenda and Candy thought of “sexy” vibes in relation to Mabel, Dipper was the last person on the face of the earth who might be considered for such things.

————

The following morning, Mabel tried her absolute hardest to seem as normal as she possibly could. Y’know, talk without changes in her voice or tone or speech pattern. Gesticulate some but not too much. Talk about non-Dipper things. Definitely not because Mabel was having a great deal of difficulty thinking about anything but Dipper and what his lips and hands and teeth (oh god his teeth) would feel like on various parts of her body. That had zero to do with it.

Of course, normal for Mabel was… odd for other people, to say the least. And that suited her just fine. Really, it did. She rather liked it that way, actually. Normal people were kinda lame.

Still, there were, of course, some aspects of Mabel’s life that she sometimes wished were a bit more normal, she pondered as she brushed her hair in the bathroom mirror. Not entirely, just a bit. She wished she didn’t have to live separately from her sibling. She wished she’d found her soulmate the same way as everyone else rather than having it be a big mystery.

But most all, she wished she’d never developed these stupid feelings for Dipper. They really were stupid. Who gets feelings for their twin, anyway? Like, where did that even come from?

When Mabel thinks of the word “incest”, she pictures royal families trying to keep the bloodlines pure and stereotypical hillbillies and rednecks. What she did not picture was a modern day middle class Californian teenager.

Not that it had gotten to incest levels, of course. Obviously not. In order for anything to happen, Dipper would have to return her feelings, which he decidedly did not. Why would he?

You’re the weirdo, she reminded herself as she set her hairbrush down.

Well. It is what it is, she supposed. No reason to dwell on it.

And on that note, Mabel skipped out of the bathroom, doing a rather excellent job of pretending she was definitely not dwelling on her romantic-but-very-much-unrequited love for her brother.

Not even a little.

————

They didn’t ride in the same car. Of course they didn’t. They never did. She knew, intellectually speaking, that her and Dipper couldn’t be in the same car for the half hour drive from Candy’s to the mountains. Even five minute drives, though, her parents refused.

“What if you get stuck in traffic?” They’d demand whenever she asked if just once, Dipper could take her in his car. It didn’t seem to make a difference that the odds of a traffic jam in a town as small as Gravity Falls were minuscule at best. Eventually, she stopped asking, stopped trying to reason with them.

She wished she could text him during the drive. She couldn’t stop staring at his last message. She didn’t mean to, it was just that she sometimes got into these moods where whenever she stopped looking at his texts, she’d immediately get the irresistible urge to look at them again, even if she knew full well that all she’d see was the fifteen minute old see you in a bit.

Mabel felt bad about the whole thing sometimes. It wasn’t that she’d meant to fall in love. She truly hadn’t. But… Dipper was just so goddamn sweet. He was considerate and kind and he always asked about her day. And when she told him, he actually listened! None of the guys at her school ever did that. They just stared at her boobs while she talked.

It was suuuuuuuper guilt-inducing, though. Like, somewhere near her (it had to be near her or she’d have been going through withdrawal symptoms all her life) was her soulmate. Emotionally healthy people developed crushes on their soulmates even before they turned seventeen and felt the pull.

Evidently, Mabel wasn’t an emotionally healthy person. She’d developed a crush on her twin brother. And then it had developed into this suffocating, desperate, agonizing, all-encompassing consuming love and adoration that she just couldn’t seem to shake.

It was hard not to see him, she mused as she stared at her phone (still black because he hadn’t texted her, obviously; get a grip, Mabel). But then, it was just as hard to actually see him. The urge to touch him was even worse lately.

Sighing and leaning back in her seat, Mabel stared out the window.

She completely missed her father’s solemn gaze flickering to her briefly in the rear view mirror.

————

Mabel liked visiting Gravity Falls in the winter. She probably wouldn’t get to see snow otherwise. It was beautiful.

It had snowed in the mountains the night before, and there was frost on the ground and snow on the tops of the trees, the sun bouncing off them and making them shine. The cold air bit her face when she opened the car door, but Dipper’s smile in her direction as he stepped out of his own beat-up sedan made her forget about everything else.

Buzz buzz buzz, said the bees.

Mabel resisted the urge to dance when she saw him.

Or slap her stomach a few times. Maybe the sting of it would numb the stupid fucking bees and their stupid fucking buzzing, for god’s sake, would you shut up already-

She did neither, however (good job, Mabel girl!), instead opting for a definitely-not-nervous-in-the-slightest-so-just-shut-your-mouth smile.

“Why hello, Sir Dippingsauce!” She ambled over to him, telling herself she was doing an excellent job of not being awkward.

How long did she have to keep that up for again? A week? That was… that was fine. She could do a week. She could totally do a week, no problemo (Note: Mabel could not do a week. She could possibly do 2.5 days, and even that was most certainly pushing it, but to suggest as much is incredibly rude, as Mabel was doing her very best to make her mind into a 100% Doubt-Free Zone™).

He put an arm across his stomach, the other rigid at his side, and bowed deeply at the waist with a decidedly snooty expression on his too-attractive-to-be-legal face. “Lady Mabelton,” he greeted. “I trust your carriage ride was pleasant?”

“Indeed, milord. You may rise,” she lifted her hand in a dainty gesture, her nose (which was red from the cold) in the air. He did, grinning. “So, what d’you have planned for me n’ the ‘rents today?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Just a fun little nature walk, I guess. Nothing crazy.”

Mabel shot him double finger guns. “Coolio, bro-lio.”

Their parents were just climbing out of the car. They always took forever. Why did people over the age of twenty-eight always take forever to emerge from a vehicle?

Mabel fiddled with the empty space her right forefinger left in gloves she wore. Gloves were always too big for her as far as finger-length went.

“Soooooo…” she drawled as her parents rounded their car. “Lesgo!”

Running off in a totally random direction, she skidded to a halt at the edge of a clearing. “Yeeeah… might wanna let me lead the way, Mabes. I know my way around pretty well, since I... y’know... live here,” Dipper said with another one of those heart-stopping grins.

Ugh.

Suddenly feeling tremendously uncomfortable again, Mabel laughed awkwardly. “Indeed you do, bro-bro. Indeed you do.” Chill chill chill it’s fine, it’s fine, totally fine up in here.

Dipper walked around Mabel and started down a winding gravel path, definitely neglecting to give her anything that could remotely be classified as “enough space to not have a heart attack”. She followed behind him after several seconds, trying very hard not to stare at his butt.

Again. Dammit.

Mrs. Pines even scolded him a bit. “Careful not touch your sister, Dipper!”

Her voice carried through the trees, and Dipper called out a quick, “kay,” over his shoulder before continuing on. It had been perhaps five minutes. Ten, maybe? Who knew? Time lost meaning when she stared at Dipper too long, and he was walking directly ahead of her. Besides, she had to pay attention to where he was going! She couldn’t really be blamed for staring at him, right?

The path widened significantly after awhile, allowing Dipper to fall back a bit, frosted gravel crunching beneath his sneakers.

“Is it okay if we walk ahead of you, Dipper?” Mr. Pines asked. “Your mother and I would like to look at the scenery a bit more clearly than we can behind you and your sister.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty straightforward from here.”

Mr. and Mrs. Pines smiled at him and stepped around him, Mr. Pines patting Dipper’s shoulder affectionately as he walked past.

Dipper fell into step beside Mabel, walking in silence. Mabel inspected her shoes. Some of the frost had gotten on the rhinestones she’d glued to them.

Glancing up in front of her after several minutes, she noticed that their parents had gotten further and further away, far out of earshot.

For the first time in as long as Mabel could remember, they didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to her and Dipper’s interactions.

Blushing furiously at the very idea of being alone with her twin, she looked down at her shoes again. Thank god for the cold. Nobody would question her red face in the cold.

“So,” Dipper said haltingly. Mabel’s head whipped up to face him, her eyes wide. She hadn’t really been expecting him to actually speak, but then she couldn’t very well have not expected it, either. It had just… never occurred to her that he might.

“So?” Mabel said back. Don’t be awkward don’t be awkward don’t be awkward-

“Well, there’s this… thing.”

“Very specific,” Mabel nodded indulgently. “Say no more, brother dear. I know of what you speak.”

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Y-you do?” He stuttered.

Mabel snorted. “Uh, no. Doi. Why would I know?”

He blinked at her. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Guess you… probably wouldn’t, huh?” He looked away and muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” She asked, pushing her hair back behind the ear closest to him, some of the strands catching on her glove.

