#i know there's some bottles left lying around the whole map i never picked up. but not many

[yoshistory]

there should be an amnesia bunker achievement for burning every last drop of fuel possible in a save file and then going into blackout called like, "Indefinite Darkness" or something. or "Dark Descent" lol. or "You Fucked Up Now"

[onfreckledwings]

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Dean says one night.

Cas squints in that way he does as he looks up at Dean through his lashes across the library table. He tilts his head in question.

“What I said that night. Before you left...after Mom.”

And that’s all it takes for the wind to leave his sails. Deflated. The memory is still fresh in his mind, even after all this time. And despite Cas’s best efforts, yeah. It still stings. He lets his eyes fall to the names scratched into the mahogany of the table. He stares at them: at Jack’s name and his, at Sam and Dean’s initials.

At Mary’s.

Why does that something always seem to be you?

You’re dead to me.

He lets his index finger trace the letters of her name. Grief, guilt, and loss unfurls from behind his rib cage and grips around his heart like tentacles.

He’d said he was sorry. Cas knows he is. Logically, at least. He’d be lying if he said doubt didn’t sometimes reside quietly in the corners of his mind, in the chambers of his heart.

His forefinger is tracing the ‘W’ next to the ‘M’ when he tries to hold his stiff upper lip, tries to conceal the raging inner battle from Dean.

“Of course.”

And it’s the best Cas can do in that moment. He regrets it almost instantly, because it sounds like bullshit, even to him. So he tries to deflect, to end this conversation before it begins. He rises from his seat and takes both of their scotch glasses in hand.

“I’ll go get us some more,” he says, plastering his best attempt at a smile on his face as he starts heading for the kitchen. Dean’s footfalls are quickly behind him.

“Cas,” he calls out, and Cas tries his best to steel himself against the ache in his chest as he continues walking.

Being human sucks sometimes. He used to be able to flip on a proverbial robotic switch whenever he needed to avoid feeling, to avoid emotion, because angels were soldiers first and foremost. And because emotions were always the doorway to doubt, it was important to be able to turn them off in order to preserve the objective of the mission at hand.

Now though, after Jack pulled him out of the Empty, grace left behind, he’s finding it exceedingly more difficult to hide behind a mask. Especially now that his built-in armor is gone.

He feels everything so much more intensely now. And he hates it, particularly in moments like these. Because he doesn’t want to feel insecure, he doesn’t want Dean to feel guilty, he doesn’t want to rock the boat.

When he steps down into the kitchen, he notices how Dean’s footsteps don’t follow his over the threshold. He puts both glasses down on the counter as he reaches for the bottle of Macallan 12 in the cupboard. He unscrews the cap and begins pouring.

“Don’t do that.”

It’s a small, quiet thing. Cas’s hand stills over the rim of the second glass before he glances over his shoulder at Dean.

“You don’t want any?” He tries going for nonchalance. But he can tell with the weight of Dean’s footfalls that it doesn’t work. He rotates on his heel to face the man as he approaches.

“Not the scotch, Cas,” Dean says, low and quiet. He steps down gingerly into the kitchen then, wincing slightly before stopping at the opposite end of the island. His green eyes bore holes into Cas’s, and it feels like he’s staring into his soul.

Maybe he is.

Cas can’t help the worry that cloaks him as he watches Dean move. Can’t help the guilt he feels at not being able to help. He drops his shoulders then as he turns around, pouring the amber liquid into the second glass before capping the bottle and placing it back on the shelf. He feels rooted to the counter, and so he sips his scotch in an elongated pull. Avoiding.

“Look at me,” comes the soft plea. He hates how sad Dean’s voice sounds; how guilty and rough and burdened.

Cas inhales deeply, and turns to place Dean’s glass in front of him on the island. He can’t help but map the freckles dusted across his cheeks.

Whatever Dean sees in Cas’s eyes must be distressing, because he’s looking at him with such pity and sympathy and Cas feels shame creeping up his neck. He looks down at the fabric of his navy blue t-shirt, picking at an invisible piece of lint by way of distracting himself from Dean’s stare. But then he hears soft footsteps before he sees Dean’s feet approaching into his space.

Cas lifts his chin and tries a fake smile again, reaching to take a sip from his glass. He hums softly as the hints of vanilla, butterscotch, and an array of berries flow down his throat.

“It really is astonishing how they’re able to combine so many different flavors in this,” he tries. Because he really is fine. It was almost a year ago, and there’s no use rehashing something that’s already been dealt with. It’s stupid that it still feels like a sharp ache in his chest — because Dean’s already apologized, so it really shouldn’t matter anymore, right? — and so Cas is trying his hardest to brush it off.

But then Dean’s reaching to take his glass out of his hand and placing it on the counter before his hand encircles Cas’s wrist. His eyes shoot up to meet emerald green, and he feels paralyzed, because lying to Dean has never been easy.

“Don’t,” Dean says again. “Don’t do the whole brave-face thing. Not with me.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says with a scoff, more on instinct than anything else. But then Dean’s setting his jaw, eyes piercing, and Cas relents. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve already apologized. It was a long time ago, Dean.”

“It does matter,” Dean grits out through clenched teeth. “The fact that I hurt you...matters. You ain’t a machine, Cas.”

Dean takes a labored breath, taking his free hand to rest it against his chest.

