#could be what the middle engine nozzle actually is

[deepspaceboytoy]

For me, I find the CAC design really interesting if only because it’s got 3 engines and I love a heavyweight fighter but also. Do we got a scramjet/ramjet on that fighter possibly?

[coldsandfluff]

Peach Pie and Misfortunes (F/M, Original, Illness Care-Taking Fluff)

Another original oldie from the forum, this one about a 23 year-old woman whose car breaks down during a road trip, forcing her to work at a diner with an awful cold and a gruff chef to pay for repairs.

Peach Pie and Misfortunes

With the back of her hand, Catherine Miller pushed her soaked, dripping bangs away from her forehead, hoping to alleviate the amount of rain pouring down her face. A gesture she soon realized was futile, considering the heavy sheets of water spewing out of the darkened sky. She let out a bitter sigh and ducked back under the hood of her 2000 Toyota Camry.

She tinkered with the motor for a bit, then checked the infamous engine belt that she and her sisters had named Slacky Jack for its tendency to come loose during the hot summer months. Everything seemed to be in order, which meant bad news for Catherine. What she’d feared the most had come true: her battery had fought its last battle. Catherine cursed herself for not swapping it out before undertaking this road trip.

She wiped her greasy fingers on her shorts and slammed the hood shut, resting her hands on the cold metal for support. Stifling a cry of frustration, she clenched her teeth and let the rain sting her bare skin, soaking her tank top and jean shorts. Goosebumps rose on her arms as a chill shook her bones.

A tickle burrowed deep within her sinuses, taking her by surprise. She pressed the back of her hand to her nose firmly enough to squish her nostrils upward, but the itch overpowered her. Shielded by darkness and torrents of rain, Catherine let the sneezes consume her, bending at the waist as they escaped with urgency.

“EEH’TSSHIIOOOO! Ehh… IIIIIHH’TSHIOOO! ’TSSSHIIOOOO!!”

She shook her head, sending droplets of water back into the air, and took refuge inside the car. The door closed shut with a loud thunk, deadening the hissing sounds of the storm to a metallic drumming. She fished for her hoodie on the backseat, wondering why nobody had warned her that early summers in Northern California were so cold. And also that it could actually rain here.

Of all the times her hunk of metal had given up on accomplishing it’s sole purpose in life, this was the absolute worst. Her wallet and phone had been stolen while making a pit stop at a convenience store a few miles back. In the short time it had taken her to turn around and secure the nozzle back on the pump, a loitering teen nearby had rushed to the passenger door, opened it in a swing, grabbed her purse and ran. By the time Catherine had rounded the car towards the thief, the scumbag had jumped into the back of a pick-up truck and unceremoniously gave her the finger, a cloud of dust obscuring him as the truck sped off in a crunch of dirt.

All she had left were a few twenties hidden in the glove compartment, a granola bar and the beginning of a panic attack.

She looked out the window through the streaks of flowing droplets. The narrow road that lay ahead had been swallowed whole by darkness. She’d gotten a little lost after taking an exit promising a cheap motel, where she could regroup and call a friend or, more than likely, one of her sisters for help. But here she was now, no motel in sight, stuck on an old gravel road that probably no one ever used, surrounded by a thick forest. Who knew how long it would be before someone found her?

It’s alright, Catherine thought in the most calming tone she could muster, I’ll find a phone somewhere when the sun rises. I’m not stuck alone in the middle of nowhere, I’m just… temporarily disconnected. She lowered the back of her seat as much as she could and draped herself with the hoodie. Her long, damp hair stuck to her bare shoulders, sucking away any warmth her body produced.

All she could do now was try to sleep the night away.

* * *

A loud knock on the window woke Catherine with a start. Her heart pounding into her ears, she found herself staring at an older gentleman with a thick salt and pepper beard, smiling awkwardly at her behind the window. He looked like a typical fisherman: a worn fiddler cap on his head, a plump face damaged by the sun, a thin raincoat over a checkered shirt.

“Need help?” he said, his voice muffled by the glass separating them.

Catherine rubbed her eyes in an effort to wash away the sleep. Outside, the world was stuck in early-hour limbo, when darkness turns midnight blue. Wispy clouds bloomed across the sky, and trees surrounding the road still appeared as black as coal in the newborn dawn.

Catherine quickly rolled down the window, grateful that someone had stopped for her.

“Good morning,” she said as the cool morning breeze rushed into the car, raising goosebumps on her skin. Her voice cracked, and she noticed just how sore her throat was.

“Hello there,” said the man matter-of-factly. “I saw your car on my way to the docks. Thought I’d see if you’re out of fuel.” He bent down and produced a dirty jerrycan, sloshing it around to prove it wasn’t empty.

The pungent smell of gasoline infiltrated the car and hit Catherine square in the nose. Her eyes watered and a burning sensation blazed through her nostrils all the way up to the bridge of her nose. She ducked towards the passenger seat just in time to catch the sneezes in her elbow.

“EEH’TSHHIOOO! TSSHIOOO! Excuse me!”

“Bless’.”

“Thank you. I’m not out of fuel, but my car won’t start. I’m so glad you stopped by!” She extended her hand through the window. “I’m Catherine, by the way.”

The man shook her hand. “Arthur. Now let’s figure out what’s the matter with your clunker.”

* * *

An hour later, as the sun tried to pierce the thick fog that had rolled in, Catherine stood next to Arthur while he wrapped his jumper cables back into a tight knot, defeated.

“Your battery’s deader than a crane fly in a trout’s mouth.”

Catherine already knew, of course. They’d been trying to jump-start the battery for the last twenty minutes with no sign of resuscitation. She suspected that the connections were corroded as well. But hearing Arthur say it out loud made it official: Catherine was truly stranded. She’d have to run home with her tail between her legs, at the expense of her family. As always. She could already hear her sisters mocking her.

Shivering in the same shorts and tank top as the night before, Catherine zipped up her hoodie and pulled the hood over her head. The morning was almost as frosty as the night, and she regretted not packing a coat. As if on cue, she felt the characteristic, sudden burn of a sneeze spread through the back of her nose. Turning away from Arthur, who was too busy putting away the cables to notice her, she pulled the side of her hood loosely over her face as her breath hitched uncontrollably.

“Ehh… Eehhh… EHH’TSHHH! ‘TTSSHHIIOOO!”

“Bless’. Hope you’re not coming down with something. Got your hands full already.”

“God, I hope not,” Catherine said with a wet sniffle.

Arthur paused to look at her. “Not from around here are you?” He pointed at her shorts. “You need layers in the morning. Like this.” He pulled on the collar of his faded shirt, revealing another two layers of clothing underneath. He’d already shrugged off his raincoat, and beads of sweat pooled at his temples. A true West Coast native.

“I’ll take you to Lulu’s Diner,” he said. “Got a landline there.”

Catherine grabbed her luggage from the trunk of the Camry and lovingly patted the door as she closed it, resisting the urge to give it a vengeful kick. The car had been passed down, or rather dumped on, each of the three Miller sisters on their respective 16th birthday. Catherine had been the last one, and after six long years of driving it, she had grown accustomed to its quirks. She’d taken great care of it, restoring it after years of abuse from her sisters, which forced her to learn about car repairs and maintenance. But the Camry always found a way to let her down at the worst times.

“We’ll call a tow truck at Lulu’s,” said Arthur, gesturing for Catherine to join him in his truck.

As she sat on the squeaky passenger seat, the smell of wet fish and sea salt saturating the air around her, Catherine tried to convince herself that everything would be alright.

* * *

“I thought you were taking me to Lulu’s Diner?” Catherine asked as she exited the truck.

She stood outside an old brick building that had seen better days. Alone on the side of the road, it looked as if it had sprouted from the dusty ground underneath it. A few neat rows of cars flanked the restaurant, even though there were no delimitated parking spots.

But the sign over the large storefront window announced “Breakfast Bay,” although only a shadow of the “s” remained.

“People in town call it Lulu’s,” said Arthur as he held the front door for Catherine. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee floated out in the morning breeze.

“Is it the name of the owner?” Catherine asked as she entered, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer ambient light.

Arthur snickered, following her in. “Sort of.”

The sounds of sleepy chatter, spoons clanking in coffee mugs and the salty smell of sizzling bacon assaulted her senses. She looked around, surprised to see so many customers in such a desolate location. To reach this restaurant, Arthur and her had driven a good fifteen minutes on what Arthur had called the “main road,” with nothing but farms and trees dotting the landscape.

Was this the only breakfast dig in a thirty-mile radius, or did they serve such amazing food that it was worth the detour? Catherine instinctively reached for her purse to fish out her phone and check Yelp, but, of course, she had no purse. Or phone.

“Lulu!” shouted Arthur as he crammed his hat in his back pocket. A few heads turned in his direction, but there was no response. Arthur beckoned Catherine to follow him to the counter. “Must be stuck in the kitchen. Been pretty busy around here these days.”

Catherine took a seat on one of the reddish-brown vinyl stools and looked around. The décor appeared fairly minimalist, with white-painted walls and a dozen square wooden tables, the cheap kind that first-time restaurant owners seemed to favor. A few brightly colored posters adorned the walls: stylized drawings of cacti, hot peppers and palm trees.

“’Morning Arthur,” muttered a woman in her 60s standing behind the counter, a steaming pot of coffee in hand. She slid a mug in front of Arthur and filled it with amber liquid, leaving room for cream. “Who’s that?” she asked in a glacial tone, nodding towards Catherine.

Feeling a feathery tickle at the back of her nose, Catherine fixed her eyes on the counter, trying her best to keep any sneeze at bay. Her nose twitched, raising slightly at the corner of her left nostril. She bit her tongue and closed her eyes.

“Her name’s Catherine,” said Arthur while dumping sugar in his mug directly from the glass pourer. “Her car broke down on Malbea Drive.”

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to stop it from hitching. She teetered on the verge of the impeding sneeze, hoping her nose would behave and shoo away the burn. But suddenly, she gasped and tipped her head back, then quickly burrowed her face into her elbow, turning as far to her side as she could.

“EEH’TSHIIOOOO! Hhh… Ehhxcu… Ex—Ehh… EEH’TSHIOOOO! Excuse me.”

A man’s voice from the kitchen growled a “bless you,” to the amusement of Arthur, who chuckled behind his raised mug.

“Yeah, well tell your friend to stop sneezing all over my counter,” said the server with a scowl before walking towards a nearby table. “And you,” she yelled towards the kitchen doorway as she passed it, “stop blessing everyone.”

Embarrassment and anger flared red on Catherine’s cheeks. “Is the service always this friendly around here?”

“Mabel’s like that with everyone. Got a heart made of ice.” Arthur took a sip of his coffee and glanced towards the kitchen. “Lulu’s a bit friendlier.”

A man wearing a dirty apron walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “What are you mumbling about me, old man?” His dark brown eyes glanced towards Catherine, then back to Arthur.

“Wait, you’re Lulu?” asked Catherine, unable to hide the surprise in her tone. The man looked like he was in his early thirties, built like a fridge with a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm.

“My name is Luis. Luis Chavez. Some people call me Lulu.” He slung the towel over his shoulder. “Anyway, I’m very busy as you can see, so tell me what you need in as little words as possible.”

The back of Catherine’s neck prickled in protest at his dismissive tone. Her mother had instilled in her a natural politeness towards strangers. Although Catherine didn’t expect everyone she met to offer her a hug and a piece of homemade cherry pie, she had hoped for a warmer welcome from small-town America. Regardless, what kind of business thrived on treating their customers like Mabel and Luis did?

Before Catherine could explain her situation to Luis, Arthur mumbled a quick: “Car’s dead near the Walton’s farm and got her stuff stolen. Came here to ask if she can use your phone.”

Luis frowned and opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Mabel’s voice rising above the restaurant chatter. She was yelling at a disgruntled customer, suggesting a very unsavory place where he could stick the breakfast he was complaining about.

“Shit, I better take care of that,” said Luis, rushing towards the scene. “The phone’s in the back office down the hall,” he shouted over his shoulder.

Catherine, dumbfounded, looked at Arthur.

The old man shrugged and took another sip of coffee. “Welcome to Lulu’s Diner.”

* * *

The office was a mess. Piles of open letters and cash-out reports littered the desk in the center of the tiny, windowless room. Catherine maneuvered around stacks of boxes filled with napkins, rolls of receipt paper and other non-edible necessities for the diner. She spotted a phone cord on the ground and followed it until she located the device next to the computer monitor, hidden underneath an order form.

She sat down on the office chair and took a moment to compose herself. It was soothingly quiet and warm in the room, and Catherine wanted to savor it. Who knew when another whirlwind of bad luck would pounce on her as she struggled to get out of this mess?

Catherine was adamant that she had been cursed when she was younger. Beyond her usual clumsiness, she always seemed to find trouble in even the safest situations. Her specialty was to string a few complications that would domino into a proper catastrophe. Case in point: she’d recently lost her job because she’d accidentally left the window to her bedroom open during a storm, which had caused her phone charger to short due to water dripping on it, which had killed her phone, which meant that her alarm hadn’t rung, and because she’d woken up late, she’d ran to her car half-awake and had dropped her keys in a storm drain. She’d shown up to work so late that they’d fired her, mostly because she’d had many previous strikes caused by similar situations.

Her family called her the Queen of Bad Lucks, and sometimes Cathastrophe. She hated that name.

Catherine leaned back on the chair and pressed two fingers on either side of her head to massage her temples. She’d had a nagging headache since waking up, and her throat still bothered her. At this point, it could no longer be attributed to “morning dryness” or thirst. She was definitely coming down with something.

Of course she was.

She tested her nose by attempting to draw a quick breath through it, and noticed some congestion. Her sinuses protested with a sharp tickle that caused Catherine to mutter a “oh!” of surprise. Her eyes watered under the assault, and she clamped her nostrils shut between her thumb and index finger.

It seemed to keep the tickle at bay for about five seconds, but it came back with a vengeance, this time even deeper and sharper than before. Knowing there was no way she would win the fight, Catherine aimed loosely towards her elbow and gave in to the sneezes.

“EHH’TSCHHHIIIIIOOOOO!! Ehh… IIHH’TSCHIIIOOOOO!” Catherine gasped, her lungs filling to capacity once more as another sneeze overtook her. “’TSSCHIIIIIIIOOOOO!”

She groaned, knowing her moment of peace had ended.

If she wanted to call her family, it was now or never. The last time she’d seen them had been last Sunday, and they’d gotten into a big fight during their weekly family dinner. It was humiliating enough to ask for help after storming off; she didn’t need to sound vulnerable and sick on top of it. This cold was only going to get worse from here.

She briefly considered calling her parents, but they’d worry too much. Anna, the middle sister, tended to sympathize more with Catherine than their older sister Lauren. But Anna was pregnant with her first child. It seemed selfish to spring this stressful situation on her.

Catherine took a deep breath, hummed to test her voice, then dialed Lauren’s cellphone number.

“Lauren Miller.”

That was Lauren’s “professional” greeting when answering a phone call from an unrecognized number. Her icy and irritated tone sent a chill up Catherine’s spine.

“Hey Lauren, it’s Cath.”

“Oh, hey Cath. Wait, why are you calling from…” Shuffling noises echoed through the receiver, presumably as Lauren checked the caller ID on her cellphone. “Breakfast Bay? What the hell is that?”

Catherine hadn’t yet told anyone that she’d abruptly left on a road trip after their fight. Hoping to explain the situation in a gradual way instead of starting with “I’m about 2,000 miles away from Illinois right now…,” Catherine ignored the question.

“Listen, I—“

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” interrupted Lauren, as per usual. “You were really mad when you left, and I just want you to know that we mean well.”

“I know Laur, but right now—“

“It’s just frustrating to see you throw away your life like that and expect everyone to fix your problems.”

Catherine’s entire body stiffened at the words. “Yeah, you made it very clear during dinner. But I’m calling because—“

“As the baby of the family, maybe you feel like you get a pass because mom and dad spoiled you so much growing up, but at some point, Catherine, you will need to take your responsibilities and become a self-sufficient adult. You’re 23, not 13.”

Catherine’s blood boiled. She bit her lip, trying her hardest not to yell obscenities at her sister. The heat rushing to her face seemed to set off a new tickle in her nose, and she cursed the rhinovirus gods and their torturous humor.

“Mom was very sad that you left so early,” continued Lauren, unaware of the battle going on between Catherine and her sinuses. “She and dad just want you to be happy. They hope you can settle down, build yourself a nice life and have a family, just like me and Anna.”

Catherine fought her hitching breath, feeling the sneezes rushing through the length of her nose with an unbearable prickle. Her eyes half closed, she frantically pressed buttons on the phone, hoping to find the “hold” or “mute” option, but only managed to produce a deafening touchtone by accidentally pressing a few numbers.

“Ow! What are you doing? Hello?”

“Sorry I—Ehh… Hhh!… I accident... Ehhh... accidentally hit the n—numbehhh…” There was no escaping it. Catherine pressed her hand over the transmitter and bent to the side. She tried to stifle her sneezes, but her cold sneezes were always so strong that they escaped any sort of effort to contain them. “IIHH’NNNTGXXSCHIIIOOOO! EHH’NNTTXXSCHIOOOO!! NNNTGX’SSCHIIOOOO!”

Catherine kept her eyes closed, defeated and dizzy from trying to hold back the sneezes for so long. She rested her elbow on the desk and leaned her forehead into her hand, putting the handset back to her ear.

“Is this why you’re calling me? Catherine, you know you can order cold medicine online nowadays. I’m not going to drive all the way to your apartment for a box of Nyquil.”

“You know what Lauren?” Catherine said through gritted teeth, her voice already showing signs of congestion. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’ll figure it out on my own. Screw you and your perfect little life.”

She slammed the phone down and leaned back, the chair creaking under the effort. She covered her face with her hands and willed herself not to cry. You can do this. You can figure this out. Think.

Luis stormed into the office, startling Catherine into an upright position. He stopped in his track and stared at her, as if he’d forgotten who she was.

“Didn’t know you were still here,” he grumbled, turning around to grab a receipt roll from one of the boxes.

That’s it! thought Catherine.

“Luis, you need to hire me,” she blurted.

Luis, still bent over a box, shot her a glance over his shoulder. “What now?”

“Hire me as a waitress. I’m a hard-working, polite and friendly woman. You need someone like me in your restaurant.”

“Are you saying that I should fire Mabel and hire you instead?”

“Well, not exactly but… I can definitely do a better job than her.”

Luis walked towards Catherine, throwing a paper roll from hand to hand. He seemed amused by the turn of events. “Do you have any experience?”

“Yes. I worked at a Chili’s, a McDonald’s, an Applebee's, a Korean restaurant near—“

“Alright, alright,” he interrupted her, already losing interest. “You’re hired. You start now.”

Catherine rose from the chair, a huge grin etched on her face.

Luis swept the room with his free hand. “Your first job is to find the employment form somewhere in this office and fill it out.”

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Catherine slipped a ten-dollar bill into the deep pocket of her apron, a tip that her last lovely customer had left for her, along with a heartfelt “good luck!” scribbled on the check.

As it turned out, Luis’ diner was the only restaurant in a small village called Sequoia Bay. So far, every townie that had come through had been starved for details about Catherine’s story. Where had she come from? What was she doing here? Was she going to move into town? It was now five o’clock at night, and Catherine had recounted her misadventure a good dozen times since the morning. Most of the regulars had left a generous tip to help her out.

Catherine cleared the table, trying her hardest not to focus on her aches and pains. Her throat felt raw, as if she’d swallowed the green, prickly cactus adorning the wall in front of her. Her sinuses were throbbing, and she’d fought a tickle for the past four hours. Thanks to adrenaline and the fear of getting fired or sent “home” by Luis, she’d been able to stave off most of the sneezes, only releasing a few in the bathroom, far away from her boss. She’d been diligently washing her hands and not touching her nose, carrying the food carefully as to not breathe on it.

“Order up!” yelled Luis from the kitchen.

Catherine quickly dropped off the dirty plates in the kitchen sink, then walked back around to grab the enchiladas from the kitchen window ledge. The restaurant was filling up again for the dinner service, and Catherine absentmindedly watched customers file in. She had begun to notice that the majority of customers weren’t townies. It was obvious by their demeanor and the amount of questions they’d ask her.

“It’s amazing the amount of people coming to your restaurant from other towns,” mused Catherine as Luis worked the grill. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” said Luis distractedly.

“Get the word out. I mean, all these people probably drove over thirty minutes to get here. Is it like that every day?”

Luis looked up and stared at Catherine through the kitchen window. “You don’t think my food is worth it?”

“N—no it’s not that, I mean yes I think your food is delicious but—“

Luis chuckled, crow’s feet creasing at the corner of his eyes for a split second, then back to his serious, cold stare. “They’re filming a movie a few miles from here.” He pointed at the tables full of customers with his wooden spatula without looking, his eyes fixed on a sizzling piece of beef. “They’re all part of the crew.”

“The caterers gave them food poisoning on the first night,” mumbled Mabel as she yanked the plate of enchiladas out of Catherine’s hand. “So these assholes have been invading the diner and complaining about everything. Buncha pricks.”

“Mabel, watch it,” growled Luis. “If I see you start a fight with another customer, Catherine will be replacing you. Permanently.”

Mabel scoffed, giving her signature dirty look to Catherine. “This little twig wouldn’t survive a week in here without me.” She whipped around, the enchiladas sliding dangerously close to the edge of the plate, and stormed off.

Catherine rolled her eyes and sniffled, feeling the tickle twinge in the back of her nose. Thinking it would eventually subside again, leaving her with congestion instead, she didn’t worry too much and started heading towards a table of customers ready to order.

“Wait, Catherine, can you get something for me?” asked Luis in an irritated tone. He added almost to himself, “I forgot the damn can of tomatoes again.”

“Sure.”

Catherine walked into the brightly lit kitchen and gasped. The tickle exploded in her nose, sending a shiver down her neck. She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes from squinting. Her breath caught in her throat and she panicked, knowing that Luis stood only a few feet from her.

“They’re in the pantry,” Luis said, his back to her. “Big cans of stewed tomatoes. I just need one.”

Catherine pressed a knuckle under her nose and located the “pantry,” a small alcove at the end of the kitchen, behind the commercial walk-in fridge. She rushed towards it, passing a few metal shelves filled with cooking utensils. Once she was safely hidden from view in the corner, she realized that hiding wouldn’t be enough. Luis would still hear her.

On the brink of sneezing, as she tilted her head back, her chest rising with a final breath, Catherine fumbled around blindly on the shelf looking for something to make a noise. She gripped a stack of large stainless steel mixing bowls just as she bent down to sneeze, throwing them on the ground in a loud cacophony of clanging metal.

“EHH’TSSSHHHIIIIIOOOOO!! IIHH’TSSHHHHIIIOOOOO!”

The bowls rolled around long enough to cover both of her sneezes, but Luis rushed to the alcove just as Catherine was straightening up, giving her no time to recuperate.

“Shit,” he said as he placed his foot on the smallest bowl still rolling on the ground, restoring a semblance of silence. He looked at Catherine with steely eyes. “You OK?”

Catherine nodded, keeping her eyes on the ground. “Sorry, boss.” In hindsight, this hadn’t been the greatest idea. She’d successfully hidden her sneezes from Luis, but now looked like an incompetent waitress who couldn’t even grab a can of tomatoes without causing chaos.

She braced for the storm.

Luis sighed and bent down to retrieve the bowls. “Just bring the can over to my station.” The coldness of his voice threatened to freeze the air around them. Without another glance towards Catherine, Luis turned around and dumped the bowls in the sink before walking back to his grill.

Catherine relaxed a little. It could have been worse. At least for once in her life, she hadn’t accidentally caused a mess.

She chose to see it as a victory.

* * *

“You’ll take the afternoon shift,” said Luis as he locked up the restaurant, Catherine standing outside beside him. “Mabel has the morning shift and leaves at 3 pm. Come in at 2 pm until close to give us an hour overlap.”

Through the window, Catherine could still make out the large clock over the kitchen in the darkened restaurant. It was 10:20 pm, and she was exhausted. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her sinuses like cement, and her nose had started to run a little. But in spite of her state, Catherine hadn’t done such a terrible job. Sure, she’d dropped a couple of plates and mixed up a few orders, but considering Catherine’s history, this constituted a “good day.” And since it was her first day, she hoped the boss would see it as beginner’s jitters and give her a break.

Luis pocketed the keys and glanced at her. “Sorry for the long shift today. I’ll pay you for the overtime.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I really need the money.” She turned her head towards her Camry, sitting in the parking lot like an abandoned wreck. Arthur’s mechanic had towed it there in the afternoon, along with an estimate of the cost to replace the battery. “Actually,” said Catherine, “if you need me in the morning too, I’d be happy to come in for a full-day shift.”

She instantly regretted her suggestion, but she was eager to get back on the road and prove her worth. So what if she had to work twelve-hour shifts for a week? Her replacement credit card wouldn’t arrive for another six to ten days anyway. The bank would send it to the diner’s address, so Catherine had to stick around no matter what. Plus, she’d fantasized all day about calling her family once everything was resolved, imagining herself explain how she’d gotten herself out of this mess alone. Having to work long hours on her feet added a challenge that would surely garner even more sympathy and awe from them. “You worked eighty hours in a week to pay for your car repairs?” she could hear them say. “How could we even doubt your commitment and capabilities as an adult?”

Obviously they wouldn’t say it like that, but they would totally think it.

“You sure you want to work that much?” asked Luis with a smirk. “You might regret it in a few days.”

“Isn’t this what you do every day, six days a week?” said Catherine, shivering from the cold night breeze.

“Seven. We’re open on Sunday too.” He started walking towards the back of the restaurant, in the opposite direction to the parking lot. “If you think you can handle it, I can use your help.”

Catherine’s eye twitched. “Of course I can handle it.” Her own confident tone surprised her.

“See you tomorrow at 7 am then,” Luis said without turning around, slowly disappearing into the darkness.

Catherine watched him go, confused. “Where are you going?” she shouted towards the night.

“Home,” his voice echoed in the silence.

Still standing under the safety of the diner’s porch light, Catherine listened to the moths fling their bodies on the bulb, watching their tiny shadows dance at her feet. Maybe Luis had forgotten that her car was broken, or assumed it had been repaired during the day. She looked back towards the spot where he’d disappear, wondering if she should run after him and ask for a ride to a motel.

She shook her head. No, she would do this alone. Plus, the only money she had was the tip she’d earn for the day. She fished the bills from her apron pockets and counted. Looking up, she made a quick calculation, mumbling numbers under her breath. She wouldn’t get her first paycheck until the end of the week, but with the tip she was earning, she’d be able to fix up her car in about three days. Then, she’d wait for her credit card, get a nice cash cushion for the rest of the trip, and get the hell out of here.

In the meantime, sleeping in her car seemed like the best idea.

Catherine walked to the Camry, darkness swallowing her as she left the only bubble of light in the vicinity. She rubbed at her tickly nose, sniffling wetly. She opened her trunk, unzipped her luggage and pulled out the only pair of jeans and two sweaters that she’d brought along, thankful that she’d thrown clothing haphazardly in her bag before she’d left her apartment. “Organized” Catherine, if there even was such a thing, wouldn’t have planned to bring anything warm on a summer road trip.

The tickle in her nose increased, and as she slammed the trunk shut, she launched forward in a fit of sneezes, holding onto the car for support.

“Ehh… EH’TTSSHHIOOOOOO! ‘TTSSHIIIOO!”

She sniffled and looked around, then quickly changed into her jeans and one of the sweaters, keeping the other one under her arm. The tickle in her nose still bothered her as she unlocked the door to her car and lied down on the back seat, using her second sweater as a makeshift blanket.

She took a deep, quivering breath.

“EHH’TSHIIOOOOOO! God daahhh… hhh… damniiiih… IIH’TSSHIIOOOO! Ugh!”

Catherine fished a few napkins from the center console and blew her nose, surprised at how runny it had suddenly become. She groaned and let herself fall back on the seat.

Hiding this damn cold from Luis might turn out to be a tad more difficult than she’d hoped.

* * *

“IIHH’NNNGTXXSSSHIIIOOOO! EHH’NNTTXXSHHHIOOOO!”

Catherine’s sneezes echoed in the empty bathroom of the diner. She blew her nose and leaned towards the mirror to inspect her chapped nostrils. It wasn’t a pretty sight—all red and irritated from the rough toilet paper and napkins she’d been using all morning.

She bent down to retrieve her makeup bag hidden under the sink and twisted open the cap of the concealer. But even lightly patting a concealer-covered finger around her nostrils was enough to set off another irresistible itch.

“M—my goohhh… god—Hhh! EHH’TSSSHIIIIOOOO! IHH’TSSSSHHHIIOOOOO!”

Rolling her eyes, she dabbed a wad of toilet paper around her nose, careful not to remove too much makeup.

It was only 10 am, and she’d already ran to the bathroom to sneeze about four times. Thankfully, the bathroom sat at the other end of the diner, as far away from the kitchen—and Luis—as possible.

“Where did Catherine go again?” Mabel yelled, her screechy voice traveling through the door.

Catherine zipped up her makeup bag and threw it under the sink, then washed her hands in hot water, soaping up to her elbows and rubbing vigorously. The skin on her hands had turned red from washing them so much.

“I’m here,” Catherine said as she came out.

“You better start working like you mean it if you’re after my job,” hissed Mabel as she walked passed her, a tray filled with glasses of water.

Catherine ignored her and concentrated on clearing tables and bringing menus to new customers. She didn’t have the energy to deal with the cloud of negativity emanating from Mabel. Only four hours until the end of the old harpy’s shift, she thought. Dealing with the dinner rush alone was better than having to hear Mabel’s complaints and feeling her murderous glare boring a hole through her back.

When the jingle of the door bells announced a new customer, Catherine was relieved to see a friendly face: Arthur. He walked up to the counter where she was pouring a fresh batch of coffee into her pot.

“’Morning,” he said, his cheeks kissed red from the sun.

“Good morning!” Catherine smiled, sliding a cup of steaming coffee in front of him. “I know I’ve said it a million times, but thank you for your help yesterday. I owe you a lot.”

Arthur nodded and tipped his hat down. “It was nothing. Anybody would have done the same.”

Catherine eyed Mabel and snickered. “Still. I don’t know h—ehh… how I would ha—hhh—ve…”

A tickle seized Catherine’s sinuses abruptly. She scrunched up her nose, fighting an intense need to rub the itch away with her hand. Prickles covered the inside of her nose like a rushing sea wave, so unbearable that a shiver wracked her body.

“You alright?” asked Arthur, eyeing her curiously.

Catherine tried to control her breathing, avoiding any sudden movement or intake of air that could set off the sneeze. “Yehh—yep I’m fiiihhne.”

Finally, after a few torturous seconds, the tickle receded to a manageable background annoyance. Catherine breathed out, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. She turned her attention back to Arthur. “Can I get you anything to eat?” As the words escaped her mouth, she winced at how congested she now sounded.

And apparently, Arthur had noticed. “That cold of yours got worse,” he stated.

Catherine shushed him, turning towards the kitchen window to see if Luis had heard. Thankfully, the boss seemed completely concentrated on his task, surrounded by sizzling eggs, bacon and sausages.

“What are you shushing me for?” asked Arthur with a smirk.