“Oh, uh. Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Mm...kay?” When he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at her, she spoke up again. “What were you gonna tell me?”

“Oh! Right. Yeah. That. Right.”

“Right. That,” Mabel agreed with a nod, as if she had the slightest idea what he was talking about (note: she did not, in fact, have the slightest idea what he was talking about).

“So, there’s this thing,” Dipper said again.

“Right,” Mabel repeated.

“This thing… that I’ve been kinda meaning to tell you for… well,” he laughed hoarsely. She’d never heard him laugh like that before. “For a few years, actually.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Errhm. Okay. What is it?”

“Okay, so it’s like this,” he started, then stopped and looked up at the sky. “Why me?” He muttered, so quiet she almost didn’t hear him again.

“Okay, Dip, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

He sighed and stopped walking. So did she. His eyes were closed, which was probably a good thing because they really were terribly distracting and whatever he had to tell her seemed pretty important. He turned his face to her again, opening them, something… different in them. Something she’d never seen before. Something she didn’t recognize.

Something urgent and terrifying and nerve-wracking in a way she didn’t entirely understand, and then-

“Kids!” Her dad called out, both parents jogging over to them. Well, okay, it was more like running. Why would they be running? They hadn’t been that far behind, yeesh.

“Shit,” Dipper muttered again, and Mabel turned to him in surprise. He’d tried to talk to her before, too. Before she’d left for Candy’s. Why? What was going on? Was he sick? If he was sick, why couldn’t he tell their parents? Oh god, what if he’d gotten an STD? What if he’d gotten somebody pregnant? No, wait, pregnancy didn’t last “a few years”, which he had said very clearly, so not that. Oh, fuckity fucking fuck, what if he’d found his soulmate?

“What’re you guys talkin’ about?” Their mom asked with a smile that was a bit too tight and didn’t reach her eyes.

Dipper shrugged. “School and whatnot. Just catching up.”

Mabel didn’t understand why he was lying, but, well. Mabel Pines ain’t no snitch, so she nodded and said, “yeppers yeppers Johnny Deppers! The usual, y’know.”

Mr. Pines inclined his head. Mrs. Pines was clasping his hand.

Her knuckles were white.

Their parents didn’t let their children out of their sight for the remainder of the hike.

Mabel could barely speak. She couldn’t even think much of anything.

What if he’d found his soulmate?

The bees never shut up, either.

[kyber-kisses]

Hymn (Part 4)

Winchester Brothers x Sister!reader

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the Masterlist!

Warnings: a good amount of feels and angst. . but there is fluff!

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do? (Based on the song Hymn by Joel Porter) 

A/n: *Throws chapter at you and runs away* Have fun! (gif created by the lovely ellen-reincarnated1967)

“What do you think your doing?” Your voice slightly raising as you stepped back into the motel room, shutting the door softly behind you with a loud click.

“Definitely . . . Not jumping on the bed?” Dean tried, both him and Sam staring down at you from their perch on the nearest bed.

“Wow. I’m convinced.”

“It was Deans idea!” Sam quickly pointed, his little hand lightly smacking against Deans face as he did.

“I leave for three minutes and you guys go crazy? Now I know I can never leave you guys again, which is disappointing-“ you sighed. “Seeing as I was gonna give you guys this extra bag of funyuns.” You slowly pulled the bag out of your hoodie pocket, instantly making Dean freeze.

“Okay, wait we’re sorry.”

“Oh are you? I said no funny business while I was gone.”

“Yes! I’m sorry! Can we have them?” Dean was practically vibrating at this point, teetering on the edge of the mattress.

Narrowing your eyes, you let a silence fall between you before giving in and toss the bag onto the other bed. “Fine, go to town. No crumbs on the bed.” It didn't even take a second before the middle child was vaulting over the space between the beds and ripping the bag open.

Sam grimaced, not making a move from his spot at all. “Funyuns are gross.”

“Yeah, well that’s why I got you this-“ being a subtle as you could, you passed Sam the candy bar you had grabbed from the vending machine with a quick wink, his eyes lighting up as he grabbed it.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Dean.”

“I won’t.”

“Pinkie promise?”

He linked his small finger with yours. “I pinkie promise.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

“Sam? . . . Sam!”

Suddenly snapping back into reality, Sam whipped his head around took at his brother. “What?”

“I’ve been talkin to you for the past five minutes, have you even heard a word that I’ve said?”

“. . .yes?”

“Wow, you are a terrible liar. What the hell were you even thinking about?”

Pressing his lips together the younger Winchester contemplated whether or not to say anything. You were always a risky topic . . . Especially to Dean, and seeing as his brother had been in a decent mood most of the drive he really didn’t want to take that away.

“Dude, seriously. Tell me what’s going on in that weird head of yours.” Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, Deans eyes bounced back between the road and Sam.

“Y/N. . . What else do you think I would be thinking about right now?”

Dean sucked in a breath before he nodded his head in understanding. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. She’s gone. What’s it matter?”

He expected Dean to snap, lash out- like he did when they were younger and the wound still fresh, but instead he was silent. . . Only because he was trying to remember everything he could about his sister, both good and bad. He needed something to keep him grounded. For instance, You had been good at making people laugh, you’d take things in directions people wouldn’t expect- lewder, darker, more absurd— then ambush them into responding. Some of Deans humor stemmed from your own, he liked to think it was his way of keeping you close. Along with a love for old western movies and a passion for classic rock.

Happy thoughts. Just keep thinking happy thoughts, Dean. Just because Sam brought up Y/N does not mean you need to get bitter.

Turning his attention towards the radio, the hunter played with the volume until it was a soft hum that could easily be spoken over.

“You remember when Y/N used to play music in the mornings while Dad was gone on hunts?”

Sam let out a soft chuckle as confirmation. “You mean with that dinky old radio she got at a yard sale for like three bucks?”

“Yes! That’s the one!” Dean snapped his fingers, a grin tugging on his lips. “And it wasn’t even the good music we usually listened to in the car. . . It’s was like shitty upbeat soul and R&B.”

“You know she would probably smack you on top of the head if she heard you say that, right?”

“Yeah, probably-“ Dean chuckled, flicking on the turn signal as he turned onto a narrow two lane street. “Anyways you know how’d she dance around to it too? For like the soul purpose of embarrassing is even though there was no one else around?”

“Yeah, and she couldn’t dance worth a shit.” Sam added, smiling as he slowly began to remember.You were always doing stuff to get them to smile or laugh because you knew that in a lifestyle as dark as your families, you needed to keep something lit.

The rest of the drive felt lighter. . . Easier after that small conversation. Even after decades of absence you somehow still managed to put smiles on their faces.Still working hard even in death.

And then Dean pulled into the cemetery and that light and happy feeling he had had moments ago flickered and faded like a dying candle and he could feel his insides slowly beginning to twist as his face dropped. He turned off the engine and barely got two steps from the car before the feeling was too much and it felt like he was being crushed.

“Dean?”

“You know what? On second though this was a terrible idea. Why did we do this? We shouldn’t have done this. Why the fuck did I suggest this?” He quickly rambled, backing towards the car and reaching for the keys again. “Let’s- lets just go home and forget I ever suggested visiting this place-“

The older Winchester didn’t get very far before his brother was letting out a sigh and pushing him forward again. “We drove all this way. You’re not backing out now.”

“Sam-“

“Dude, we both agreed we would do this. Let’s start with just a minute and go from there.”

There was silence for a moment before Dean huffed and stopped resisting his brothers pushing. He felt like a kid again coming back here. Hell the last time he had been here he still was one. Even though they never found a body, their dad was decent enough to pay for a headstone, a place to come back to.

And then they never did.

The cemetery was cool, dew still on the grass as the morning sun began to peak through the trees and light haze. The place was empty except for them. . . Because who visits a cemetery at 6:30 in the morning? Dean sucked in another breath of fresh air, jamming his hands into his pockets despite it growing warmer out as the sun began to rise.

“You know, we probably should have brought mom with us. It’s kinda a dick move on our part to do this and not tell her.” Dean grumbled, eyes already glued on the headstone ahead.

“She’s still on that hunt with Jody. I didn’t really want to bother her.”

“Oh yeah, you’re totally right.” Dean snarked. “Would hate to remind good ol’ mom that her first born has a headstone right next to hers.”

“Why are you being such a dick? You suggested we visit.”

“It’s nothing, Sam. Just drop it.”

Gripping his brothers shoulder suddenly, Sam halted Dean in his tracks. “Nice try. Tell me what’s going on. You were fine ten minutes ago.”