“...it kills me that I ever even said ‘em,” he says, green eyes pleading into blue. “You gotta know that.”

Cas shakes his head, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes begin to burn, and he sets his jaw as he closes his eyes. He refuses to let Dean see him cry—because he still feels like it’s his job to protect him, grace or no— so he turns his back to Dean to grab his tumbler of scotch and knocks it back.

The smooth burn on his tongue settles into his stomach, and it grounds him, allowing him to bite back the tears that threaten to fall. He braces himself against the counter, and Dean’s hand falls from Cas’s wrist to his side.

“You weren’t wrong,” Cas murmurs in the stillness. “I made some really poor choices over the years that put you and your family in jeopardy.”

He keeps his voice eerily steady and even, sighing heavily as he lifts his chin to look at the ceiling again. “I didn’t blame you then, and I don’t blame you now. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it.”

Dean’s hand grips his shoulder and he spins Cas around to face him.

“You didn’t. God—” he says, green eyes ablaze with ferocity. And Cas wants to argue, but then Dean is pulling him towards his chest.

Cas goes rigid and tries to push back against the force of Dean’s embrace. “Dean, your back—”

“Is fine,” Dean bites out and forcefully yanks Cas into him. “Come here.”

Cas’s eyes flutter shut involuntarily as his chest crashes against Dean’s, and he lets his arms encircle Dean’s waist gently, mindful of the still tender wound in the middle of his back. He chokes back a whimper as Dean’s arms envelope him, one hand resting between his shoulders and the other cupping the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers against the shell of Cas’s ear, voice thick and gruff. The warm caress of Dean’s breath chases goosebumps across Cas’s skin. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Cas murmurs gently against the line of Dean’s jaw, rubbing circles near the small of his back. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s breath saunters, and Cas can feel a warm wetness trickle down the slope of his neck, seeping into his shirt.

He wishes he could meld Dean into him then, just to envelope him completely, to shield him from everything that could hurt him the way he once could.

But Cas is human; and all he can do now is hold Dean.

So he does.

He buries his nose further into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathes deeply, relishing the scent of his shampoo, scotch, and simply the essence of Dean Winchester.

God, how he loves him.

“I forgive you,” Cas whispers around the tears clinging stubbornly to his throat. He lets one lone tear slip down his cheek as Dean’s fingers curl into Cas’s hair.

He feels the stifled sob before he hears it, and he pulls back gently to search Dean’s eyes as they spill over freckled cheeks.

Cas reaches to cup Dean’s face before resting their foreheads together. “I forgive you.” He drops one hand from Dean’s face to place it over his heart, feeling it thrum beneath his fingertips. “Please try to forgive yourself.”

Dean screws his eyes shut as he clenches his jaw, and Cas knows he wants to protest, wants to berate himself and scoff at the idea of self-compassion. So he lifts his chin to press his lips to Dean’s forehead, letting the kiss linger for only a moment.

He swears Dean leans into it.

“Let me check you,” Cas says quietly, reaching to place his hands gently at Dean’s sides and urging him to turn around.

“‘s fine, Cas,” Dean says, but lets himself be moved so that he’s bracing against the island. Cas reaches for the hem of Dean’s black tee, lifting it up midway to inspect the once-gaping wound in the center of his back.

It’s mostly healed by now; Jack had gotten Dean through the worst of it, but Cas’s stomach churns at how close it could have came to a different outcome entirely.

So he sees to it to check the wound every day, tracking the progress of its healing and closely monitoring Dean’s recovery. The pink, puckered skin is still raised slightly, promising a gruesome scar in the future. But it’s nearly fully closed up, and there’s no sign of infection.

Cas lets his thumb trace a large circle around the wound, and Dean shudders at the soft touch.

“It’s healing well,” Cas confirms. He removes his hands and lets Dean’s shirt fall back down, smoothing the fabric down his ribs. “How does it feel?”

Dean turns in his arms, and Cas starts to step back when Dean’s hands fall to his hips, anchoring him there.

He gets lost in those beautiful forest greens.

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs. “It just pulls sometimes. Kind of catches when I move too quick.”

Cas nods, and feeling emboldened, reaches to flatten his palms against the planes of Dean’s chest.

He takes a heavy breath, eyes downcast with guilt. “I’m sorry I can’t heal the rest of it.”

He feels Dean shake his head as a finger curls underneath his chin, lifting it to meet their eyes again. Cas’s chest aches when Dean’s palm cups his cheek, grazing the stubble.

“You’re back,” he whispers gravelly. “‘s all that matters.”

Cas nods, and his heart begins to hammer under Dean’s locked gaze. He feels like he should step back in the interest of personal space, but then Dean’s eyes are flicking between his, to his lips, and back again.

Cas freezes as his breathing quickens, and then Dean is slowly leaning in to brush his lips against Cas’s own.

The world stops.

Cas reaches up Dean’s sides to cling to his shoulder blades, and he lets himself fall pliant when Dean presses him against the counter. Dean’s tongue is a butterfly caress against Cas’s mouth, and he opens to let him inside.

It’s a gentle, smoldering thing; not urgent or frenzied, neither panicked nor rushed. Something heavy and ethereal blooms behind Castiel’s ribs and spreads through his limbs, leaving sparks and tingles in its wake. He lets himself sink against the counter, and welcomes all of Dean’s weight as he presses into him.

It feels like grace.