Catherine blushed, grabbing a notepad and pen from her apron in an effort to look nonchalant. “I just don’t want Luis to know. So, what can I get you?”

“Fisherman’s breakfast, over easy, white bread with extra butter. Don’t know why you’re afraid of Luis knowing you have a c—“

“SShhh!” Catherine leaned over the counter towards Arthur and lowered her voice to an almost whisper. “I don’t want to get sent… ‘home’ I guess. Or fired. I need—“

“What are you two whispering about over there?” asked Mabel as she approached the counter, crossing her arms. “You plotting against me? After all these years Arthur, I can’t believe you’d be in on this.”

Arthur raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, but I ain’t got anything to do with anything.” He shook his head and got up. “I’ll be having my breakfast over there, Catherine,” he pointed to a table near the front window and shuffled over to it, eager to get away.

“See what you’ve done now?” tutted Mabel before snatching the pot of coffee out of Catherine’s hand and tending to her customers.

Catherine closed her eyes, resisting the urge to rub them or press her fingers on her sinuses to relieve the pressure. All she wanted right now was to be back home in her tiny apartment, cuddled under her blanket with a cheesy movie, sipping hot chamomile tea and feeling sorry for herself.

Her enthusiasm towards fixing this disaster without help wavered. Why did she always end up in situations like these? Once, during a brunch with her sisters, Catherine had complained about her curse, asking what she’d done to the world to deserve so much bad karma, and Lauren had told her to stop believing that she was only a victim. “It’s simple causality,” she’d said. “Whatever happens to you isn’t some kind of supernatural bad luck. YOU are causing these events. YOU are responsible.”

Catherine often pondered Lauren’s claim. She wasn’t wrong. Hadn’t Catherine left on a road trip without replacing the battery, even though she knew it was old? She had left her purse on the passenger seat without locking the doors while she filled up at the gas station. She’d slept in her wet clothes, in the cold after getting stranded on the side of the road. It was all her fault, and maybe she deserved this. Maybe she deserved all the bad luck because she kept making poor decisions.

Luis’ voice pierced through Catherine’s musings. “Catherine!”

She jumped and turned towards the kitchen window. Luis was staring at her with stern eyes, as if he’d been calling her name for a while.

“Sorry!” she said, rushing to join him in the kitchen. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to start plating the desserts yourself.” He expertly flipped a few eggs, then pointed at the fridge behind him with the spatula. “Pies and cakes are in the fridge. Just cut a piece, put it on the plate, take the bag of whipped cream and pipe some on the side, a few shavings of chocolate on top—from the container next to the whipped cream. Ice cream is in the freezer in the back of the fridge. Got it?”

Catherine nodded, committing everything to memory.

“Good. Table three wants a peach pie, no ice cream.”

“Peach pie, coming up.”

Catherine pulled on the heavy door of the walk-in fridge. Cold air rushed around her, blowing a few strands of her hair away. She shivered, walking in the frosty cubicle and headed straight for a shelf filled with deliciously glazed fruit pies. She admired the handy work, her stomach rumbling. She’d picked at a couple of toasts and eggs that Luis had prepared for her at 7 am, but hadn’t been feeling hungry enough to eat much of it. Pies, however, Catherine could always eat.

She grabbed a peach pie with one hand, then balanced the whipped cream bag on the chocolate shaving container in her other hand, miraculously carrying everything to the island in the center of the kitchen without dropping it. She then sliced a generous portion of the glistening pie and delicately placed it in the center of a dessert plate.

“My god, it looks so good,” she mumbled to herself.

“Thanks,” said Luis, still working at the grilling plate, his back to Catherine.

“Wait, you made all these pies yourself? I thought you got them from a bakery or something.”

Luis chuckled. “I make them fresh every morning.”

“Geez.” Catherine raised her eyebrows. “When do you ever sleep?” She picked up the piping bag and hovered nervously over the plate. She’d never piped whipped cream in her life, or even baked anything, unless dropping a few Toaster Strudel in the toaster counted. And even then, she always messed up the icing, giving up halfway through and squeezing out the rest of it one messy blob.

“Want me to show you?” asked Luis, wiping his hands on his apron.

Catherine bit her lip, not daring to admit that she needed help.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the bag. Catherine relented, giving him the whipped cream and stepping aside. She watched him twist the top with one hand and guide the tip with the other in a graceful, quick swirl. “The key is to apply pressure at the top, but be gentle.” He pushed aside the pie and grabbed a clean plate, then repeated the procedure to show her. “Like this. Now you try.”

Catherine grabbed the piping bag, her hand brushing up against Luis’. She could feel his warmth against her arm as they stood close to each other. Her heart pounded in her chest, knowing that he’d be watching her closely. With her luck, she’d press too hard and whipped cream would fly everywhere, then Luis would slip on it and break his leg. And then fire her.

“Come on, try it.” His voice wasn’t gentle, but still a lot nicer than usual, which made Catherine feel a little better. She took a deep breath through her nose, forgetting her cold. As soon as she heard the congestion, she stopped, hoping Luis hadn’t heard. She glanced sideways at him, but he was still watching the plate, waiting for her to give it a try. She bit her lip and twisted the top, then applied pressure and guided the flow of whipped cream over the plate.

“Could be worse,” Luis said. “Try again. Rounder this time.”

Catherine smiled. This was actually fun! She looked at her mound of whipped cream, which was narrow and crooked, but much better than she’d expected.

As she twisted the top again, she felt a familiar prickle in her nose. She gasped, panicked. The tickle traveled fast and it soon felt like tiny fireworks exploding in her sinuses. She backed away from the plate, the piping bag still in her hands. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to devise a plan, but the sneezes were coming hard and fast.

“Hurry up, I gotta go back to my eggs,” said Luis impatiently.

“Uhmm, I—hhh… I f—forgot tooohh… hehhh… H—Hold on…”

She shoved the bag into Luis’ hands and turned around, feeling her eyes close as her body prepared for the sneezes. She grabbed the fridge’s handle and pulled, rushing inside and letting the heavy door close behind her. It made a suction sound as it sealed behind her, and Catherine hoped it would be enough to contain the sounds. The cold air tipped her over the edge, and she buried her face in her sweater’s sleeve, trying her hardest to muffle the release.

“EEH’GNNXXXSHIIOOOO! Hhh… IHH’GNNXXXSHIIIIIOOO!”

When she heard the door open behind her, Catherine quickly straightened up and made herself look busy.

“What are you doing?”

Catherine turned around. Luis stood in the doorway, looking confused.

“Oh I… I was just looking for the…” She twisted her head around trying to locate something she might have forgotten. “The chocolate shavings! I forgot the chocolate shavings.”

Luis gave her a puzzled look. “It’s on the island. You brought it out with the rest of the stuff.”

“Oh. Yeah. I did.” She sidestepped him to get out of the fridge, grabbing the container of chocolate shavings from the counter. “There it is.”

“Right.” Luis scrutinized her without saying anything. After a long, awkward moment, he finally walked back to his grilling plate. “Just get the pie to table three.”

Catherine closed her eyes, mortified. She grabbed the dessert and walked back to the dining area, humiliation seeping into her bones, as cold as dread.

This day would never end.

* * *

At around 3:30 pm, a lull settled in the restaurant. The afternoon sun soaked the floor of the empty diner, coloring everything in a orange hue. Catherine sat at a table with a dozen sugar dispensers in front of her, consolidating them and topping them off.

Mabel had ended her shift an hour and a half ago. Luis was holed up in his office, making calls. Catherine could finally breathe easy. She kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes, grimacing in pain as she stretched her legs and rolled her ankles around. She finally allowed herself to massage her temples, knowing no one could see her. If only she’d had a working car, she could have swung by a convenience store or—more likely in this small town—a general store for some ibuprofen and cold medicine. Alas, she was stuck in the diner for another few days.

She resumed pouring sugar in the dispensers, mesmerized by the soft rustling sound of sugar crystals pooling in the center of the glass jar, like a miniature sand dune.

When she felt a tickle, she let it wash over her, riding the burning sensation as it tipped her head back in a gasping breath. She caught the harsh, exhausted sneeze into her elbow.

“EHH’TTSSCHIIIOOOOO!”

“Bless you.”

Panic seized Catherine at the throat, strangling the tiny gasp that escaped her mouth. She turned around to see Luis standing next to her with a plate. He pushed a few of the sugar dispensers away and placed the plate down in front of Catherine. It was a slice of his peach pie.

“You barely ate anything at lunch,” he said in his customary gruffy tone. “You need to eat something if you want to last all day.”

A small “thank you” was all Catherine could muster.

“I’ll be in the kitchen prepping for the dinner rush,” Luis said before walking away.

Catherine waited until he disappeared into the kitchen, embarrassment dripping down her back like a cold sweat. She’d worked so hard all day to hide her sneezes from Luis, and the one time she’d assumed she was safe…

But it was only one sneeze, she thought. People sneeze all the time! Luis probably didn’t think anything of it.

She glanced at the slice of pie sitting in front of her. That would certainly make everything better.

Catherine closed her eyes as the first bite hit her tongue. The delicate, refreshing flavor of the glazed peach mixed with the crunch of the buttery crust instantly uplifted her mood. It sent her back in time when, at 14 years old, she’d spent a summer in Georgia at her best friend’s grandma’s house. Every night, they would eat a piece of homemade peach pie on the porch, watching the sun set over the orchard.

It was one of Catherine’s most peaceful memory. It had been a blissful summer, without so much as a snag, as if her curse had been lifted for a magical month of her life.

Catherine brought the empty plate back to the kitchen, adding it to the overflowing pile of dishes in the sink. Luis was busy chopping veggies on the island, his knife hitting the wooden board in a sharp staccato.

“My compliments to the chef,” she said with a smile. “It was delicious.”

Luis nodded without looking up, concentrating on the movement of his hands. Catherine stood awkwardly in front of the sink watching him, waiting for him to engage in conversation in some ways, even though she knew it wouldn’t happen. She’d only been there for two days, but Luis’ withdrawn personality stood out like a sore thumb. It was hard not to take it personally.

Turning on the hot water tap, she set about filling the dishwasher. It wasn’t exactly her job, but the pile of dishes threatened to fall over any moment. She could always refill the sugar dispenser later.

They both worked without talking, the silence between them only broken by plates and utensils clanging together, and the crunch of celery getting sliced. During a quick break to rehydrate herself, Catherine winced in pain as she took a sip of water. She cleared her throat to try and soothe the rawness, but it only exacerbated it.

Once she had finally cleared the sink, a wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she felt like crying. She blinked away a few tears before they fell, heading out of the kitchen so that Luis wouldn’t catch her feeling sorry for herself.

“Catherine,” he said to her as she was leaving.

Catherine stopped. “Hm?”

There was a moment of silence, as if Luis didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Even his knife held still. “I uh…” he began, before pausing and leaving another silence hang between them. “Thanks for cleaning the dishes.”

“Sure, no problem.”

* * *

Once the dinner rush picked up, a never-ending stream of customers filed in, keeping Catherine and Luis as busy as ever. It became harder for Catherine to hide her cold as it worsened over the course of the evening. Her nose was constantly twitching and running, causing her to sniffle more than she liked, sometimes in front of customers. She even sneezed twice in the dining area while trying to get to the bathroom, but thankfully, both times she’d been very close to the back of the restaurant and the ambient noise in the diner had been loud enough that Luis couldn’t have heard her.

At least the customers are nice, she thought as a trio of middle-aged cameramen explained the intricacies of their job to her, even revealing a few scandalous moments they had witnessed over their career. Normally, Catherine would have wanted to hear more, but not only was the diner full, she also needed to sneeze. Very badly.

Not wanting to be rude, she nodded along to the story, holding her breath steady and scrunching up her nose as subtly as she could, but the tickle persisted. It sent its feathery, tangled roots up her nose, causing a light shiver to run down her back. When she knew she could no longer resist it, she interrupted the gentlemen, her face red with embarrassment.

“S—so sorry but I—ehhh… I’ll be—ehhh right baaahhck…”

She turned towards the bathroom, pressing her fist under her nose and rubbing hard, which only seemed to throw fuel on the fire. Knowing that she would never get to the bathroom in time, she headed for the closest room to her: the office.

Her breath hitched as she passed the counter, blinded by her squinting eyes. In her hurry, she misstepped and lost her balance, grabbing on to the counter to recover and accidentally toppling her glass of water near the cash register. It tumbled down on the ground, splashing water everywhere. Thankfully, as it was made of plastic, it bounced on the ground a few times without breaking.

Catherine didn’t stop to survey the damage. She made a beeline for the office down the hall and barely had time to swing the door shut before her lung sucked a huge gasp of air. She bent down with the force of the fit, the sneezes coming out one after the other without a break.

“EHH’TTSSSSHHHIIOOOO—TSSHHHIIOOOOO—TSSSHHHHH!!... HHhh!! IIH’TSSSSCHIOOOOO!”

When she was finally done, Catherine straightened up, dizzy and panting. She sniffed to contain her runny nose and scanned the room for tissues, locating a box near the printer in the corner. She grabbed a few tissues and blew her nose, thankful for their softness compared to the toilet paper she’d been using.

When she heard the door knob twist behind her, she panicked, throwing the wad of used tissues in the bin next to the desk and spinning around to face the door, trying not to look guilty.

Luis appeared in the doorway, looking more curious than furious.

“What’s going on?”

Catherine opened her mouth to reply but no sound came out. She was vividly aware of her hot crimson face, her irritated nose that most likely bore no more makeup after wiping it with the tissues, and the frightened expression that she couldn’t hide.

“I—I thought I heard the phone ring,” she blurted out, pointing at the phone as if accusing it of a murder.

Luis raised an eyebrow, looking around the room before studying her for a moment.

Taking his silence for a show of skepticism, she piled on her lie. “I thought it was the mechanic so I rushed here because I, umm… I just…” she trailed off, running out of steam.

Luis took a few steps towards her, and Catherine could feel herself shrivel up inside. He stopped a couple of feet in front of her. “Everything alright?”

A flash of heat rose from her neck to her already hot cheeks. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Luis crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think you are.”

“I’m just tired,” Catherine replied cooly, her fear morphing into indignation. Who was he to tell her how she felt? “I’ll be fine.”

And of course, because nothing ever came easy for Catherine, the tickle returned with a vengeance. It was so strong that she gasped and took a stumbling step back, her nose irresistibly scrunching up. She lifted her arm over her face to cover her nose with her elbow, and her upper body folded down under the force of the release.

“EEH’TTSSHIIOOOOOO!”

“Bless you,” said Luis in an even tone.

He walked around her and grabbed the box of tissues before passing it to Catherine. She pulled a few tissues and wiped her nose sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I knew you were sick the moment you walked in here this morning.” He pointed to her throat. “I can hear it in your voice.”

Catherine kept the tissues over her nose, too mortified to even move.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to hide it from me, but you’re doing a poor job at it.” He sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “Listen, I don’t care if you’ve got a cold. You think I never worked here with a damn cold? It’s not like I have a replacement.” He paused and looked at her, his feature finally softening just a little bit. “Look… Do you have a fever?”

Catherine shook her head no, lowering the wad of tissues. Luis’ eyes hardened again, and he reached his hand towards her face, placing it on her forehead. He looked up as if concentrating on her temperature.

“You don’t feel too warm.” He removed his hand and leaned back to sit on the corner of his desk. “Listen, as long as you don’t have a fever or a cough, you can work. But wash your hands often.” He waggled a finger at her. “Constantly. Obviously cover your sneezes properly. And if you feel worse, let me know.”

Catherine nodded.

“Back to work then,” Luis said.

A few minutes later, after washing her hands thoroughly and cleaning up the spilled glass of water, Catherine heard the service bell at the kitchen window. She found a cup of steaming tea with lemon slices in it and a dipping saucer full of honey. Luis glanced at her and nodded before returning his attention to his pot of chili.

Catherine smiled and took a sip.

* * *

The cups of tea kept coming almost every 45 minutes on the dot, and Catherine started wondering if he’d set a timer. It was a surprisingly caring gesture coming from someone like Luis, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

However, now when she had to sneeze, she simply went to the hallway next to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box perched on a shelf, and sneezed into it. Another strange quirk from Luis: he would bless her every single time, no matter how many sneezes in a row there were.

Finally, when the dinner rush ended and only a couple of late-night snackers sipped their coffee in the pinkish glow of the setting sun, Catherine allowed herself to sit on a stool at the counter and lay her head on the cold surface. She closed her eyes for a moment, and jerked up when she heard the clink of a saucer being placed in front of her face. Luis had brought the next cup of lemon tea directly to her.

“Go rest,” he said, looking around the diner. “I can take it from here.”

It was only 8 pm, two hours before closing time.

“It’s OK, I can finish the shift,” said Catherine, her voice now a wreck.

Luis shook his head. “You need some sleep if you want to get better. Go to your hotel room and we can see how you feel tomorrow morning.”

Catherine looked down, embarrassed. “Umm. I don’t… I don’t have a hotel room. My car is broken and I still haven’t received my new credit card.”

Luis brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Where did you go last night?”

“I—ehh...” Her nose twitched as yet another irresistible tickle seized her sinuses. She waved a hand in front of her face as if to fan away the sneeze. “H—Hold on… ehhh…”

Luis placed a few napkins in Catherine’s hands. She took them and swiveled around on the stool, burying her nose in the napkins. “EH’TSSHIIOOOOOO!”

“Bless you.”

“Ehh… EH’TSSSHIIOOOOOO!”

“Bless y—“

“’TSSSHHIIIOOOOO!”

“Bless you.”

“Excuse me,” said Catherine, congestion dripping from her words. “As I was saying… I slept in my car last night.”

Luis’ usually expressionless face showed a hint of surprise. “Oh.” He shifted on his feet, his gaze fixed on a point behind Catherine. “Alright, go rest in the coffee shop until closing. I’ll figure something out.”

The “coffee shop” was actually a single beat-up brown leather loveseat sitting in the far right corner of the restaurant, where customers could sit down if they wanted a quick cup of coffee and the daily newspaper to start their day. Catherine hadn’t seen anyone use it yet. Probably because it felt out of place and a little cramped, wedged between the end of the counter and the wall.

But right now, sitting down on a couch sounded like heaven to Catherine. She moved her cup of tea to the small coffee table in front of the couch, then flopped down on the torn cushions, her body sinking in. Catherine let out a satisfied sigh, enjoying the heavy embrace of the worn leather, and fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Catherine woke herself up sneezing.

“EEH’TSHHHIIOOOO!” She straightened up on the couch, rubbing her nose with her knuckle, but her breath caught in her throat again, fueled by the persistent tickle. “Ehh… EHH’TSHHHIIIOOOO!”

“Bless you. Twice.”

When Catherine opened her eyes, Luis stood in front of her with a box of tissues extended towards her.

“Thank you.” She grabbed the box, fishing a few tissues to blow her nose while Luis sat in front of her on the coffee table. It was made of a thousand small pieces of colorful ceramic arranged together in different patterns. Catherine finished wiping her nose, then pointed at the table. “Did you make that yourself?”

Luis looked down to see where she was pointing. “No, my aunt did. She’s pretty clumsy and keeps breaking the plates she brought with her to the US. They were hand painted by someone in our family, so she kept all the pieces over the years until she had enough to cover this coffee table. And a full dinner table, a few flower pots and way too many trivets.”

Catherine chuckled. “I can relate. My family calls me Cathastrophy. I’ve been fired from at least three jobs for breaking something valuable.” She slapped her hand on her mouth. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Luis shrugged. “So far you haven’t broken anything valuable.”

“Is that a challenge? Because I have to warn you, it won’t end well and nobody will win.”

A rare smile appeared on Luis’ face, brightening his eyes. For a moment, Catherine felt an opening between them, as if the drawbridge of his fortress had been lowered. Yet there was still a distance, like an iron gate moored firmly to the ground.

Catherine looked around, realizing there were no customers left in the restaurant. “How long did I sleep? Is it closing time?”

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before closing. I’m just taking a small break.”

“I better start cleaning the tables and the floor then,” Catherine said, lifting herself from the couch, but Luis put a soft hand on her shoulder, slowing her down.

“No, you keep resting here. I’ll take care of it.” His voice was back to his natural bossy tone.

“I’m fine. The nap really helped, I have more energy now.”

“No,” he got up, putting an end to the argument. “Once I’m done, you can sleep at my place, or I can drive you to a hotel if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“Oh… Thank you.”

Catherine sat still for a moment, pondering her options. She didn’t want to spend money on a hotel when she was so close to being able to pay for her battery, but she was also worried about being an inconvenience to Luis. He didn’t strike her as a guy who enjoyed having company.

She watched as Luis came back with the broom and started sweeping, lifting the chairs on the tables as he progressed through the dining area. Maybe it was the dust, or maybe just the cold, but a fierce tickle assaulted Catherine’s nose. She ducked to grab a few tissues and burrowed her nostrils in them, hitching helplessly for a few torturous moments before she finally bobbed forward with a triple sneeze.

“Ehh… Hhhh… Oh g—god… Ihhh… IIH’TSHHHIIIOOOOO!”

“Bless you.”

“EEHH’TSHHHIOOOO!”

“Bless you again.”

“Haah… EH’TSHHHIOOOOO!”

“Bless you.”

“Thank you.” A post-sneezing chill shook Catherine’s body. “This sucks,” she groaned, wiping her chapped nose.

She picked up a newspaper lying on the coffee table, eager to distract herself. Not having her cellphone hadn’t bothered her at all for the past two days, mostly because she’d been busy working and being too tired to care after her shift. But now that she was stuck on this couch, her fingers were itching to swipe around a tiny screen, check her Instagram feed and complain about being sick on Twitter. But for now, the newspaper would have to do.

She read the day’s news to the sound of the broom rustling on the floor in a pleasantly rhythmic fashion.

Luis was the first to break their silence. “Where were you going?”

“Uh?” said Catherine, lowering the newspaper. The question had come out of nowhere.

“Before your car broke down. Where were you headed?”

Catherine shrugged, pensive. “Nowhere in particular.”

Luis stopped sweeping, both hands on the broomstick. He looked at her. “You were just driving around? With no goal?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just a road trip to nowhere.” She bit her bottom lip and stared at the newspaper spread open on her lap. “I’m still figuring out where I want to go.”

Luis resumed sweeping, his eyes fixed on the floor. A few beats later, he said “hope you find your way soon,” and they both fell silent again.

* * *

“So your house is behind the restaurant?” Catherine asked as she followed Luis down the small path next to the building, darkness swallowing them whole.

“It’s not exactly a house. It’s just a private entrance to a small space in the back.” He shifted Catherine’s luggage to his other hand.

“Still, that’s clever. Much cheaper than buying another place, or rent—ehh… r—eehh… renting aahhhnother— EEH’TSSSSHIIOOOOO!”

“Bless you.”

“EHH’TSSSSHIOOOO!” Catherine lost footing as she sneezed and tripped on something on the ground, unable to distinguish much in the dim light of the moon.

“Ble—Woah!” Luis grabbed her arm at the last second, preventing her from tumbling down.

“Crahhhp… Ehh… EEH’TSSSSHIOOOOO!” She turned away from Luis as he still held her, sneezing towards the ground.

“Bless you.” Luis let her go and resumed walking. “You sneeze a lot.”

“Well, yeah, I have a cold.”

“Still, I’ve never seen someone sneeze so much in a day. And I know you’ve hidden some from me.”

Catherine blushed, thankful for the cover of darkness for once.

“Sorry you don’t feel well,” Luis said with a hint of kindness that took Catherine by surprise for the second time that day. “Hopefully you’ll be better tomorrow morning.”

Catherine didn’t reply, but she knew it wouldn’t be better in the morning. Knowing her luck—or curse—it would be worse. But she was too tired to worry about it or devise any kind of plan. She’d made quite a bit of tips during the day, as if people had taken pity on her because of her cold. She was eager to count everything she had; it might be enough to get her car fixed earlier than anticipated.

Of course she’d still have to wait for the damn credit card.

They arrived at a small lit porch behind the building. Luis swiftly unlocked the door and opened it for Catherine to go in, then walked behind her and flipped the light switch.

The entrance opened straight into a living room, to the left of a large window—the only one in the house. A tiny kitchen took most of the space in the back, with no room for a table or a breakfast bar. There were two doors on the left, one for the bedroom and one for the bathroom.

Catherine walked in the living room, examining the space. It looked like Luis had just moved in and hadn’t had time to decorate. “Bare” was the word that came to Catherine’s mind. The white walls had no paintings, there were no shelves loaded with knick-knacks, and the only picture was black and white, propped up in a frame next to the TV. It was a photo of a much younger-looking Luis and an older woman. Maybe his aunt?

“I don’t have a spare bedroom, but you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch. Let me change the sheets.”

Catherine shook her head. “No, no I can take the couch.” She looked at the three-seaters, which seemed to be an IKEA futon. “Really, you’re doing me a favor, I’d rather sleep on the couch.”

Luis frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but refrained. Catherine could almost see him battling it out in his head, the logical part of himself insisting that the bed was more comfortable for a guest, but also realizing that her comfort wasn’t purely determined by physical needs. He clenched his jaw and nodded. “Alright. I’ll go get some blankets.” He handed Catherine her luggage and disappeared into the bedroom.

Catherine laid her suitcase on the ground and grabbed her pajamas and a toothbrush. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Go ahead. The towels are in the cabinets.”

The prospect of taking a warm shower filled her with joy. She hadn’t had a proper shower in three days, using the restaurant’s bathroom in the morning for a quick “paper towel bath” as she called it. She hoped the steam would also relieve some of the congestion.

She hopped in the shower, turning the knob to the left until the water was as hot as she could withstand, then let the water envelope her. She turned around and bent her head down to expose her sore neck to the stream, rolling her shoulders to loosen up the muscles. She turned back around and let the water run on her face, massaging her sinuses. It didn’t take very long for her nose to clear, waking up a tickle along with it.

Catherine took a step back and cupped her hands over her nose, ready to catch the sneezes. They exploded out of her as if they’d been held back by congestion all day, tearing their way through her raw throat.

“EHH’TSSHIIIOOOOOO!! Hhh… IIH’TSSSHIIIIIOOOOOOO!! ‘TSSSHHHIOOOOOO!! Uhh… EHH’TSHHHHIOOOOOO!! NN’TTSSHHHIOOOOOO!!”

After the intense fit, Catherine’s head pounded, her throat stung, but her sinuses were much clearer. She soaped up her body, shampooed her hair and got out of the shower, longing for a comfortable bed.

After slipping into her pajamas, she padded back to the living room. All the lights were off except for the one over the oven. A fresh cup of tea steamed on the side table next to the unfolded futon. Luis had prepared the bed with three blankets of varying thickness, and a fluffy pillow.

Assuming Luis had already gone to sleep, Catherine sat on the futon and took a sip of tea. The warm liquid soother her irritated throat.

“If you need more blankets, let me know.”

Catherine jumped and shrieked, spilling some of the tea on the bed. “Oh crap, you scared me!” she said, trying to wipe the liquid with her hand, but only managing to spill more as she held the cup in her other hand.

“Give me the mug,” ordered Luis, passing her a paper towel in exchange. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sorry.”

Catherine laughed, pressing down on the paper towel to help it absorb the tea out of the blanket. “It’s fine. Not the first time I’ve spilled stuff in bed. One time, I spilled an entire jug of milk.” She looked up and laughed even harder when she saw Luis’ expression. “Don’t ask.”

“Your voice…” he said, pointing at his own throat and grimacing. “You don’t sound too good.”

Catherine tried to clear her throat, but she knew it wouldn’t help. “Yeah, it’s pretty rough.”

“I don’t have any medicine. I can get someone to bring some in tomorrow.”

“I should be alright. It’s just a cold.”

Luis approached her and placed a hand on her forehead like he’d done earlier that day. She still couldn’t reconcile how someone as distant and closed off as Luis could be so tender. Did he not realize it? Was this simply part of business for him, making sure his employees were healthy enough to work?

“You feel warm,” he said.

Catherine examined his face as he felt her temperature. There was definitely concern under all those layers of neutrality. Concern and care. His hand lingered on her forehead.

“I just took a hot shower,” she murmured, afraid to break the moment, and at the same time, not knowing how to react. It felt… nice. Like a million butterfly wings kissing her skin as they flew away.

“Right,” Luis said, removing his hand. He cleared his throat and walked back to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I’m never hungry when I’m sick.”

“Nobody is, but you have to eat anyway.” He opened the fridge. “I don’t have much in here though. I only cook in the restaurant.”

“Did you always want to open your own restaurant?”

Catherine had blurted out the question before it even formed in her head. Possibly the effect of exhaustion, but she was genuinely interested in the answer. She always wondered what made people want to own a restaurant, knowing that they’d have to work their asses off to make an average living while competing with big food chains.

Luis grabbed a loaf of bread on the counter and popped two slices in the toaster. “My aunt worked at a high school cafeteria when I was a kid. While I was in high school, I helped her during lunch to earn some extra money for the family. The food was terrible.”

Catherine laughed. “So it’s not one of those ‘my grandma taught me how to cook’ story?”

“No. I mean my aunt wasn’t bad, but it was just a job for her. I was in charge of cleaning so I didn’t touch the food, but it got me interested in what makes it taste good or bad. I started going to my best friend’s house every day after school because he had cable. I’d watch the Food Network while he did his homework. He got so tired of the Food Network that I had to bargain with him. I’d do his homework if he let me watch one hour.”

Catherine watched Luis talk, transfixed. His face lit up, and confidence oozed from his body language. He spoke animatedly about the jobs he’d landed at several restaurants during high school, and how he’d had to skip college because of a lack of funds, but managed to learn from a few cooks around his hometown.

“I like the diner, I really do,” he said. “It’s my first restaurant. But the only reason I could afford it is because it’s in the middle of nowhere. And when there’s no movie being filmed, it’s not exactly bustling with customers. I want to move up.”

“What’s your goal?”

“This is going to sound cliché, but I want to open a restaurant in San Francisco. I want a nice, small place where I can experiment with food and still sustain a business.” He looked over to the picture next to the TV. “My mother sent me to the US to live with my aunt when I was very young, and I know it was a big sacrifice for her to let me go, but she wanted me to have a better chance in life. I owe it to her to work as hard as I can to be who I want to be. We all owe it to ourselves to strive for something better.”

Catherine nodded. She saw it now, in Luis’ face. It wasn’t coldness or distance, it was resilience and determination. It was an intense focus on finding a way to a better life. She admired him for it, the willpower and the strength it required to keep going day after day with your eyes on the prize.

How many times had she given up, blamed her curse for failing again and again, when really, she hadn’t been trying hard enough?

Maybe she needed to be a little bit more like Luis.

* * *

After a rough night of sneezing, tossing and turning, Catherine awoke to Luis’ hand on her forehead. She groaned, pulling the blankets higher over her shoulders.

“How are you feeling?” Luis asked.

“Like hell,” Catherine said, her voice barely above a whisper. Almost immediately, a fresh tickle forced her to duck under the covers to avoid sneezing on Luis. “HH’TSHHHH-iii! ‘TSHHHH-iii!” With her voice gone, the ending of her sneezes sounded like a pitiful squeak.

“Bless you.” Luis shook his head. “You’re off today. Go back to sleep.”