Dean gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before letting another sigh sleep through his lips. “Do you remember that case we worked a few weeks ago with the psycho spirit that caught us?”

“You mean reverend Johnson? Yeah, why?”

“I keep thinking about what he said-“

“Dean, he was a vengeful spirit. He was crazy.” Sam shook his head, dropping his hand from his shoulder. But Dean squeezes his eyes shut as if trying to forget. The words from the reverend still banging around inside his skull. Bad guys really needed to stop it with their monologues.

“What I’ve seen is that the lord provides for those who need it. If you don’t have something, that generally means you don’t need it, or you don’t deserve it.”

At first it had made perfect sense and Dean had just gone with it. He didn’t have his sister because he didn’t deserve to have one.

But then again, by that logic, they didn’t deserve a home when they were younger, and they didn’t deserve to love their sister and be safe. Y/N didn’t deserve her life.

“You’re right.” Dean nodded, in hopes of getting Sam to back off. “You’re right. Dude was crazy. Just hard to get those fuckin words out of my head.” He mumbled, the two of them somehow turning in unison to look at your headstone a few yards away.

It was like the granite slab was staring them both down. The two brothers both afraid to get closer. . . Because to Dean it was like having to face the truth all over again. You were gone. Here reality was set in stone (Pun intended). But then his legs were moving before his brain was and he was kneeling down the wipe the dirt and dust away from your name, calloused fingers smoothing over the engraved letters.

“Why’d you have to go be a hero, huh?” He whispered under his breath, feeling the sudden and familiar sting of on oncoming tears.

He could remember it all so clearly still, how you had thrust your rifle into his hands and quickly tugged on your oversized canvas jacket. How the wind had whipped at your partially pulled up hair when you swung the door to the motel room open. How you told them you’d be back and then never were. Dean wondered if you would still be the same now. Back then he was still too small for his flannels and still wasn’t sure how to aim a gun properly. If you were still alive what would you have looked like now? Would you be taller? Would your hair be longer? . . . And would you have recognized what he and Sam had become?

Would you recognize them at all?

“We shoulda brought flowers or something.” He mumbled, picking the few stray weeds that had grown around the base of the stone. He was fidgeting. He did that when he was uncomfortable.

“We can always go get some. We ain’t too far outside of town.”

Dean mumbled a soft I guess as he rested his chin on his knee, arms looping tightly around his leg as if trying to mimic a hug.

“I think I’m gonna call mom. She would want to be with us for the next stop we make. . . We can always come back here too if she really wants.” Sam spoke up, extending a hand to help pull his brother up.

“Do what you think is right or whatever. I’ll be in the car.” rising to his feet, Dean wiped the dirt from his hands onto the front of his jeans. If he stayed here another minute he was bound to start crying. As He began the trek back through the maze of headstones, his fingers absentmindedly tugged on the piece of fabric on his wrist. The bit of flannel gave him a sense of comfort, because sometimes a bit of cloth could feel like love, and that was all he really wanted right now. It was one of those moments in which he realized how many things he had lost that mattered. Dad. Bobby. Y/N. Sure he had lost mom, but she was back. The rest were still gone.

All he wanted was the chance to see Y/N again, to hear her say I missed you, and I've come home.

SPN Taglist:

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HYMN Taglist:

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[much-obliged-timothy]

Had another Borderlands fic idea that will never turn into anything substantial, so here’s a little one-shot based on it! A job unexpectedly reunites Athena with an old companion, retirement is very tempting, and I somehow turned a minor character with one (1) defining feature into an OC

Athena moved along the area quietly, out of sight. The path nearby was mostly quiet aside from a lone skag dragging itself along.

Janey was trying to convince her to give up taking these contracts. She wanted Athena to find a more legitimate way to make money, preferably one that didn’t involve her assassinating people.

But when this job had come her way, she couldn’t resist. 

Jack’s influence on Pandora was growing by the day. If he managed to wake the Warrior, he’d wipe out the majority of life here. Normally, Athena wouldn’t care what happened to a planet like Pandora. But the fact that she and Janey now lived here meant she sure as hell didn’t want Jack occupying the place.

There weren’t many details on her target. A higher-up in Hyperion who went rogue for unknown reasons. He was guaranteed to have top-secret information that could be used against Jack, potentially even detrimentally so. Jack was quietly sending people after him, not wanting anyone to know he was out there.

Apparently, he’d joined a local bandit gang, though Athena couldn’t puzzle out if it was to blend in or for the sake of having protection. Not that it really mattered.

The job was to capture him and turn him over to the client. Athena had other plans for him, though.

Someone with that intel? She had every intention of beating some of it out of him herself, then turning him over to the Crimson Raiders. They were the only organized movement against Jack. She had to hope they could be competent enough to take him down.

She quieted her thoughts as voices drifted her way, still a fair distance off. She found a suitable hiding place, then fell still. 

It was a few minutes before gunshots rang out and the skag on the path fell dead. Laughter, close now, came in waves.

“Stupid creatures,” a man’s voice said.

Athena peaked out from her hiding spot. Sure enough, a group of bandits were approaching the skag’s corpse. The one leading them reached it first, kicking it roughly.

She scanned their faces, immediately dismissing most of the little group. Only two stood out to her, and only one could be her target.

The two had their faces hidden with masks, but one was a woman and one was a man. Her target was the man.

She did a thorough observation of him as he watched the others kick and carve at the skag corpse. He had a gun holstered to his thigh, his hand resting on it with the kind of casual paranoia of the hunted. The way his right pant leg flared just the slightest informed her he likely had a knife hidden beneath it. He had on a weapons belt, though she wasn’t sure what kind of guns he would digistruct from it. She had no information about his fighting style.

Three grenades strapped to the weapons belt. He wasn’t armed to the teeth, but he was prepared for a fight.

She took in his outfit. Most of him was hidden by his clothing; cargo pants, a jacket zipped up part way over his shirt, combat boots, a ragged scarf around his neck, fingerless gloves, and his mask. The hood of his jacket was pulled up, hiding his hair. This was a man who didn’t want to reveal a single defining feature about himself.

She slipped a grenade into her hand, waiting patiently. She had to get them here, while they were well away from their base camp. The bandit gang was surprisingly organized and well-armed. It would be hard to capture him on his home turf. This was her best chance, as she heard he didn’t leave the base very often.

She’d been observing for nearly two weeks, gathering information, though she’d been unable to get close enough to monitor the base. She’d captured two of the gang members, torturing what answers she could out of them and finding out her target was heading out on a small but important gang job today.

“Alright,” the masked woman said. “Are you done kicking the skag? We need to get moving.”

A redheaded man waved his hand dismissively. “We’re going to reach the drop point early at this rate. We got time to kill. But if you’re gonna bitch, we might as well go.”

They started moving again. Her target was towards the center of their group, so Athena shifted her aim from the group to just behind them, at the skag’s corpse.

She rolled the grenade, watching it bump along the ground and come to rest against the skag corpse. She raised her shield just as the blast went off.

The group immediately went on the defensive, tightening their formation and yelling out orders to each other. All had their guns aimed, circled up to cover every direction. 

It wouldn’t help them. Athena took two down with headshots, aware their shields had been, if not shattered, then dangerously weakened in the explosion because they’d been at the back of the group.

The formation tightened to cover the losses, two of the members firing at where Athena’s shots had come from. She was already on the move, circling around.

She flung her shield, catching the masked woman in the legs and sending her falling against the man next to her. It created a partial domino effect, sending half the group stumbling.

Athena charged in, firing on them, trying to break their shields as fast as she could. Her target had frozen at the sight of her, but she saw his head snap to the side, looking for an escape.

He knew. Good. It was more fun when they panicked.

“Come on!” he said, voice distorted. Damn, he’d gone to the extremes to keep himself hidden. He grabbed the redheaded man’s jacket as two others fired on Athena. “We need to go!” 

She expected resistance, but the redheaded man didn’t hesitate. “Cover us!”

He and her target began to flee, heading in the direction of a denser area where they could either take cover or hope to lose her. Athena shot one of the two men left behind dead and flung her shield at her target as hard as she could.

It struck his right leg and he cried out in pain as he fell. Like she’d hoped, the impact sent him falling in a way that no doubt resulted in, at the least, a broken ankle. She hoped she’d fucked up his whole leg.

She shot the other remaining bandit dead and approached the target and the redhead. The redhead was frantically trying to get her target up, but his leg was a mess and he was struggling to get upright. He looked over his shoulder, then shoved the redhead off himself and gestured at him to run.