Cas reaches up further, one hand cupping the rough stubble of Dean’s cheek, the other carding through sandy-brown strands of hair that have grown slightly longer in the midst of his recovery.

Cas tries to stifle a whimper as Dean’s tongue flicks languidly against his own, mapping the peaks and valleys of his mouth. His heart aches, aches, because he never thought — ever — that he’d be lucky enough to feel this. To have this.

Tears slip out from behind closed eyes, trailing down his cheeks. The cool air of the bunker chills the warm rivulets on his face.

Dean shifts minutely, dipping his chin slightly to move away for air; but not before he sucks Cas’s bottom lip between his own, gently nipping with his teeth. Claiming.

Ragged breaths fill the kitchen as they both heave for air. Foreheads rest together as Cas drops the hand from Dean’s hair to rest it over his heart.

It’s pounding just as hard as his.

“I love you too,” Dean chokes out around a muffled cry as one hand frames Cas’s jaw, the other falling to grasp against his ribs, fisting into his shirt.

Cas’s legs nearly give out then. He pulls Dean into his chest, cupping the back of his head to bury Dean’s face into his neck. Dean’s arms wrap around him like a vice, and he sobs quietly into his skin.

Castiel kisses Dean’s temple, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “I love you so much.”

[big-tiddie-squad]

I did it again.... 😶🤫

The Tease in the Recording Studio

"Try it again, but more seductive. We're going for a sexy vibe for this song, you have to make them feel like YOU want THEM." The producer in charge of the recordings offers. "You've got this, the fans already want you. You just need to give a little extra back to them."

Bangchan runs his hands through his hair. He's been singing the same part over and over, bringing forth his most charismatic personality, but Ms. Park says it's not enough after every recording. "Alright," he sighs, "let's try it again." He puts the headphone back up to his ear but you can see he's tired and confused on what she wants from him now.

"No problem, have a quick drink and we'll roll it back and start at the beginning again." The woman watches Chan through the glass studiously, then turns to you to apologize, "I'm sorry we're taking so long Ms. Y/L/N, but the job isn't done until it's perfect. I know you've been waiting here awhile but I appreciate you being patient with us. It shouldn't take much longer."

You always liked this recording producer. She was brilliant at her job and she's also very sweet and always allowed you to sit in while recording when you got bored of waiting at home. "It's fine! I understand completely. Can I say something to him before you start again though?" You ask.

"Words of encouragement are always welcome. Go ahead!" She shows you what to press to speak to him. You wet your lips and speak clearly through the small mic. "Channie?" He straightens and smiles at your pet name before replying right away, "Its okay if you wanna wait at home sweetheart, I know it's taking me a bit to get this right but I'll be home at some point tonight, you don't have to wait for me."

"What-? I'm not going anywhere," you laugh, "I just wanted to let you know that you can do absolutely do this, I know you're tired but I also know that you've got this!! Just know I'm here to support you!" You offer up a cheesy grin and wink at him causing him to laugh as well.

"Of course I do. I'm sexy after all right? Singing seductively should come easy to me if I don't think too hard." His eyes brighten and he puts his headphones on before giving his producer a thumbs up to signal he's ready.

"Here we go again!" She says cheerfully, as you sit down on the couch to watch your boyfriend make magic happen.

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

A frustrated growl leaves Chan as Ms. Park tells him to take a break. It's been over an hour and he's made no progress. He chugs his water bottle and slams it down. You don't typically see him this angry and maybe it's caused by sitting here for so long but... it's kind of hot. He only gets aggressive when you guys are intimate, becoming a whole other person it seems. You get up to go eat something with him while you all take a break.

You both sit in the small break room together as you watch him eat the small sandwich you brought him from home hours ago.

"I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong?" He complains, furiously taking a bite. "How can I not have given off the right vibe by now?" He licks his lips and you're thighs close on their own, stirring up memories of what the two of you did last night. His tongue seemed to have a map of your pussy memorized. Oh how he took you on a mind altering trip. Bending you to his will, literally.

He notices you're staring into the distance and waves a hand in front of your face, "Y/N? You okay? Maybe you should go home and go to sleep now, it's already 11:18 at night." He reaches down and puts his hand on your knee, you'd worn a cute black skirt that comes about halfway up your thighs. Thanks to his touch alone, an immediate urge woke in you and caused you to almost jolt from the contact. Apparently, your poker face needs some practice because Chan picked up on it almost instantly. His eyes dilate a bit as he watches you take your lower lip into your mouth and your breath hitches.

"Oh princess..." he coos at you teasingly, "does my little love need some special attention?" He slides his hand up from your knee to your thigh and begins to stand up and lean in slowly, almost like a predator stalking his prey. "Well, do you?" Every nerve in your body is firing off and your brain is giving you a fight or flight command, but that's what he wants right? He wants you to feel like prey, like you need to run. You wonder if you don't back off... if you were a bit disobedient, maybe this time you could take charge...how would he react?

Wouldn't hurt to find out right?

"Why does it matter? It's not like we have any time for you to do anything about it." You smirk at him, folding your arms and leaning back. His face goes slack for about .5 seconds before his eyes turns a whole new shade of brown. So dark you could be lost in them forever. "Excuse me-" he begins, teeth gritted, just as the door opens to reveal a newly energized producer.