His tone left no room for argument, but Catherine wasn’t about to protest anyway. In her state, it wouldn’t be fair to the customers to drag herself to the diner and handle their food. And it wouldn’t be fair to her body either. Sure, she wanted to be more like Luis and work harder, but maybe it could wait until she regained her health.

She slept on and off until late afternoon. When she finally got up, she noticed a note on the fridge. “Soup inside. Luis said to eat it. –A” She assumed “A” was Arthur. She’d slept through his visit.

The extra hours of sleep did seem to help. She felt a bit more refreshed and her head wasn’t pounding for the first time in three days. Even her throat had finally left the raw stage, moving on to a dull soreness. Although when she tested her voice, it was still quite rough.

When she fetched something to wear, Catherine noticed her apron in a pile next her luggage and remembered yesterday’s tips stashed in the front pocket. After getting dressed quickly, she sat down on the floor and summed up the money she had accumulated so far. A rush of adrenaline surged in her veins when she realized that she had enough to get the battery replaced.

She went straight to the phone to call the mechanic.

* * *

When Luis came home that night, he brought a bag filled with food for both of them to share. Catherine was happy to see that he’d made more of the tomato soup with star-shaped noodles that Arthur had brought in while she slept. She’d devour it around dinner time, dipping buttered bread into it. Her appetite had finally returned.

“You look much better tonight,” Luis said as they sat on the couch to eat.

Catherine quickly ducked away from him, muffling a few sneezes in her elbow. “EH’TSSSHHH-ii! ‘TSSHHHH… EH’TSSHHH-ii!”

“Bless you. Guess you’re not 100% yet,” said Luis with a chuckle, passing her a box of tissues.

Catherine laughed. “I do feel better, but I guess my nose is still sensitive.”

“Oh, I forgot… There was a letter addressed to you in the mail this morning.” Luis got up to fetch it, throwing it in front of her on the coffee table.

Catherine's eyes opened wide when she saw it.

“Bad news?” asked Luis.

“No, no it’s… It’s just my credit card replacements from the bank.”

“Oh.” Luis sat down next to her. “I guess you can get your car fixed now.”

Catherine bit her bottom lip. “It’s already fixed actually. I had enough to pay for it so the mechanic came today. It’s ready to go.”

They sat in silence, neither of them touching the food. It was clear they both knew what this meant, but weren’t expecting it to come so soon. Catherine felt a mix of pride for having solved her problem by herself, and sadness. She’d grown fond of the diner and Luis over the past few days, and had expected to be “stuck” here for at least another two days.

“Have you figured out where you’re headed?”

Catherine shook her head. “I’ll probably keep going south for a bit and…” She trailed off. “I really don’t know what I want to do.”

She’d never had a goal when she’d left home that Sunday night. Just an urgent need to wander alone. See what the world was made of. What she was made of. But even through all her habitual misfortunes, had she really figured out who she was, or what she wanted to be? Was she supposed to go back home now and find another job? Go back to college? Move to Antartica? Swim to Europe? Nothing called to her still, nothing felt… right.

“You’re still sick,” said Luis, avoiding eye contact. “You should stay a few more days to rest.”

Catherine studied him, surprised by his sudden shyness. “Wait… Are you saying that because you don’t want me to go?”

A subtle blush appeared on his cheeks, and Catherine giggled.

“Alright, alright,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s been really nice to have you around for the night shift. It makes my job easier.”

“Are you sure? I’ve messed up countless orders, dropped a bunch of stuff, had to take a sick day, and basically invaded your home. And that’s only after three days of employment. Do you really want to test the limits of my curse?”

“I don’t believe in curses. And who cares if you’re a little clumsy, or if you get sick? Big deal, everyone gets sick. The bottom line is, the customers love you. You’re kind, attentive, and you make everyone feel important. Do you know how many regulars asked me where you were today?”

Catherine shrugged, speechless.

“I’ve lost count,” he said, shaking his head. “Too many. The point is, the diner needs you. I need you. I don’t care how many plates you break. I can replace those, but…” Luis paused and looked at her. “Just think about it.”

* * *

At around noon the next day, Catherine cruised on the highway in her Camry. She listened to its engine purr, glad to have her “trusty” steed back. The sun beat down on the road, sending whiffs of baked asphalt through Catherine’s open windows. She took a deep breath through her half congested nose, happy that her sense of smell had almost fully returned.

After driving for a good twenty minutes, Catherine arrived at her destination and hopped out of her car. She pushed the door to the building, listening to the bell announcing her arrival. She walked in and felt a warm rush of familiarity hit her, like coming home after a long vacation. The white walls, the cactus posters, the old ripped couch in the corner… even the sight of Mabel brought joy to Catherine. This was her destination. At least for now.

Luis caught sight of her from the kitchen window and came out to greet her, wiping his hands on a towel. “I thought you were gone,” he said with a hint of relief in his eyes. “I saw your car was gone, and Arthur said you weren’t there when he brought you soup.”

“Oh, I just needed this,” said Catherine, whipping out a brand new smart phone from her back pocket. “I can’t function without it, especially if I’m going to live here for a while. Hopefully you have Wi-Fi though, because reception is pretty s—sp… ehh… spotty— EH’TSSHHIIOOOO!”

“Bless you, sneezy,” said Luis with a smile. “Now get to work.”

Catherine tied her apron behind her back and grabbed her notepad. She still didn’t know what she wanted to do, or where she would ultimately end up. But “here” was a good place to start.

And it felt right.

The End

[mandos-sluts]

The Botched Mission

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dubious consent, degradation, daddy kink, mutual masterbation, dirty talk, voyeurism

Summary: You work for the Empire and are tasked with spying on Mando. You don’t do a great job at concealing your efforts.

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!!

You were born and raised in the Empire. Your mother was an admiral in the Imperial Security Bureau under Moff Gideon and your father died in battle during the Great Purge. The more you grew up, the more you questioned the Empire’s actions and ideology, but it didn’t really matter. There was no getting out for you— your entire livelihood was supported by the Empire.

Your commanding officer has given you a mission on Tatooine. You are to go undercover as a mechanic and surveill the Mandalorian Din Djarin. It was known that he knew of the force-sensitive child’s location and had dealings with other Jedi, thus, he was of great interest to the Empire.

***********************

The Mandalorian’s ship is scheduled to undergo maintenance for two days on Tatooine. You stand in the hangar and watch as the beat up Razor Crest lands. The ship’s hatch opens and there standing tall is the Mandalorian, covered from head to toe in shiny silver beskar. He walks confidently down the ramp and towards you.

You open your mouth to introduce yourself when he tosses a bag of credits to you. “I need the repairs completed by tomorrow afternoon.” He says in a deep voice, towering over you and gazing into your eyes.

Shit. You’re….you’re really attracted to him. The way he carries himself is so hot— his assertive demeanor, his voice. “Yeah, absolutely, no– no problem sir.” You stutter out. “Um, I’m y/n.”

Mando nods his head and then walks right past you, leaving you standing there with your panties damp.

He exits the hangar and all he can think about is you. Fuck, since when were mechanics so beautiful?

You shake your head and try to focus. Heading into the ship, you begin installing hidden cameras all over. An actual mechanic employed by the Empire meanwhile gets to work making repairs.

You consider waiting around for Mando to return for the evening, just so you can interact with him more, but once it gets dark, you head to the inn that you’re staying at. Mando arrives back to his ship a little after you return to your room.

Your boss made it clear that she wants you to watch him whenever he’s not sleeping. Which honestly is stupid, it’s not like he’s going to talk to himself and reveal important information? You lie back in your bed with the screen on your lap and watch the live feed of the cameras in the ship, already bored out of your mind. The camera’s are super high quality; the picture and audio are both crystal clear. A few minutes later, you see the hatch open and watch Mando enter the ship.

Mando notices the cameras almost instantly. To be fair, you always half-assed your missions; you really don’t care about advancing the Empire’s agenda or doing your job well. Mando lets out a long annoyed sigh. He knew you didn’t look like a mechanic!

His first thought is to take down all of the cameras, apprehend you, and turn you over to the New Republic. There are only a few lodges in town and it wouldn’t be hard for him to track you down. On the other hand...he figures he could have some fun with this.

Pretending he isn’t aware of the cameras, Mando puts his weapons away in his arsonal just like he does every night.

Shit, you think to yourself. His collection of weapons is massive, he could kill you with such little effort if he wanted to.

Mando heads up to the cockpit and slumps down in the pilot’s chair. He stretches his legs out and takes a deep breath. Bringing his hand down to his crotch, he starts rubbing himself over his pants.

Your eyes widen and you sit up in your bed. Is– is he doing what it looks like he’s doing? You feel arousal shoot to your pussy as you watch a tent form in Mando’s pants.

Mando knows you’re watching him, and he saw how nervous he made you earlier today, so he knows that you’re too curious and horny to turn it off. He unbuttons his pants and releases his long, thick cock. He takes his length in his hand and spreads his precum around up and down his shaft, letting out a moan.

Your panties are soaked at this point and your pussy is begging to be touched. You bring your hand down and start rubbing your clit over your shorts, your eyes are glued to the screen.

Mando starts pumping his cock up and down, faster and faster. You’ve never been so turned on in your entire life. You trail your hand into your pants and start circling your wet clit. You know this is super creepy of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Mando’s breathing picks up as he fucks his hand even harder.

“Ah fuck.” He spits out.

Ugh his voice is so sexy–

“Fuck, y/n. Yeah, that’s a good girl.”

Your heart drops and your hand freezes. He just said your name...He’s jerking off thinking about you. Did you even tell him your name?

“That’s right, y/n, ride my cock, pretty girl.” He breathes out.

You’re shocked and your cunt starts throbbing. Mando has the biggest cock you have ever seen, like...holy shit. You can’t handle how horny you are right now. The fact that you can’t hop on his lap and start bouncing on his dick makes you want to cry. You start whimpering as you glide your fingers along your slick and watch Mando growl your name.

Mando grips the arm of his chair as he feels his orgasm approaching. He’s so hard knowing that you’re watching him.

“Ahhhhhh fuuuckkkkk, yyy/nnn” Mando moans as you watch his cum spew out of him.

Feeling your own orgasm coming on, you quickly turn off the monitor, close your eyes, and start pumping your finger in and out of your hole. It takes you less than twenty seconds to cum, thinking about Mando saying your name while jerking off.

You don’t bother to turn the monitor back on for the rest of the night. You go to sleep replaying those images of Mando in your head over and over again.

************************

The next morning, Mando leaves his ship for the day at dawn and you head over to the hangar a few hours later. The mechanic is finishing up the final repairs when you arrive.

In case Mando asks you about the repairs, the mechanic gives you an overview of everything she did. You listen intently....for about a minute, but then end up inadvertently tuning her out, thinking about what you witnessed last night.

“Got it?” She says, jolting you back to reality.

“Y-yes totally.” You lie.

The mechanic leaves and you grab a seat at a table in the hangar, waiting patiently for Mando to return.

A few hours later, Mando struts into the hangar. He strolls right past you up to the Crest. “The ship done?” He asks shortly, not even looking back at you.

“Yes, everything is in order sir, have a good flight.” You say nervously, turning around to exit.

“Wait.” He says, stopping you in your tracks. “I have a few questions before I depart.” Mando says as he opens the hatch.

“Um, s-sure.” You say, following him into the ship.

Mando starts up the Crest and does a lap around the first level, examining all the areas where work was presumably done. The ship is in great shape, but he knows that you didn’t do any of it.

“Are the front deflectors operating at full capacity?” Mando asks in his deep, modulated voice.

“Uh, y-yeah.” You respond. You’re standing against the wall trying your best to keep cool and act like you know what he’s talking about.

“Did you fix the leak in the carbonite system?” He asks.

“Y-yes.”

“How did you get the ion acceleration chamber running again?” He questions without looking up, continuing to walk around and inspect the ship.

“Uh, um–”

Mando turns his gaze to you. “Did you rewire the calcinator or instal a new thruster nozzle?

“Um I did it by rewiring the– the thunder novel...”

Mando begins walking toward you. “How is the repulsor grille functioning?”

“I– I um...I just, I– the ship–”

Mando is now standing directly in front of you, staring into your desperate intimidated eyes. “What’s the matter, little girl, don’t know the answer?” He says moving even closer to you.

“N-no I know–”

“Can you tell me about the work you did on the engines?” He interrupts. “Or why don’t you tell me about these cameras you installed first.” He says, reaching over you and yanking one of the cameras out of the wall above you.

Your heart drops. “I-I didn’t put those there.” You stutter out.

“Drop the act, y/n. I know you’re not a mechanic. I know you work for the Empire.”

Fuck, you are so busted–

“And I know you watched me last night. Sweetheart, it’s written all over your face.” He says lightly, grabbing your chin and pulling your head up so that you’re looking directly into his visor.

Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can feel your face is bright red. You’re trembling with fear but you are also so turned on. Your pussy is throbbing as your breath heavily and stare into Mando’s visor with doe eyes.

“I—”

“Tell me, pretty girl.” He interrupts you again. “Did you like watching me jerk off?” He asks in a deep tone as he runs his other hand down your body to your waist.

“Y-yes.” You whisper with humiliation.

Mando brings his hand between your legs and dances his fingers on your crotch. “Did you touch yourself while you watched me?”

You nod your head slowly.

“What a fuckin naughty girl.” He says pushing you hard against the wall. He pushes your shorts to the side and slides his fingers into your panties. You let out a high-pitched exhale, still maintaining eye contact with him

“Damn. So wet already.” He says in a low rough voice. “You’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you? Those Storm Trooper boys can’t fuck you good, can they?” He says mockingly. “Maybe I should turn you over to the New Republic.” He utters as his other hand lightly grabs your throat. “Or, maybe I should come up with my own form of punishment for you.” Mando says as he thrusts his middle finger up inside of you.

You let out a gasp and your mouth falls open as he starts pumping your hole. “I’ve never fucked a slut from the Empire before.” He says, tightening his grip on your throat. You’re so wet you can hear his finger moving in and out of you.

“What do you think, you little criminal?” He says in a sultry tone.

“Ahhh!” You moan out. “I– I think you should– ahh– punish me, Mando.” You whine, batting your eyes at him as he drives his finger in and out of your cunt.

Mando grinds his bulge against your stomach. “Yeah? Then you’d better be an obedient little whore for me.”

Mando pulls his fingers out of you. He abruptly shoves down your shorts and rips off your top. “What are you–”

“Shut up.” He snaps as he turns you around and shoves you back against the wall. “Hands against the wall.” You do as you’re told.

You hear your shirt rip again and all of the sudden your vision goes black as you feel Mando tying fabric around your eyes. You’re naked except for a thong and blind fold, with your cheek and palms flat against the metal wall. One by one, you hear pieces of Mando’s armor hitting the floor. *see gif* Then you feel his bulge grind against your ass and one hand wrapping around your throat while the other grabs your tit.

His lips come to your ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a fuckin week.” He breathes in your ear. “Your pretty little cunt is gonna be overflowing with my cum when I’m done with you.” He growls, roughly kneading your tit.

“Yes daddy” You moan in response.

Mando loves that you called him daddy. He grabs your hair and pulls it back and down, tilting your head back and making your back arch while your hands stay flat on the metal wall. With his hold still on your hair, you feel his warm lips plant onto yours, his facial hair rubbing against your skin. His lips move down your cheek to your neck, and he sucks on your smooth skin while pulling your hair back. Pulling away, he can already see the bruise of the hickey forming on your neck.

Mando pulls away from you and steps back, taking a moment to admire how vulnerable you look, blindfolded and panting against his wall. Then you feel his hand smack your ass check, and you let out a yelp. He does it twice more against the other cheek and you can’t help but cry out.

“Shut up, slut. I told you I was gonna punish you.” He says as he pulls your g-string up, making its fabric drag and pull against your clit. He spanks you again. Arousal shoots to your cunt, and it is dripping wet.

Mando spins you around again and slams your back against the wall. He once more grabs your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck so perfectly for him. Mando grabs your ass and pulls you up against him. “Open your mouth.” He commands in a stern voice, still pulling your hair down.

Your lips part wide and Mando bites your bottom lip before spitting in your mouth. “Swallow.” He orders. You close your mouth and swallow his sweet saliva down your throat.

Mando picks you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around him. He sets you down on a metal table and rips your thong off of you. Your legs are wide open, your pussy splayed out on the table for Mando to admire as he pulls his shirt over his head. He runs two fingers up and down slick and then shoves them in your mouth. “You gonna be a good girl and show me how needy this little cunt is?” He whispers in your ear while you suck his fingers.

He removes his fingers from your mouth. “Yes.” You breathe out.

“Yes, what?” Mando says slapping your outer thigh.

“I– I’m gonna be a good girl for you, daddy. And sh–show you how– how needy I am for your cock.” You stammer out.

Mando hums in response as he lines his tip up with your entrance. One of your hands is wrapped around his neck and the palm of your other hand is flat against his warm hard chest.

You feel his warm precum against your tender skin as he pushes the head of his dick into you. Your mouth falls open and you gasp. He does a few thrusts with half his length and it’s already more than you can handle.

“Fuck!” You spit out in a high pitched voice.

“Shit–” Mando snaps. “How are you so fuckin tight?” He says, seeming genuinely frustrated.

You’re being so stretched out you can’t form a response. You just sit there, wrapped around Mando, breathing heavily with your mouth agape, trying your best to adjust to his size.

“You’re squeezing the shit out of my cock. Ah you feel so fuckin good.” Mando groans in your ear as he pushes more of his member inside of you. He then abruptly snaps his hips and thrusts all the way inside of you.

You scream out “Fuck!” And dig your nails into his back.

Mando starts pumping in you slowly. “You’re doing so good, baby girl, taking my big cock in your tight pussy so well.”

He brings more of his length out and picks up the pace.“Ahhhhh Mando! Fuck!” You cry.

“What’d you call me?” He says, snapping his hips into you hard.

“Daddy!” You squeal. “Daddy! I–I’m sorry! Daddy fuck your cock is– is so big!” You wine between thrusts. He puts his lips on your mouth.

“I know, pretty girl” He whispers in your mouth. “You’re doing good.”

He starts thrusting faster and you lose control of the moans that escape your lips. You’re holding onto him for dear life as he pounds into you, his hands clutching your hips. Mando pushes you down so that you’re lying on the table and swings one of your legs up on his shoulder, providing him an even better angle, allowing him to drive his cock right into your G-spot.

“Ahhh daddy, yes! Fuck! Right there, please!” You scream.

Mando holds your leg against his chest with one arm and brings his other hand to grip your throat.

“Do– do the Imps know they have a filthy– ahh– filthy fuckin cockslut working for them?” He mocks. “What would they say if they knew you agreed to be your target’s dirty little fucktoy? Huh?”

All you can do in response is scream and moan. Mando removes his hand from your throat and drags it down your stomach. He starts circling your clit and you begin to see stars. Your whole body starts shaking and your cunt clenches down on Mando’s cock. “Fuck, I– I’m gonna cum!” You exclaim. Your pussy starts pulsing like never before as you feel your orgasm overtake you.

“Yes, ahhh fuck! This pussy was– was made for my cock, shit.” Mando says as he rides you through your orgasm. He loves watching you come apart on a table in his ship, blindfolded and helpless.

Mando can feel his own climax nearing and he clasps your hips tight. His fast thrusts lose rhythm and you can feel his cock getting stiff in your cunt. He pumps his cock a few more times and then you feel his warm cum surge inside of you. “Fuuuccckkk.” Mando grunts as his white juices fill your hole.

He pulls out of you and scoots you to sit further back on the table as he redresses. You can feel his cum trickling out of your pussy onto the cold metal table beneath you. You close your legs— without him pressed up against you and without your sight, you feel so exposed and awkward.

You hear the hiss of his helmet and then feel his hands pushing your legs back open again, displaying your abused and leaking cunt. Mando unties the makeshift blind fold, and you see him standing fully clothed and armored in front of you. He wraps one hand around your waist and pushes your thigh further apart with his other hand.

“You look so pretty like this.” He says in his deep, modulated voice. “Come on.” He says with his hand still around your waist, motioning you off the table. You hop off and your legs immediately give out, your body falling to the floor.

Mando scoffs and pulls you up. “I told you you wouldn’t be able to walk.”

“You’re a man of your word.” You say sarcastically.

“Guess that means I’ll have to uninstall all the fuckin cameras you hid all over my ship.” Mando says as he sweeps you off your feet. He carries you into his sleeping quarters.

“No. Keep them.” You say with a side smile as he lays you down on the bed. “I like watching you jerk off. Especially when you jerk off while moaning my name.” You pull the blankets to cover you.

Mando sits on the bed that you’re lying on “Fuck.” He says caressing your cheek. “If you didn’t work for the Empire I’d take you with me.” Mando says bluntly.

“Take me with you, Mando!” You say sitting up. “I don’t wanna work for the Empire. Fuck the Empire. I’ve been looking for a way for so long.”

Mando smiles underneath his helmet. “Well, good thing you did such a shit job at your mission.”

**************************************

Masterlist

**************************************

Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75 @tacticalsparkles @kenoobiwan @shark-s @theamuz @blackrose8425

[nachtai-ish]

I Like That (Part 3)

Title: I Like That Pairing: Erik X BlackFemale!Reader Previous Parts: Part 1, Part 2 summary: just uh....hide your purse aight? (author’s note: uh, ...so...um...it’s been a while right? very sorry about that but it’s here now and I already know how i’m ending it so that’s great. ...this part is written in erik’s pov cause that really helped me break the block i had on it. ...I hope you enjoy it. only one more part to go.) He knew he had fucked up. She wouldn’t even look at him and had scooted as close to her door as she possibly could. He mentally cursed himself and his ego. He wasn’t even sure why he had snapped at her so hard. What she said was fundamentally true and she had the right to speak on what she knew first hand, but it must have been the mixture of David, her being so mad at him, and the fact that her blow had hurt that had him acting up.

“Y/n, listen.”

“Erik, I said shut up.” She said looking down at her nails that were done in a french tip, something she had been doing since grade school. He remembered how her mom thought color was too ‘grown’ and that ‘young women should only have French tipped nails’. He remembered laughing at her nails in the car when she held them out for him to see, and then he remembered moaning as those same nails wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry, alright.” He sighed and rubbed his hand down his face.

“You’re always sorry Erik. It never helps anything. You’re a sorry ass nigga. So what?” She finally looked at him fury and sadness in her brown eyes.

He swallowed his anger at her name calling and looked out of the window to calm down, “Listen, I know you fucking hate me, and I don’t blame you. I treated you like shit in high school.”

“No, you treated me worst than shit. You dogged me, Erik. Do you know how it feels to be beaten down by the nigga you thought you were in love with? No you don’t because everybody loved you.” Her voice had raised, he could tell that she didn’t give a shit about the mixed company they were in.

“Y/n.”

“Don’t Y/n me. I’m going to say what I should have been said, Erik. You fucked me in private. Used me like a sex toy and in public I was your verbal punching bag. And you set the tone for everyone else in high school. High school was hell for me.”

“What was I supposed to do about it? I was a kid, Y/n. I really feel like you’re overestimating my influence.”

“You were supposed to stop it, not add on to it.”

“Well I’m sorry. I truly am. I wasn’t perfect back then and I’m not perfect now and all I can do now is apologize.”

She shook her head, wiping under her eyes quickly. “It was so long ago, and I haven’t thought about it in years. I stopped being your victim a long time ago Erik….it’s just this reunion has brought up so many memories.” She took a deep breath and exhaled looking at him again. “I’m sorry too. I’ve been acting like a child.”

“Yes you have.” He joked, laughing when she shot a scowl his way. “I’m kidding. I understand your anger. I really do. It’s not right how I treated you, and if any man treated my daughter like that I’d kill him with my bare hands.”

“Your daughter? You got a child?” She looked surprised.

He smirked, “What if I said I did? What would that mean?”

“That you still haven’t learned to use condoms.” She shook her head, running her hand through her hair. She looked surprised, as if that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

He smirked to himself.“I’m kidding. No kids yet. …Ain’t found the right woman…” He looked down her seated frame, biting down on his lip as his gaze settled on her hips and the thigh that had poked out of the slit on the dress. “And the woman I want to have my babies don’t want me.”

She was pointedly ignoring his blatant staring, choosing instead to scroll through her phone. “Well maybe you’ll have luck at the reunion. Remember that girl Monica? She’s been asking the facebook group if you were coming.”

He rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat, “Don’t nobody want Monica. Her breath was stank.” She chuckled and the sound warmed his soul.

The best times he could remember in high school was of her and him chilling in his car outside of her house. She would sneak out the window because her mom didn’t allow boys in the house and honestly didn’t like him one bit but she would take the chances of being caught outside with him anyway.

They would sit and listen to the radio, singing along with their favorite songs, and roasting the bad songs. They would sling insults back and forth until they ended up not being able to speak from laughing so hard.                

In tough times, she would be a warm shoulder to lean on, saying nothing that might make him close up when he happened to cry. In reverse, he would be there times when her dad would flake on her again or forget her birthday, or when her mom was just being too restrictive.

It was those times he remembered, even more than the sex they shared, those times where she was his best friend. He missed that.

“Her breath did used to be a little tart.” She spoke back looking at him.

“A little? The girl used to exhale and burn off people’s eyebrows.”

She laughed then, fully, holding onto her stomach. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.” He looked out the window. They still had about twenty minutes until they made it to the reunion. “So, where did you meet David?”

She looked at him and shook her head. “Uh uh.”

“Uh uh? What do you mean uh uh?”

“You are not fixin to clown my man, okay? No. I’m not letting it happen.”

“Ain’t nobody about to clown your man. …I mean I didn’t know you liked light skinned men but-

“See you’re already clowning him.”

He shook his head, “No, I was just joking. Seriously, tell me I want to know.”

She rolled her eyes, “Well if you must know, we met at a conference in Arizona.”

“So he’s in business?”

“No, tech actually. He was at the conference networking. At the time he was trying to startup this app, Nozzle. It’s a app that-

“I know about Nozzle.” Erik actually knew Nozzle pretty well seeing as he had invested some money in the startup a while back trying to get his portfolio up.

However, he didn’t remember seeing David’s name in the business plan. “So, he’s still working with Nozzle then?”

“Nah, they ousted him. He had a completely different vision than the other two men and they decided to part ways amicably.  He’s actually working on a festival idea, kind of like a black Coachella but not like Afropunk or anything. That’s why he’s not here right now. He had a meeting to attend with some investors.”

Erik couldn’t help but smirk, “A festival?”

“Don’t even-“

“I bet its going to be lit. …Straight…Fyre.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore.” She looked out of the window folding her arms again.

“Wait, wait. I’m just kidding.” He pulled one of her arms down, so she wouldn’t close up on him again. “Seriously though, he does know a new festival right now, it’s not the move.”

She sighed, “It’s legit though and he has a good plan for it. Nothing too extravagant. I’ve been working it out with him, setting up meetings for him.”

“Setting up meetings for him? You a secretary now?”

“Nah, I’m a good girlfriend. Why shouldn’t I help him if I can?”

Erik looked at her and then shrugged, “I mean, I guess. But…just don’t put none of your money in it.” When she didn’t say anything, he sighed. “How much?”

It was her turn to rub the back of her neck, “Uh…just 50,000 dollars.”

“50,000 dollars?”

“We got a loan, so he could have the capital to start moving stuff and showing investors he wasn’t coming in empty handed.”

“Oh my god, Y/n. The whole reason you get investors is so that you don’t have to get loans like that or at least so you can pay off the damn loan. How much has he paid off.”

“10,000.”

“Oh my godddd.” Erik wanted to die. He wanted to strangle Y/n, in the most loving way, for being so stupid and then he wanted to kill David. “He’s fucking scamming you and probably everyone else he’s talked to. Why did he get ousted from Nozzle?”

“I told you because they had different visions-“

“Nah, that’s what that nigga told you.” He pulled out his phone. “Send me a picture of him.”

“Why?” Erik rolled his eyes and tried hard not to snap at her, “Don’t argue with me right now. Send me a picture.” When she pulled out her phone he sighed.

“This nigga is running your name into the ground and you probably don’t even know it.”

“He’s legit Erik.” The airdrop notification came up on his phone and he accepted it, getting a fairly clear picture of David.

“We’ll see.” He pulled up an app that allowed him to search FBI databases, search engines, wanted ads, and many more places by picture and name.

“What’s his name?”

“David Johnson.” She had moved closer trying to see what he was doing on his phone. “Are you doing a background check on him?”

“Nah, but you should have.” He hit search and the app began trying to match David’s photo and name to anything they could.

“I can’t believe this. You’re so fucking smart, Y/n. You graduated summa cum lade and you’re nearly running that firm you’re at. I can’t believe that you can’t smell a scammer from a mile away.”

“How do you know all of that?”               

                     Before he could answer his phone dinged, he smirked pressing the article that came up. David Johnson was Gregory Malcolm, the man who was caught misappropriating funds from Nozzle. Who was still wanted by authorities in California, New York, and Georgia.

“Is David’s middle name Joanne?” He started looking down at the picture of David being escorted out of a building in handcuffs.

“No…why?”

“Cause your man’s a fucking scammer.”

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

(author’s note: just

and I hope that this part was not a total let down.) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @halonahoney @scumyeol @fangirlingbookworm1 @elaindeereads @groovybbyyy  @holy-minseok  @ljstraightnochaser @chefjessypooh @sweet-epiphany85 @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @tiava143

@chaneajoyyy​ @ raysunshine78   fuckmegoodbruhh ghostfacekill-monger  mellifluousbabe  browngirldominion

(i probably didn’t tag half the people that wanted to be tagged. sorry about that!)

[katwriter-1990]

Chapter One-Bailey

Bailey

I woke up to the sound of the birds singing the highest melodies; they were the opera to nature’s scene, followed by the vivid and golden rays of the morning’s sunrise reflecting into the glass against my windows, letting the sun rays glisten and brighten the entire room with colors of gold yellow everywhere. It was morning, time for another day to get ready. I glanced at my watch: 7:15am. I groaned slightly but still managed to gain my energy and sit right up at the edge of my bed. Stretched and yawned, releasing the tension from lying on a flat surface for an extended period of a night.

I got up and walked into the bathroom and looked straight at my reflection. Not a pleasant sight at all. As highlighted and bright, my hair was full of knots, and my ponytail was lopsided and tangled. My face is a little pale, and my eyes with dark circles on the bottom. Really cringing. I yawned one more time, took my hair out, and fixed it into a more organized bun. I turned on the sink, the faucet squeaking, then the water started running, making little splashes against the sink bowl. I took my L’oreal face wash, squeezed a quarter-sized amount in my palms, and then rubbed my hands together, lathering it up. I began to wash my face, rinsed it down, and let the cool water awaken my skin. Suddenly, I felt less fatigued. I began to brush my teeth and rinse my mouth with some mouthwash. Then suddenly, my energy was urging for caffeine. I opened the door and stopped in my tracks. I must walk past him and cannot wake…him. Quietly.