The target flipped onto his back, firing at Athena with an SMG he must’ve digistructed. She raised her shield to absorb the shots, continuing to stalk closer to him and watch his growing panic.

The redhead hadn’t abandoned him. He fired on Athena as well, trying to get between her and the target. She ran forward and slammed into him with her shield, knocking him onto his back. She aimed her gun at him as he wheezed for breath.

“No!” 

The target threw himself forward at her legs, catching her by surprise and knocking her to the ground. He let out a cry as his bad leg crumpled beneath him, but used the sudden momentum to slam against Athena as they struck the ground together, winding her. 

He jammed his gun up under her chin. “You going to walk away, or we gotta do this the hard way?”

“Hard way,” Athena said, slamming her fist against the side of his head. He fell off her, trying to get back up but unable to move his leg properly.

She drove her knee into his back, listening to him grunt as he hit the ground. She tried to get an arm around his neck, but he waited until she got close and then jammed an elbow back into her stomach, throwing her off himself.

He was a fighter, she’d give him that. This was a man who was determined to live.

But he was too valuable to lose, so she threw herself right back at him. Guns were too dangerous; she couldn’t risk killing him.

He wasn’t particularly competent in close-range fighting. He was just scared and desperate. She realized it as they began to trade blows again. There was little form to his attacks. He was too frantic to be strategic and too unpracticed to be very effective aside from the occasional lucky blow. 

His friend wouldn’t stay down forever. Athena grabbed her gun and tried to fire in the redhead’s direction, but her target grabbed her arm and slammed it against the ground, trying to break her wrist. She released the gun and turned her arm to cushion the blow, but the target used the sudden chance to seize her gun, firing on her.

Shots struck her from behind. Shit. He was back up.

Athena rolled away, snagging the target’s jacket and dragging him with her, putting him between her and the redhead. The shots stopped after two caught the target’s shield. 

Athena finally managed to hook an arm around his throat, tightening her hold until he couldn’t breathe, his fingers clawing at her arm. She snatched her gun back, firing at the redhead as he tried to run forward to help, sending him stumbling back.

The target suddenly threw his hand up, fingers dangerously close to her left eye. She jerked back, loosening her hold on accident. He brought his head forward and jerked it back, cracking it against hers.

She could feel her nose bleeding as she lost her hold on him. As he tried to crawl away, she kicked his bad leg, making him yell.

They both threw themselves at each other, rolling and punching. Athena ended up kneeling on his chest, fist pulled back to strike him. She’d knock him out, kill his friend, and get out of here with the target in hand.

“Athena, wait!” he cried.

She paused. How did he know her name?

“Get off him,” the redhead said, aiming his gun at her. “Get the hell off him.”

She raised her fist again. She’d ask him when he woke up in a few hours.

“Whoa, whoa, jeez, it’s me! Athena, it’s just me!” the target said in alarm. When that didn’t stop her, he panicked worse, and yelled, “Oh, fuck me: Let’s get sexy!”

That stopped her. 

She slowly lowered her fist. It couldn’t be. 

She grabbed his mask and yanked it off. He looked up at her with his only good eye, the other one milky white and blind, the scar carving through it on its path along his face.

“Not-Jack,” she said.

“Timothy,” he said, yanking the scarf off and tapping a choker around his throat. When he spoke again, his voice didn’t come out distorted. It was all Jack’s voice, but the tone was a light one Jack didn’t use. “My name is Timothy.”

“We, uh, we know the assassin?” the redhead said, looking unsure now as he kept his gun pointed at Athena. 

Tim tried to sit up. Athena backed off enough to let him. He pushed the hood back, revealing that he’d cut Jack’s hair and tried to style it differently. 

“We used to work together,” Tim informed his friend. 

“So...why’s she trying to kill you? I mean, yea, you’re whiny to work with, but you’re not that insufferable,” the redhead said.

“I am not wh- Okay, whatever, he’s got a point. Why are you trying to kill me?” Tim said.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” Athena said. “I got hired to capture you and turn you over.” She crossed her arms, putting a foot on his chest to keep him down when he tried to get up. “You were high-up in Hyperion, according to the intel I got.”

“I was,” Tim said warily. “I ran. I joined a bandit gang. That’s Zeno.”

“Uh...hi,” the redhead said, giving a wave with the hand that wasn’t pointing a gun at her. “Tim, what the fuck is happening?”

“No clue,” Tim said. “So can we, um, go? Not that I’m really going anywhere with a broken leg, but, you know.”

“No.” Athena pressed her foot harder to his chest. “You’re going to the Crimson Raiders.”

“The- what?” Tim said in alarm. “They’ll kill me!” 

“Someone needs to stop Jack. Since they gained the vault hunters, they’ve been a threat to him,” Athena said. “If you were as valuable on Helios as you were made out to be, you’re a valuable source of information on Jack.”

“W-Wait!” Tim said, eyes going wide. “You can’t. Athena, you can’t. They’ll kill me. Look at me! They’ll kill me in a heartbeat! No, no, actually, they’ll torture me for information first, and then they’ll kill me. Please, you can’t do this. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know and you can take it to them. Just let me go. Please. I fled because Jack was a goddamn monster and I couldn’t stand to work for him anymore.”

Athena considered. He was probably right about them torturing and killing him. 

And did he really deserve that? He was just a kid who got in over his head. She knew he’d only stayed with Jack because Jack had implanted a bomb in his face. If he was here, he’d found a way to get it out or deactivate it and then run. 

He’d never wanted to be part of this mess. She internally groaned. She’d had a soft spot for the damn kid back on Elpis, and looking at his frightened face, it was coming back.

She got up, grabbing his jacket. “You’re coming with me. I won’t turn you over, but you are going to tell me whatever I want to know.”

“Nope,” Zeno said, finger tightening on the trigger. “Can’t let you take him.”

“You can’t stop me,” Athena warned.

“She’s right,” Tim said miserably. “Let him live, Athena. Not a lot of people exactly like me. Be a shame to lose one of the few who does.”

Zeno lowered the gun slowly. “I’ll go. He can’t get back to the camp on his own with his leg like that. I’ll drag his ass back when you’re done questioning him. Politely questioning him.” He waved the gun a little. “Very politely.”

“God, you idiot,” Tim said, but it was fond. “You can’t stop Athena.”

“You can come,” Athena said, surprising herself. “But only because I need help getting him back like this. You two try anything, I shoot the redhead and go with my original plan.”

“You’ll really let me go?” Tim said anxiously. 

“I promise,” she said, unable to meet his eyes as she said it. “You left Jack. I can respect that, at least.”

“No loyalty to that absolute dick, trust me,” Tim said.

She and Zeno struggled to get him upright. Tim couldn’t put any pressure on his leg. Athena was kind of regretting fucking it up so badly.

“Here,” she said, injecting him with a health kit. “Start talking while we walk. How’d you escape Jack?”

“Yea, that’s a long story,” Tim said.

“We’ve got time,” Athena said.

Tim sighed but began his story of how he’d escaped and come to live amongst a bandit gang. As he talked, Athena wondered how she got herself into these damn messes and why she always took pity on the stupid kids like Tim. 

Still, she already knew what would happen. She’d take him to Hollow Point, Janey would yell at her for taking a contract and beating up Tim, they’d tend to him, she’d get her information, and she’d let him go. And once she let him go, she’d keep an eye on him to make sure that bastard Handsome Jack never got his hands on Timothy. 

This job certainly hadn’t gone how she’d expected. Maybe it really was time to find a new career.

[stachmousworld]

Donuts

 (Picture from the Von Doughnuts site. I never had those. *cry in french*)

Summary: Bucky came back from a mission with a treat or a dozen. His bestfriend is not sure what is going on and her fear may stop her from finding what she really wanted. Fortunately, Bucky aka Bronco, was willing to risk it all.

Pairing: Bucky x Black!female character

Disclaimers: None of them are mine, except for the original character.

Tags: Smut/Tease. Second base who? Donuts do play a huge part in it.

It was International Donut Day. Why do I know that? Do I really keep track of those International Days? No. But I’m on a binge, watching this psycho, Will Tennyson (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyqUgHwb5mk&t=16s) This dude, from Toronto, is absolutely a monster when it comes to inhaling food, especially donuts. So here we are.

Also, I wanted to write a full smutty scene, but I listened to the wrong track. Listening to SiR instead of Tank for these kinds of stories was my mistake.