"LETS GO PARTY PEOPLE! We need to get this done and I feel like this next take is gonna be perfect!" She's comes and goes like a hurricane leading the way to the recording room, with you and Bangchan following behind.

Once you all get to there, Chan immediately goes into the small sound proof portion to begin. However, his eyes continue to flit to you, and you can tell he's a little annoyed with being interrupted in the break room. Especially after your last comment.

Ms. Park tells him he's definitely giving off the right kind of energy atm and to keep his head space where it's currently at for the song.

And then you have a wonderful idea. Seriously, you should be an evil temptress. He nods at her but doesn't take his eyes off you for long as he starts singing. Perfect. You look at the back of his Ms. Park's head making sure she's focused on what she's doing. Before swiping your tongue slowly and suggestively over your lips, making full eye contact with Chan. He stumbles over his words, and Ms. Park sighs and asks him to start over, jokingly saying that that was just a warm up.

You smirk it feels nice to have control especially when he isn't able to do anything about it. You're almost positive that this will come back to bite you in the ass but.... it's kind of fun. So you continue. You lean forward and dig through your purse, fishing out a sucker, but as you do you begin letting your breasts tumble out as much as possible. His voice has a slight subtle change to it. And the producer claps her hands excitedly. So far so good.

You sit up and unwrap the sucker placing it in your mouth as you open your legs widely before crossing them, knowingly giving Chan a peep show. His voice is radiating through your body now causing a deep aching in your cunt. Damn was this what Ms. Park was wanting from him. You didn't know how you felt about other girls receiving this special type of feeling from him. A small sting of jealousy courses through you and though you know how deeply you've both fallen for each other. It's just a song, you tell yourself.

You decide to keep taunting him, and you finally run your tongue of over the sucker. You twist it against your lips before sucking it into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you slowly pull it back out of your mouth smiling at him. His eyes haven't left you this whole time, and the dangerous and almost feral look he gave you was making you clench at nothing. Your pussy was already slick causing your panties to grow wet with your need. You didn't realize how much you were testing him.

He was already harder than hell but thankfully Ms. Park couldn't tell with his sweats and baggy hoodie on. He didn't know where you got this cocky and teasing attitude from but he couldn't wait to take you home and fuck it out of you. You'd never purposfully been this much of a tease before and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it. He takes a breath before going into his solo part in the song and in that exact moment, he knew you were going to be punished tonight.

You'd waited for his part to come up and just before it did you spread your legs to show off your soaking panties slowly slipping a hand down over yourself and rubbing gently. You were so caught up on teasing him you hadn't realized how sensitive you'd gotten. The moment you pressed onto your clit you're mouth opened a bit and you wiggle slightly at the stimulation.

And BOY does Chan notice, his hips jerk forward slightly. Chan watches as your legs close tightly around your wandering fingers, wanting so badly to to replace your fingers with his own. He's in the clear now. Finishing the song with a lusty, almost dangerous note as he sees you bring your fingers up to your lips and suck your own juices off of them with a minx-like grin. You pull your skirt back into place and pop the sucker back into your mouth.

"THAT WAS IT! THAT WAS AMAZING! It's exactly what we needed! We are DONE!" Ms. Park yells whilst jumping up and down. She turns to you and thanks you for your support. "I don't know WHAT you did on lunch to help him get the right mood but whatever it was we might have to have you in here more often!" She laughs. You all gather your stuff and part ways once you get out of the building.

Chan wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in tightly before leaning down, voice rumbling in your ear, "you have awakened a whole new side of me I hope you know that."

You look up at him with the biggest most innocent grin you can muster, the friction of your thighs rubbing together and the meaning behind his words and tone setting your stomach alight with a monstrous sexual hunger. The walk home was difficult for many reasons and at least one of them was because Chan had slipped his hand under your top, fingers brushing your bare skin and adding to the discord of tingles you already had.

"Who would've known you could be such a brat," he says as you both make it to your apartment. He opens the door and let's you walk in first slapping you on the ass and causing you to squeak out in surprise. He enters behind you and locks the door before quickly grabbing your hand and pinning you against the wall. Your lips meet and you can taste his need, the pure desire to ruin you tonight. His hand sneaks into your skirt and panties feeling how wet you were for him. You moan at the contact, your body almost crumbling in on yourself. "Chan" you manage say. "Babygirl- you have a three second head start." He tells you voice coated with a dominant and feral tone as he removes his hand from your warm sheath and licks his fingers clean. "1.......2...." and before he could get to three you bolt for the bedroom, the immense need to run taking over. You haven't even made it 5 feet away before you hear him say three. Before his foot steps are sounding behind you. And all you can think is.

It's going to be a long night.

[fakecrfan]

Since you very nicely offered to write me a fic:

Your prompt is: A story about a background character or characters dealing with life after the TMA apocalypse.

It can be set in the OG TMA universe in the post-post-apocalypse, or it can also be set in a different universe that was affected by the events of MAG 200.

Both OCs and characters established in-show are allowed.

This one aligned so well with my interests that I am actually tempted to open my inbox, briefly, in case anyone else has questions like “what is X bavjground character doing after the apocalypse?” so I can make a series out of it and expand on my post-post-apocalypse headcanons.

For now, you can read your fic here, on over here on AO3

---

Sarah doesn't know where she is.