I would be lying if I said I was happy with this stranger in my bed; that stranger is known as my husband. Henry Quinton. The best lawyer in New York, but he wasn’t the best husband in the Quinton Residence; he was all serious and bland, he was bored. I knew he was bored, and he has always been even though we have been together for twenty-seven years. But then, if I point this out and try to ask why aren’t we the same anymore, I am the crazy one; I am overreacting. Or so, he says. What is a woman like me to do other than just shut down and pretend I am happy? Pretend happiness, as I like to call it. He’d create it as a routine, as a scripted show when it came to being at work parties and family gatherings. It was all a show so that no one would talk. No one would gossip. And find out that the “perfect” Quinton couple is actually a toxic joke, and I am the punchline.

If anything, I am the one that’s fucking bored.

I walk downstairs and go straight into my kitchen. The same sun rays that had brightened my room were glimmering through my large windows in the living room and kitchen, making little rectangle shadows against my marble kitchen counter. I pressed the “on” button on my coffee machine, then it started blowing steam, and I began to see a small dark river flow from the nozzle into the glass pot. I grabbed my favorite mug. It had me and my grandma’s picture from our trip to Colombia, followed by “I love you,” written across it. At this time, the coffee is ready, and I pour the dark brown liquid into the mug, grab some cream and sugar, and stir the mixes all together. I look into the cup and see tiny white bubbles spinning in the middle. I blow into the coffee and take a nice sip, and exhale with relief. I opened my porch door and set into beautiful scenery with my yard. All I saw was a big green hill, surrounded by trees and a golden circle above made everything so bright and colorful. The skies are bright blue with funny-shaped fluffy clouds that make you curious how comfy they are. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and took another sip of coffee. This was my tranquility, inner peace, at least where I felt alive and not looked like a trophy wife. I didn’t have to watch him ignore me and not love me like he tells the world he does. It wouldn’t be long until he wakes up, and then it’s lights, camera, action.

I looked at the clock when I heard the alarm go off upstairs, followed by a loud and harsh cough. It’s the man of the house himself. He has risen. I listened to the bed creaking faintly as he got up, his heavy footsteps creaking along from the bedroom to what it sounded like to the shower. The door shut, and I heard the shower go on. By now, it’s 7:45. He’s getting ready for his big day. Mr. Lawyer. My husband. My boring fucking husband. Most of my girlfriends say I am one lucky woman. Living in a luxurious penthouse, rich lawyer husband, maids, fucking parties were all these high-end folks that have been the heirs to the family’s financial benefits. Oh, yes, according to them, I am the envy of our local country club. Yet, here I am, screaming and suffocating while I woke up every day and hoped he’d hold me and love me like he used to. Now it’s just out-of-town lawyer cases and missed memories.

I made breakfast. His favorite, eggs, and oats with a glass of coconut juice. I’d tell him to go fuck himself if it were up to me. But it’s not worth losing my comfort zone of luxury. I didn’t grow up with this life and never surrounded myself with people who lived like this ether. So, it’s not worth losing it. I’d rather keep my mouth shut and just suck it up. Yes, I know, I am an idiot.

I leave his breakfast plate on the table and then start washing the dishes. I hear his shoes tapping down the stairs. He clears his throat, and I turned around.

“Morning,” I said softly.

“How long ago did you just cook this food?” Henry said, angrily.

Not a good morning back to me, or a good morning kiss. Just that first belligerent question. I then imagined myself throwing the fucking wet frying pan at him, and just watch him fall to the floor, blood, brains splattered and all. But it’d be too risky. I’d end up in jail and then lose everything either way.

“I just finished shortly before you came down,” I said, calmly.

He was silent. Even with my back turned, I knew by now he’s touching the food to test it out to see if I am lying.

“It’s not even hot.” He groans. “Fucking great.” I hear his chair pull out, then being pulled back in. I turn around, hoping that what I am about to ask him will lighten the mood and redirect the hostility. I cleared my throat, and grabbed my cup of coffee, and walked over to him.

“Hey, listen, babe. Maybe we should have a date night? You know, spend some time together? It’s been a while and—”

“Can’t.” He interrupts me. “I am heading to Boston for a case, a big one. Could take days.”

“Wait? Again? You left Boston last week, and you said that the other case was no longer your problem. Do you have another case? In Boston? Again?”

He slams his fork down loudly.

“Damn it, Bailey. What the fuck! You are starting this early. I am a fucking lawyer! I have to travel to work so I can fucking pay for this house! The bills! Your life! You’re in no position to question my job. Just shut the hell up, please! I am trying to eat my breakfast in peace!” He rolls his eyes and gets back to his plate.

I stood there motionless. Hurt. Humiliated. I wanted to smack his face and tell him to respect me, that I am his wife. And to say to him to shut the hell up. But instead, I am silent. I take the word jabs he just threw at me. I clear my throat.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything; he just keeps eating. Doesn’t even look up at me.

I turned around and slowly walked up the stairs. Feeling a sharp pain in my throat and in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know where I was for a second. But I walked up the stairs, went into my room, and just sat on my balcony. I was numb and in my thoughts. But my thoughts were numb, too. My heart was in slow motion, and I could feel the tears coming out, but somehow I could control them; it’s what you get for being in an unhappy marriage. You learn to control the tears and let them out on command. I heard Henry’s glass plate clash into the kitchen sink downstairs, the chair being pushed back into place at the table. Followed by footsteps pacing back and forth as he gets his suitcase and works stuff together. The keys jingling as he walks to the door.

“I’m leaving.” He calls up. “I’ll call when I can.”

“Okay, babe,” I shout back. I love you. Have a good trip.”

Silence. Then the door slams. I got up from my balcony chair and watched him walk to the parking lot of the car.

“Hey!” I called out. “I said I love you, asshole!”

“Yes, I heard you. Ditto.” Henry says, continuing to walk to the car without looking back.

I shake my head as I watch him start the engine and pull out quickly as if he was trying to leave the premises stat. What did I do wrong this time? Why won’t he love me? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I walked back into the house and looked at my reflection in the mirror again. And stared, studying each part of my body. My boobs got done, my hair color changed even though he didn’t say anything about it. I started to pick at everything about myself and just kept wondering if I’d change, would he notice me then.

I hope he loves me one day.

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

When Are You Going To Take Me Seriously As A Hunter

Chapter 6

Summary: after entering Dean and Sam’s world from your Apocalypse world with the other hunters, life has been a challenge. You never expected to find solace in the Winchester brothers, especially not the oldest. But when he falls back on a promise the both of you made, where are you supposed to go from there?

I’m not sure what happened, but some of these chapters got messed up, so I might be reposting some to make sure the masterlist stays correct. 

Pairings: Dean x reader

WARNINGS: scenes of fighting, mentions of emotional abuse, overall angst

Word count: 1,743 words

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, 

Dean

Emerging into the library with the other hunters all staring at him cautiously, he ran a hand over his face. Without thinking, Dean shoved the open books off the table with his arms, sending them crashing down around them.

“What happened?!”

Y/N

It had been another day since Sam came into the room. You were incredibly confused and cried most of the time since the door slammed shut. Sam had never been exactly friendly, but always professional with you and you couldn’t understand what you had done to upset him so much. You knew he was frustrated with you for leaving, but kidnapping you to force you to stay was on a whole new level. My only hope was that Dean would talk some sense into him when he found out. You were sick of laying on the cold concrete floor, so you slowly tried to lift yourself up off the ground, careful to keep close to the wall. Your elbows stopped bleeding and were crusted over and bruised, but otherwise you think you were mildly okay, at least physically. Stretching out your legs a bit, you walked cautiously across the small room toward the wooden staircase. The heavy metal door didn’t have a handle on this side, but you shoved at it with a huff. It didn’t budge at all, and you let out an exasperated sigh. Once the sound left your mouth, the door slid open roughly, and you looked into sharp green eyes.

Dean

Sam told him the story softly, over the roar of the Impala engine. Apparently she had packed her things and left shortly after getting off the phone with him, at least that’s what he figured based on the information he pieced together.

“She didn’t say much,” Sam started, watching Dean's clenched fists carefully. “She didn’t seem upset so much as determined.”

Dean listened to the story, his eyes focused on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel tight. “Maggie was coming back from a walk and saw her head into the woods, a figure appearing behind her. She said that she yelled out to Y/N, but she disappeared before Maggie could get to her.” Sam trailed off, glancing out the window, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Dean let out a long sign, his hand running through his hair. If he would have just told her what was going on, she wouldn’t have been out there alone. She wouldn’t be gone.

“Dean.” Sam said, a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” He finished, reading Dean's mind.

“Yes it is.” He grunted in response.

Y/N

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean said softly, closing the door behind him, and taking you in his arms. You couldn’t help but grasp onto him, weak and exhausted. He breathed out a sigh, and you tried to match your breathing to his.

“Don’t cry,” he said, taking your face in his hands and drying your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He released your face and walked through the small basement.

“Where are we?” You whispered. He didn’t turn, but you heard his answer as if he spoke it directly into your ear. “We are nowhere. You, on the other hand, are trapped.”

Dean

They stopped at a gas station outside of Sioux Falls to fill up, and grab some coffee. “When I picked up Baby, Claire told me Y/N had called my phone and she answered.” Dean told Sam simply, the only potential clue they had to where Y/N was. He nodded in understanding, and Dean filled the Impala with gas silently, Sam heading inside for coffee. Dean leaned against the car, his head in his hands, praying Y/N was alive. If she wasn’t, there wasn’t any way he would forgive himself. The gas stopped pumping, and he removed the nozzle. Dean could see Sam inside walking slowly through the aisles of the gas station, probably avoiding spending more tense moments with him in the car. Walking toward the back of the gas station, Dean stopped at the employee entrance. The mark on his arm started to throb, and he felt his anger bubble thinking about where Y/N could be. Lashing out he punched aggressively at the metal door, denting it a few times with his fists until his knuckles were bloody. Exhausted, Dean headed back out front, seeing Sam at front counter, watching him cautiously through the door. Keeping his head down, he got back into the car and started it up waiting anxiously for Sam.

“Where are you Y/N,” Dean whispered helplessly.

Y/N

“What?” You squeaked out pathetically. Dean turned slowly, a terrifying grin plastered to his face. He took three large strides toward you, his hands gripping your arms hard. You could feel bruises forming under his fingers and you winced, as his face came close to yours. You smelled beer on his breath.

“Dean,” you started softly, “you’re hurting me.” He only smiled back at you. Terrified, you could feel yourself shaking, not understanding what was happening, or what you had done to make both Winchesters so angry at you. Dean was staring curiously into your eyes, still gripping you harshly.

“You have no idea what is going on, do you Y/N?” He asked. You shook your head, confused by the tone in his voice a mixture of pity and hatred. He laughed, as Sam had earlier, and threw your effortlessly to the ground. Bending down to the ground at your level, he gripped your face, fingers digging into the skin. “You really are pathetic. You actually thought we cared about you?” He seethed. You felt tears coming to your eyes, Dean speaking one of your deepest insecurities. You didn’t have time to react, as his boot kicked at your stomach, making you gasp for air. He practically waltzed away, and you heard the door slam as you were left gasping for air on the floor, holding your bruised and broken body.

_______________________________________________

It was a toss up whether it would be Sam or Dean entering the room by the fifth day you were in the basement. Often Sam would visit and tell you that you were a burden on him and Dean. Dean would visit and hit you until you didn’t react much anymore. Eventually, neither of them returned for awhile and you slept on the cold concrete floor, having cried yourself dry over the past few days.

Dean

The Impala pulled up to the abandoned house, and he put the car in park, leaning his head back against the bench seat. It had been five days since Y/N was last seen, and Dean and Sam didn’t seem to be getting any closer to finding her.

Jody told them a few random people were disappearing in South Dakota, only to have their bodies found a few days later. Then their families would notify her that the family member showed up again, moments after being buried. Sam and Dean settled on it being a Shapeshifter, and they began searching abandoned properties around Sioux Falls. This was the third they had been to in the last day. It wasn’t a clue to where Y/N was, but it was something to keep their mind's occupied.

“Why would the Shifter be so interested in hurting random people?” Sam asked, thinking out loud. Dean didn’t have an answer, so he stayed quiet, his eyes closed tight.

Dean suddenly opened the door of the Impala, needing some air. He couldn’t shake this headache, and the pulsing of the mark was making him crazy. He could feel himself getting angrier the longer they went without answers to where Y/N was.

“Hey,” Sam started, getting out of the car. “You okay?”

Dean signed loudly. “No, Sam. I’m not okay.” He left it at that, heading toward the dilapidated property. Sam followed quietly, and Dean could feel his eyes trained on the back of his head.

The house they were outside of was large, half of it crumbling toward the back of the property. The basement looked intact, which was a promising sign, assuming the Shifter could be staying downstairs. Dean made his way toward the stairs, when a sharp scream echoed toward them. Dean glanced quickly at Sam, both drawing their guns before rushing toward the front door.

Y/N

Dean came downstairs this time, pulling your face close to his.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmured. You laid there silent and broken, hating how much he was calling you sweetheart lately.

“Tired?” He asked. You didn’t respond.

Feeling a sharp kick to your side, you let out an unnatural wail, your ribs already badly beaten. There was a crack from upstairs, that sounded like a door being kicked in, and Dean turned sharply, heading toward the stairs. You laid still holding your sides, tears slipping weakly out of both eyes that were squeezed tightly shut. There was a commotion upstairs, but you kept your eyes shut, not caring what Sam and Dean were doing anymore. It wasn’t until you heard a gasp from the other side of the room, that you lifted your head slightly, seeing what looked to be genuine shock on Dean’s face, as he was shining a flashlight into yours.

Dean

Dean kicked the door to the house in roughly, entering a dusty barren room. He took the flank and Sam headed quickly forward, his gun drawn and ready. They walked forward into the house, toward the basement, only pausing when they saw the shadow of a figure.

“Hey,” Dean yelled quickly, “stay where you are!”

The figure came slowly into the light, and Dean momentarily hesitated, recognizing the green eyes and flannel.

“Hello, Dean.” The Shifter stated, looking exactly like him. The Shifter smiled eerily, and Dean didn’t hesitate before blowing two silver bullets through the man who looked like him. He fell roughly to the ground. The smile was still plastered to his face, but he was in the middle of attempting to shift into Sam when Dean shot him, so the figure that died was grotesque and unrecognizable. The Shifter was laying in front of a door, and Dean kicked him roughly to the side, Sam searching the body for any idea who he was. Opening the door, Dean saw a tiny wooden staircase that lead into a dark, cold basement. He clicked on his flashlight and shown it around the room, landing on a body in the corner. He gasped quickly.

“Y/N?” He questioned, not believing it was really her.

“Please,” she whimpered. Dean could barely hear her, her voice scratchy and rough. “Stop.” She finished, cowering away from him.

Dean walked quickly down the stairs toward her. “Y/N,” he started again, reaching out to her. She flinched away, gathering herself tightly into a ball. “It’s me.” He tried, his voice cracking seeing her react the way she did. Sam appeared in the doorway, coming toward them slowly. Dean looked up at him, concern etching his face, as he crouched down near her.

“Y/N?” He whispered, moving her hair out of her face. When his fingers brushed her face, she began to scream, moving quickly away from us, making Sam fall backward from his crouched position.

“Sweetheart, it’s us.” Dean whispered, his heart breaking watching her attempt to get as far away from them that the small basement would allow. She began to cry, her sobs racking her shoulders. Dean couldn’t hold back, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap. Her arms flailed wildly, connecting a few times with his face and chest. Sam grabbed her arms and held her firmly, but gently, as Dean cradled her to him.

“Shhh,” he shushed her quietly. “Baby, it’s okay now. It’s okay. Shhhh.” She continued to sob, but she stopped attempting to hit Dean, her face buried in his flannel shirt, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Dean looked at Sam, tears streaming down his face, as he rocked Y/N slowly back and forth.

“What happened, baby? What happened to you?” Dean whispered aloud.

Chapter 7 here!

Tag List: @vicmc624 @roonyxx @lilulo-12

[nathanielbuildsatesseract]

For my own amusement, I’ve been trying to come up with realistic engineering justifications for a retro-type rocket design. You know, this sort of thing:

(Ship Ready for Return Trip by Chesley Bonestell)

First off, we’re going to need a high specific impulse for a single-stage to orbit with the kind of mass ratio we can pack into that form-factor, let alone get to Luna or the planets. We’ll also need relatively high thrust to get off the ground. This tells us we’re dealing with nuclear propulsion right off the bat, which conveniently justifies two other design assumptions.

First, those tail-fins aren’t just for aerodynamic stability: they’re also structural radiators. The reactor generates an awful lot of heat, which needs to go somewhere. Ordinary radiators might have trouble (radiation from the reactor could degrade the materials) and would require deployment in flight. That ruins the look, and also means more moving parts that can go wrong. Structural radiators are attractive if we’re going to be dragging fins through deep space anyway. Just make sure the materials can deal with transmutation from the stray neutrons coming out of the reactor.

Speaking of the reactor, the second design choice justified by nuclear propulsion is the ogive shape of the aft fuselage. To shield the crew and electronics from radiation, we’re going to need a lot of shielding. This is expensive weight, so we want to put it right up against the reactor and put the rest of the spacecraft in its shadow. Hence, a shadow-shield with a roughly-conical umbra. The actual reactor is almost at the very bottom of the aft section, with only the nozzle(s) below it. Everything else is above, “safely” shadowed. The final ogive around this section is worth the trouble, since it follows the larger form and does contribute to aerodynamic performance during launch.

Cylinders are a lot more manufacturable, which is why that shape dominates the design space for mass-produced reusable launch vehicles (i.e. SpaceX) and expendable rockets (basically everything else). The only weird shapes we see come from reusable orbiters like the Space Shuttle and Dreamchaser, and the expendable lower stages of those designs were much more cylindrical. Our retro rocket is obviously designed for multiple flights, so the strange shape is less of an expense than it might otherwise be.

For re-entry, streamlined bodies are going to need lifting surfaces; hence the wings. It’s not clear in the Bonestell art that those wings are within the reactor shadow, though perhaps they don’t need to be, depending on the materials involved and the exact neutron distribution. It’s possible that the wings serve as structural radiators for the rest of the spacecraft, as well.

The spacecraft will need heat-sinks if it’s doing atmospheric entry without an ablative heat-shield. This, plus cost of maintenance, could explain the metallic design. Ceramics proved to be too labor-intensive for a large spacecraft during the Shuttle program, so back to metals it is. Maybe the Starship engineers aren’t crazy for building a stainless-steel rocket, heavy as it is. It might be possible to use the hull of the spacecraft as a giant heat-sink and survive entry that way.

Note, too, that some of that mass can provide shielding against certain types of cosmic radiation. Too much, though, and secondary radiation will fry the crew before they can get to Mars or Venus.

Whether it can land upright, as God and Robert Heinlein intended, is another question. The obvious way to approach this is to come in aft-first, running the engine as necessary to avoid serious aerodynamic stresses. No one has tried this at full orbital velocities, though, to say nothing of aerocapture from an interplanetary trajectory.

And we’re probably going to need aerocapture; trying to put this thing into a parking orbit is going to require a lot of propellant, and we’re really straining the practical at this point. I’m already assuming we pipe some of the propellant and/or water for the crew around the pressurized section to shield against cosmic radiation. (Galactic cosmic radiation is best shielded against with nuclei-dense hydrogen rich materials, while gamma rays are best stopped by mass-dense materials like lead.) We’re going to be cramming as much propellant into the spacecraft as possible. It’s possible that this is why the hatch is so low on this particular piece of art, actually: the pressurized section is near the middle, and the forward section is more propellant tanks. Maybe we’re using the wings as radiators for actively cooled hydrogen tanks—keeping it from boiling off is a real pain. Maybe we want the radiators and associated tanks near the front, where the reactor radiation is less intense, and we store water for the crew to the aft.

Hmm. Maybe we can pump propellant from one end to the other, to help with balancing during re-entry? The Concorde did something similar to limit its need for control surfaces. We might even use it to flip the rocket around for final entry, but that might be a bit intense for the astronauts. Generally, flipping isn’t a nice, easy process. Coming in engines-first is probably better.

Because we’re spraying down the landing area with propellant, that limits what sort of engine we can use. To get this sort of performance, I’m inclined to say we’ll want a gas-core reactor, but definitely closed-cycle. I don’t think everyone along the victor airway coming into White Sands Spaceport will be happy with fallout spent nuclear fuel from our rocket landing on their houses.

It looks like I can concoct good engineering reasons for most of the design decisions in a retro rocket, while still coming at it from a modern engineering standpoint. But all told, I have to say, it would probably be a lot easier to just use staging and build specialized spacecraft in-orbit for deep space work.

[nyxthecolonialmewtwo]

[Hannah@Nyx] The tiny mewtwo approaches, being honestly really curious. "Hey! Uhm- s-sorry to interrupt...watcha doing over there? It looks interesting!"

Nyx looks up. “Drawing from my memories of one particularily disastrous vacation on the Moon. Dad needed to uncover, where did the shipments of technical gold go, Ash the Earthsider was searching for a missing Diancie and got sponsored to go to the Moon and I was just with the family. Our routes got kinda intertwined on the later stages and, well… let me just say, that it was for a multitude of reasons - one of them being that gold is a great gain material for the explosion-pumped X-ray laser and one of the others being that diamonds make great reflectors for the X-ray lasers.” She chuckles sadly. “Even though I am a pretty powerful Psychic, I still have a big weakness - none of my normal defense moves cover certain parts of the electromagnetic spectrum, which are where combat lasers usually work. I have to bypass this with solid-matter barriers I form with telekinesis.” Nyx looks back at the PDA. “So, what’s happened is that in our investigation we’ve found where did both Diancie and gold go. We’ve barely survived the meeting with it. On my previous drawing is what we’ve met in our searches -  a laser mech with diamond optics and explosion-pumped laser. Let me just quote one of the technical notes we’ve found back then.” She opens a text file on the PDA, which reads: “Wow. Holy smokes, peeps. I've got a thought about a mech. Gigantic mech With a laser. Humongous laser.Step-by-step: Take inertial-contained fusion drive, or mini-mag pulser, pulsed fission-fusion etc. Throw away the magnetic nozzle and most of the radiators. Ignition system (laser, particle accelerators, plasma, antimatter - whatever) is put together like a ring. For example, for the fuel pellet with 10t TNT equivalent, we're going to have ring roughly 100m in diameter (or maybe much smaller, nozzle of the mini-mag pulser’s 20m in diameter with energy yield three times greater, but we don't have to intercept energy - quite the opposite, in fact). Fuel pellet's loaded with a golden rod. Do you feel it? Right, it's a gain material for the X-ray laser, which emits the beam along the axis of the ignition ring. Without bomb-jiggle and all those misguiding factors, just like in the drugstore.Then, we place multi-layered diamond X-ray reflectors a few hundred meters apart. Now we have an X-ray laser with an actually good aperture, which's not limited by the gain material proportions. With 10m reflectors and a ton of TNT on the nanometer beam, this thing’s going to keep the power at lethal levels (around 10 kJ/cm2) on the distance up to 200 light seconds, more than a third of an AU. Holy Arceus. And the funniest thing is that mass of this thing’s going to easily fit in a few dozens of tons. Don't wanna calculate RN, but looking at the engine designs we, approximately, have: required systems of the mini-mag pulser are less than 30 tons, and we're having even smaller of a "caliber". Of course, this thing’s wonderful by itself. Or on the spaceship. Especially since it can easily be a part of an engine, it just needs a nozzle. But it's not stylish enough for us, so we're going to place it on a small celestial body without atmosphere (Moon, where we already have some assets). And put it on the legs. Since the machine's low on mass, the gravity is weak and the size is enormous, we're going to get a gigantic Surskit-alike on long, thin legs. It can easily crawl around, not being limited in remass (it always has an unlimited supply of it right beneath its legs). Considering range of those lasers, ability to constantly and chaotically move around, even in standby mode is a gigantic advantage. And just to hammer things in, we can install MHD recuperation system on the either side of ignition ring, using the energy from otherwise-wasted plasma to recharge capacitors of the ignition system. With that thing in place, our only firing rate limitation would be how how fast we can chug the pellets in place and how fast can we dissipate the heat." She selects the second note, which is much shorter and reads: “Approval for your project is given. Resources will be transferred to the Moon shortly. Begin the R&D ASAP.” Nyx closes the app, switching back to drawing, and resumes: “With that in mind, when we first met the laser mech, we, to say frankly, were at a gigantic disadvantage. Even if we ignore the mobile nuclear powerplants, converted into escort laser tanks and Psy-jammers, this thing could still depress enough to take aim at the things at the ground level. Thanks to the Psy-jammers, I couldn’t attack it directly via normal means and looking down the optics of a gigantic laser with enough power and range to be able to damage the colony without even leaving the Moon was… disturbing, to say the least. Thanks Victini dad managed to ‘procure’ an old, but still working portable tactical subkiloton nuclear launcher from the times Soris Empire was sorta-expected to attack the Von Braun city and vice versa and use it to cripple the leg of a laser mech, forcing it to fire beam to the side…” She sighs, remembering this hectic day further. “The problem was, we were still at disadvantage and the mech was still working. We’ve had to run towards the ‘Drapion’ and take off from the Moon ASAP... but, unfortunately, they’ve managed to swap out the leg and bring the mech into action again. I’ve had to lift around 20,000 tons of regolith and form it into a chaotically-swirling cloud in order to cover us against laser fire, while also helping to lift the ship faster. Here’s the still from one of the ship’s rear view cameras.” She opens a picture and shows it to Hannah:

“The cloud-like things at the sides are exhaust cones of the nuclear thermal-arcjet engines. The grey cloud in the middle is the regolith shield I’ve formed. It was taken when I was almost entirely spent, hence mech managing to nearly-penetrate the shield by firing at one point and forming a Matryoshka cavity. Thankfully, it got overheated soon and, as soon as it stopped firing, I’ve fired most of the cloud at it as a dispersed attack. It didn’t destroy it completely, but it did destroy the optics, which were the most expensive parts of the mech, and force it back into repair cave. Even so, from having to keep the cloud formed and swirling chaotically enough non-stop, then launching it… long story short, I’ve fallen into a hypoglycemic coma from using Psychic so much without taking care to keep the blood sugar at an optimal level. It wasn’t a problem, but it did bring me out of action for a shortwhile.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 36

Warning: brief mention of attempted suicide, SMUT

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @ocfairygodmother​

Every time she closes her eyes it's there. Dhaka. The dirty, crowded streets; a sea of pedestrians and vehicles. Rundown tenement buildings and hotels; broken or missing windows, rusted balconies and faded, chipped paint. Narrow, cluttered alleyways and over populated laundries and the odd restaurant and cafe.  Vendors peddling their goods among the chaos. It had been loud; a level of noise that she hadn’t anticipated. A continuous drone of honking horns and revving engines and  incessant chattering and laughing. Yet at night it would grow eerily quiet; sundown and the call to prayer bringing a silence...a stillness...that was almost breathtaking.  

There are so many moments...images...permanently ingrained in her mind. That hotel room with its filthy walls and its water stained ceiling; the stark white and pristine bed sheets an odd and stark contrast against the dirt and grime. Torn and faded curtains covered the windows; or least attempted to. The balcony was rotting and weathered; cracked contract cement, wobbly and dent...and in some places missing...railings. It had been a shit hole; too much mismatched and broken furniture shoved into such a small area, a kitchenette that boasted a stove with only one matching burner and a barely functioning bar fridge and only one set of dishes and cutlery. The toilet had to be fixed every time you flushed it and the shower nozzle was barely higher than she was tall, and there never seemed to be any hot water or pressure to it.  Yet it hadn’t been the worst accommodations she’d ever bunked down in; a paradise compared to some of the conditions she’d been subjected to while in the Middle East. And after things had taken an intense -yet not so surprising- turn, nothing around them had mattered anymore; able to temporarily escape the reality of their surroundings and the uncertainty of the situation. And they’d seek out that escape -and the profound pleasure it brought with it- as often as possible.

She can see Gaspar’s. Luxurious by Dhaka standards; a beautiful, well kept home just outside of the city limits. It should have been a relief; getting behind that iron security gate and those four supposedly welcoming walls. Finally off the streets and away from the violent and gunfire and the unpredictability; no longer having to watch your back every single second. But it had made things worse; she should have been grateful and somewhat relaxed and able to let her guard down. But the uneasiness had lingered; the absence of any true sigh of life within the hole eating away at her even as she stood in a hot shower and washed away all the dirt and the blood.  There was a wife but no actual evidence of one; only a single toothbrush in the holder by the sink, nothing by hygiene products geared towards me, no housecoat -feminine or otherwise- hanging behind the door.

He’d been an intimidating man; not as tall or as muscular and defined as Tyler, but big and burly and strong in his own right. Putting on a good show with the welcoming smiles and the friendly chatter, but always watching her out of the corner of his eyes. Calling her ‘the girl’ or ‘that girl’ even when she was in the room. Rolling his eyes or scoffing every time she attempted to speak. He didn’t trust her; in the same way she didn’t trust him.  There was no doubt that he felt that, which in turn made his hostility towards her even stronger.  

And when he’d confronted her in that darkened, upstairs hallway, the threat he presented had become all too terrifyingly real. Accusing her of being cunning and manipulative; willing to say or do anything to guarantee that Tyler would get her out of Dhaka alive. Even if it meant ‘whoring herself out’ to him. That in the end -once they were out of Bangladesh and all was said and done- she’d leave him even more damaged and broken than he already was. Telling her that he knew what she was up to; he recognized the deviousness and the sneaky little games she was playing. Even congratulating her on being able to do it so well and for pulling it off as long as she had.   He’d tried gaslighting her:  she was only “slowing things down, putting an even bigger target on his back. You’re going to get him killed. How are you going to feel then? Knowing he died for you. Will you even care?”.  Admitting that he was  impressed by just how evil and calculated someone so “small and cute and innocent looking” could actually be. And there was nothing she could have  said or done to change his way of thought.

She was the enemy and she needed to be eliminated at all costs.

“The kid AND the girl.”  She can actually hear it in his voice, see  the vehemence and determination on his face.  The same way she can still see his sneer and the darkness in his eyes in that upstairs hallway when he’d reached out to touch her hair and…

Ovi. Ovi opening the door across the hall. The harsh whispers and Gaspar’s threats and lewd, degrading comments jarring him from rest. All of fourteen years old with that mop of hair and those huge dark eyes and that scared, anxious face. His life turned upside down in the blink of an eye because of his father’s transgressions. He could have easily ignored it; listening to every word that was said while cowering under his blankets. But he hadn’t. He’d cared enough to put a stop to things; growing bolder and braver as each second of that long and trying day ticked away.   Afterwards...when the thread had been neutralized...she’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy. That they’d never speak of that moment again and that he’d never...under any circumstances...breathe a word of it to Tyler.  And he was still loyal; holding onto that secret even seven years later.

Bile rises in her throat. He has that effect on her. Gaspar. Even the mere mention of his name makes her feel nauseous. It’s worse now; knowing just how vile and evil he could be behind that fake smile and his promises to help. It had probably been his plan all along; he’d probably gone to Asif the second he finished talking to Nik. Seeing it as an easy payday; convinced that there was no way Tyler would turn down the deal. Why wouldn’t he give up some random girl he’d been casually fucking and a drug lord’s kid? Five million is a lot of money in your pocket, and when combined with your freedom, it would be ridiculous to turn it down.  After all, that's what Gaspar would do. No questions asked. He wouldn’t think twice about getting rich off of someone elses pain and misery. And weren’t all the mercenaries like that? At least in his eyes? Ruthless. Merciless. Savage. What were two strangers compared to that kind of money? An easy choice, in his eyes.