 She was dosing on her couch, her show long forgotten. She freed one of her legs from the warmth of the plaids and wiggled her toes, enjoying the crisp cold air. Finally off her feet. Finally, she sighed, rotating her tensed ankles. This week had been hell. She had been stretched thin at work. One of her colleagues had ditched them on the busiest week of the year, to go to Coachella, and she had to replace her and take both shifts, with little to no pauses. Would she get paid way more? Yep, but it did nothing to help with her anger. She was too exhausted to formulate a plan of revenge against her colleague, but once she’d feel better. It was over for her.

She stretched her calves and groaned. It’s decided, she’d never stand up again. Wasn’t worth it. Nope. As she snuggled her pillow, someone knocked on her door. She frowned and patted the empty place next to her looking for her phone. She groaned when the knocking and ringing grew louder.

“Siri, what time is it?” She whispered furiously, praying that Siri wouldn’t reply too loud.

“1 am, Miss.” The electronical voice answered. Loudly. The young woman tossed the covers, definitely annoyed. She grabbed her boyfriend’s gun and slowly stood up. She kept the TV on to maintain the illusion that she didn’t hear the person, even if Siri’s voice had sounded pretty loud to her own ears. She hoped the person behind the door hadn’t noticed.

She tiptoed to the door, looked through the peephole and sighed, relief washing over her.

“Bucky,” she groaned as she unlocked the door. “It’s 1 am. I told you to call me before coming. I could have been sleeping. And you know how I feel about waking up.”

Bucky looked sheepish and held a box toward her. She grabbed it and returned to her safe place, on her couch under the blankets.

“You are not excused, by the way. Even though it smells…” She brought the box to her nose and inhaled. “…heavenly.”

She settled on the couch legs crossed.

“Sorry, Doll, I just came from a mission and thought of you.”

She rolled her eyes and eyed him suspiciously. A mission? Did he come straight from the Tower? She narrowed her eyes as he took his jacket off. Was that blood on the hem of his shirt? She leaned forward and scrunched her nose. Bucky unaware of her inner struggles sauntered to the couch. She raised a hand to stop him.

“Wait a minute, Bronco. Did you take a shower before coming? Last time was enough, already. I don’t want to face the cleaning lady and try to explain why I have blood on my cushions. NO amount of sweets would make me rekindle or friendship.”

Bucky grinned mischievously.

“If you want, you can check my body.” He drawled, before winking.

“Thanks. But I’ll pass. If you want a hot body to sleep with, the door is behind.”

Bucky grunted something about her being unfairly cold toward him, although he brought her favorite treats.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now, strip or get lost, Bronco,” she said, impassive.

“You do realize why people call me Bronco, right?” He asked, as he unbuckled his pants. A few wild strands of hair falling onto his face. Her fingers itched to redo his bun and touched what she knew was soft cleaned hair. She gripped her plaid and concentrated on the softness instead.

Breath in, breath out. It’s not the first time he’ll be half naked next to you and that won’t be the last. So calm down, she thought desperately. After a last exhale, she took the remote and scrolled down the list of movies, looking for one he’ll appreciate.

“You didn’t answer.”

“Hm?” She answered, pretending not to hear. Being distracted meant looking at him and looking at him meant…her heart started beating faster. Nope. Not getting my eyes off the screen, she concluded, firmly.

“You love to call me Bronco, but do you know why they call me like that?”

God, had she already inhaled? Or exhaled? Was her breath too fast, or too slow? Had he noticed? She slightly shook her head.

“I’m not stupid, Buck’”, she said, cringing inwardly. Her voice sounded too weak. He sure would notice that something was wrong. Great.

“Yeah, but I want you to tell me, or else, I’ll think you don’t really know.”

“What am I? A kid?” she asked, slightly amused.

“Who knows,” he whispered in her ear. Warm air caressed her lobe and neck. She sat still. Paralyzed. She hadn’t even seen him move. How did he…?

She kept staring at the TV but couldn’t decipher anything anymore. The only anchor was Bucky’s breath on her right side, tickling her slightly. She resisted with all her consciousness and strength against the pleasure rushing through her veins.

She swallowed, took a short breath and turned her head toward his. Bucky pressed his forehead against hers. He slowly brushed his nose against hers, their lips only a few inches apart. Her eyes were glued to his. They were normally a light grey, turning blue when it was sunny outside, but tonight…tonight they were dark blue. Enticing and luring her into a new territory.

For a couple of minutes, no one moved.

“They called you Bronco, because you are wild,” she finally said. Bucky blinked slowly. She swallowed, then licked her lips to humidify her dry lips. The tip of her tongue accidentally brushed Bucky’s lips. She stuttered some apologies, cheeks flaming red. Bucky, still silent, leaned back. His gaze was unwavering.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” he answered, his voice deeper and raspier than normal.

She unclenched her hands on the remote and sent it to him. He caught it effortlessly but didn’t make any move to look for a movie.

“Are you not going to look what I brought for you?” He said, raising one eyebrow and pointing at the large box. She jumped into action, taking this distraction to make sense of her own thoughts. What the absolute…what the hell! She almost…they almost kissed. And Bucky didn’t seem to mind. She briefly closed her eyes. He simply is horny and was probably too tired to find someone so he’s being a jerk, she reasoned.

She shook her head, accidentally freeing a few braids out of her satin bonnet. She raised her hand to put them back, when Bucky’s hand came into view. He rearranged her braids with nimble fingers. She closed her gaping mouth and thanked him almost silently.

His dark eyes seemed to be attached to her. He hadn’t stopped looking at her, and she was starting to feel a little bit bothered. Were they crossing a line? Did she even want to cross that line? Her heart settled her resolution. She wont sleep with him. It was already messy as it was, but with her now growing feelings for him, she wouldn’t be able to pretend not caring about him. She inwardly cringed. 

I’d become too clingy. Too obvious and he’ll let me down nicely, because it is how he is, she thought, sadly.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bucky nudged her shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry. Lost in my thoughts for a second.”

“I know,” he simply replied. His voice was too calm to be a good sign.

I have already fucked this up, she groaned. With trembling hands she opened the box. The scent escaping was mouthwatering. She leaned forward and inhaled. There were 12 huge donuts. Some filled, some not, some with a hole and the others not.

“Jesus, Buck! That’s my crack, you know that,” she screamed, excited. She looked for the right one to start. It took her way more time that she’d like to admit, but they looked so good. Contrary to popular beliefs it wasn’t an easy task. She didn’t want to start with the best one and be disappointed eating the others. Like so many times before.

She, finally, settled for a classic. A glazed donut. The most regular and common one. The first bite left her boneless, slow moans escaped her mouth. It was really too indecent to be that good. She slumped onto the back of the couch, eyes rolling from the sugar rush, the savory dough and the overall balanced spices.

At this point, she was unaware of Bucky’s presence. All that counted was the donut and her. Once finished she licked her fingers and smacked her lips.

“Really, Bucky, you outdone yourself. After the last time, I was sure you couldn’t find something better than those pancakes from the South, but here we…” She trailed off. Bucky took her hand, brought her fingers to his mouth and sucked on her thumb. His tongue swirl around the digit, cleaning the remaining glaze. His eyelids fluttered as he changed from one finger to the other. Every time his tongue lapped the tip of her finger, she felt sparks of pleasure bursting inside her clit. She closed her legs and enjoyed the pleasure brought by the sudden pressure.

He liked her pinky finger, letting it go in a pop. Bucky looked more pleased than her. He wiped the corner of her lips.

“Truly the best,” he whispered, pensive.

“Bucky…”

“Try this one.” He brought to her lips a plain looking donut. She took a bite, almost regretting not taking a napkin. The strawberry jam filling burst inside her mouth, almost choking her as it got near her windpipe. She chewed, conscious that Bucky was watching her every move. She was now repressing her moans and twitching and forced her legs to stay still.

“It’s really good,” she complimented with her mouth still full.

Bucky tutted. “Have your parents never taught you not to talk with your mouth full?”

She swallowed then opened her now empty mouth. Bucky smiled amused.

“See, Daddy, I’m a big girl now,” she chuckled, leaning to get the rest of the donut from Bucky. She raised her eyes when she received no reaction from him. Bucky’s predatory face was back. Oh oh. He tilted his head and smirked.

“Buc…Bucky? Are you okay?”

Bucky’s smile revealed too many teeth to be innocent. He nodded and brought the rest of the donut to her mouth. She took a cautious bite, not knowing what Bucky had in mind. Now she was prepared, she could really enjoy the donut. There was some lemony aftertaste from the jam. She bobbed her head as other spices came through. Really good for a jam filled donut.