England, she has to still be in England, she thinks. But it's not an England she recognizes. Not the cobblestone streets of London, and not the moors she used to visit on her vacations. The ground is barren, as though all blades of grass but a few have shriveled up and died. There are no trees, houses, or landmarks for miles--just scorched remnants of where they might have been before.

For a moment, the emptiness of it all is a relief after the hotel. But everything is the same on all sides, and she doesn't know where she is or where to go. She's starting to get hungry, too. She never got hungry in the hotel, nightmarish as it was.

She has to sit down for a moment, take a few deep breaths, and think.

Get food. Find shelter. Survive.

Find Alex.

(God, why had she left her child in a hotel room? Little twelve year old Alex who was still afraid to sleep without a night light. He'd begged her to stay, she should have--)

With that in mind she gets up. Doesn't know what direction to walk in, so she doesn't concern herself with trying to pick one. There's nothing to do but walk, keep her eyes open, and hope.

So she hopes.

---

None of our old maps match the landscape, anymore.

The world these days it's... not like in the before times, as I suppose we're calling it. Despite our hopes, ending the apocalypse wasn’t like everyone waking up from a nightmare. The land is...

It's scrambled, I guess. There are patches of the world that--well. They're not the same, but still have infrastructure intact. Electricity, running water, air conditioning. No scorched earth or rubble in these areas. Just a bunch of traumatized people living in an intact town, or city.

When I talk to them, they tell me it's not the city they remember, though. Everything has been switched around, houses and stores not where they remember them. Their neighbors aren't the neighbors their remember.

Those are the lucky ones. And then there's, well... the outside.

Some places have rubble everywhere, jagged steel ripped apart and waiting for someone to cut themselves on it. Some are frozen over, still waiting for the ice they were frozen over with in the apocalypse to melt. Some are scorched to dust. No phones out there, or anything that lets you connect back with home base.

I'm going out there. We need to map it out. We need to figure out our new world, understand it--and we need to get as many people out of the wastes as possible.

Melanie, Georgie--I’ll see you soon.

---

Sarah does find water. That's something. She's hungry still, so hungry, but she knows that the water is more important.

She wonders if she should stay there. She doesn't know if there will be more watering holes in the future, after all, and she has no way to carry it with her. She decides to keep moving on, and hope for the best.

She starts to see blades of grass poking up, along with some sort of metal crap strewn about the landscape. She looks at them a moment--it seems to be bits of an old carousel? Eventually, a giant sit in their shade, for a while. There she takes a moment to look at the horizon, and goes cold.

She recognizes the tower on the horizon.

A  scaffolded tower with two legs beneath it. A sight she'd last seen on a postcard from her brother. The Eiffel Tower.

Is she in Paris? No, that can't be it. It's just the tower out here in the wastes. There are none of the buildings that would normally surround it. It's almost as though its been ripped out of the city and transported here.

Does Paris even exist anymore? Does London?

If she even finds Alex, will there be a home for them to go back to?

---

I have a theory, Melanie. I think lots of people got transported to different places in the world based on what fear they belonged to. Like, a bunch of lonely people were put in the same place, a bunch of claustrophobic people were put in the same place, and so on. All away from the people they knew.

I’m in one of the suburban safe areas now. No one here knows each other. I talked to them all, and all of them remember living in the same house before, but none of them recognized the houses near them or the people in them. When I went from house to house, everyone had a different native language. I talked to a German guy and a French guy who spoke English, but a lot of them… couldn’t talk to me at all.

There was a woman who--she saw me and she lit up. She grabbed me and started talking a mile a minute in Arabic, I think. But I couldn’t understand her, and she--when I tried to talk back to her in English, her face just. Fell. And then she started to cry.

My dad refused to speak it at home, you know. He-- Actually, never mind. It’s not important. 

She ended up shoving me away.

---

Sarah makes it to the ruins of a forest. 

There’s nothing but stumps left of it, along with litter everywhere. She finds water again, filthy brackish water, and she drinks it anyway because she’s so thirsty. She starts sifting through all of the garbage strewn about for something edible. She finds stale bread crusts crawling with ant and eats them anyway. 

She finds a can of beans, and almost cries. When she can’t find a can opener, she screams instead.

---

The death count has gotten to me, honestly.

I’ve found dead bodies even in the towns and cities. Some looked like heart attacks. Some suicides. People who woke up but couldn’t bear the agony they’d just gone through. That’s still not… the worst of it.

I passed a whole field of dead bodies today.

Hundreds of people, I think, all of them lying dead in the soil. But there were... trails. They had been walking, before they collapsed. All walking in the same direction, to where you can still see London on the horizon.

They were alive. They were trying to get help. And they just... starved, it looks like. The walk was just too long.

How many people are going to die from it all, Melanie? How many already have, out where we can't see them?

I left as many jugs of clean water and rations along the roads as I could. I put up signs pointing to London, saying how many miles out they were, where I had stashed food. I gave them your number, so they know who to call to get to the shelter.

I hope it means the next group that passes by won't die.

I hope there is a next group.

---

Sarah can see what looks like a city in the distance before she collapses. 

She tries to get up, but can’t. She’s been walking for days now, it feels like, only sporadically drinking and almost never eating.  There just isn’t enough energy left in her to stand.