She shouldn’t be surprised. That he’d stoop to that level.  And there’s vindication to be had in the fact that he’d hadn’t gotten away with it. A guilty pleasure in knowing that he’d gone to his grave...and hopefully the deepest recesses of hell...without seeing a single cent of Asif’s money. He hadn’t known Tyler as well as he thought he had; he’d never expected him to both turn down the offer and fight to the death -if need to- to stop Gaspar from getting his hands on her and Ovi. It had been a fitting end; sitting on those steps in his house, watching and listening as he took his last breaths. She’d felt nothing; not even the slightest bit of remorse or pity. At least not towards him. She’d felt it for Ovi; just a kid and being forced to pull the trigger and having it on his conscience for the rest of his life. And she’d felt it towards Tyler; knowing how hard it hits when you’ve been betrayed by someone you thought you could trust.  Gaspar would have killed him. His loyalties had switched to Asif and with Tyler out of the picture, the entire ten million would have been his to keep. It’s a bitter pill to swallow; saving a man’s life and having him betray you THAT badly.  All Gaspar had cared about was the payout. Not the three lives he would have destroyed in the process.

The guilt returns with a vengeance. Appalled that she’d even asked what she had earlier in the day. If he’d considered...even for a split second...accepting the deal. The one person that she’s always trusted...who trusted her in return...being subjected to a question that makes her nauseous to even think about. The only person in her life who has ever made her feel safe; giving her an overwhelming sense of safety and security that no one else had ever managed to do and she’d never realized she wanted OR needed. Who’d been so willing to die for her that day on the bridge and who would do so...without hesitation...even now.  The last person who should have ever faced a question like that. She’d seen the hurt in his eyes;  how deeply it had cut him. Far deeper and far more painful than any physical injury he’d ever received. The fact she’d even think that about him...see him in that way...doing more damage than the actual words themselves. And she’d regretted it the second she’d said it; setting the way his eyes darkened and his expression hardened and his jaw tightened. He rarely got that way with her; not even during the most intense fights they’d had over the years. His temper could be volatile and his words cutting and harsh, but his face...his demeanour...never did THAT. It was cold and brutal. Scary, even . And that’s something he’s never made her feel. Fear.

Esme has no idea why she asked that question in the first place. She doesn’t think that way about him; never has. Even seven years ago there had been no doubt in her mind that he would have done anything and everything in his power to keep her safe. To get her the hell out of Dhaka. And that time spent on the Sultana Kamal Bridge should have been all the answer she needed. When she sat there listening to him choke on his own blood; having to put her fingers through the bullet hole in his neck to keep him alive. That should have been  enough. All the proof she needed. He HAD been willing to die for her. He almost did. On the bridge and in the hospital and even all those years later when he’d tried to take his own life because the demons of the past were just too much to bear.

She pushes those thoughts out of her mind. Of all the things she’s seen and all the things she’s heard, nothing cuts deeper as hearing the person you love -more than life itself- tell you that they don’t want to live anymore; that you’d be much better off without them. No amount of reasoning with enough to convince them otherwise. No amount of tears and begging and pleading enough to get them to change their mind. And when you’re the one that finds them when they've gone through with their attempts…

A flood of tears threaten and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to hold them back. Nothing good ever comes out of dwelling. Whether it be about Dhaka or Gaspar or all of the other battles that have been fought between then and now.  And she rolls over onto her side; watching the way his body rises and falls with each steady breath and the slivers of moonlight that bathe his skin.  His back towards her as he sleeps facing the hall. It’s been the same way for almost seven years; his insistence on facing the door in the same way he won’t sit in a public place with his back towards an entrance. Always ready for any possible threat that could come their way; knowing they stand a better chance of survival if he’s the first person someone encounters. It gives them both a sense of security; him confident in his strength and skills, her confident in his willingness and ability to protect her.

***

Moving closer to him, she uses her fingertips to slowly and methodically trace the large Nordic compass tattoo that sits between his shoulders. In time moving down to each scar and blemish that mars his skin; those little imperfections that make up everything  unique and beautiful about him. He hates that word; despises it being used to describe anything about him. As if it somehow takes away from everything he’s been through; dulling those edges and diminishing his strength and toughness and ‘softening’ him. It’s  ludicrous but understandable.  It’s what happens after years of witnessing abuse and toxic masculinity at its finest. He’s nothing like the man he’d grown up with; aman he’d been expected to respect and emulate. And despite that harsh bringing and the nerves of steels and the hardness...the roughness...that comes from years in the military and then as a mercenary, he’s breathtakingly human.

Behind that tough as nails facade and those jagged edges, he possesses a staggering amount of compassion. There’s a kindness  in his eyes; if you look close enough. It’s none more evident then when he’s with his children: patient and calm, very rarely raising his voice and most certainly never raising a hand. Both face and tone gentle and those strong hands with their scars and calluses and busted up knuckles capable of so much tenderness. Whether it be fixing Millie’s hair or patching up skinned knees or tending to busted lips and bloody noses.   Even a husband...and especially as a lover...the sides to his personality are vastly different; always knowing what she craves. Whether it’s the need for him to be aggressive and dominant or soft and gentle. He just KNOWS. Before she even has to ask. Able to read it in her body language and see it in her eyes; reacting to the situation and becoming exactly what she wants and needs him to be.  He’s complex and sensitive; far more than other people realize.

Her lips replace her fingers; pressing feathery kisses across his shoulders and onto the nape of his neck and along his hairline. A hand sneaking under the arm that rests lightly against his side, palm slowly travelling over her chest and down to his abs and lower; the hair that makes up his ‘happy trail’ wiry and rough against her fingers.

“Baby…” his voice is a low rumble; groggy from sleep. “...what are you doing?”

“Admiring.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Really late or really early. Depends how you look at it.”

Sighing, he reaches for his phone as it charges on the nightstand; not objecting when her hand slides even lower. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I'm not allowed to admire my husband at three in the morning?”

“You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

“I was. Until my brain caught up with my body and realized you were getting ready to jerk me off.”

“I wasn’t even close to doing that. But now that you mentioned it…” her hand continues its descent,  smiling against his shoulder when he groans deep within his chest as her nails lightly drag along his hardening length before taking it in her  hand; warm and thick and solid against her palm.  

And his own hand slips beneath the sheet that slits low on his hip; much larger and stronger as it covers hers, showing her exactly what he needs.  Her mouth slowly travelling over his shoulder and the back of his neck; lips soft, tongue moist, teeth lightly nipping. Loving the power she has over him; the way his breath quickens and his body trembles ever so slightly and his cock grows full and hard in her grasp.  

“Hey…” she protests, a dramatic pout on her face when Tyler rolls over to face her.

“Not like that,”  he says, and kisses her.  Even his kisses have a different side to them. Right now they’re soft and languid and tinged with the lingering remnants of sleep. A hand wandering as his lips down move to her neck slipping up the front of her tank top and cupping one of her breasts; thumb passing over the nipple as he licks and sucks at the sensitive flesh at the side of her throat.

It’s all too much; the scrape of his beard against her skin, the way he alternates between gently caressing the nipple and firmly punching and twisting it. The ache between her legs is profound; almost unbearable. And her eyes close and a whimper escapes her lips and one hand tunnels in his hair and the other reaches between them to work on his cock once again. Enjoying the sounds that escape him and the way his body tenses and his hips jerk towards her.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he says, and then uses his size to his advantage and pushes her onto her back.

“That’s the point.”

“I said not like that.”   He kisses her again; deeper now, more insistent. Demanding. A hand grabbing a hold of her hip and the fingers pressing into her flesh as he encourages her to open her legs. A long, low groan tumbling from his mouth as he slips into her with a slow, deep thrust.

She sighs, eyes fluttering closed as he moves inside of her. Each thrust fluid and intentional; every push causing a whimper to escape her lips. Legs falling open and bending at the knee; that simple change in position pulling him in even deeper.  He feels so good; those hungry and needy kisses, the way the muscles of his back move against her, the bulge of biceps and forearms as he bears his weight on outstretched arms.  And when he breaks out of a particularly deep and demanding kiss, she reaches up to grab a hold of his hair;  yanking his head back and then trailing the tip of her tongue along his throat, over his Adam’s apple and up onto the underside of his chin. Tasting the sweat on his skin, feeling the trickle of his beard. And when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth, something unravels inside of him. Movements become faster. Harder. Spurred on by the noises she makes and the way her nails rake down his back.

“Make me cum,” she whispers. “Please...Tyler...make me cum.”

He reaches between them, the tips of two fingers toying with her clit. Until he can feel her shuddering against him and her hips lift off the bed; kissing her in order to stifle the cry that she emits. And he continues to move inside of her; pushing through the contractions and the convulsions of those inner muscles.

“Let me finish in your mouth,” he says, eyes searching hers for permission. And when she gives a nod of consent, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. Fingers of both hands tangling in her hair as she kisses, lick, and nibbles her way down his body. “Fuck…” the word leaves him in a low, drawn out groan when she lightly sucks at the tip before fully taking him between her lips. And it takes all his will power to not grab a hold of her head and fuck her mouth. Letting her do all the work; eyes closed and chest heaving, hands gently resting in her hair. “...feel so good…” he praises. “...feels so fucking good.”

Her hand curls around his shaft; working together with her mouth to drive him closer to the edge.  Soon it becomes impossible to bear and he can no longer hold back; hands tightening in her hair and his hips rising off the bed, forcing her to take him even deeper. Fucking her mouth win the way he he would her body while buried inside of her. Until he’s coming hard and fast, pushing down on her head until the tip of his cock hits the back of her throat; long, hot spurts of semen that she accepts willingly, swallowing every last drop. Mouth and hand working together to drain him dry,  leaving him a panting, quivering mess.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he breathes, and then cocks open an eye as she kisses her way up his body; her eyes sparkling, a prideful  grin on her face.  “Yeah...you SHOULD be proud of yourself and things you can do.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to please.”

“It’s not that. Trust me. It’s you. All you,” he pushes a hand through her hair once again, lightly tugging on her dark tresses as he pulls her down into a long, deep kiss. And she settles her body against his; head against his shoulder and their chests pressed together, her legs resting between his.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Tyler says, and she laughs. “Normally I’d kick your ass out of bed for waking me up at three in the morning, but I think you had a pretty good reason.”

“It didn’t go the way I planned,” Esme admits. “You were supposed to let me do all the work.”

“That NEVER  happens.”

“Because YOU  won’t let it happen. Because you’re stubborn and you won’t ever just lie back and let me spoil you."

“I don’t know, I remember being laid up after knee surgery and you pretty much had to do everything. And by the way, I know it’s been three years, but you did an awesome job. My dick says thank you.”

She grins and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Your dick is very welcome. He’s lucky I like him so much. I can’t stand most dicks. Yours? He’s alright.”

“That’s because all the other dicks you had didn’t know what they were doing. Mine? Legend.”

She laughs at that,  and he drops a kiss on the top of her head; palm slowly running down her spine and settling at the small of her back. Fingertips grazing over the tattoo that resides there; remembering how she’d been so embarrassed when he’d seen it for the first time. A ‘tramp stamp’ she’d called it, though he still doesn’t fully understand the phrase. It had been a drunken mistake during her first year at college and she’d always regretted it. But didn’t mind when...in Dhaka...he'd pinned her to the bed face down, hands tightly holding her hips as he traced the tattoo with the tip of his tongue.

And he closes his eyes. Prepared to settle back into sleep with her slight, small body pressed against his. Knuckles brushing along her spine.

***

“How well did you actually know him?” Esme asks.

Tyler’s eyes snap open. He’s slightly disoriented; on the edge of sleep when she spoke. “Who?”

“Gaspar.”

“Why are we talking about him? Especially now. Right after we made love.”   He doesn’t use that term often; mainly because their ‘go to’ has always been straight up fucking. As crude and harsh at it sounds. Very rarely were things slow and gentle in the bedroom.

“How close were you guys? Acquaintances? Friends? Best friends?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “Why are we talking about him?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s almost four in the morning,” he points out.

“When you say he was your friend, do mean you were friends with him like you are with Koen and Rata, or…”

“A friend as in we worked some jobs together and we’d go out for beers afterwards or we’d meet up if we ended up in the same place. Not friends as in I’d known him my entire life or I’d go to his place and visit during my downtime or send him text messages and Christmas cards and all that shit.”

“So basically a work friend,” she concludes.

“Yeah...basically. Why are we talking about him again?”

“And you saved his life, right?”

“Once. Why?”

“How? How’d you save his life?”

“Esme, what the hell?  Why are we talking about this? Is it ‘cause of what I told you today? That’s why I DIDN’T tell you before. Because I knew it would bother you. I knew you’d dwell on it and ask questions I don’t have answers for. If I’d known this would happen…”

“Humour me,” she says. “I want to know. How you saved his life.”

Tyler sighs. “He went into Honduras to do a job for some mobster type. Ended up fucking the guy’s wife and getting caught. So Nik sent me in there to get him out. He was a couple of hours away from a pretty painful and gruesome death when I got there.”

She scoffs. “You should have left him there.”

“Well what’s the saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? If I’d known then what would happen in Dhaka, I would have have told him to go fuck himself and bought a front row ticket to watch his execution. But…”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. What happened that night. I know you blame yourself for taking Ovi and I there. But it’s not like you  knew he was going to fuck you over.”

“I knew something wasn’t right. When I talked to him in the kitchen. There was something weird about the way he said ‘how’s the kid and the girl?’. And then talked about leaving to go and kiss his wife and it seemed...I don’t know...like it was bullshit.”

“There was no proof there was a wife.”

“He was wearing a ring,” Tyler points out.

“That means nothing. Lots of people wear rings on that finger. We never found out for sure. You know, it'd probably be pretty easy to look up if there really WAS a wife.”

“Why would we bother?”

“Just for curiosity’s sake, I guess.”

“Who gives a shit? It’s been seven years. If there was a wife, I’m sure she realized pretty quickly how much better off she was without him.”

“I still don’t understand how he could do that to you. Especially after you saved his life. Betray you like that.”

Tyler shrugs. “Money’s a hell of a motivator.”

“You never took the money.”

“I’m not a psychopath.  He obviously was. And I don’t want to talk about this again. The whole deal thing. Once was enough. And it didn’t end well.”

“I didn’t mean it. What I said. It was a stupid fucking thing for me to ask. I don’t even know why I DID ask it. It’s like it just came out.”

“Baby,” he runs a hand over her hair and kisses her temple.  “We already talked about this. We don’t need to do it again.”

“I feel like complete and utter shit about it. For hurting you like that. I never...ever...would do anything to intentionally hurt you. And I’m a shit human being for doing what I did and I feel terrible and…”

“Esme, stop. We’ve been through this. You said you were sorry, I accepted it, we moved on.”

“You should be angrier.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Because I know how I’d feel if you said something like that to me. If you all but accused me of being like Asif or Gaspar or guys like Mahajan Senior. It would kill me inside. And I’d be so pissed and hurt and…”

“And I was and now I’m not and you need to drop it. It’s fine. You apologized, we talked about, what more is there? I’m not angry. Am I hurt still? A little. But I’ll get over it. I’ve said plenty of mean shit to you when I’ve been mad, yeah?”

She nods.

“And you’ve always forgiven me. Every time. So let it go. Please. It’s over.”

“I am sorry,” she tells him. “That I said it. Because I’ve never…ever...thought that about you.”

“I know. Is that why you woke me up? To apologize in a different way?”

“Maybe.” she admits. “Did it work?”

“I’d already forgiven you. So you didn’t need to go to all the trouble.”

“You mean I could have saved all the time and energy and spared my jaw the hard work and pain?”

“You’re being dramatic. You do it willingly so it can’t be THAT bad.”

“I do it because you like it. And because I like doing it for you. And if I’m being honest, it kinda turns me on.”

Tyler grins. “You ARE dirty.”

“It’s easy to be dirty being married to the likes of you. You’ve got skills. Mad skills. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry you in the first place”

“Yeah? What are the other reasons?”

“It’s a whole bunch of things,” she says. “The way you can always make me laugh even when I’m having a really shitty day. How you always compliment me even when I know I look like crap. How you always look at me like I’m the most amazing woman in the world. Because you’re a great kisser and you’re nice to look at and you help make beautiful babies.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“And mostly because I love you and I thought I’d never love anyone THIS much. Especially after Mark and all his bullshit. I didn’t think I’d ever get married again. And then you came along and that was it. Everything changed. I often wonder how things would have turned out if we met differently. Do you ever think about that?”

“Sometimes,” Tyler admits.

“I always have it in my mind that if you’d met me at my cousin and Gs’ wedding, would things have gone down then? If I hadn’t been overseas…”

“I would have fucked you in the coat check room for sure.”

She raises her head and frowns.

“Just saying. And you wouldn’t have wanted to know me then. I was an even bigger mess than when we DID meet.”

“Okay...so if not there...where?”

“I dunno. I always imagine that you would  have been here on vacation and we would have run into each other that way.”

“On the beach?”

“Sure. That works.”

“I so would have been checking you out,” she giggles.  “All the muscles and the tattoos and those eyes and that hair…”

“I didn’t always have that hair, you know.”

“Every scenario I ever think of, you have that hair. Humour me. Would you have checked me out?”

“I’ve seen you in a bathing suit. So, yeah. I would have checked you out.”

“It weird to think about,” Esme muses. “A different version of us. A normal version. A normal Esme and a normal Tyler. With normal jobs and normal lives. I think you would have made a good cop. Or a firefighter. Or even just stayed in the military.”

“I always think you would have made  a good teacher,” he says. “Or a nurse. Considering all the times you’ve had to take care of me. And how good you are at giving sponge baths.”

She grins. “Would still have fallen in love with me? If I’d been normal?”

“How normal?”

“If I’d been a nurse or teacher. Same personality, just a different career.”

“In a heartbeat. What about you? Would have fallen in love with me if I’d just been some normal guy?”

“Hmmm…” she ponders. “I don’t know…”

Tyler scowls. “You know what…?”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs, and presses a kiss to his lips. “I would have fallen in love with you a million times over.”

Smiling, he places a kiss on her temple and wraps both arms around her, holding her tightly and securely. Until her breath softens and evens out and he knows she’s asleep.

[get-your-fics]

Duality - Chapter Ten

Summary: Your life as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was pretty simple, actually. Well, as simple as things can get in Gotham. But it gets a lot more complicated when you meet Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome’s twin brother.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader, Jeremiah Valeska x reader, Jerome Valeska x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stalking, mentions of abuse

CHAPTER NINE

The first thing you noticed after Ecco took your coat and led you through the winding maze to Jeremiah’s lab was that Bruce was not there. “Where’s Bruce?” You stepped into the room and looked around, but the raven-haired boy was no where to be found.

Jeremiah looked up from tinkering with a life-size version of the model you had seen a week ago. “Ah, (Y/N). Nice of you to make it.” His lips curled into a smile as his eyes raked over your form. “Mr. Wayne will be joining us shortly. In the meantime, I thought I could give you a quick demonstration.”

Your heart started beating faster at the thought of being alone with Jeremiah. It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen? you tried to reassure yourself, but you stopped thinking before your mind could run away with all the possibilities. “Sure. I’m up for it.”

His smile grew wider at your words. He set down blueprints and a pen on the table next to him and picked up some sort of controller. “Could you hit that switch on the wall behind you please?”

You looked over your shoulder to see a giant, metal switch on the wall. You tentatively reached out and flipped it. The whole building went dark, and your heart jumped straight to your throat. You started to think that maybe this was some sort of trap when a soft, blue light started to radiate from the machine. It grew brighter and brighter until all of the lights flickered for a moment before coming back on at full force.

You stepped closer to the engine in the middle of the room. You could hear a low, steady buzzing sound coming from it. “Ambient energy,” Jeremiah said behind you, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. “No cables or wires of any kind. It’s clean and stable, harvested from micro tremors and air density shifts.” The blue light from the machine reflected off of his glasses. “It’s... it’s virtually without costs.”

You looked back at the engine, mesmerized by the bright, blue light. “This is amazing, ‘Miah. We’ll be able to help so many people all over Gotham.”

He perked up at your words of praise. You felt his hand brush against yours, and he intertwined your fingers. He whirled you around to meet his adoring gaze. “(Y/N), would you do me the honor of letting me take you out to dinner?”

Your whole body went tense. “Jeremiah, I’m dating Bruce.”

His eyes roamed over the uncomfortable expression on your face. “Forgive me, you’re just so beautiful, I... I couldn’t help myself.”

You slipped your hand out of his grasp and took a step back. “I think I should call Bruce and makes sure he’s on his way...”

“Do you love him?” he cut you off.

You furrowed your brow. “Bruce? Yes, of course.”

His lips pulled taut into a straight line, and you deduced he wasn’t happy with your answer. “Did you love my brother?”

You let out a forced laugh. “What are you talking about? I barely knew Jerome.”

“Well, that doesn’t add up with what he said the other day.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “It got me thinking, so I had Arkham Asylum send me Jerome’s personal effects. His diary was among them.” He opened the drawer of a little side table and pulled out a black notebook. He held it up so you could see the cover. It was decorated with a blue, dripping ice cream cone and glittery letters that spelled, JEROME.

“He wrote a lot about your visits, about what your father did to you.” He flipped through the pages, and you could see a lot of crude drawings done in pen and multiple phrases written over and over again in scribbled handwriting. He turned to a page with a drawing that was unmistakably of you. However, your eyes were completely black, and ruby red blood dripped out of your tear ducts and down your face.

You stared in horror at the drawing. “Jeremiah, I really don’t think you should be looking at that.”

“He clearly loved you, as much as a monster like him can love someone, and I think you love him too.” The expression on his face was stone cold, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge. “You’re just too afraid to admit to yourself.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to regain your composure. “I think I should step out for a minute, see how far away Bruce is.” You started for the door and got out your phone.

He snatched it out of your hand before you could even hit the home button. “I wouldn’t bother. He’s not coming.”

Your hands started to shake. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not coming. I didn’t invite him.” He dropped your phone to the floor and crushed it under the heel of his dress shoe with a heart-shattering crunch. “I wanted to get you by yourself.”

Your eyes widened as you looked from your destroyed phone to the eerie expression on his face. "Jeremiah, you’re scaring me.”

“Oh! I almost forgot to thank you for the present you sent me.” He walked around you to a desk in the corner of the room.

You wrinkled your nose. “I didn’t send you a present.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t.” He bent down to pull open a bottom drawer and retrieved something out of it. He slammed it down on the table, and you squinted your eyes as you stared at it. It was an old-looking jack in the box that had been previously wrapped in purple wrapping paper and tied with a big, white, silk bow. It was opened, and the jack in the box had a nozzle where its mouth should be. Hanging off of it was a tag that read, “From (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It looks like my brother had one last surprise in store for me, and he knew just how to get me to open it.” He stepped closer to you. “A fail safe in case he needed someone to continue his legacy. Unfortunately for him, his plan failed.” He took off his glasses and set them down on the table. “Besides some minor side effects.”

He took his handkerchief out of his vest pocket and wiped his face. Slowly, he removed flesh-colored makeup to reveal skin as white as a bed sheet and scarlet lips. He took out his contacts, and when he opened his eyes, they were a disturbing, glassy green.

The air left your lungs as you took in his unnatural appearance. “Jeremiah, you need help. Let me and Bruce help you.”

“Like how your mother just wanted to help you?” It took you a second for realization to wash over you. That conversation you had with your mother, he had been watching you. “Face it, (Y/N). Your connection to Jerome, to Bruce... You were meant for me.” He stalked towards you. “You can understand me like no one else can. We were made for each other.”

You backed up until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the cool, metal table. You were trapped. “Jeremiah, you’re not thinking straight,” you tried to convince him, but the panic in your voice was painfully evident. “Don’t do anything you’d regret.”

“Oh, I’m not going to regret a single thing.” His lips stretched into an unnerving smile. “Jerome and Bruce have kept you from me for long enough. Now, I’m finally going to take what’s mine.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

[eerythingisshaka]

#Fictober Day 28

“I felt it.  You know what I mean.”

(Undead!Erik x Black!Reader)

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: Violence, smut

“FUCK EVERYTHING!!”  You say as you toss your phone aside.  

It had been five weeks since your situationship called things off, and you were desperately looking for reprieve in the app life.  However, Tinder, Plenty of Fish, Bumble, Black People Meet, and digging through your old schoolmates on Messenger was coming up dry, dull, and completely disgusting to you.  If people weren’t being plain boring or curving you, they were breadcrumbing, catfishing, and tryna have they cake and eat it too.  You didn’t have time for none of that!  Why was it so hard to find a quality guy that could also bust you open on a regular basis?  You were good looking thick melanin goddess, with a good job, own place, all you  wanted was companionship.  

You pull out a bottle of Hennessy and get to sipping to try and feel at least a little bit good and lit.  As your body warmed up and your mind got hazy, you start to look through the internets typing random stuff into Google about how to find a good man.  The lists telling you to ‘Be yourself’, ‘Don’t be afraid to make a move’, and ‘show him respect’ made you want to throw your shit out of the window.  You went out, you were yourself, and sharing your time was the most respectful thing you could do for someone.  But the pickings were dustier than the skeletons in their closet.  

Sitting back with your drink, you turn to your TV and see Queen of the Damned being played.  Aaliyah looks amazing as the sinister title character, complete with embellished crown and bustier, gyrating and hissing at her seduced followers.  You wish it was that easy, but of course, you weren’t Aaliyah, or a Queen of the Darkness.  

A thought sparks your mind gears as you consider a new inquiry in your search bar.  Scrolling through you find all kinds of creepy looking websites boasting incantations, spells, voodoo, and witchcraft that can bring your most desired mate to fawn after you eternally.  Some required too much:  hoof of a deer, venom from a snake, head of a chicken.  No way in hell would you consider massacring and animal for something you were only curious about.  

One website got intrigued as it seemed a bit more reasonable in its requests, and it was headed by a Black woman from New Orleans who looked like your great aunt.  ‘A spell for renewed bliss’ was the title.  All you had to do was get a dead rose, a mirror, a bottle of liquor, a piece of clothing that is important to you, a match, and a Bible.

You grabbed the decayed bouquet that was gifted to you on your last date with what’s his name.  And you hadn’t finished your Henny yet, so that would do.  You grabbed a mirror, a match (and some weed cuz fuck it), a pair of panties that always got you some good good, and the Holy Book.  And you knew exactly where you wanted to go to try this out.

You take 30 min drive out along a secluded, barely lit road that led to the outskirts of town.  You didn't make a habit of visiting cemeteries in  the middle of the night, but you were feeling Henny bold.  You were bored on a saturday with a broken pussy and no one to fuck with, so why not try the other world niggas.  You pull up through the gates slowly and drive along the rocky driveway until your headlights illuminate the section number you were looking for.  

Getting out of your car, you pull your jacket around you tighter as your phone lit you path while you carried your bag of ingredients.  It was the marker closest to the wall, a small stone, cheaply made as he didn't have any family.  The marker reads “Erik Stevens".  You had heard of him from the news. He caused a raucous in Wakanda and practically took over the world until he was killed.  His body was sent back to America but no one could claim him, so the Wakandans gave him a basic burial.

You kneel on the grass in front, opening the bottle of Hennessy to take a swig.  You look around you as an owl hoots in the background, sending chills down your spine, but you weren't turning back now.  You wanted some entertainment, and the spirit world better not disappoint

The mirror was propped up to face you, and the rose was to be burned and scattered in the bottle of alcohol you brought.  You pour some of the concoction on the crotch of the underwear you brought and lay it across a corner of the gravestone.  Sitting back, you spark up your joint and crack the Bible open.  

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.  Entreat me not to leave you, Or to turn back from following after you; For wherever you go, I will go; And wherever you lodge, I will lodge; Your people shall be my people, And your God, my God. Where you die, I will die, And there will I be buried.  Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate." You read, ominously.  

“Shit, thats dark.” You whisper as you take a drag and savor the high you were feeling.  Looking at the stars in the sky, you were so taken by their beauty you almost forgotten about the task at hand.  Completely entranced by the twinkling nature, you don't notice the disturbance in the grass between your feet.  You swipe at the tickle near your ankle, judging it to be a bug until it felt bigger and more solid and grabbed you back.

You shake your foot casually until you look down and see a dirty hand.

“Ohhh SHIT!!  What the fuck-- Get off!”  You scream as you yank your ankle from its grasp and crab walk backwards from the grave.

You watch in horror as the arm extends out in the air, studded with scarification marks.  The hand is grasping for leverage creepily until it gets the grass.  You can see the stress in its knuckles as it prepares to pull.

You toss your blunt, shaking your head and pinching yourself.  “This can’t be happening!  This gotta be one of those ‘I had too much chocolate before bed’ dreams.”

Soon as your theorized that, the other hand busted out of the ground, clawing at the grass as the earth between the two started to become disturbed.  

“Oh, fuck this!”  You yell as you jet to your car.  Getting in you push to start the engine, putting it in drive.  You had no idea how to get out of the cemetery besides the way you came in, so you forced the car in reverse.  Backing into the grass, you desperately turn the steering wheel with all your might to right yourself in the appropriate direction before putting it in drive.  Once you did, you looked up through your windshield and what you saw made your body run cold.

Standing before you was the man you thirsted after in your dreams, day and night.  The man who was once dead, and looks like everything but now.  

Besides being covered in dirt remnants, Erik Stevens looked as good as the day he died.  Scars along his entire body, muscles permeating from under his melanin; with the addition of the stab wound T’Challa gave him that caused his death...and he was naked.  

He had his head down, locs shielding his face, breathing heavily until his head started to rise to look at you.  He stood there expressionless and you weren’t sure what to do.  Run him over?  Call the police?  Call a Priest?  Leave an unsatisfactory Yelp review for the auntie’s website that made you do this in the first place?

You were as frozen as he was, forgetting to breathe as you stared at him.  No way he could actually see you in the car with the headlights on but his gaze matched yours perfectly.

Suddenly his nostrils flared, eyes bucking, fist clenched, his expression menacing.  “AAAGGHHH!!”  He roars at you, before booking it out of the cemetery.  

“Where the fuck is he going?”  You watch as he books it to God knows where.  You hit the gas and go after him.  He is running along the gravel road, skin to the wind like a madman.  He’s fast, but you catch up to him.  

“Erik!  ERIK!!  The hell you goin?!”  You yell out the rolled down passenger side window.   He looks at you and lands a kick against your car that sends it swerving into the other lane as a car come toward you.  Your jaw clenches as you turn the car in the correct lane and hit the brakes. The oncoming car passes you, honking and flipping you off as it goes by you but you’re way too rattled to care. You look in your rearview to see if there are any cars coming before you back up to look where Erik turned into.  Stopping the car, you get out, yelling his name once more, but he was long gone in the woods.  You hold your head in dread as you think about how you just resurrected a problematic man and set him loose , naked and angry into the city.  Walking back to your car, you noticed the sizable dent in the side of your car caused by his foot.  

“Oh, I’m finding this damn nigga.”  You say to yourself fuming as you try to open it, to no avail.  