She leaned forward to get another bite. The last one. Bucky gave it to her, still silent. She wasn’t sure of what to say, or what to do to calm him down. So, she took her time to think but ended up being more distracted by him, or more exactly by his hand, which was now on hers. His fingers traveled slowly, up to her neck. He caressed her bare arms, leaving goosebumps everywhere. 

As he reached the base of her neck, he started drawing some circles, making her tilt her head toward the warmth. Her eyes fluttered and shut closed. She enjoyed the lovely caress, totally unaware of Bucky’s initial plan, until she felt soft lips caressing the other side of her neck.

“Bucky,” she pleaded. There was as much desperation for him to keep going than a plea to stop.

He kissed her neck some more, then made his way to her face with the same care and precision. He inhaled softly onto her lips, then kiss her lightly. She barely felt his soft plump lips.

“Bucky…”

He grazed her lower lip with his teeth, nibbling, then pressed in, using the space between their body to lay her down on the couch onto the feather-like plaid. He pushed his tongue inbetween her lips and played with hers.

Bucky took his time to discover her mouth. His tongue felt so good against hers. She started writhing against his body, trying to maximize the pressure between their two bodies. Bucky thrusted into her hip. A large thickness bumped onto her pelvis. She moaned. She did that. She made him…Wait!

She pushed Bucky away. Although he was way bigger and bulkier than her, he allowed her. He flopped onto his back, eyes closed as he took sharp breaths. He didn’t try to hide his bulge and laid legs crossed next to her.

She averted her eyes.

“Why?” he said, dejected.

She opened her mouth and closed it. Bucky shouldn’t have sounded so…sad. He should have laughed it off and joked like usual.

“I don’t…we are friends Bucky. And even though some people like to be friends with benefits, I don’t do that.” She laughed mirthlessly. Yeah, she didn’t want to talk about her virginity on top of her morals. Even though she was sure, she had talked to him about it.

“And if I don’t want to be your friends. Only,” he said, carefully.

She frowned unsure of what he meant.

“And if I want to be more than your friend,” he explained, a bit awkward.

“Just because you want to fuck me?”

Bucky’s face scrunched in cringe.

“I wouldn’t call that…okay, that’s not the point. I don’t care about…making love to you.” Bucky’s face grew redder than normal for a supersoldier. He raised his eyes to the sky and took a deep breath. “I want the whole shebang. Going on dates, doing some couple activities.” He finished quickly, avoiding her eyes.

“But why?” she asked, gobsmacked.

“Why, what?”

“Why do you want to be in a relationship with me?”

Bucky shrugged, his entire face was now flaming red.

“I have always wanted to.”

“You’re lying,” she gasped, slapping his leg. “I’m pretty sure, you weren’t crushing on me. You kept talking about all these girls you were seeing.”

Bucky groaned and took his head into his hands. She only deciphered something close to “fuck…Clint and Nat.” Understanding what was the problem, she scooted forward, unconsciously sitting on his lap. She took his hand away from his face, and peered into his eyes.

“Bucky, tell me the truth. Please.”

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth a few times. He freed his hands, pushed her onto his chest, her head resting on his heart.

“Since the first time I saw you.” He replied, quietly.

“What?” She asked, lost.

“I wanted to be with you since the first day. You were so beautiful with your little yellow flowery dress. And the smile you gave me…” He kissed the top of her head. “…I tried to ask for advice to the only people I knew because I tried and failed to flirt with you and keep you interested. So, they told me to make you jealous, but the more I pretended to go on dates and have sex, the more you put me in the ‘friendzone.’”

She didn’t have it in her to laugh at his use of modern slang, too engrossed in the meaning behind those words. She let them sooth her insecurities. The bubble of love and hope threatened to burst any time soon.

“I wanted to tell you every time, I came to your place. I had this fear that one day, your boyfriend would open the door. Or you’d tell me you found someone else.” He tightened his arms around her. “So, no. It wasn’t a spontaneous decision.”

They laid in silence for a couple of seconds before she couldn’t handle it.

“I love you,” she blurted, then froze, utterly mortified. “I mean…I like y..”

Bucky surged forward kissing her with hunger. She didn’t react at first, too shock by his reaction, then, relaxed against his body, pressing her leg between his, massaging his hardening bulge. Bucky broke the kiss, hissing, after one particular long drag on his erection.

“I love you, Doll’. ‘m pretty sure longer than you.”

She laughed breathlessly before kissing him again.

 Fin

Mother masterrliiiisssstt ✨✨✨🐱‍🏍

[ninzied]

things you said with too many miles between us

happy belated birthday to my dear cherished friend @redbelles. i am eternally grateful for your wit, wisdom, and way with words. please accept this humble fic offering as a token of ALL MY LOVE for you :)

[ao3]

The moment Frank crosses the bridge back into the city, he wonders if he’s made a mistake.

Everything suddenly feels too close – the buildings, the view, the vague smell of garbage polluting the truck cabin. He rolls up the windows and cranks the AC instead. He reaches for the volume next, to drown out as much of the street sounds as he can.

He misses the fresh, clean air of the mountains, all that wide open space on the road with nothing else between him and the horizon.

There’s not enough room here, for him and his thoughts. Not enough time for them, either; when he’d been driving with no destination in mind, his thoughts had been prone to wandering, too, and it was fine if they returned with no answer, because there was always more time to work them through.

He could feel the longing more acutely then, but at least he could also feel free to hope.

Here, the city feels too impatient for that: the stop-start of it all, the pressure to keep shifting gears that seems to close in on him from every side. As he maneuvers his way through the rest of the city, he thinks about all that sky still behind him, endless, and blue, and beckoning him to turn around.

And then he thinks about what brought him back, and drives on.

…

Frank does a double take when he sees Amy waiting for him on the steps of Curtis’s trailer. She vaults up with an ear-to-ear grin as the truck rolls to a stop out front.

He closes the door and says, “How did you know?”

“I could just tell.” She skips up to the truck, and flashes a couple of postcards from the inner part of her jacket at him. There’s Mt. Rushmore on one of them, the St. Louis arch on the other. “You were starting to sound a little homesick.”

Frank shakes his head. “Curt told you, didn’t he.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. And then she bursts out, sounding smug, “But also, the dates on these, look – you weren’t heading west, you were going the opposite. Clearly you were making your way back to something.”

Frank grabs up his bag from the cargo bed of the truck, slinging it over his shoulder. “Okay, detective. C’mere.”

She jumps up at him with a crushing bear hug, and he can’t help but smile before pulling away. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

“You get some good thinking done out there?”

He pulls a noncommittal face. “Sure.”

“Great. Can’t wait to hear all about it.” She’s beaming at him, and that’s not really something he knows how to say no to. “I was gonna meet up with some friends for dinner, but I was thinking I could help you unpack until then?”

“You have friends?” He grunts as she jams her fist in his shoulder.

“Got at least one right here,” she says. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”

…

“It’s spring break, anyway, so it was a good excuse to make some of them drive up here with me.” Amy’s cross-legged on one of the chairs, munching on snacks she’d found in the cupboard that Curt must have left there for Frank.

“Spring break, huh? Shouldn’t you be on a beach somewhere instead?”

Amy gives him a look. “Dive school, remember? That’s all we do all day. Be on the beach.” She holds out a bag of chips to him, and he sets his duffel aside.

“Let me guess – guns, guns, more guns. And a steady rotation of the same three black hoodies.” She gives one of the side pockets a playful little nudge, and a corner of cardstock pokes out of the zipper.

“What’s this?” Amy asks, reaching in and pulling out a frayed stack of postcards. Before Frank has a chance to say anything, she’s already plucking the rubber band off. It’s cracked in the middle, and falls to the floor in one long broken strand. “Jeez. That thing is almost as ancient as you are.”

“Hey. Quit that.” He makes a move for the cards, but she’s shooting onto her feet with a speed that would probably make him proud under any other circumstances. “Hand ’em over, all right?”

“Just a sec.”

She starts thumbing through the cards like a kid who’s just been trick-or-treating, taking stock of all her spoils.

“I’m serious. Hey.”

But the amusement has already faded from her expression, and then she’s clearing her throat and carefully realigning the cards, like they’re something sacred that she knows she had no right to see.

She doesn’t resist him when he takes the cards back, tucking them carefully into his bag.

“Frank…” She shakes her head, baffled, and when he glances back over she looks genuinely upset with him. “Why didn’t you send those?”