She tries to think about little Alex again, running around in his Batman cape, hoping some kind of love or maternal instinct will kick in and give her the last burst of adrenaline she needs to get up. It doesn’t work. Maybe she doesn’t love her own son anymore, really. Maybe it’s just been fear and guilt driving her this far, and that source has already been wrung dry. 

She manages to crawl a few feet, before she can’t even do that. With nothing else left to do, she starts to cry out. “Help! Water, please!” 

She doesn’t think anyone will hear, or show up. But against all odds, in her dimming vision she sees a figure come into view. Backpacked, clutching a water bottle. 

“Help,” she croaks out again. 

The figure gets closer, and she starts to be able to make out the details of his face. He’s her age, or older, with worry lines carved into his forehead and wide eyes. His nose looks eerily like her brother’s nose, and the shape of his jaw reminds her of her old boyfriend, the one who left her with--

She blinks. Maybe she’s hallucinating, or maybe she’s somehow run into a long lost cousin. But then, the man’s eye’s widen and his mouth opens.

“Mum?”

No, no it can’t…

“A-alex?”

No, Alex was a little round cheeked boy. This is a thirty year old man, at least, taller than her. It hasn’t been that long. It can’t be, it’s not--

“Mum?” He’s doing a frown that looks so, so familiar. This has to be a dream. “Mum, it’s--no.”

He sniffles. He steps forward, and steps back. He paces, uncertain.

“No, no,” she hears him mutter. “It’s all fake, all fake. It’s a trap. That’s what they want, the monsters and the face stealers. No one is real. Don’t give them what they want--’’

“Please.” she begs. 

But she hears him walk away, sniffling, and shortly thereafter everything goes dark. 

---

I have a confession to make, Melanie. I was going to side with Jon, back then. I could have lived with keeping everyone here suffering to prevent more of it. But when he said he was going to kill the whole world, not just leave it--that’s what made me snap. 

I couldn’t let the whole world die. Genocide of the entire human species? Anything but that. Surely passing along the suffering would be better, as long as it didn’t lead to the extinction of whole worlds. But… 

I keep finding more dead bodies.

I went back to that suburb I talked about, to restock on all my food. It was a lonely domain before, I think. I’d thought everyone there would be fine, you know. They didn’t have any deadly sicknesses, or twisted flesh injuries. They had food and water and shelter. But when I went back… more of them had died. 

Lots of suicides. Some of them snapped, and started to self injure.

The German guy I talked to had started to starve. He had a pantry full of food and he just wouldn’t eat it. I tried to get him to eat, to move in with someone else, but he said talking to people “made him sick.” 

I gave up, and left. I had to. There were too many people, and too much to do, so I left him. He’s probably dead now, or going to die soon. Because he can’t find the will to live, and I don’t know how to help someone with that.

The Lonely is probably one of the least directly harmful entities, right? This domain was just a suburb, probably the most comfortable you could get during the apocalypse. And yet the victims are still all dying. 

How much worse is it in places without food and water? In the corruption domains that still probably have deadly diseases spreading? In war zones, in flesh factories?

I think about that nursing home we found. All of the patients who'd died of heart attacks a few minutes after they'd woken up. The ones left alive screaming for help where no one could hear them, for days after the fact. All of the ones that died in their beds before we found them. 

I think about that field of bodies I found the other day. I think about the ruins of that Circus I found, people refusing to talk to me or each other--refusing to help because they didn’t believe it was over and thought everyone else was a mannequin. 

I think… I think it doesn’t matter that we saved the world. If people can’t find the will to live, ro rebuild, to trust and help each other again… I think we’re going through a mass extinction event anyway. 

---

Sarah’s in a car, she thinks. Not a moving one. She’s propped up against a seat,There’s something plastic pressed to her lips.

“Come on,” says a woman’s deep, level voice. “Come on. I got you. We’re getting to London. All you have to do is drink.”

Sarah opens her eyes. She sees a dark-skinned woman trying to coax her to drink, holding up a water bottle. 

“Just a sip,” the woman says. “Just enough to make it.”

Sarah closes her eyes, and takes a long moment to consider whether she wants to.

[hopeymchope]

How would you rank the 18 Class Trials from THH, DR2, and V3 from worst to best?

This is... virtually impossible for me, lol. Comparing the trials from each game to each other?

How about I just rank them within each game? That'll make it a little easier for me to deal with...

DR1

6) 5th. It's driven by lies and ultimately rushed to its end before the characters can draw any solid (pointless/meaningless) conclusions. So of course it's last for this game, and it’s probably last for the entire series as well. If there are any saving graces to this trial, it’s the surprise when your closest ally is willing to let our protagonist die... and that this trial contains the fake/bad ending route.

5) 3rd. Although the main culprit is pretty obvious from the jump, it requires some surprising twists to explain how everything got to be the way it turned out. But did I always find those twists plausible? Errrrm... not really. 

4) 2nd. Pretty good trial that's hurt for me by the fact that there'd barely be any need for a trial at all if a certain third party didn't dick around with the evidence for no reason. Also, the dual nature of Toko is an incredibly predictable reveal. Without those two aspects dragging it down, though, this could easily go higher.

3) 1st. Sure, the major hint given and, subsequently, the eventual culprit are pretty obvious, but this one establishes so much about how the trials work and how much the details you observe will matter that it’s still pretty fun that first time around. The initial surprise of the first victim makes for a great way to keep you invested in the trial experience. This trial is damn near iconic now, so it feels almost mandatory to respect it.