You are almost home before you notice that the gas on your tank was pointed to the E.   You had less than ten miles to the tank before it became empty.  Luckily your house was not that far from the gas station in your neighborhood so you made your way there.  Paying for your gas in store, you pick yourself up some chips, a tea, and personal pepperoni pizza from the kitchen, hot and ready.  

Walking outside, you put your goods on your seat and get the nozzle to pump.  

“The hell you doin out here lookin like that?!”

You hear some commotion on the far side of the parking lot.  A couple of OGs were looking in an area behind the gas station.  

“Boy, is you stupid or sum’n?  The hell your clothes out, nigga?!  Getcha ass beat round here for that kinda shiet!”

You stop pumping and walk a little closer to get a better view.  All you saw was back and ass sitting on a rock.  You run back to your car to get the extra blanket in your car and the pizza.  

“Aye y’all!  Move on, now.  Ain’t nuthin to see!”  You yell at the graying and drunken street guys watching.

Erik turns at the sound of your voice, and you talk to him gently.  “Hey, Erik.  It’s aight.  You hungry?  I know your ass hungry, come on.”

He slowly gets up, walking to you as you try to keep your eyes on his civil areas.  His expression was hard as he looked you a moment before snatching the pizza from your hand.

“Uh!  Chill the fuck out, Erik.  I don’t give a fuck what grave you crawled out of, you better be respectful!”  You throw the blanket around him as he practically shoves the whole pizza in his mouth at once.

“Aye, girlie!  He botherin you or som’n?”  The OGs come up beside you.  

One of them goes to point a finger in his face, that instantly gets bent backwards, sending him on the ground, writhing in pain.  Erik grabs the other up by the throat as he begs for air.

“Erik!  Put them down!  Stop right now!”  You push him and grab at his arm to put the man down.  Erik flings you away from him, making you roll across the asphalt.  You get up slow as Erik begins to cause a scene, someone is calling the police.  

“Erik!  You still hungry?”  you ask desperate to get his attention from the man as he turns blue.

Erik looks at you dropping him, and walking your way.  He picks you up, shaking you for food.

Your head knocks as he rattles you, but you gain your bearings enough to smack him across his face pretty good.  He drops you on the ground, holding his cheek, fire in his eyes.

You get up quickly, backing towards the car.  “You don’t get no damn food if you attack, Erik!  You hear me!  You’ll starve and go right back to wherever the hell you came from if you come for me!”  You say with as much authority as you could muster.  Erik stops his stampede towards you, huffing with rage.  

You start to hear sirens in the distance.  “You gotta come with me though.  Get in the damn car Erik.  Now!”  

You start the engine up and put it in drive waiting for him to make his move.  He stares at you with the same blankness as he had in the cemetery.  The OGs were still rolling on the ground around him and you prayed they would not put a hunt out for Erik.  Finally, after what felt like forever, he comes to your car.  You forgot the passenger door wasn’t working because of him, but before you could get out and tell him to go in the back, he rips it open and gets in.  You look at him as he stares you down.  It wasn’t until you got in the enclosure of your car before you smelled him.  

“Damn!  You really were a corpse!  You gettin a bath first man.”  You groan in disgust as you start the car and make it out to the street.  

Erik’s nostrils glare, clenching his fists.  “And I don’t give a damn FUCK about a tantrum, nigga.  I could leave you out here to be a hashtag out here in the parking lot.  You know the cops wouldn’t mind.  Have some sense, I’m tryna help you.  But attack me and you as good as dead!”  

Erik was thinking, you could tell.  He might not have had oxygen in his brain for a while, but he still knew what he was doing.  He sits back, taking your instruction.

Once you all get to the house, you get him inside and head for the bathroom.  “Don’t sit on anything, touch anything, do anything!  I was serious, you are bathing first!”

You run the shower and hand Erik a towel.  “I hope you remember how to bathe.  I ask for a man and so far, I have became a mother to you.  What if the cops got you?”

Erik goes in the kitchen stepping right into the shower, letting the water run over his body, the water pooled around his feet is a muddy brown.

“Take the washcloth, and clean off ALL that dirt.  You cannot sit on my furniture with a dirty body.”

Erik stands in one spot, not saying a word, and not moving a muscle.

You roll your eyes, and decide you have to feed him the steps.  “Here. Soap?” You squeeze some soap out on the washcloth.  “Water?”  You put the washcloth in his hand and run water over it.  Then you place his hand on his chest to make a lather.

“Waaaassshh.” You say, nodding your head as he watches the suds appear and dirt disintegrate.  

Erik looks annoyed at you, but that’s been his default since you picked him up.   You leave him to figure himself out as you sit down and open your laptop.  The stress of your situation was hitting you with a ferocity beyond your control.  What if someone got your license plate number?  And he wouldn’t be a hard suspect to find out in the open.  Six foot, Black man with scars all over his body?  And you would go down for aiding and abetting!

You try and look over the website that gave your the resurrection ingredients and hope there is a reverse to it.  You decide to email the Madame, praying she replies soon.

Erik comes out with the towel resting around his neck, body dripping wet and soapy in some parts.

You get up in a huff.  “Gatdammit!  Get back in there!  I don’t believe you washed up for real, but you certainly did not rinse.  You need to cover yourself.”  You snatch the towel from around Erik’s neck, tying it around his waist.  Erik flinches, rubbing the heat on the back of his neck.  

“Rinse off!  I’ll get ya some clothes!”  

As Erik pads away, you look through what you call the “Box of Bullshit” to find Erik something that he could wear.  The dude from your situationship left a lotta stuff in your closet and drawers, yet he didn’t have a single understanding of commitment, but that was neither here nor there.  You find a simple white tee and some sweatpants and socks.  Going back to the bathroom, you crack the door open and toss the clothes in.  “I hope you know how to dress yourself.”  YOu yell through the door.

As you do some more research, Erik comes out clothed, despite the shirt being inside out and backwards.  You also remind yourself to get him some underwear at the drugstore; if him being an undead being wasn’t bad enough to be a target, that dickprint would call him out quick.

Erik stands there staring at you, letting out a grunt.

You look up at him.  “What?”

Erik sits down next to you, takes one of your typing hands and rubs it on his stomach.  

Snatching it back you yell at him.  “Aiiiight, dang!  Nigga, Imma need you to learn words again, quick!  This sign language sit is not what I’m built for.  I’ll order some food, but you finna need to earn your keep soon if you layin up here.”  You pull up the website for Little Cesar’s to order some $5 Hot-N-Readys.  

Erik looks at your screen and groans pitifully.  “Uh...I know you are not being picky?  Nigga, this is MY money.  If I’m paying, you’re getting something quick and cheap.  Your first word you speak to me better be ‘thank you’.”

When the order is placed you get up to get your jacket.  “Now look.  I have to go get the shit, but the block is too hot for you, so if you can stay here, not touch no shit, that would be helpful.  Yes?”

Erik gives you his usual annoyed look.  “Great!  The food oughta be good motivation to be good.”

----

Stepping out of the Little Ceasar’s with two Hot-N-Readys, you get your keys out to open your car, dropping them in the process.  

“Lemme get that for you, baby.”  A guy comes up to get your keys from you.

You’re hesitant but play it cool.  “Oh, thank you.”  You hold your hand out for the keys but the guy keeps a hold of them in his hand.  

“What’s your name?”  He asks, smiling with a black tooth.  

You had no time at all for this Uncle trying to talk to you.  You place the pizzas on the hood of your car.  “I don’t give that to strangers sir.  Give me my keys.”

He kisses his gnarled teeth.  “Aww, come on.  I don’t bite or nothin…”  He steps in front of you reaching for your waist.  You step back towards to the door of Little Cesar’s.  

“Give me my damn keys!”  You say with more bass.

He gives you a sour look and tosses them on the ground.  As you pick them up and open your door, soon as you get the pizzas in, he gets by the back of your hair.  

“You think you the shit, bitch?  Fuckin whore and worth the spit out my mouth.”

You struggle against his grip until you twist your body to jab him in his genitals.

“FUCK!”  He exclaims, teetering backwards in pain.  

You jump in your car and peel out the parking lot as soon as possible.  How was this night starting off as some toxic selfcare and fun to this?  You promise to never drink and research voodoo ever again.  

You notice some bright headlights in your rearview mirror and adjust to try and see the driver, but no luck.  You were on a straightway, so you couldn’t turn off and you were almost home.

Pulling up to your spot, the car pulls up behind you as well.  Soon as you get out with the pizzas, that same uncle came out his car limping.  

“I told your fuckin ass!  You ain’t nuthin.  You oughta be glad I’m talkin to your raggedy ass!”  You trot up to your door, messing with the keys until the door opens.  Erik is standing there ready to eat.

“Fuckin bitch!”  the uncle yells.

This catches Erik’s attention as he begins to walk past.  

“No, Erik! It's food! Take the food!” you remind him in vain.

The uncle sees Erik coming towards him and stops in his tracks. “Oh shit. Uh, I don't mean nothin by it sir, just a misunderstanding.”

Erik keeps coming.  

“Erik, don't fucking hurt him. I swear on everything!” you scold him.

But Erik walks past him, causing some relief to wash over the uncle.  But the sound of bent metal, made him jump.

Erik has a grip on the passenger side door, before ripping it off its hinges and smashing it like a ball of paper, glass shattering all over.  He tosses the remnants in the car, and punches the windshield in, busting it for good measure.  

“Oh, brotha, come on! I didn't even do nothin!”

Erik points in the distance, signaling for him to get the hell outta dodge. Which uncle obliges quickly.  

Once he is gone. Erik comes back over to you l, looking intently all over your face and body.  You hand him the pizzas.  “He didn't do nuthin.  I hurt him more than he could.” you say walking inside.

Erik lets out a sound that almost sounded like a laugh, so you assume he approved.  You plop on the couch, exhausted.  

“You need a drink, there's water.  I ain't got nuthin else.”

Erik sits on the couch, fisting slices of pizza into his mouth.

“Chew! It aint gonna run away!” you roll your eyes.  “You so extra.”

As Erik chews, you reach for his locs, studying them, dirty and overgrown.  

“Remind me to retwist your shit.  Lookin like a wilderness man aint cute.”  

You get up to go get him a paper towel from the cabinet, and the door hangs off the hinge.

“Shit!  I thought I fixed that!”  You prop the door closed and give Erik one.

The rest of the evening, you spent searching for answers to you right your creation against the laws of nature, coming up short.  The FBI would have a field day with your search history.  Erik just sat still on the couch, watching the TV.  You didn’t want to go back to your room so you could keep an eye on him, but you certainly couldn’t stay awake all night.

The next morning you get up, stretching out the crook in your neck.  Erik was nowhere around you.  You get up, becoming frantic as you get up to look outside your door, hoping he hadn’t gone far.  Turns out he was just on the steps, looking up at the sky.  You go outside to join him, looking down at the sidewalk.

“Erik, did you sleep?”  He shakes his head no.  “Can you?  Sleep?”  He shakes his head no.  You study his profile, he looks a little sad.  “Are you hungry?”  He shakes his head no.  “Well, I got a spare toothbrush for you.  Use it, and I’ll do your hair, aight?”

He nods, getting up to do as he was told.  You take a moment to look at the sun, wondering what the hell you were going to do.

You join Erik in the bathroom as he is rinsing his mouth.  He looks a little more alive today, less like he is an alien that is new to Earth.

“Get on your knees, I’m going to wash your hair out in the tub.”  You get the shampoo and conditioner ready as you start the water.  Erik gets down leaning his head over, looking back at you curiously.  

“Don’t worry, I won’t drown you.”  You say as you guide his head under the lukewarm water.  You watch dirt remnants go down the drain as you massage his scalp gently.  You feel his back relax under your arm as he enjoys the attention.

“Mmmm.”  Erik groans.

“That’s nice huh?  Don’t get used to it, you say, jabbing him in his side playfully.  Erik flips his head back, splashing lather and water all over you.

You jump, only able to stare at him in awe.  “You have to be kidding me.  ERIK!”  You splash him with water back.  “Now I’m drowning your ass, put your head back down!”

Erik wouldn’t comply.  Instead he picks you up and holds your entire body in the stream of the water, before letting you go to run away.  

“Erik!  Gatdammit!”  You turn off the water, stepping out of the shower damp.  You were down for playing but he was too rough!  You change your clothes and go sit on the couch to watch some shows.  Erik went outside and came peeking through the front door.

“You either in or you out, boy.  Don’t matter to me none!”

Erik comes inside.  “And don’t sit on my couch with a wet head, go rinse your own damn hair!”

Erik kisses his teeth.  “Ohhh, and you gettin smart!  Walk your ass on somewhere then, I don’t really care!  You got one more time, try me!  Nobody playin!”  

Erik gives you that annoyed glare but skulks to the bathroom, running water.  

When he comes out, he’s got a towel on his head and products on his hands.  Your feet are propped on the table, which he moves from under you without regard.

“Erik, what’re you doing?”  He sits in front of your legs, backing up into you.  “Uh, uh.  You don’t want me to do shit for you, cuz you wanna play.  I ain’t playin right now!”

Erik leans his head back looking up at you, eyes all wide, jaw tight.

You roll your eyes, smacking the side of his face gently.  “Aight then, get up.”  You part your legs for Erik to squeeze between.  He was so wide, it was a bit of a problem.  But you start to get to work.

Drying his hair a little more, you get to talking to him.  “My name is (Y/N), by the way.  I know you can’t talk yet, or ever, but...that’s my name.”

Erik nods slightly, giving a grunt of approval.  

While you twist him up, you figure you can ask him a few yes or no questions.  “Erik, do you think you are alive?”

Erik  reaches his hand out for you, taking your hand and placing it against his chest.  You couldn’t feel a heartbeat, and checking the area near his jugular confirms that.

“Wow, do you feel dead?”

Erik shrugs.

“Do you remember dying?”

Erik is still for a moment before he nods slightly. “Yeah, I remember hearing about it.  I wasn’t completely mad about you, just mad for you.  It wasn’t fair the hand you were dealt, but you got a little outta hand.  Like, not too long ago even.”  You say referring to the OGs he choked up in the parking lot and the car he destroyed.

You couldn’t see his face but you felt an eye roll from him.  “Come on, Erik.  You said your were gonna kill any and everybody who stood in the way of your plans.  You can’t make those kinds of declarations and come out smelling like roses.  Shit’s dirty man.”

Erik holds his hand up, moving his hand like it's talking.  “Uh, you want me to shut up?  Please, you not listening is what did you in.  You shoulda been talkin to people instead of being led by a blind fury.  Mayne you not talkin now is a poetic justice.”

You finish up his hair and leave him to admire your work in the mirror.  Just then your phone gets a text.  It’s the guy from your situationship.  

You freeze, not sure what the hell to do.  You go to the box of his crap in the corner and go to get it.  “Uhh, Erik.  Imma need you to stay here again, ok!  I’m going out again.”

Erik steps from the mirror, looking at you with a hand on his stomach.  “Oh, uh, I-I’ll pick up something.  Then we gotta talk-- or, whatever.  Cuz we gotta figure out what to do with you.  You look more presentable so maybe we can figure out how to get you somewhere to be or work or somethin.”  You rush out the door as your mind was focused on other things, leaving Erik to his own devices.  

You pull up to his spot, sitting for a second to collect yourself before getting out.  Box in hand, you go to knock.  

He opens the door, still looking like how you left him.  A handsome pain in your ass.

“I figure you wanted this stuff back too, since we talkin now.”  You say, shoving the box in his arms.

He looks you up and down, scoffing.  “Oh, miss thing got a backbone?  Or somethin stuck up your ass, one.”

“Ty, I ain’t tryna hear it from you, ok?  You breadcrumb the shit outta me and then dip.  Now you got somethin to tell me, so what the fuck is it?”

He puts the box down before leaning on the doorframe.  “I wanted to see you, just one more time.”

“So you officially through with me?  That’s funny cuz I been done with you!  No problems to my name!”  You say, boldface lying.

“Nah, I figure you wouldn’t even want to deal with me no more.  I treated you shitty, I get that but I couldn’t handle a good woman.  I just didn’t know your were until I didn’t have you.”

You fold your arms, your anger beginning to falter.  “Yeah, cuz you...you ain’t shit, Ty.”

“That’s what happens when you take ‘the’ out of it.  You were my meaning, without you, I’m shit.  You my ‘the’.”

You hated him.  You couldn’t stand that pretty face talking with that pretty mouth giving you that sexy stare.  Before you knew it, you were on top of him, making out on his couch.  You felt sick, but he wanted you, he said so.  This didn’t have to be the end, you all can start anew since it is sure that both of you want a real thing.

His phone rings as you reach for his belt buckle.  “(Y/N), lemme take this real quick.”

You whine, “Come on.  I’m ready for you now!”

Ty lifts you off of him before running for his phone.

“Hello?  Yeah, no it’s fine.  Oh for real?  Ok, let me know what the cost is.”  He looks at you apologetically.  “Oh, wait, baby I don’t wanna talk to her right n--  Hey Mom!  Yeah, no your daughter is amazing!”  You expression falls flat as you dry up hearing the conversation continue.  “Yes she is beautiful.  I am lucky to have her for my….future wife.”

This was your cue to get up and get on.   You are out the door as he is hanging up.  “Baby, come on.  It ain’t like it sounds!”

“A WIFE, TY??  You getting married, married?  And you were just kissing me on your couch?”  You get in your car, and he leans talking through your window.  “Aww, now don’t be like that.  You’re my meaning, remember!  My the!”

You stare at him through your window, seething.  “Get THE fuck off my car.”  You peel off, hoping you got his feet.

You pull up to your place, feeling worse for wear, seeing Erik sitting on the stairs reminded you that he needed to eat.  

YOu curse under your breath as you walk past him inside.  I’m making you something.  I don’t feel like going out again.”  YOu go in the kitchen, banging pots around, opening a soup can.  YOu try opening it with the can opener but it's no good.  The can is only halfway open before you give up and try shaking the contents out in a pot but half of it splatter on the counter.  

“AGGGHH!!  I’m tired of niggas!  If I’m not taking care of them, they are fucking me over, there is no inbetween.”

Erik comes up to you placing a hand on your shoulder.  “No, Erik!  This ain’t the time!  I’m trying to be nice, but I can’t see the point!   What am I supposed to do with you?  Huh?  YOu weren’t supposed to be here, I was playing around!  I was bored and heartbroke!  What do I need with a damn zombie!”  You take a pot and send it clattering in the sink as you lean on the sink.  “I can’t deal with anymore of this, I just want to be left alone.  I’m tired.”  

You hear the front door open and close shut.  You look back and Erik is gone.  He thinks this is better, but now you’ll have to wonder where he is until he returns.  You look at the mess on the floor, and reach for your paper towels.  You open the door too quickly and expect to have to catch it but it sits perfectly on its hinge.  You survey that there are crew placed correctly in the door, fixing the mess that it was.  You’re confused only for a moment before you realize it was Erik’s doing.

Great, you thought.  Now I really gotta find him.

In your car, you drive around just trying to be vigilant and look around to see where he would be.  He wasn’t walking the neighborhood, he wasn’t at the gas station.  A thought crossed your mind that you didn’t like, but you figured it was crazy enough to work.

You get to the cemetery, luckily it's daylight this time and see him sitting down.  You pull up and get out of the car with a bag of food.  You take a seat next to him, pulling a burger out of the bag, but he doesn’t take it.  You unwrap it and take a bite.  Y’all stare at his headstone and the whole he crawled out of a moment.

“Erik, I didn’t mean….”

Erik doesn’t look at you or interject.  Not like he could.

“...I didn’t mean all of what I said.  Now, if the truth is what you want though, I didn’t ask for you to come into my life.”

Erik looks at you with a stank look.  “Come on, I was just playing around!  I didn’t know this shit was real!  But, dang, this is hard.  I don’t want to leave you on the street, I wouldn’t do that.  You had a soft spot in my heart before because I got your story, you just went about it the wrong way.”

You grab his arm to pull his attention away from the grave.  “I don’t want you back there, I really don’t.  I could put a couple different people in there before I think about sending you back.  I couldn’t if I wanted to, and I’m not.  Erik, I don’t know what’s happening in your head, but I’m sorry for what I said that may have brought you here.  You are getting a second chance, this could be something special.”

Erik looks at you, taking you by the shoulder to look at you intently.  “I’m fine.  Just nigga troubles.  The guy whose clothes you’re wearing called me and I thought we were being a thing again, but nah.  He gettin married.  God bless the union.”

Erik nods, biting his lip and looking away.  “You wanna get outta here though?  Now I got somethin for us, we should be good til tomorrow, then I can get some food in my fridge.”

You and Erik enjoy the evening watching shows and winding down from the day.

“Ohm and thank you for fixing my cabinet door!  That was bothering me for weeks, and now I can confidently retrieve my paper towels.”

Erik smiled, probably the most genuine one he has given you, dimples unyielding.  “Maybe you can fix my car door next, with ya heavy handed ass.”  You stick your tongue out at him.  

Joining him on the couch again you start to drift to sleep, leaning on Erik’s shoulder.  It was nice to have someone to snuggle up to, even though he had no pulse, he wasn’t cold or stiff. He just was him, with no heart.  So, himself.

Your eyes flutter awake as something caresses your face.  You peer up to see Erik’s hand combing back your curls with his fingers.  “Come on, lemme sleep.”  Erik keeps caressing your face, planting a kiss on top of your head.  You look up at him suspiciously.  “Uh, ok.  With that, I think I’ll go to my room tonight.”

There was no way in hell you could go through life having fucked around with a corpse.  Could he even do shit anyway?  Day by day, he is less of a toddler acting dude and more of the man he once was, but he was still mute and not alive!

You get up to go to your room, looking back at him as you open the door to go inside.  You leave the door open a crack, in case of anything and try to forget what’s happened.  Erik was still Erik, dead or alive, but there was no way, not on God’s green Earth.

You lay in bed a moment, facing away from the door.   You close your eyes praying for sleep but you were suddenly wide awake and anxious.  You hear the door creak open.  

“Erik, I don’t know, I just want to sleep so--”  The bed creaks as his weight slides next to yours.  You turn to face him.

“You don’t sleep remember?  So there is no reason to be here.”  You say authoritatively.  Erik is looking you dead in the eye.  His hand rises to rest on your hip, more innocently than anything.  “Are you still checking that I am ok?”  Erik nods.  “You don’t have to be sorry or anything, we are good.  I’ve gotten used to having you around and I mean, it’s nice or whatever.  A nigga that can’t talk back.”

Erik smirks at your aside, rubbing your hip, firmly.  You feel yourself gettin tight between your legs so you adjust, while at the same time scooching closer to Erik, who pulls you into him.  It didn’t take long for your lips to meet his, and the answer to your previous inquiry begins to poke your thigh.

Kissing him felt so good to you, it really made you forget most of the logistics behind what was about to happen.  You roll yourself on top of him to straddle, taking off your shirt and helping him out of his.  You felt so many questions lingering on your lips that could keep you from going further, but they hushed when he kissed your breasts.  Your head leans back as he gently licks your nipples, massaging your back, turning you into puddy in his hands.  You run your hands through his freshened locs as he hums into your areola, flipping you on your back.   As he takes down his tenting sweatpants, you pull off your bottoms hoping this is worth whatever natural laws you may be breaking.

Everything about him was perfection, from his scars to his muscles to his roaring erection.  No one would believe he was in a grave just a couple days ago.  Maybe you could make this work, maybe he could stick around a while…

Erik’s eyes were dark with lust as he sized up your opening with his tip.  You bring his gaze to your face.  

“Don’t go too fast, ok?  Keep it slow…”  You say instructively.  If he needed coaching on bathing himself, you weren’t risking the destruction of your walls to his enthusiastic ignorance.

Erik nods as he keeps his gaze upon you, you feel obligated to not look away so you can keep focus on him not obliterating your pelvis.  As you feel him enter, your mouth flops open as you wince.  Erik stops from your reaction, holding his breath trying not to hurt you.

You squeeze his shoulders encouragingly.  “It’s alright, go ahead.  I’ll tell you to stop otherwise.”  You really didn’t want this to be whack or painful, this was the guy of your dreams come back to life.  A sex God of your fantasies, but it’s like you’re dealing with a virgin from outer space.

Erik pushes further into you, increasing your discomfort but once settled in, you could feel yourself becoming accustomed.  You nod, allowing Erik to begin to move inside you slowly.   The pace was good enough to make the pain go away but now you needed more.

“Faster, Erik, just a little.”  

Erik bites his lips to pick up his pacing, finally you feel waves of pleasure building.

“Mhm, deeper, please.”  You moan as you bring your hand down to stimulate your clit.  Erik brings your legs back to oblige your request, grunting as he felt you tightening around him.

“Ahh, that’s it.   Oh, that’s good, keep going Erik!”  You encourage him as you climax under his strokes.  Erik seems to get the hang of it as his grip digs into your thighs, mixing the depth of his strokes at an angle to relieve your G spot.  

“Ohh, come on, Erik.  My pussy so wet, show me it’s yours!”  You whine, grabbing the pillow behind your head as you run your hand down his studded chest and abdomen.

Erik lays on top of you, grinding his hips against you, putting all of himself into you while hitting your clit just right.  His breath on your neck couple with his primal growls made you lock him into place, calling out his name without regard until he suddenly pulled from you.  Stroking himself over you, the amount of seed that left him was so much, you thought surely he would die of dehydration.  There should not have been any liquid left in him after how hard he came, your stomach, breasts, even up to your neck was covered in his cum.  He made a whole glazed donut out of you.

“Damn, Erik!  Is it like that?”  you say,  touching it lightly, contemplating the clean up of your situation.  

Erik breathed out heavily, a little too heavy, as he lied down with a thud, eyes fluttering closed.

You spring up, alarmed.  “Erik….Erik?”  

He laid there motionless.  He already had no pulse so no use in checking that.  Did he die die?   You smack him and shake him but he doesn’t stir.  

Getting out of the shower, you peek slowly to see him still knocked out, you laid a sheet over him for decency.  You shake your fists at the ceiling, arguing with God about how your behavior warranted this outcome.  Going into the living room, you pull up the website you got the resurrection spell from to see if there was a wear off period.  If you had known that, you would’ve let him wander around after he hopped out that grave instead of taking him home.  

Zzzzzz…

You look towards your bedroom, alarmed by the noise.  Zzzz…  Was he...snoring?  yOu get up and peek inside to see.  He was definitely snoring, loud as hell, but you breathe out thanking God you hadn’t killed him again.  You go in, sitting on the bed again, laying a hand over his nose to feel him breath.  Laying a hand on his chest, you feel a familiar flutter that nearly took you out.  His pulse was racing, renewed within himself, you couldn’t fathom what was going on.  So he was now alive?  A living, breathing being?  Could he talk now?

You decide not to wake him but come morning, you would be ready to go over his state of being.  Going back to the living room you research on your laptop, coming up with nothing more until you passed out for the evening.  

When the sun wakes you the next morning, you stretch feeling work out and exhausted despite the full night’s rest.  You feel sore and become worried until you forget the abominable act of last night.  Holding your head, you moan in shame thinking of how many ways you could be considered an insane sex maniac.  You let out a heavy sigh as you walk to your bedroom to finish what your research of your newly livened friend, but the bed was bare of his presence.  You cursed under your breath as you looked out a window, checked the bathroom, before going out the front door.  

You find his at your car door, using some device to pop the dent out of it.  You stomp over to him.  “Erik!  You can’t disappear like that, I thought that was clear!  Are you alright?  You passed out after...you know.”

Erik looks up to you, standing up, putting a hand to your hip.  You swipe it away.

“That’s what started shit before, don’t think it’s happening again!  Besides that though, I touched you and felt something I didn’t think was possible.”  Erik made a face suggestively.  “No, your heartbeat!  I felt it.  You know what I mean.”

Erik puts a hand to his chest to feel for himself, nodding.  

“Yeah, it’s crazy.  I thought I killed you, but then your heart started again.  Like, you’re alive again, right now!  So I actually brought you to life twice!  Haha, nuts!”  You laugh awkwardly over sirens in the distance as Erik stands there looking at you with a raised eyebrow.  “This would be so much funnier if you could talk though.  Which reminds me, where the hell did you get that thing to take the dent out of my car?”

The sirens get closer as a cop car pulls in front of your house.  Two cops come out with guns drawn.  

“Don’t move!  Sir get on the ground with your hands up!”  

Erik’s eyes widen as he steps in front of you.  You peer over his shoulders.  “Officers, you must have something wrong.  What’s goin on?”

“This guy was seen stealing equipment from an auto body shop a few blocks from here.  He is under arrest for trespassing, breaking and entering, burglary, and if he doesn’t comply now, a lot more.”

You touch Erik’s back.  “You stole that??  Erik, you shouldn’t have left without telling me, I would’ve told you not to worry about it!”

Erik turns around to face you.

“I said hands on the ground!”  The officer says loudly.  

Erik looks in your eyes, searching your face for something to say, if only he could.  You could barely make it out but once he opened his mouth you could recognize his words.  “(Y/N)....”

A gunshot rang through the air, making you both jump as one of the officers fired, presumably in the air.  Erik bolts behind your house to the backyard, cops following suit.  

“Erik!  Stop!  You can’t do this!”  You yell running after them.  You hear them going through some of the wooded parts, opting to stay out of it, yelling his name for him to give up or come back.  He really messed up now.  They would be looking for him now that he was on the run, and finding him at your house leaves you open to surveillance.  Going back to the front door of your house you look back at your fixed car door, saddened that the dent was gone to remember him by.  

“Miss, you’d better come with me.”  One of the cops come back with his gun drawn on you.  

You raise your hands slowly, trying to remain calm.  “For what?”

He shrugs, “Harboring a fugitive, aiding and abetting.  Conspiracy to commit robbery, I can make some shit up.  But you being with him, makes you a suspect all the same.  Now get in the car.”

You blink your eyes to keep from crying out right as you walk slowly to the back fo the squad car.  He pushes your head in as you duck in and slams the door on you.  When he gets in, his partner comes through huffing and puffing.

“Can you believe that Black bastard running like that?  We’ll find him, no problem.  Sticks out like a sore thumb.”

They drive off with you, chatting about Erik and putting out his description on the radio.  “Your boyfriend is in a whole hell a lot of trouble, so when we get you to the station, just follow our instructions, let us know what he’s done, where he might be, and let us do our job.”  Your eyes well up as you shake your head.  There was nothing you could add to the situation, and even if you did you wouldn’t help them!  You look aimlessly out the window watching the trees zip by, hoping Erik has found a path far from where you are now.  

Just then the car comes to a screeching halt as you are flung forward, hitting the partition with a thud.  

“What the hell...It’s him!  Carl, call back up!” The officer exclaims as he gets out the car.  Carl calls back up as you look to see Erik in full on rage as he stares down the officer with his taser out.  The officer says something but you can’t hear and Erik doesn’t look up for talking.  The cop deploys the taser, making Erik wince and twist under the shocks.  The officer approaches him as Carl steps out the car, and suddenly Erik has him by the throat and hoisted in the air.  Carl moves quicker now as he gets his gun out.  Erik doesn’t miss a beat, tossing his partner at him, sending them toppling over the side of the road, down to a ravine.  