“Wasn’t the point of writing them.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “But just to clarify. You wrote those freaking beautiful, heartfelt little notes, specifically to just…keep them all to yourself?” She throws her hands up in the air with abject confusion. Words seem to fail her momentarily, which suits Frank just fine.

He turns away, unpacking the rest of his things. He’s checking the status of the fridge next when she starts in again.

“Wait, hang on.”

Frank cracks open a cold beer, and sends a silent thank you to Curt for looking out. He sinks into one of the chairs by the table as Amy rounds on him accusingly.

“Are you telling me that that day in the hospital – was that seriously the last time you spoke to her?”

“Wasn’t telling you anything.”

“Nice,” says Amy. “Okay. Sure. Do that thing where you push people away. That’s obviously been working so well for you.”

“Maybe I was just keeping a diary.” He shrugs, ignoring the dig. “Pretty sure people are allowed to do shit like that when they travel.”

Amy is unimpressed. “Is your diary also named Karen? Because that would really be some coincidence.”

“Look, I didn’t write them to be read – by her, or by anyone.” His tone is harder than he meant for it to be, and he catches Amy wince a little in his periphery.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“’S’okay,” he tells her. “It’s done.”

She comes over to sit next to him. He chugs down some more of his beer, and they’re both silent for a while.

“You kept them, though,” Amy finally insists quietly to him. “That means something.”

“Yeah,” says Frank. No point in denying it.

“And for what it’s worth,” Amy tells him, “she looks at you the same way.”

“That was a long time ago,” says Frank, getting up to go scrounge for anything resembling real food. “Tell me about these ‘friends’ of yours. The one who drove you all the way up here – he been treating you right?”

“How did you even—” Amy protests, and Frank swats away the bag of cookies she lobs at his head.

…

After Amy’s gone to meet up with her friends, Frank finds his phone and, for the tenth time that week, hovers over Karen’s number before setting it back down.

Everything he’s come here to tell her – she deserves to hear it from him in person. But calling her, if she even picks up, feels like cornering her into something she has every right to say no to, and at the very least think about before she says yes.

He picks up his phone again.

Hey, he types into the screen. It’s me. I’m back in town. Would like to see you, if you would be okay with that.

He texts her the address, and reaches for another beer.

Karen’s response comes a few hours later:

Didn’t realize you had left again.

And then, after ten long and excruciating seconds:

I can come by around 3 tomorrow.

Okay, he texts back, and leaves it at that. …

He hears her car pull up just before 3 the next afternoon.

He meets her outside, waiting for her to step out. She’s shielding her eyes from the sun, so he doesn’t get a good look at her face right away. She’s dressed in dark denim, and a sweater made out of some soft-looking material.

The image stirs up a strange, almost painful sensation in his chest. He realizes he’s never seen her not dressed up for work before. He’s never seen her as this. Just Karen.

“Hey,” he says, approaching as she does. They end up meeting somewhere in the middle, standing awkwardly together in that gravel lot. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.” Karen gives him a small smile. “You look good, Frank.”

“Yeah?” he says. “You too.”

He’s about to invite her inside when she slips her hand into her bag, and then she’s holding something out to him. “Here. I wanted to return these.”

He looks down.

“Christ,” he says, feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

She has a small handful of his postcards – whatever Amy must have thought she could get away with stealing out of his bag when he wasn’t looking.

He recognizes the one on top. It was the last card he’d written to her – with a picture of some woods up in Oregon, where he’d been hiking when he realized he had it all wrong.

“Not sure you meant for them to get sent.”

“No,” says Frank, swallowing. They’re dated, but he’d never bothered to stamp or address any of them, only starting them each with a single, scrawled Dear Karen. “No, but they’re yours.”

She turns the cards over in her hand. “Heard your song on the radio as I drove here,” she reads aloud. She flips to another one. “This coffee could give that other place a run for its money.”

He grimaces to hear his words out in the open like this. But she’s gentle with them, and with each postcard too, grasping them delicately at the edges as if they might crumple with too much pressure.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she reads on the back of a card he’d grabbed from the souvenir shop at some grungy Seattle motel. “About how we’re all just trying not to be lonely. To be honest, I think about it all the time.”

There’s a slight hitch in her voice at the end, and he finds himself swaying forward a little, remembering where he had been the night that he wrote it. How he’d almost picked up the phone and called her. How his throat had closed up at the thought, and everything he would’ve said ended up on a stack of cards at the bottom of his bag instead.

“Are there more of these?” Karen asks.

Frank nods. “They’re not – I mean, some of them are just – like the one about the coffee. Pretty meaningless.”

She’s looking at him like they’re anything but. “Could I see them?”

“You can have them.” He doesn’t know how to take his eyes off of her. “You can have all of them.”

Karen traces a finger over the Oregon woods before turning the postcard around. “Wish you were here.” She seems to keep her gaze trained purposely down as she asks him, “Did you mean that, Frank?”

Something breaks inside him at the question. He ducks his head to catch her eye, lifting a knuckle to ghost over her chin. “I did,” he says, hoarse but resolved. “Still do.”

Karen’s quiet for a moment as she regards him, like she’s coming to a decision of her own. “Okay,” she says finally. “So let’s go.”

He thinks he couldn’t have heard her right.

But as he’s standing there, feeling overcome, she’s already halfway to her car. Frank watches, dumbfounded, as she pulls a bag out from behind one of the seats and closes the door behind her.

“You’re serious,” he says. “You don’t have work?”

It’s everything he hadn’t even thought he could hope for, but he doesn’t want this disrupting her life either, taking her away from all the things that matter to her.

“I think Matt and Foggy can agree that I’m long overdue for a vacation.” She walks back up to him, but his expression seems to make her pause. “If that’s all right with you.”

“God, yes.” Frank moves closer before stopping himself. Steady, he thinks. There’s no need to rush anything. They have time. They have time. “That’s what I came here to tell you I wanted.”

She’s the first to reach out and touch him, just a brush of her palm to his chest. It’s brief, but gentle to go with her tone as she teases him ever so lightly, “Looks like you already did.”

“Looks like,” says Frank, and he could just stand here all day, with the soft way she’s gazing at him right now. “So we’re doing this.”

“Looks like,” says Karen, and he looks away, smiling.

“I’ll get my things.” But he’s loath to move away from her, and after a split second’s hesitation he leans in and lets his forehead rest against hers. Karen’s hands come up to his shoulders, and everything else stands still for a moment. “Remind me to send Amy a postcard when we get there.”

She makes a small humming sound. “And where is this ‘there’ going to be?”

“Anywhere,” he says. “So long as you’re there, doesn’t matter.”

“Mm. I like that.” Karen pulls back and looks a little slyly at him. “Think that could go on a card somewhere too.”

Frank shakes his head as she laughs and goes to toss her bag into his truck.

[munsonsduchess]

So. I re watched The Magnificent Seven again because I’m at home self isolating until my housemates covid test comes back in a couple days so I made some notes. Presented below as I watched the film … again

Teddy looks like he wants to say something to encourage Matthew not to speak but like he just can’t find the courage to speak up

Everyone turning to stare at Sam as he rides through the town. Like they aren’t used to seeing a man of colour make something of himself.

The bartender who tells Sam they don’t serve ‘that kind’ as a direct insulation that they don’t serve Sam’s kind. Which could have just been because Sam is a lawman and the barman is an outlaw but could also be more than that

Faraday isn’t as stupid as he looks. He knows exactly who Dan is and what Sam’s purpose was. He could tell something was happening and was ready in seconds with a gun drawn to help Sam.

He sticks around after everyone runs out because he knows Sam’s occupation and seems to want to know more.

Emma has obviously been searching for someone who could help for a long time. Teddy stopping her from talking to Sam and her acceptance seems to imply that they’ve spoken to people before but that no one has taken them seriously. Maybe because Emma is a woman

Emma is clearly ready to offer up anything she can to find ‘righteousness’. It also seems like she’s more than ready for a fight.

Sam had decided upon hearing Bouge’s name that he would take the job and then when Emma shared her convictions he knew he could pass off his intentions as unselfish if anyone asked

Faraday cheats at cards and is scared of the dark confirmed. He’s also clever enough to use his wits to get out of a situation when he’s seemingly at the mercy of two other men

Faraday has issues around killing people. He clearly shows remorse for his actions. He doesn’t seem to like violence but he’ll use it to get what he wants if he needs to

Does Faraday know who Joan of Arc is?