2) 6th. DR1 still has the best "final trial,” easily. SO MANY great reveals, and they all totally work for me. Nothing rings false or disappointing, and it also features Makoto finally coming into his own and taking the lead. I nearly labeled this my top pick for DR1, but...

1) 4th. It's easily the most emotionally dramatic/satisfying for me, and there’s something weirdly inspirational for me about Hina’s incredibly harsh stance during it. This one GOT ME IN THE FEELS, and in part that was because I saw so little of it coming. After the more predictable elements of the first and third trials, this felt like the writing was firing on all cylinders. 

DR2

6) 2nd. You have to accept a couple leaps of logic to make this trial keep flowing, and the fact that trial is ultimately reliant on someone noticing a candy that’s very small and hard to see while the person is also in a stressful situation and they are groggy from being drugged/asleep and it necessitates the person retaining this seemingly useless detail inside their brain .... that’s always bugged me.  The “escape route” conversation even retroactively raises questions about the first trial. Oof. On the upside, the reveals it brought us about Fuyuhiko and Peko were incredibly important, satisfying, and legit surprising turns. And it’s pretty cool how it’s basically a two-for-one combo trial because you have to solve the Twilight Syndrome case before you solve the current case. 

5) 3rd. Other people have pointed out the leaps of logic and missing pieces of this trial, but at the same time, the candlelight hanging is so intense and the ultimate reveal of the culprit is such a brutal turn that I have to give it some props. The culprit’s primary plan is ultimately one of the most ingenious in the series, IMO, and definitely one of the most twisted/fucked-up, which earns it some points. 

4) 4th. This is probably the single murder case in the franchise that I understood the absolute least about when entering the trial, for better or worse. On the one hand, that made it really fun to see the mystery gradually unfurl, but on the other hand, it made it tough for me to provide the right answers at certain points in the trial, leaving me fumbling. A big part of those issues was how it was initially hard for me to wrap my head around the nature of the funhouse via the provided 2D graphics... but once I eventually got there, I had to respect the creativity that went into devising such a “weapon.” Also, it can be hard to tolerate Komaeda in this trial. He’s even more of a know-it-all-but-reveal-none-of-it jackass than ever before, and his turn towards overt cruelty towards the others (and Hajime in particular) left me raging. The culprit reveal is good, but the motive does beg the question of why he didn’t just come forward from the jump.

3) 6th. There are a lot of great reveals in the final trial that totally reframe how you see the characters, and some of them are deliciously twisted. There’s also a ton of great dialogue provided, and in retrospect, it’s actually sort of neat to have one endgame mastermind reveal in this franchise that doesn’t involve the “They were hiding among us this whole time” trope. All that plus the surprise return of our surviving heroes from the first game! However, this is also where they officially reveal a core element of DR2 and its setting that I've never liked. This knocks the trial down a few pegs for me. Of course, by the time you reach the trial, I'm sure 99% of players have already figured that particular "twist" out. There’s adequate evidence to predict it in the first freaking chapter, and I know this because I DID predict it in the first chapter of my initial playthrough... which further hurts the supposed “reveal” of the island’s true nature when it comes around. 

2) 1st. Probably my favorite of the “first trials,” there are lot of components that go into this one. There’s a combination of two premeditated killers plus one spur-of-the-moment accidental victim, there’s a satisfying (though admittedly maybe too easy) reveal of the killer being one of the most unpleasant people to be around during the first chapter, and I really dig how audio became a very important component of the mystery due to the total blackout. This is also the part of the game where we learn just how twisted Komaeda really is, which is HUGE both in terms of its immediate shock factor for a total newcomer and in terms of its impact on the game as a whole. Of course, since it’s a “first trial,” it can’t be too complicated... but they still manage to confuse so many of us with “MEAT ON THE BONE” :P

1) 5th. Again, I will almost always give the most emotionally intense one the top slot. The “traitor reveal” is obviously THAT MOMENT in DR2. I also love how this one used the strange internal logic established early in the game RE: Komaeda’s luck to develop the eventual solution. And forcing us to make use of evidence gathered in multiple locations outside of the immediate site of the body/murder? That more complexity of that type that I see relevant to a trial, the more I appreciate it, and this one has loads of that stuff. Although I guess the investigation isn’t technically part of the trial itself... but it’s still very relevant to it. 

DRV3

6) 4th. I found this whole trial to be just... extremely predictable. Maybe it’s because I was so far into the series that I’d gotten used to its tricks by this point, but this was the most predictable trial for me since the first one in the first game. The whole looping/rollover map setup of the VR? Obvious. The murder weapon? Obvious. Our culprit’s ongoing confusion at everything discussed? Obvious. There were only a couple of points I didn’t have already figured out when I walked into the trial room, and those turned out to be basically irrelevant (such as the bottle of poison). The eventual motive is at least a surprise, but I also found it hard to accept that this culprit would really kill people over it. Overall: Super lame. 

5) 3rd. Another double murder trial, and once again one murder overshadows the other. The séance murder is definitely clever. Sure, you know the culprit pretty early on, but the methodology is the good part. However, the real fascinating one for me is the art lab “locked room” murder. Going into the trial, I couldn’t fathom how they were going to explain that one, and I found the answer both smart and satisfying. It’s funny to imagine how many times the culprit had to try that stunt with the lock before it actually worked, heh. This is probably the best of the three “double murder” mysteries in the series, but the trial isn’t as emotionally affecting as the 3rd trial in DR2 to me. Moreover, the trial loses points for the most infuriating Hangman’s Gambit of the series and especially for the motive reveal. When the killer’s motive can be boiled down to “they’re basically just a psycho serial killer,” it’s not very interesting.