You watch all of this wailing for Erik to stop as you try to get out the car in vain.  You beat on the window when Erik stomps towards them again, snapping him out of his angered trance.  He goes to your side of the car, pulling the door open like a chicken bone.  You crawl out, jumping into his arms.  

“Erik, you gotta go, now!  There will be more and you can’t fight them all, they’ll kill you.”

“I’ll...die….then.”  Erik strains from his voice.  You look at him incredulously.

“No. you will not!  You did enough of that already!  You will go back to my house right now and we will go somewhere, anywhere but here to save you!”  

You get into the squad car to drive back to your place, trying to hatch a plan along the way.  When you arrive, you run out of the car towards your door, trying to ignore the sirens coming.  Erik gets you by the arm, pulling you to him.  “There’s no time Erik, we gotta go!  I just need my wallet and some clothes, and-”

“Don’t...I’ll run.”  Erik says slowly.

You shake your head.  “Where?  Where could you possibly go with no ID, money, or people you know?  You’re still dead according to your tombstone.”

The sirens get closer, sounding just a couple blocks away now.  Erik walks away from you, heading for the road.  “I’ll...find you….(Y/N).”

Your vision blurs as you get emotional again.  “Don’t worry about me, just go!  I can’t see you die again, just get out!”

Erik nods running down the road and heading for the wilderness along the road again.  When cops arrive, they question you, but you’re of little help.  You don’t know how this happened, who he was, or where he went.  That didn’t stop them from canvassing the place and watching you for the next month to track his whereabouts.  

One night, when all the searching died down, you took a turn down the road you traveled once before, heading to his tombstone for old times sake.  You hadn’t heard from Erik in a couple months, but you figured he got away with it so far since the news hadn’t shared any updates.  Looking at his spot in the ground, the earth has been filled again, grass filling in sparsely.  Kneeling in the grass, you pull out a small $2 shot of Hennessy and pour a little out for him.

“Can you believe I miss your raggedy ass right now?  I came here because the first time when I woke you cuz I missed dick, but now I just miss you and...I just hope you alright.”  You sit in the stillness of the cemetery a moment.  “I don’t know how to contact you, so I just brought myself to here for a symbolic talk is all.  Got a pizza waiting for me in the car so I shouldn’t let that get cold, huh?  Ugh, this was stupid right?”  You get up sighing over the non-closure closure of your situation.  

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Your car alarm goes crazy when you look over where it’s parked, you fumble with your keys to turn it off.  A shadow passes over the headlights making you freeze in place.  The figure reappears, stepping into the light, looking worse for wear but alive nonetheless.

“Pizza?”  He asks.

[fightingalongsidewinchesters]

The Pilot (Part 3): You Smell Like A Toilet

A/N: SURPRISE!!! Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m FINALLY posting this part after years and years of not posting it. I really can’t wait for you guys to read this part, I had a little trouble getting back into it a few times but I think I managed to do good this time. Hopefully, this really gets me back into the swing of things. I’m very happy with how this turned out. Although idk how I feel about the diner part.. oh well.. I hope you all enjoy this part! :)

-Tori :) <3

Word Count: 5,041 words... Oh man!!

Warnings: Swearing, and mentions of suicide. I think that’s all? If not let me know?? <3

Y/N: Your Name

You stirred in your sleep when the Impala had stopped moving and the front doors opened. “Dean.” You tiredly called.

You sat up upon hearing the back door open by your feet, and began searching through your duffle for money. The leather adorned hunter peeked his head into the car and looked at you with concern. “What’s up, Princess?”

“Can you bring me back a monster or something? I gotta wake up a bit.” You asked, handing him your cash.

He smiled at you, taking your cash and closed the door to the Impala once again. “Thank you!” You called after him. Dean turned around and winked at you, which made you grin and laugh despite what you had heard about your dad not too long ago. Seriously though, what was going on? And what didn’t John want Dean to tell you?

You turned your attention to shotgun where Sammy had been searching through Dean’s cassette tape collection. “Whatcha’ doin there, Sam?” You questioned.

“Looking for something good to listen to.” He mumbled back.

You laughed. “Dean has the best taste in music, what else is there to listen to that’s good?”

“You are just like him, Y/N. I swear to god.” He laughed. You grinned at him and slid over to the middle of the backseat, placing your arms on top of the bench seat in front of you.

“Listen, Y/N. I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry about your roommate.” You shivered when he said roommate. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over? I’ve missed you, Y/N.” He continued, turning slightly in his seat to look at your tired features.

Despite just having woken up, you looked tired and restless. You woke up countless times throughout the night, not being able to dream about something you could actually stand. You really only slept this last hour in the Impala. You kept having this one dream, but you quickly put the thought away when you realized you still hadn’t answered Sam.

“Sammy, don’t worry about it. All is good, I’ve missed you too.” You said smiling, and you reached up to ruffle his long hair.

“Hey!” You heard Dean call. Sam leaned out of the car, and you turned around on your seat to look at Dean, who was currently pumping gas. “You want breakfast?”

“No, thanks.” Sam answered him. “So how’d you pay for that stuff? You guys still running credit card scams?”

“Yeah, well, hunting ain’t exactly a pro ball career.” Dean replied, putting the nozzle back on the pump. “Besides. All we do is apply. It’s not our fault they send us the cards.”

“Yeah?” Sam scoffed. “And what names did you put on the application this time?” He asked, swinging his legs back inside the car and closing the car door.

“Wasn’t it Burt Aframian? Or something like that?” You chirped in, as Dean got back into the car.

He put his chips and soda down, turning in his seat to look at you. You were sitting criss-crossed applesauce in the back. The sight made Dean shake his head at you and grin. You almost looked 14 again. “Yeah, and his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal.” Dean smiled, and handed you your monster energy drink and a twix bar. “The Monster you asked for, and I got you a king-sized Twix because I know it’s your favorite.” Dean winked at you, laughing.

You squealed. Twix bars were your absolute favorite. You may be 25, but you’ll always be a little kid at heart when it comes to favorite candies. “Thank you, Dean!” You leaned forward against the bench seat in front of you and wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“I swear, man, you’ve got to update your cassette tape collection.” Sam spoke up, still looking through the box of cassette tapes.

“Why?”

“Well, for one, they’re cassette tapes. And two.” Sam held up a tape for every band he named. “Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock.”

“House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music.” Dean grinned at his brother.

You took the moment to lean over the front seat yet again and grab a cassette tape out of Dean’s collection. You turned the cassette tape to Dean’s view and he nodded his head at your selection. “Shotgun shuts his cakehole.” You winked at Sam and popped the cassette tape into cassette player. Dean starts the engine, and instantly AC/DC’s Back In Black starts playing.

“You know guys, Sammy is a chubby 12 year old. It’s Sam, okay?” Sam was getting tired of hearing that nickname.

“Sorry, Sammy! We can’t hear you, the music's too loud!” You scream, laughing with Dean as you all drove off.

The three of you had just drove past a sign that read “JERICHO 7”. Sam had been on the phone for the past three minutes, and you fooled around with Dean. Poking different spots of his head, face, and shoulders every now and then. He’d laugh and then pretend to get serious, but he wasn’t able to keep it up, the two of you were children living in grown bodies.

“Thank you.” Sam ended the call as he closed his phone. “All right. So, there’s no one matching our dads at the hospital or the morgue. So that’s something I guess.” Dean glanced over at Sam. At a bridge in front of you, there were two police cars and several different officers.

“Check it out.” You said, tapping Dean’s shoulder and then leaning your arm over him to point to the scene in front of you. The three of you sat there watching, until Dean turned off the engine, and opened the glove compartment. He pulled out a box full of ID cards with his, John’s, and your dad’s faces. Dean pulls one out and grins at you and Sam, who stare back.

The three of you begin making your way over to the scene when you notice there’s a deputy leaning over the railing of the bridge, yelling down to two men clad in wetsuits who seemed to be poking around the river.

“You guys find anything?” You heard the deputy call down. “No! Nothing!” One of them called back.

The deputy turned back to the car that sat in the middle of the bridge. Another deputy is at the driver’s side looking around inside of the car. “No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless. It’s almost too clean.” The three of you had just entered the scene as if you had actually belonged there.

“So, this kid Troy. He’s dating your daughter, isn’t he?” The first deputy asked the one in the car.

The second deputy let out a sigh in response. “Yeah.”

“How’s Amy doing?”

“She’s putting up missing posters downtown.” He shook his head. It looked like he didn’t believe the kid was missing.

You craned your neck, and intervened. “You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn’t you?”

The deputies glanced at you, and gave you no mind, their attention drifted to Sam and Dean. “And who are you?”

Dean flashed his badge to the deputies and moved to your side. “Federal Marshals.”

The deputies shared a look and then glanced back at you. Their attention was solely based on you. “Aren’t you a little young to be Marshals? I mean especially you, Miss. You’re in pajamas? You look to be about 19.”

“Hey.” Dean cut in, giving the deputies a small glare. “That’s enough.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at the men. “You did have another one just like this, correct?”

“Yeah.. That’s right. About a mile up the road. There’ve been others before that.” They hesitantly replied.

“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam asked, nicely. The deputies both nodded their heads yes. You and Dean had been tipped off. Who were these guys to judge you? They didn’t even fucking know you?

“In a town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

Dean wrapped an arm around your waist, and the two of you walked around the car, looking around. You knew Dean had done this because he needed to calm himself down. He was getting agitated with the deputies and their smart ass remarks towards you.

“I’m okay.” You whispered, looking up at him. He glanced down at you and gave you a small smile. You grinned and hip bumped him, causing him to grin back.

He took a deep breath, and put his hard, determined facade back up. “Any connection between the victims?” Dean asked.

“Besides that they’re all men?” You added for him.

“No. Not so far as we can tell.” The deputies had now followed the two of you around the car.

“So then, what’s the theory?” Sam asked, curiously. You grinned, he was so into these things sometimes.

“Honestly, we don’t know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?”

“Well, that’s exactly the kind of crack police work I’d expect out of you guys.” You mumbled.

Sam shot you a look and you immediately looked away. The three of you decided that was enough and as soon as you started walking away Sam was on your ass.

“Really Y/N?” Sam asked, obviously annoyed.

“Sorry. I just really hate being underestimated.” You mumbled back, and walked ahead of the boys.

Dean immediately shot Sam a ’What the fuck dude?’ look, and smacked Sam on the head.

“Ow! What was that for?” Sam hissed.

“Really Sam? Why’d you have to be like that?” Dean argued back at his younger brother.

“Why does she have to talk to police like that?” Sam continued.

Dean moved to stand in front of his brother, who stopped walking to avoid hitting him. “Come on. They don’t really know what’s going on. We’re all alone on this. I mean, if we’re going to find Dad and Rich, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.” Dean was getting annoyed at Sam, why was he being so blunt?

Sam cleared his throat and looked over Dean’s shoulder. Dean turns around to see you frozen, staring up at Sheriff Pierce and two FBI Agents. He walks to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder, and continues to make his way to the impala as quickly as possible.

“Can I help you kids?” The Sheriff asked.

“No, sir, we were just leaving.” Dean nods his head at the two FBI Agents. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully.”

The three of you continued walking to the impala, Dean’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as the Sheriff watched your retreating figures.

As you and the boys are walking, you see a young woman who happens to be tacking up posters of Troy’s face with the caption “MISSING TROY SQUIRE”.

Once you all start to approach her, Dean speaks up. “I’ll bet you that’s her.”

“Yeah.” Sam replies to him. Giving him a look.

You look at both boys, and walk over to the young woman. “Hi, you must be Amy.” You say, giving her a small smile.

“Yeah.” She replies, confused as to how you know her name.

Dean steps forward, sticking out his hand and motioning to the three of you. “Yeah, well uh, Troy told us about you. We’re his uncles. I’m Dean, this is Sammy, and this is my wife, Y/N.”

You held back a laugh at the thought of you and Dean getting married. Everyone the two of you meet, always assumes that you’re together.

Amy looks at you all, skeptically. “He never mentioned you to me.”

She walks away from the three of you and you look at Dean. “I don’t know Dean, this doesn’t seem like a good idea. She doesn’t want to talk to us.”

“Don’t worry about it Y/N. She’ll talk.” He looks at you and gives you a smile, seeming confident. You look at sam, and he gives you an “I’m sorry” look.

The three of you begin to follow Amy, Dean furthering your lie. “Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.”

Amy still seems uninterested, so you begin to help Dean. “So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around. You know, to see if anyone knows anything.”

Another young woman comes up to Amy and puts a hand on her arm. “Hey, are you okay?” Amy looks at the young girl, and smiles at her sadly. “Hey Rachel. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Sam took this opportunity to finally speak up. “Hey, Amy.. Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”

Amy looks at Sam, and slowly nods her head yes.

The five of you are sitting in a booth at the dinner, you’re smushed between Dean and Sam. Amy was speaking currently about the last time she had heard from Troy. “So I was on the phone with Troy, he told me that he would call me back, and… well he never did.”

Sam looked at the young woman in front of you, engaging the information. “He didn’t say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” You had been watching the conversation between the two of them. Something kept bugging you about Amy, she obviously didn’t know anything so you really didn’t want to bother her anymore.

Amy looked at Sam sadly. “No I’m sorry, he didn’t say anything other than that from what I remember.”

You studied her necklace and nudged Dean from under the table. “Wha?” he whispered to you with a mouth full of pie.

You played with the necklace your dad had given to you a long time ago, he said it had been your mother’s. You nudged your head over to Amy’s direction and Dean took your hint. He noticed the necklace she was wearing, and he looked back at you wide eyed.

“I love your necklace!” You blurted out of nowhere. Dean turned his head to you and watched you. “What are you doing?!” He whispered.

Amy holds her necklace in her hand, a pentagram in a circle. She looks down at the pendant. “Yeah, Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents..” She laughs thinking about him. “With all that devil stuff, you know?”

Dean and Sam watch you, as you begin spewing information out about pentagrams. “Actually, it means just the opposite. You see, a pentagram is protection against evil. It’s really powerful. It’s an amazing type of sigil. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.” You started to get red, you loved that type of stuff, and it was really important to you after everything you’ve learned.

You didn’t notice the way Dean was watching you. His eyes watched as the blush crept down your neck and he smiled to himself.

“Okay, thank you. Unsolved mysteries.” Dean took his arm off from the back of where you sat, and he leant forwards. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…”

With Dean having said that, Amy and Rachel look at each other. You grew a little worried from their gesture. “What is it?” You asked quickly.

Rachel was the one to speak. “Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

You laughed when Sam and Dean immediately spoke together. “What do they talk about? “ They both asked, Dean frustrated when he realized Sam had said it as well.

Rachel looked around, and then back at the three of you. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago.”

Dean looks at Sam, who happened to be watching Rachel attentively, nodding. Rachel continues speaking, “Well, supposedly she's still out there.” Sam nods at her to continue. “She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

The three of you looked at eachother, and at that point you knew something was definitely going on here.

Sitting in the local library, you and the boys were trying to find out anything about what could be going on in this town.

Sam snatched the mouse from Dean’s grasp. “Let me try.” He says, impatient with the fact Dean hadn’t come up with anything yet.

Dean, in return smacks Sam's hand. “I got it.” Dean says, irritated at his impatient brother. Sam gets annoyed by this and he shoves Dean's chair out of the way to take over.

“Dude!” Dean hits Sam in the shoulder. ”You're such a control freak.”

You get up from your spot and smack both boys in the back of the head. “Enough, stop acting like 3 year old girls fighting over who gets to play with what Barbie Doll.”

“Ouch, Y/N.. Is someone angry she didn’t get her choice of Barbie Doll?” Dean looks up at you with a pouty lip, rubbing the back of his head.

“Oh quit it Dean, Y/N didn’t play with Barbie Dolls.. She played with toy cars.” Sam looked at you playfully, and laughed.

“I swear, you two will indefinitely be the death of me.” You rolled your eyes while smiling at the boys.

Dean chimed into the fun, poking you as he said his next sentence. “Sam, Y/N didn’t play with just any toy cars.. She played with Hot Wheels!”

“Boys, we’re done with this conversation.” You announced to them, laughing. “But if you must know, Dean is correct. My dad probably has a few of them still laying around in the buick.” You teased back playfully.

Dean smiled widely at the thought of you playing with toy cars as a young girl.

“Anyway, angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” You asked them, scrolling through files on the computer.

Dean looked at you, trying to understand where you were going with this. “Yeah, why?”

Sam looked at you, gears turning in his head at your thoughts. He nodded his head in agreement. “Maybe it's not murder.” He said, looking up at his brother.

Dean realized what you had meant and looked up, putting his hand up for a high five from you. “Okay Y/N, you’re good at this research thing. We should put you on the computer more often!”

You rolled your eyes playfully at Dean’s suggestion. “Yeah alright Dean. Let’s not but say we did.” You told him, ruffling his dirty blonde hair.

Dean sadly put his hand down, pouting. “Thanks for leaving me hanging.”

“Dean stop. Maybe if I change ‘Murder’ to ‘Suicide’ we’ll find more answers.” You spoke, you were trying hard to find out what happened here. You were so hopeful that all of this would lead you to your dad and John.

“Look look, it says here that in 1981 a woman named Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, and drowns in the river.” Sam spoke, reading off the words from the screen.

Dean watched his brother gather the information. “Okay, well does it say how she did it?” He asked.

“Yeah, it does.” Sam replies.

“How?” Dean asks, trying to get to the point.

“An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die.” You read, feeling sorry for the woman who lost her two children in one night. You thought back to yourself and the boys. You had all lost your mothers so quickly, you couldn’t imagine the pain Constance would’ve been in.

Dean looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “Hm, wow that really sucks.”

"'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Sam continued, you guys needed to get to the bottom of this.

You looked at the attached picture, noticing that the bridge looked familiar. You looked harder, realizing that was the bridge you had been on earlier in the day. “Uh guys? Does that bridge look familiar to you?” You asked, hoping they’d confirm your thoughts.

You all looked at each other before grabbing your coats and heading out, you in the lead.

The three of you returned to the bridge from earlier. You walked close to the rail, watching the water below you. Sam had been walking a few feet in front of you and Dean, who was walking close next to you.

He watched you for a minute, you were closely watching the water in thought. He swung his arm around your shoulder. “How’s your arm?” He asked, noticing that you held it closer to you, considering you were probably still in pain.

“It feels good I guess, I’m still painful but I’m glad to be alive thanks to you.” You smiled at your best friend. It was still weird to you, you were at college just yesterday and now here you were with Sam and Dean. On a hunting trip nonetheless.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asked, he could tell something was bothering you.

“Nothing, it’s all just weird you know? I was at college just yesterday Dean. Now I’m here with you, hunting, looking for my dad..” You looked up at Dean, tears welling in your eyes. “What did that message mean Dean? What if he’s dead?” You stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Y/N, I’m sure he’s fine. If he wasn’t I’m sure my dad would’ve made it pretty urgent.” Dean reassured you. But truthfully, he didn’t even know what to make of that voice message.

You smiled sadly at him before turning around to walk over to Sam, who stood at the ledge. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.” You spoke, watching the water flow below you once again.

“So you think that our dad’s would have been here?” Sam looks over at you and Dean, you could tell that he too was worried.

“Well, they’re chasing the same story and we're chasing them.” Dean says and continues walking. Sam follows him, and you walk a few feet behind the boys, listening to their conversation but in your own world as well.

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked, getting annoyed with his brother.

“Now we keep digging until we find them. Might take a while.” Dean states, the mission is clear in his mind. He’s not going to stop until he finds your dads.

Sam stops walking. “Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday-.”

Dean turns around interrupting his brother, and you stand to the side of them. “Monday. Right. The interview.”

“Yeah.” Sam replies shortly.

“Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some Lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean asks, you can tell that he’s hurt by Sam not wanting to help him.

“Dean..” You warn him, now isn’t the time for this fight.

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam asks, challenging his older brother.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?” Dean asks, you know that he’s doing this to make Sam feel bad for ditching you guys.

Sam steps closer to his brother. “No, and she's not ever going to know.” He says, growing angry with Dean.

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean turns around and keeps walking. Sam follows him, obviously not over this.

You walk behind them, having heard enough of their fighting for the night. “Boys, enough we have work to do.” This really is not the time for this fight, yet the boys don’t care about what you think right now.

“And who's that?” Sam fires back, incredulously.

“You're one of us. A hunter, little brother.” Dean moves his hand, referring to you and himself.

Sam hurries to get in front of Dean. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

“You have a responsibility to-” Dean starts, but Sam interrupts him.

“To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back. The same with Y/N’s mother.” Sam argues, you can’t believe that he just went there again. Bringing your mother into this once again. A woman that he didn’t even have the chance of knowing!

“Hey! Don’t bring my mother into this again Sam!” You warn the younger boy, your mother really was a sore subject for you.

Dean grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge. He waits for a while before speaking. “Don't talk about our mom like that. And leave Y/N’s mom out of this Sam. Seriously, stop.” Dean releases Sam and walks away, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing you with him.

You walked with Dean before stopping. Before you and the boys, stood Constance. “Guys!” You spoke, you pointed to Constance who stood on the railing of the bridge.

Sam comes to stand next to Dean. Constance looks over at you, then steps forward off the edge. You sprint towards where she had just been, running to the railing and look over. The boys were right behind you.

“Where'd she go?” Dean asked eagerly.

Sam looks around, confused and annoyed. “I don't know.”

Behind you, the Impala's engine starts and its headlights come on. You nudge Dean, who turns with you. Sam, noticing your action turns around as well.

“What the-” Dean begins before Sam asks what everyone was wondering. “Who's driving your car?” Sam questions.

You reach into Dean’s pocket to pull the keys out and you jingle them, all three of you still staring ahead. Sam glances at the keys in your hand before the car jerks into motion, heading straight for the three of you. You all turn and dart, Dean grabbing your hand in the process to keep you close.

“Dean? Y/N? Go! Go!” Sam screams. The car is moving faster than you are; when it gets too close, Sam and Dean dive over the railing. Dean’s grip on your hand gets lost during the jump, causing you to lose each other. The car comes to a halt on the bridge.

Sam has caught himself on the edge of the bridge and is hanging on. He pulls himself up onto the bridge and looks around. “Dean? Dean!” Sam calls out to his brother.

Below, a filthy and annoyed Dean crawls out of the water and onto the mud, panting. “What?” He screams up to his brother.

“Hey! Are you alright?” Sam asks, worried about his big brother. Dean holds up one hand in an A-OK sign. “I'm super, Sammy.” Sam laughs relieved, but notices that you aren’t with his brother. “Dean? Where’s Y/N?” Sam calls down to his muddy brother.

Dean’s eyes widen, and he frantically starts looking for you when he can’t see you anywhere close. “Y/N? Where are you?” He calls in a frenzy. “Sam can you see her anywhere?!” He screams up to his brother.

“No! I can’t see her it’s too dark up here.” Sam yells down to his brother. At that note, Dean starts getting back into the water to look for you, before he notices you sitting in the mud a few yards down.

You sat holding your head, and you seemed in pain. He rushes over to you, worried. “Y/N? Hey, are you okay?” He bends down to assess you.

You look up and there’s a gash on your forehead. “I’m fine, just hit my head but I’m alright.” You reach up for Dean’s hand, and he helps you stand up.

The two of you covered from head to toe in mud. You grip your head with your hand when the quick movement immediately makes you dizzy. “Woah, easy tiger. I gotcha.” Dean says, before picking you up to carry you back to the car. You just lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, your head hurt too much.

“Twice in two days, huh? Guess I’m good at saving you.” Dean teases you, and you wince in return.

“Shhhh, you’re too loud..” You whine and press your finger to Dean’s lips when his voice sounds like it’s booming in your head.

Once Dean gets you back to the car, he places you in the front seat of the Impala. “You okay?” Dean asks. “Mhm.” You mumble back, tiredly.

“Stay here, I need to check her out.” Dean states as he starts to inspect his precious baby.

Dean shuts the hood of his car and leans on it. “Your car all right?” Sam asks, looking at his frustrated brother.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean is mad that his car was involved.

“What about Y/N? She okay?” Sam asks, concerned.

“Yeah, she’s just got a nasty head wound and probably a concussion. But she’s been through worse. That Constance chick though, what a bitch!” Dean screams out, hoping Constance could hear him curse at her.

“Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So where's the job go from here, genius?” Sam settles on the hood next to Dean.

Dean throws up his arms in frustration, then flicks some of the mud off his hands. Sam sniffs close to his brother, then looks at Dean. “You smell like a toilet.” Sam’s nose scrunches up in disgust.

Dean looks down, shaking his head before getting up and getting in the Impala. Sam climbs into the backseat. You instinctively move closer to Dean, and lay your head on his shoulder.

“My head hurts.” You whine again, Dean looks down at you and chuckles. You always acted like a little kid when you were hurt.

“You probably have a concussion so you should stay up for a little while.” Sam chimes in.

You groan before Dean pats your leg and starts up the Impala. He peels out, driving until he finds the closest motel.

[thetakenpokemon]

Act 2 - ‘Gas’ Station

[PoV: Bladesong]

Back before I was a cyborg, I used to be able to walk for a little while before needing to rest. Sure everyone can walk quite a distance, but eventually your feet will start aching to the point where you really need to sit down.

Now a few miles? I admit that my feet weren’t really tough enough for something that far, especially since it takes about an hour to walk that. Now that I’m a cyborg though, walking that is laughable since I can travel several miles at a full sprint and not feel an ounce of exhaustion - the travel time being far less than an hour I might also add.

Chimera’s the same way in this regard, due to his Deoxys genes he experiences exhaustion on a level different from us. So trekking several miles is simple to us two. Velvett however? Not quite as simple. We had to make a brief stop for her to rest her feet, but it didn’t take very long since she was ready to continue after around ten minutes.

For the walk itself? It wasn’t until we were getting close to our destination I began to see traces of Progrian life - the most noticeable being the roads.

I’ve seen asphalt roads before, since some cities and places in Evolutia have cars. But these roads? They’re different. It’s white with glistening yellow lines on it, the road being so smooth that it only seems like metal. Lining it are countless metal lamps, their similarly white bodies strangely not reflecting any sunlight.

Not a single car though.

“The station is over there~” Velvett says, pointing towards a small building in the distance. “Once we get into my car, I’ll take us straight to my place in New Falkhom City.”

“Sounds good.” Chimera responds neutrally.

His mood still hasn’t improved much since the name fiasco, sadly.

The rest of the walk was in relative silence, although not quite as uncomfortable - from what I can tell at least. I spent a lot of my time observing the road mostly, the whole shininess of it making it incredibly tempting to just walk up and touch it. I didn’t do this though, since Chimera gave me several rundowns on Progrian laws involving traffic and what-not.

‘Unless during an emergency or if there’s no assigned walkways, pedestrians aren’t allowed to walk on the roads where vehicles drive.’

Well, honestly that sounds less like an actual law and more of a personal rule of his. I didn’t argue though, and I won’t do that now - especially since there’s a sidewalk beside the road for us.

Once we arrive at this gas station, I notice that the place really is...rather tiny. It’s just a small convenience mart, and it only has enough fuel dispensers to house up to two cars.

Sheesh, I guess this area doesn’t get much traffic.

As I’m checking the place out, the second thing I notice is that the fuel dispensers look...very different. Back in Evolutia I’m used to seeing the standard gasoline pumps - with the nozzle and all, but these? They look akin to that of generators, and their ‘nozzles’ share a strong resemblance to plugs.

Then I saw the sign.

"Zach’s Charge Shack?” I say aloud, reading the prices for how much it costs to charge vehicles. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a gas station?”

Velvett shrugs. “That’s what the people in Progria still call them, although they’ve long since switched from gasoline to electricity for their cars.” She taps her lip with a finger. “They’ve massively increased the efficiency of electrical cars from what I remember. That and combining the fact that they’ve found far superior methods of producing power? Fossil fuels are practically nonexistent in Progria now.”

Chimera nods his head. “Various corporations realized how profitable it was to sell electrical power instead of gasoline, so the switch was relatively fast.” He crosses his arms, his expression becoming thoughtful. “This was also due to the fact that vast amounts of technology being made also depended on electricity, and with nuclear fusion now being a staple for power plants? It’s-”

“Wait wait wait wait!” I interrupt him. “Nuclear fusion?! They’ve succeeded in creating fusion reactors?!”

He looks at me with confusion. The look didn’t last though since he realized that I’m not well-versed in Progria - besides the essential stuff he told me. “I don’t remember the exact date, but I do know that it was around twenty years ago that fusion reactors were being produced wide-spread for commercial use within Progria.” He cups his chin with a hand. “I often forget that us Progrians tend to guard our knowledge on technology, not only from Pokemon of Evolutia but also from the rest of the outside world.”

“Us Progrians?” Velvett repeats, stopping and turning to him with her own confused look. “Are you saying that you’re a Progrian?”

Both Chimera and I blink.

Hold on, she doesn’t know that he was originally a Human? I kinda thought that the GoT might’ve informed her about this, since...well...that’s kinda important since we’re right in the middle of a country consisting ENTIRELY of Humans.

Chimera looks at her for a long while before shaking his head. “Forget it.” He mutters. “We need to keep going, we’ve hung around long enough.”

Velvett didn’t look very happy with this response, but she wisely chose not to press the issue. Instead she turns and walks towards one of the corners of the lot in the ‘gas’ station, in which I see a black car.

Now, I’ve seen a few cars when I’ve went to the more advanced towns and cities of Evolutia. They looked pretty cool and all, ranging from ‘SUVs’ to ‘trucks’.

But this car? Damn.

It has a very smooth and sleek design, reminding me that of the rare Sports Car in Evolutia. However this thing looks much bigger than those - since said Sports Cars tend to be rather cramped for size. But besides that, I have a strong feeling that this car would easily beat any regular Sports Car in a race tenfold.

Velvett reaches behind her back and pulls a set of keys seemingly out of thin-air. The only explanation I could give would be that they were hidden in her extremely long hair - which is currently disguised to be very short from her illusion. With the keys in hand she presses a button on it, and the car immediately lights up with several flashes from its headlights.

“Alright, time to load up!” She says, pressing another button that causes the trunk to open.

The trunk was surprisingly spacious, being big enough for us to fit the numerous stuff we brought with us. Once everything was packed away we all climbed into the car - carefully in my case due to my extremely heavy weight. Much to my surprise though the car didn’t even budge when I got in - nor is it even slightly leaning towards the side I’m sitting in. All this can tell me is that this thing is built to carry heavy loads - whether this is a specialized trait though I’m not sure.

Also...damn... The inside looks just as nice as the outside too.

The seats are very soft and comfortable, being made of a black fabric that I don’t recognize. There’s lots of buttons and knobs around the place as well, allowing the people inside to adjust the interior to make themselves more comfortable.

Currently I’m sitting in the right-rear side of the vehicle while the suit-case holding Trojan is on the left, Chimera is currently in the passenger seat while Velvett is obviously in the driver’s.

“Buckle your seatbelts!” She says, tapping the keys against a glowing blue light on the side of her steering wheel. Upon contact the car starts up, unlike the normally loud rumbles that a gasoline engine makes, the sound coming from this car is instead soft hum.

It took me a little bit to figure out how to put on a seat belt - to my embarrassment, but I managed to wrestle the thing into the slot.

With all of us secured in our seats, Velvett shifts the vehicle in drive...