He’s also apparently willing to throw his life away for strangers

Emma is not here for your shit

Teddy is a good boy and he’s here to help his friend on her vengeance quest as all good friends should

Vasquez wants Sam to know that he’s not the type of man who kills in cold blood. He uses Emma as leverage because a white woman’s death will look worse for Sam

Sam offers to tear up the warrant to get Vas on his side but I have the feeling he would have done it anyway

Vas taking a minute to decide and figuring if he works with Sam there’s a possibility of him going free and not having to run anymore

GOODY! That hip swagger

“That’s ok son you just pay me double” Goody is a respected member of the community and his reputation proceeds him so there is a level of fear there at offending him or anyone associated with him

Faraday is clearly interested to see how people react to or behave around Goody. To see how the man stacks up to the story

Goody very interested in who Faraday and Teddy are and what they have to say. Putting them off their game by speaking in the middle of the saloon while he’s getting a shave

“I keep him employed and he keeps me on the level” clearly Billy has been helping Goody with his demons far beyond what we see later

Goody and Sam being friends warms my heart

That good old southern breeding. Goody can’t resist being charming

“Ain’t no such thing as a Texican” that’s one hell of a loaded statement right there

“This is not going to end well” couldn’t have said it better myself Goody

The Famous Pigeon Brothers who weren’t famous for very long

“I believe that bear was wearing peoples clothes” Joshua the man was snuck up on in the dead of night, had a boulder smashed over his head and has been tracking the culprits for two days. I don’t think you’d be in your right mind either

“Don’t call the alligator big mouth till you cross the river” Goody just has all the best advice

IT’S MY BOY!

There’s obviously something Faraday is trying to drown in all that whiskey and Teddy knows it which is obviously why he tells Faraday to keep it

Emma doesn’t trust Farday at all

Goody knows what’s up although he’s not one to talk about the battle behind him

MY SON! HE’S SO PRETTY I WANT TO CRY

Sam giving Vas the gun so he’s less threatening to Red. Same way he left his gun outside when they went after Vas

I love that Martin cut his hair off to be historically accurate but damn what I wouldn’t have given for a long haired Red in this movie

Peace offering or trolling? Both? Both.

“Yeah ok I trust you now”

Can I also say I love how Martin learnt to ride bareback for the historical accuracy? Like historical accuracy is my jam. Now I just wonder how accurate the costumes are

“Oh good it’s a black man and an Asian man quickly call your children inside for who knows what havoc they might bring”

I do love how the racism is never as overt as someone using a slur but it’s always there just under the surface

“Manservant? Really?”

Did they practice how they were going to come into town and look imposing or do they all just instinctively know how to pose? I know Goody does anyway

I cannot keep a straight face when Farday calls himself the worlds greatest lover

Sam has no time for these Blackstone men and I am here for it

Sam’s horse is just called Horse

Goody having PTSD flashbacks before the shooting even starts since he’s clearly triggered by just the situation

A western staple where the bad guys always miss and the good guys never do

At times like this Mal Reynolds comes to me speaking words of wisdom “shoot the man not the horse, a dead horse is cover, a live horse is a whole lot of panic”

Faraday and Vas being very gay and poor confused Red like “tie him up what?”

“Lincoln like the president” and goody just “oh damn”

Someone please give Emma a better shirt. She’s gonna spill out of that one

“Seems I was the only one with balls enough to do so” damn right you were

Emma just breaking down when there’s no one around to see her use she has to be strong

“Fame is a sarcophagus” “what’s a syllable?”

TABLE MANNERS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TABLE MANNERS

Goodbye to the working girls the town isn’t the same without them

Emma has a better shirt! She still looks like she’s gonna spill out though

Shooting lessons with Goody and Faraday

“The way of northern aggression”

Billy’s class just running away because he’s way too good

“Make me some eggs”

“GET SOME GRAVEL IN YOUR CRAW!”

Faraday trying to goad Goody into proving himself. Sam’s wariness and Goody turning around and showing Faraday just why he got the title he did despite the reasons why he doesn’t pick up a rifle anymore

Do any of them know what Jack is talking about?

“So far so good”

We’re to assume it’s Goody picking off Bouge’s men at the mine since he’s the only one who could make those sorts of shots which means Sam has talked him into doing it even though he’s seen what happened to Goody during the initial fight

“I’ve always wanted to blow something up”

The look on the faces of the people who live in town as the miners come through. They’ve always lived separately from these men and now they’re forced to look at their faces and see just how they’ve all been living

Sam putting the dynamite in the hotel like it’s no big deal

Poor Peter Skarsgard. He’s the bad guy or the poor Dad in a horror movie while his dad is spooning Colin Firth on a boat in Greece

“I worked for my money. I wasn’t given a million dollar loan. I’m a good guy”

Emma can shoot just fine. She does not need you Faraday

“I had a father thank you” “I didn’t” proceeds to show off as if to prove himself

“They say the nightmares never go away” no they really don’t ask Goody

“Avenge me!” Yeah faraday it’s not that hard

“I am to fight” “it comes to that and we’re all dead” excuse you Sam but Emma is the one who brought you here and she’s the one who’s been raring for the fight since the beginning but sure put her with the women and children

I’m also so mad they cut out of the scene of Vas and the school teachers kid talking

“I have three Maria’s!”

I’m afraid of owls too goody you aren’t alone

TABLE MANNERS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

How long had Bouge been in Rose Creek and making the residents live in fear? That it had to be the seven who were able to show them how to live their life again

Those loose white shirts though 👌🏼

Squinting into the sun as the realisation dawns

Sam knows Goody better than Goody knows himself and Goody knows Sam better than Sam knows himself

Sam doing his best to help his friend with his PTSD but Goody just can’t

“It looks like he’s started to drink” that’s because Goody was his friend his best friend and there are untold emotions and god knows what else between them and now that man had left but not just that but left him behind is torturous

“I’m hungry” You little shit!” Red Harvest. Professional Troll

Sam seeking refuge in what’s left of the church. Feeling the proverbial noose tightening as he clutches at his neck

Emma reminding us what this whole endeavour is for. How it all started. How it’s going to end

Bouge sitting back because he’s sure his hired men will be enough. He’s never faced opposition before so he’s confident he still won’t. Or at least that his money will solve all his problems

Also if Red only wears his war paint for special occasions and if he was tracking the group prior to joining them does that mean he put his war paint on specifically to talk to Sam

Another man in Goody’s spot in the bell tower because presumably he’s the second best shot with a rifle or the only other person they could trust up there

A+ use of Fox holes though

Jack reciting his prayers as he goes absolutely feral

Faraday’s happy little smile when he finally gets to blow something up

Jack trying to help as many men as he can, men who are fathers, husbands, good honest men

Bouge who doesn’t seem to care one ounce that the people in the village are being slaughtered and bringing the battling gun out just for extra overkill

“You ok güero?” “So far so good”

“We still have men there sir” proof that Bouge does not care one single ounce for human life that isn’t his own

That rebel yell

“The devils breath” I can only imagine how a Gatling gun got that name especially from a war vet who’s likely seen countless friends allies and enemies alike be blown down by this devil

Faraday being concerned for the children even though he’s injured himself

Jack protecting Teddy at the cost of his own life. Defiant of Denali to the end But accepting his death with a sigh believing in his faith that he’ll be rewarded in heaven and reunited with his family

“I knew you’d be back” Billy has so much faith in Goodnight and I’m gonna cry

Emma with an empty gun putting herself in front of an injured man between the injured man and Denali

Denali ain’t shit!

“You’re a disgrace”

“My daddy used to say a lot of things” these two I cannot cope

“I might need a new vest” Faraday you reckless idiot

“Hit the steeple”

“I got him!” “Oh Goody” I’m not crying you’re crying

I know there’s a lot of talk about Chris Pratt being the worst Chris but he was so good in this movie I swear. Which yeah I know doesn’t change anything but when you see him playing Faraday in that last scene where it’s all down to him. I can’t

“I’ve always been lucky with one eyed jacks”

Nope definitely not crying. Not me

Bouge’s complete disregard for human life as he surveys the town

Bouge V Sam

“If god didn’t want them sheered he wouldn’t have made them sheep” says a man who feels no remorse at all for the blood on his hands

This time it’s Bouge who’s going to feel the noose tighten and I am here for the cinematic drama of it all

God won’t save you now Bouge. Run into the church you like. It’s not going to help

“Ask for forgiveness” The reveal of the rope mark. What Sam has been doing in Rose Creek this whole time. Why he took the job at the mention of Bouge’s name