...and then we were off.

[tourdiforce]

On the Run.

- ✧ ♢ ✧ -

ft. Do Kyungsoo, various EXO members, possibly Taeyong (NCT) at some point but idk.

wcount. ~2500

warnings. Strong language! Possible hints at drug use, possible sexual themes, etc.

comments. Heed the strong language warning lmao there’s a lot of cursing bc i was feeling edgy when i wrote this. Sorry the exposition is really really weird. I’m stuck. If you have any ideas for this, please let me hear them! I would like to start writing an actual series but I just struggle with story telling/boarding.

insp. Somebody Else - the 1975

image found on Exo-L amino.

                                                      - ✧ ♢ ✧ -

I don’t want your body,

  Wind took wisps of hair and let it ride the air. A bleak sky and a somber night surrounds you.

But I hate to think about you with somebody else.

  You stood just outside the doors to a once happy home. Though happiness seems rarely permanent. Faith always fades.

Our love has gone cold,

  It was torture, waiting and waiting. It felt as though a thousand eyes were on you, some curious and some judging. Discomfort arose in the pit of your stomach, manifesting itself as a burn in your esophagus, and you could feel the pang of emotion and disgust, from reliving those short moments in your mind, bursting through tears that you refused to let fall. Yet you were alone

You’re intertwining your soul with somebody else.

  Thoughts of him seemed to haunt you; thoughts of the two of you rode alongside you in the backseat, whispering things in your ear that you didn’t need to hear. You would never be free. Everything, and nothing at the same time, drained you of your emotion, your spirit. There was no more will. There was no afterlife. Nothing could ever make you you again.

  You had had enough. Enough of the pain and heartache. Enough of him. Taeyong. You wanted to start over. Everything about this life was over. You would never be sure of what came over you that night, what compelled you to just run. Leave everything behind. You went for what seemed like ever, you could swear days went by as you drove off. Nothing mattered anymore. The death of this life only leads to the beginning of the next one.

  Though as you continued to drive, your shoddy little 2001 Toyota Camry’s tank just couldn’t take anymore and had officially fucked off. However, you weren’t paying attention to the tank. You just wanted to keep going. As far away as possible. You were possessed by the urge to just keep moving. That was until some asshole had swerved in front of you to pull into the gas station, causing you to do the same.

   As he left his truck to pay for gas inside the store, you pulled into the pump next to his, ready to give him a piece of your mind. You exited the car as he came back outside and stormed over to him, immediately shouting. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!? Driving like a fucking maniac out there, you nearly fucking killed me!” It had been a rough night. In fact, it had been a rough few months. Nothing seemed to go your way, as if the universe was punishing you. But tonight, it had given you the greatest blessing you’d ever received.

  He looked annoyed with your presence. Ignoring your words as he plugged the gas pump into his truck, but never once gave you the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

  “Are you just going to sit there, and fucking ignore me?” You ranted. “I should call the damn cops on you, you fucking rat. I wish you had hit my fucking car.”  He glanced at you, highly unamused with your attitude.

  “Save your breath, hag.” He spouted. You were livid. In your heated state, you approached him slightly and brought a fist down onto the hood of his ’98 Chevy Silverado.

  “Who the fuck,” You started, fuming and pointing a furious finger at him, as he turned to you with narrow eyes, suddenly full of passion and hate. It almost startled you, but you wouldn’t give it away. Not to him. You huffed momentarily. “You must be braindead if you can’t get the fucking point –“

  “Eat shit,” He spat at your feet. You jumped back slightly, only to look back up at him and throw a fist directly at his face to which he backed off to dodge, barely. His hand instinctively swung upwards to catch your wrist, and as you moved again to retaliate he caught the other in his other hand as well. He pushed against you, only to shake you up a bit so he could talk.

  “What’s your fucking problem?” He growled. You hissed back.

  “You, dumbass”

  “What do you want from me? A fucking apology?”

  “That would be better than this shit you’re pulling.”

  “You swung first, you know.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Fine.” He let go of you, turning around to move back to the gas pump.

  “No, I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

  “I’m sorry, Jesus fucking Christ, will you piss off now?”

  “Give me your wallet.”

  “Eat. Shit.”

  “Give me your fucking wallet.” Your mind was practically blank as you were blinded partly by rage but mostly by adrenaline. Doing and saying things you characteristically wouldn’t. As he returned the nozzle to its home and turned to you he shoved his hands into his front pockets and glared, eyes narrow yet burning with frustration. He opened his mouth for a moment, as though he was about to retaliate though his brows knitted together even harder as he looked past you, clenching his jaw. His piercing gaze focused back on you for a second then returned to the position it was in before – you nearly turned to follow his gaze, but his rough voice caught your attention.

  “Don’t look.” He said. In your confusion, you could only mouth the word “what?” Before he continued.

  “Get in the truck.”

  “What?” You said in disbelief. What caused this sudden change of heart?

  “Just. Get. In.” He looked rather stressed out as he mouthed the words to you between gritted teeth. He moved around you, grabbing at the door handle and opening it slowly as you moved out of the way. As he opened it wide enough for you his hand gently rested on your back and ushered you to get inside of the vehicle. After he closed the door he moved to the other side and climbed into the truck as well. Resting one hand on the clutch and one on the wheel, he lowered his head slightly and pointed out the window to two black cars, seeming to move in tandem, heading for the gas station. He said nothing as you followed his gaze, but after a brief pause he turned the truck on and began to move. The roar of the engine made you remember about your own car and all of the belongings within it.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away.” He uttered.

  “Well – what about my car?”

  “We can come back for that.” His voice was flat as he continued to drive towards city limits.

  “What the hell!? How can you expect me to just get in your truck without an explanation and then tell me we’re going away and not be asking questions? You could be a fucking rapist or a murderer— actually, let me out of the fucking car. Right now.” You demanded, furious and worried for your life.

  He merely glanced at you. “You don’t know who they are do you?”

  “No, and I don’t fucking care – let me. Out. Of. The car.” You emphasized each word with punctuation.

  He sighed and made a u turn at the nearest intersection, coming back to the gas station and pulling over to the curb for you to get out, before speeding off again. You looked up towards your car to see two men breaking in and rummaging through it, in the middle of this gas station where surely someone would have called the police by now.  As you approached them, you could feel more anger building within you, venomous words rising to your throat as they violated your poor car – a smashed window, luggage strewn about as they looked for anything of value. Thankfully nothing – except your ring.  

  Your hands flew to your pockets, patting each one down on your pants and hoodie as you searched for your phone, but it was no where to be found. You’d had it earlier, though – you remember that much. It must have fallen out when you sat down in that guy’s truck. Fucking Christ, this night couldn’t get any worse. With a huff, you continued to approach the men, storming through rough and shaggy bushes that lined the perimeter of the parking lot. One of them retracted himself from the inside of your car, standing tall and looking down at something in hand. He gazed downward, examining whatever  it was he’d had in hand then looked up towards the other man, nudging him nearby with an elbow – he was shorter, elf-like in his features but he had a serious aura about him.

  Though without much delay. You honed in on what was in the taller man’s hand as he grinned down on it. Of course, it had to be your fucking ring. Nothing could go your way, could it? How could you have been so stupid to hope that it was something else.

  “No-“ You uttered hopelessly to yourself before finding resolve and clenching your fist. “Hey!” You shouted, demanding their attention. “Put the fucking ring back!”

  Their gazes fell to you as they looked towards the noise. The tall one looked shocked, though the other looked nothing but annoyed. He sighed then glanced up to his partner, whispering what looked like an order to him briefly before leisurely moving towards you. He stopped about 5 ft from you. He said nothing. He merely stared you down.

  “What the hell are ya’ll doing to my car!?” You interrogated.

  “Exactly what it looked like.” He was shameless and blunt in his response.

  “Fuck you!”

  He laughed through his teeth. “Its not like you had anything worth shit in there anyway.

  “Fuck you.” Was all you could mutter again. You were too tired to fight much right now.  “Just give me the ring god dammit. I don’t care about anything else.” His brow quirked at you as he shoved it deep into his pocket with his thumb while the rest of his hand rested there at his hip, the other hanging low at his side.

  You felt weak, seeing it vanish into the fabric. “Please,” A shaky, meager response to the sight. He grinned evilly, as his shorter cohort stepped up beside him. He opened his mouth the speak but was sharply interrupted.

  “Give her the ring.” A commanding voice. You looked past the two men standing ahead of you to see the same one who picked you up before. He held a gun pointed towards the thieves. The tall one scoffed as he turned, though his shit-eating grin quickly faded as he laid eyes on the gun – dark and serious. He, too, opened his mouth to speak though the sound of gunshots rang piercingly through the area as he shot the ground in front of him. Once, twice. That’s all it would take to at least maim the both of them.

  “Just fucking do it.” The shorter one, looked towards his partner, a stern and commanding look in his eye. The tall one scoffed once more to hide the startle before he inched backwards, towards you. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the ring out and handed it over. You mouthed thank you towards the Chevy guy as you took the ring in hand, and the other two males scattered back to their car almost immediately and sped off.

  He lowered his gun, and approached you, as you examined the ground  before him before he moved past it. There was no damage, and no bullet shells. “Thank you…” You said again. He reached into his pocket, whipping out your phone and handing it to you.

  “Hows your car?” He asked, turning his head to look at the beaten up car behind him. This was a change of heart, it honestly caught you off guard.

  “Fucked.” Was all you could say in response. The air between you grew cool, as his gaze returned to you. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck.

  “We got off to a rough start. I’m sorry about nearly running you off the road.” He uttered, his hand dropped back down to his side as he approached you again, closing the already short distance between you, although this was more comfortable – a friendlier distance. “I’m Kyungsoo.”

  You admired him under the florescent lights of the station, the way shadows fell delicately on his face, and perfectly sculpted his almost ethereal beauty. It was breathtaking. “(y/n).” You uttered in response.

  “We should get going.” He said hastily. Looking as though he was about to say something else before you stopped him.

  “We?”

  “Uh…” He started. “Yeah, is that a problem?”

  “Well….”

  He blinked at you before moving over to your car, doing a quick walkaround and then looking back up at you. You could tell he had bad news. “It’s not in a condition to be driving in. Unless you’d rather stay here.” He side eyed you as he turned and began to walk towards the gas station, heading around the back of it. You weighed your options, checked your phone – 3% – glanced at your car. The mess made of it reminded you of him. But mess was an understatement.

  With a sigh, you followed Kyungsoo around the back of the station, his truck was parked again on the side of the road with the hazard lights flashing. He stood at the curb waiting for you and glanced up at you from his phone when you came into view out of the darkness.

  “Good choice.” He said shortly. You nodded in response and watched as he turned to open the door for you. “Where are you trying to go?”

  You thought for a moment. You were aimless. No where to go. Yet there were so many options ahead of you. “Anywhere but here.” You said as you slid into the truck, leaning your head against the rest. You knew you must have been at least a few hundred miles from home by now.

  He blinked at you as he got into the car as well. “I was thinking about heading north.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Without another word, he began to drive. The ride was silent. We’re weren’t interested in small talk anyway.

  The silence left you to your thoughts. Wondering what had gone wrong in your relationship of three years. Why suddenly he was unfaithful, and mean. Taeyong had changed. Wondering if it was your fault, tears welled up in your eyes and began to fall silently. The world was laughing at you. You turned towards the window, bringing your feet up onto seat and curling your knees. You could hear Kyungsoo’s head turn to look at you, but no words were exchanged and he continued to drive.

[weconqueratdawn]

Kowalski’s #5 ~ moar holiday edition

Gradence bakery/coffeeshop AU ~ on AO3 / Read from the beginning

Original!Percival Graves/Credence Barebone Teen & up Fluff, awkward flirting, slow burn, first date, holidays

Fic Summary: Where Credence finds solace in baking and a slightly-washed-up Percy finds solace in Credence.

Chapter Summary: First date in a craft store and car trouble.

Millions of thanks to @pangaeastarseed :) And happy holidays everyone!

*

Credence was waiting outside on the steps when Percy pulled up. He looked half-frozen but was clasping a flask of something hot and steaming.

Percy popped the passenger door open. “I’m not late, am I?”

Credence gathered his bag and his flask and scrambled in. The door banged shut against the cold.

“No, not at all,” he said. “I prefer waiting outside, watching people go by. And our buzzer doesn’t work that well.”

So that was why, Percy thought. Worried he might miss Percy - needlessly so, as now, secreted carefully in Percy’s phone, were all ten precious digits of Credence’s number. Hopefully that meant he hadn’t spent the whole morning wondering who on earth took someone to Kraft-Mart for a first date, like Percy had.

“I brought coffee,” Credence said. “And also doughnuts.”

Percy laughed. “You brought the bakery with you?” He opened the cup holder so Credence could set the flask down - it got stuck sometimes and needed a sharp tug.

“It’s cold,” Credence said. “And Queenie said traffic might be bad.”

“Traffic is always bad,” said Percy. “There’s no escaping it in this town - unless you want to leave at 3am.”

But the traffic wasn’t that bad, after all - and the coffee was very good indeed. Once they’d made it out of the city, it only took another forty-five minutes on the Interstate.

Credence was a very quiet passenger but not the sort which needed constant attention. He seemed perfectly happy to gaze out of the window while he ate his doughnut, and took excruciating care not to douse the car in sugar. The car definitely wasn’t worth the effort, thought Percy. But perhaps it was more than simple politeness - perhaps Credence either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care what a heap of shit he drove nowadays.

It was surprisingly comfortable, and by the time they arrived, found a parking spot, and crossed the enormous lot, it didn’t seem at all strange to be walking around a craft superstore together. In fact, it’s very unlikeliness in the eyes of others made it into a kind of shared adventure.

“That woman keeps staring at me,” said Percy. “I think she thinks we’re lost. Or up to something nefarious. Quick, look interested in these candles before she comes over and quizzes us about Martha Stewart.”

Credence smiled. “The baking section is all the way at the back,” he said. “Once we get there she can quiz us as much as she likes.”

After far too many aisles of holiday-themed crafts - the glitter and foil in red, green, and gold looked appallingly aggressive when encountered all together - signs of hope appeared. Rows and rows of huge pastel bowls and spatulas and moulds skimmed by until Credence found what he was looking for.

There the shelves were cluttered with tiny tools and he spent an age examining piping nozzles and cutters which all looked exactly the same to Percy. On the top shelf was a boxed decorating set - for $300, Percy noted with disbelief. Credence took it down, studied its contents critically, then replaced it.

Percy was conscious of a dull sense of regret - once upon a time, not that long ago, he could’ve whipped out his wallet and bought it for him without batting an eye. Even if Credence would never accept a gift like that, it was still nice to think he could have offered.

He stood uselessly by, waiting, and tried to convince himself that technically he still could - even if it wasn’t a sensible thing to do in his current circumstances.

Credence hadn’t finished, though - the next aisle over was entirely stocked with food colouring pastes and gels. He lingered over these particularly, and took a long time choosing between a sky-blue and a turquoise. The turquoise won out, and after that he seemed ready to leave.

Percy dragged his thoughts from the meagre contents of Credence’s basket and his impotent desire to fill it to the brim, and instead made himself look forward to lunch. There weren’t many places nearby - certainly nowhere fancy - but at least taking Credence out would be something.

“Is there anything else you want to look at?” Percy asked, before they reached the checkout. “While we’re here, you might as well.”

They were just passing through yet another holiday section - the aisles opened out suddenly into a mass of differently-themed Christmas trees. In fake-rustic buckets around them were the baubles, tinsel, and lights which went with each theme.

Credence paused. “Maybe the decorations?” he said. He gravitated towards a sugary pastel-coloured one, and stared at it like it was forbidden fruit. “We never had any when I was growing up.”

Percy absorbed this quietly; of course he’d noticed the menorah in the bakery window but, even for Credence, this seemed a strangely guarded comment.

“I could get some fairy lights,” Credence said, mostly to himself. “For my room.”

“Well, why not?” Percy encouraged. “There’s no law against it, is there?”

Credence nodded rather seriously, and a packet of candy-coloured lights joined the other items in his basket.

After Credence had paid, they trudged back across the lot to Percy’s car. There had been a light fall of snow - not enough to worry about but it was slippery underfoot.

Percy locked Credence’s purchases safely in the trunk. “There’s a place not far from here we could go to eat,” he said. “Haven’t been myself but the reviews were good. Want to try it?”

“That sounds nice,” said Credence. He had a way of glowing quietly with pleasure without actually smiling, and Percy felt his self-esteem buck up a notch.

The car was freezing inside; Percy hurried to get it started but the cold seemed to have got to the engine. It spluttered out, though that wasn’t unusual. When he tried again, the same thing happened. It was only after the third failed attempt that Percy felt uneasy.

By the sixth, he was beginning to get mad. By the tenth, he was outright angry. And by the twentieth, he gave up in utter rage.

He had climbed out and wrenched open the hood before he realised doing so would achieve precisely nothing. He didn’t know anything about engines - he’d never had to learn, not when he’d had a brand-new car every year and a goddamned driver as well.

“You fucking piece of shit,” he said, hopefully in the general direction of whatever it was which had gone wrong. Then he slammed the hood shut again, hard enough to make the whole car judder.

Through the dusting of snow on the windshield Credence’s face was discernibly pale and drawn.

Percy turned his back, sat heavily on the hood, and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t be this angry if he’d been on his own. It was so unfair; why couldn’t he be allowed to keep up the pretence, just a little longer?

He pulled out his phone: a tow truck it would have to be. The woman who answered his call was disconcertingly, if falsely, sympathetic. In the background the general hum of dozens, maybe hundreds, of similar calls could dimly be heard. Percy imagined a throng of helpless middle-aged men, many with impatient wives and children in the back seat. It did not improve his mood.

When he hung up, he remembered Credence was still behind him, waiting. Probably staring at his knees, hunched and tense, rather than watching Percy make a spectacle of himself.

He stood, and went to open the passenger door.

“We’d better find somewhere to wait,” he said. “Could be a couple of hours before someone can get here.” On the other side of the lot were a few smaller stores - among them, hopefully, a place to eat. “There’s a diner over there - come on, let’s go.”

Once the car was locked he strode off toward it, leaving Credence to follow. His quiet glow of pleasure had vanished, and just then Percy didn’t think he could stand the reminder of its loss.

But, if anything, he felt worse over lunch. The food was fine but there were none of the other things he’d pictured - no cosy booth, no gentle flirtation, no shared smiles or laughter. Their table was stuck in the middle of the room, and every two minutes a server swept past them with bowls of curly fries or trays rattling with drinks. Credence focused entirely on his plate and didn’t attempt conversation. Percy couldn’t dredge up anything to say, either.

It seemed he’d done all the damage it was possible to do already - losing his temper and making an ass of himself. Then he’d grimly ordered lunch like spending time with Credence was something to be endured. No wonder he was silent and withdrawn. He’d had a better time serving Percy coffee.

That was the thought which did it - the one which managed to break through Percy’s admittedly ridiculous self-pity.

He threw his paper napkin onto his half-full plate and put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and looked at Credence. “The car breaking down wasn’t great, but everything else was totally unnecessary. I’m sorry for being an asshole and spoiling your day.”

Credence looked up in surprise. Percy watched his face grow rather serious and intent and hurriedly kept talking.

“My temper didn’t used to this bad - or at least I don’t think it did - but there seems a lot to be angry about at the moment. That piece-of-shit car is only the tip of the iceberg.”

He realised he’d started to shred his napkin into little pieces. He dropped it again, and resisted the urge to fold his arms across his chest. It would only make him look sulky. Or threatening.

“I know I’m not showing myself in a very good light here,” he said. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to take this outside the bakery again.”

Credence’s watchful gaze continued on for a few moments. Then, without a word, he got up and went to the counter.

Percy stared after him. Could he be leaving? He saw Credence lean over to speak to someone, but couldn’t tell what he said. He seemed to be pointing at something and then waved over towards their table. Was he asking for the check?

But, no - he turned and came back. Relief flooded Percy; relief and more confusion. Credence had two plates of pie, and a server followed him with two mugs.

He took his seat; silence reigned once more while their unfinished burgers were cleared away.

Once the server had left, Credence pushed a plate and a mug towards Percy. “They’re for you,” he said. He picked up his own fork and took a bite of a pie.

More silence followed. Credence ate slowly and thoughtfully. Percy examined his own plate, wondering if he’d missed something obvious.

“Queenie told me something once,” Credence said, suddenly. “She said even when everything feels like shit - and might actually have gone to shit, who knows? - we can always do something about the moment we’re in. To make it a bit better.”

Even if he’d orchestrated all that to get his full and complete attention, Percy thought, he couldn’t have done a better job.

“Right now, it’s cold outside,” Credence continued, “and we’re somewhere warm, with something good to eat and someone to talk to, and- And even if it doesn’t feel like much, it’s something little to enjoy, while we can.”

Percy was astonished. “Queenie told you that?” he said, hoping he might learn when and why.

“Queenie has a way of just knowing things,” Credence said. “She's real smart but not many people notice.” He stopped and frowned at Percy’s untouched plate. “Try some, it’s good.”

Percy stared at him for a full minute before he too started to eat.

“Are you trying to induct me into the pleasures of comfort eating?” he asked, feeling a little more like his old self.

“Do you feel comforted?” said Credence.

Percy struggled with that for a while before he answered. “Not because of the pie.”

Credence smiled cryptically. “It’s never because of the pie.”

When they eventually pulled up outside Credence’s building again, they were only an hour late. The tow truck had arrived sooner than expected; all the car needed was a jumpstart. By then Percy had been able to bear the ignominy with something closer to humour. Maybe it really was funny, just a little bit.

He killed the engine. They both looked out, to where Percy guessed Credence’s apartment must be. Neither of them moved. A curtain twitched and a face appeared at one of the windows. On the sill below it twinkled an LED menorah.

Credence waved up to the peering face and twisted to get his bag from the back seat.

“I guess I should have wished you a happy Hanukkah,” Percy said, and turned to Credence with a smile.

“Oh,” he said, tucking the empty flask safely into his bag. “Because of Jacob and Queenie? And Tina?”

“Yeah,” said Percy. “I thought you might be related or something… Who’s Tina?”

“Queenie’s sister. I live with her.” Credence pointed up toward the window. “I think you saw her once in the bakery.”

“Right,” Percy said, thinking hard. “So you’re not Jewish?”

“No,” said Credence. Instead of getting out of the car, he sat back in his seat again. “I don’t really know what I am now,” he said, after a moment.

“Can I ask…?” Percy began. He got the feeling this conversation ran deep. “Why all the hesitation about the decorations?”

Credence shrugged. “My mother didn’t approve of the commercialisation of Christmas - she said it was the dilution of God’s message.”

“Wow,” Percy said. “God’s message, huh?”

“Exactly,” Credence said. “No decorations, no presents... nothing but church. And you don’t even know what she would’ve said about me living with Tina and going on a date with you.”

“Sorry it wasn’t a better one,” Percy said, feeling doubly guilty.

Credence gave him a sidelong glance and smiled. “I thought it was pretty good, actually,” he said, and went a lovely shade of pink.

Percy still thought he’d failed somehow but the assurance was nice. He swung open his door open, and went round get Credence’s. At least he could end their date on a note of gallantry.

That seemed to lead straight to them both hovering on Credence’s doorstep. Credence wore a touchingly open expression; one very earnest and a little lost. His gaze wavered uncertainly across Percy’s face, particularly around his mouth.

Percy resolved to make it up to him, next time. He leaned in to kiss his cheek, making sure to linger longer than necessary; it wouldn’t do for Credence to doubt his interest.

“I thought it was pretty good too,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Credence.”

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[little-p-eng-engineering]

In order to properly design a piping system, the engineer must understand both a system's behavior under potential loadings, as well as the regulatory requirements imposed upon it by the governing codes.

A system's behavior can be quantified through the aggregate values of numerous physical parameters, such as accelerations, velocities, displacements, internal forces and moments, stresses, and external reactions developed under applied loads. Allowable values for each of these parameters are set after review of the appropriate failure criteria for the system. System response and failure criteria are dependent on the type of loadings, which can be classified by various distinctions, such as primary vs. secondary, sustained vs. occasional,  or static vs. dynamic.

The ASME/ANSIB31 piping codes are the result of approximately 8 decades of work by the American Society of Mechanical Engineers and the American National Standards Institute (formerly American Standards Association) aimed at the codification of design and engineering standards for piping systems. The B31 pressure piping codes (and their successors, such as the ASME Boiler and Pressure Vessel Section III nuclear piping codes) prescribe minimum design, materials, fabrication, assembly, erection, test, and inspection requirements for piping systems intended for use in power, petrochemical/refinery, fuel gas, gas transmission, and nuclear applications.

Due to the extensive calculations required during the analysis of a piping system, this field of engineering provides a natural application for computerized calculations, especially during the last two to three decades. The proliferation of easy-to-use pipe stress software has had a two-fold effect: first, it has taken pipe stress analysis out of the hands of the highly-paid specialists and made it accessible to the engineering generalist, but likewise it has made everyone, even those with inadequate piping backgrounds, capable of turning out official-looking results.

The intention of this course is to provide the appropriate background for engineers entering the world of pipe stress analysis. The course concentrates on the design requirements (particularly from a stress analysis point of view) of the codes, as well as the techniques to be applied in order to satisfy those requirements. Although the course is taught using the CAESAR II Pipe Stress Analysis Software, the skills learned here are directly applicable to any means of pipe stress analysis, whether the engineer uses a competing software program or even manual calculational methods.

Why do we Perform Pipe Stress Analysis?

There are a number of reasons for performing stress analysis on a piping system. A few of these follow:  

In order to keep stresses in the pipe and fittings within code allowable levels.  

In order to keep nozzle loadings on attached equipment within allowables of manufacturers or recognized standards (NEMA SM23, API 610, API 617, etc.).  

In order to keep vessel stresses at piping connections within ASME Section VIII allowable levels.  

In order to calculate design loads for sizing supports and restraints.  

In order to determine piping displacements for interference checks.  

In order to solve dynamic problems in piping, such as those due to mechanical vibration, acoustic vibration, fluid hammer, pulsation, transient flow, and relief valve discharge.  

In order to help optimize piping design.  

Typical Pipe Stress Documentation

Documentation typically associated with stress analysis problems consists of the stress isometric, the stress analysis input echo, and the stress analysis results output. Examples of these documents are shown in Figures 1-1 through 1-5 on subsequent pages.

The stress isometric (Figure 1-1) is a sketch, drawn in an isometric coordinate system, which gives the viewer a rough 3-D idea of the piping system. The stress isometric often summarizes the piping design data, as gathered from other documents, such as the line list, piping specification, piping drawing, Appendix A (Figure 1-2) of the applicable piping code, etc. Design data typically required in order to do pipe stress analysis consists of pipe materials and sizes; operating parameters, such as temperature, pressure, and fluid contents; code stress allowables; and loading parameters, such as insulation weight, external equipment movements, and wind and earthquake criteria.

Points of interest on the stress isometric are identified by node points. Node points are required at any location where it is necessary to provide information to, or obtain information from, the pipe stress software. Typically, node points are located as required in order to:

define geometry (system start, end, direction changes, intersection, etc.)  

note changes in operating conditions (system start, isolation or pressure reduction valves, etc.)  

define element stiffness parameters (changes in pipe cross section or material, rigid elements, or expansion joints)  

designate boundary conditions (restraints and imposed displacements)  

specify mass points (for refinement of dynamic model)  

note loading conditions (insulation weight, imposed forces, response spectra, earthquake g-factors, wind exposure, snow, etc.)  

retrieve information from the stress analysis (stresses at piping mid spans, displacements at wall penetrations, etc.)  

The input echo (Figure 1-3) provides more detailed information on the system, and is meant to be used by the pipe stress engineer in conjunction with the stress isometric.

The analysis output provides results, such as displacements, internal forces and moments, stresses, and restraint loadings at each node point of the pipe, acting under the specified loading conditions. CAESAR II provides results in either graphic or text format; Figures 1-4 and 1-5 present stress and displacement results graphically. The output also provides a code check calculation for the appropriate piping code, from which the analyst can determine which locations are over stressed.

What are these Stresses?

The stresses calculated are not necessarily real stresses (such as could be measured by a strain gauge, for example), but are rather "code" stresses. Code stress calculations are based upon specific equations, which are the result of 8 decades of compromise and simplification. The calculations reflect:  

Inclusion or exclusion of piping loads, based upon convenience of calculation or selected failure. In fact the result may not even represent an absolute stress value, but rather a RANGE of values.  

Loading type — these are segregated, and analyzed separately, as though they occur in isolation, even though they actually are present simultaneously.  

Magnification, due to local fitting configuration, which may in reality reflect a decrease in fatigue strength, rather than an increase in actual stress.  

Code committee tradition — every code is a result of a different set of concerns and compromises, and therefore may appear to be on a different branch of the evolutionary ladder. Because of this, every code gives different results when calculating stresses.  

A summary of significant dates in the history of the development of the piping codes is presented below:

1915 - Power Piping Society provides the first national code for pressure piping.

1926 - The American Standards Association initiates project B31 to govern pressure piping. 1955 - Markl publishes his paper "Piping Flexibility Analysis", introducing piping analysis methods based on the "stress range". 1957 - First computerized analysis of piping systems. 1968 - Congress enacts the Natural Pipeline Safety Act, establishing CFR192, which will in time replace B31.8 for gas pipeline transportation. 1969 - Introduction of ANSI B31.7 code for Nuclear power plant piping. 1971 - Introduction of ASME Section III for Nuclear power plant piping. 1974 - Winter Addenda B31.1 moves away from the separation of bending and torsional moment terms in the stress calculations and alters the intensification factor for moments on the branch leg of intersections. 1978 - ANSI B31.7 is withdrawn. 1987 - Welding Research Council Bulletin 330 recommends changes to the B31.1, B31.3, and ASME III Class 2 and 3 piping codes.

Index:

Pipe Stress Analysis Notes

1.0 Introduction to Pipe Stress Analysis

1.1 Theory and Development of Pipe Stress Requirements

1.1.1 Basic Stress Concepts

1.1.2 3-D State of Stress in the Pipe Wall

1.1.3 Failure Theories

1.1.4 Maximum Stress Intensity Criterion

1.2 Fatigue Failure

1.2.1 Fatigue Basics

1.2.2 Fatigue Curves

1.2.3 Effect of Fatigue on Piping

1.2.4 Cyclic Reduction Factor

1.2.5 Effect of Sustained Loads on Fatigue Strength

1.3 Stress Intensification Factors

1.4 Welding Research Council Bulletin

1.5 Code Compliance

1.5.1 Primary vs. Secondary Loads

1.5.2 Code Stress Equations

1.5.3 B31.1 Power Piping

1.5.4 B31.3 Chemical Plant and Petroleum Refinery Piping

1.5.5 ASME Section III, Subsections NC & ND (Nuclear Class 2 & 3)

1.5.6 B31.4 Fuel Gas Piping

1.5.7 B31.8 Gas Transmission and Distribution Piping Code

1.5.8 Canadian Z183/Z184 Oil/Gas Pipeline Systems

1.5.9 RCC-MC

1.5.10 Stoomwezen

1.5.11 Special Considerations of Code Compliance

1.5.12 Evaluation of Multiple Expansion Range Cases

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