4) 6th. The first part of the trial, which deals with re-assessing the first case? It’s pretty damn on-point. That leads to the mastermind reveal, which... isn’t great, really. It’s not a terribly interesting character to make the mastermind, they have no interesting motives or characterization to unevil, and they’re ultimately just a pawn behind another, off-screen group of masterminds. But then things get uproariously funny to me. The metatextual stuff is just so goddamn ridiculous. It’s frustrating and annoying how much of our not-mastermind’s explanation is clearly full of lies and half-truths that we’ll never have complete answers on, but that’s also part of what makes it all fascinating. We get to swap protagonists like four times! There’s a fake-out Game Over! These are really cool things. But it all leads down the road of our protagonist arguing that fiction does affect reality (yes, good), that fictional people can still matter (definitely) and that... fictional lives are equal in value to real ones? Uhhhhh slow down there, champ. That only works for YOUR universe, where fictional people can be made out of living, breathing individuals. But in light of the metatextual stuff you’re surrounded by, you kinda sound silly AF right now?

3)  2nd. Look, this is still incredibly irritating to me. Also, if you go down the alternate “lying” route at one point, you are forced to accept that these piranhas were somehow trained to only eat dead things, which is just... so deeply dumb.  But what is good is the entire ropeway conceit (which is a very significant part of the trial!) and the idea of the partition inside the tank. This was a murder with an elaborate, intelligent plan that is very well-executed. And the motive reveal? It’s one of the best in the series! I respect that stuff. (If I had the right to toss the execution in as part of the soup, I’d say that it’s also one of the series’ best. Let’s call it the icing on the cake.)

2) 1st. The writing that made this trial work is undeniably clever. The way the narration told us exactly what was happening without really telling us what was happening? It was a masterstroke of both great writing and perfect localization coming together. When it becomes clear during the trial what is about to happen, it’s a huge shock. The transition to another protagonist with the lights flickering out and back on is beautiful. Even the core concept of a protagonist who was willing to step up and try to kill the mastermind immediately is just deeply interesting. And obviously this one made my emotions run high. HOWEVER! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Kaede Akamatsu was a more interesting, unique, and compelling protagonist than Shuichi Saihara ever was. Ultimately, the protagonist-swap, no matter how well-written, was a mistake because they shifted us from a unique character with an interesting new perspective to a character who is, in many ways, “Makoto Naegi with even less self-esteem.” Yes, I know he has aspects that make him distinct as his own person, but there’s still just too much there that feels like we’ve done it before, and he never fully escapes from that. It feels like a massive waste and a huge missed opportunity to ditch Kaede like this. Now, if they had just done the protagonist swap in reverse — making us start out with Shuichi before flipping things over to Kaede — we could’ve had ourselves something amazing here.

1) 5th. I know I decided that I couldn’t rank all among each other, but if I did do that, I feel confident that the 5th trial in DRV3 would rank very high indeed. You go into the trial unable to even determine who the victim was due to the fact that two people are missing and there was nothing left of the body that spoke to an identity. Going into it, you naturally figure that one of the two missing parties has to be the victim and the other one is probably the culprit. But even with just two friggin’ suspects, the amount of turnabouts in the case that made me rethink all my assumptions was insane. Sure, the explanation for how the person inside the Exisal can maintain “character” is pretty damn thin, but once you get past that, I don’t think there’s a single false note in the trial. It even breaks unprecedented ground by continuing into another Non-Stop Debate after everyone has already voted. And of course, it culminates with a lot of intense emotion. Even the execution is emotionally satisfying! ..... although I’m not sure if I should count the execution as part of the trial, but hey, still. As far as Dangan trials go, the fifth one in DRV3 is basically a masterpiece.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Dancing Around You

Day 31, Post #2 by @adenei

Title: Dancing Around You

Author: adenei

Pairing: James x Lily

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T 

TW: Some language and mentions of past abuse.

a/n: inspired by the scene in In The Heights when Vanessa and Usnavi go to the club.

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

I walk into the corner shop in my neighborhood and see James, Remus and Sirius talking by the counter. The scene causes more annoyance to course through me, which probably stems from the shit mood I’m already in. James and Sirius are supposed to be working, since this is their job. And why isn’t Remus at the broadcast station across the street at his own job?

So what if James owned the shop after it was left to him when his parents passed? Work is still work, and he shouldn’t be skiving off while on shift. I’ve busted my arse day in and day out for the last three years so I could save up to rent a flat in Camden to pursue a career as an interior designer. Moving out of Peckham to a more centralized location will help put me on the map as a well sought after designer.

But that was all for nothing. I’ve just returned from my meeting with the realtor, and despite having enough rent saved up for a whole year, plus the security deposit, he waved me off as if I belonged in the slums! The twat said I needed someone to co-sign a lease with me. Tears sting my eyes as I’m reminded once again of how alone I am. Having walked out at seventeen to escape my parents’ emotional abuse for the last seven years, I had no one to turn to despite the close-knit neighborhood I lived in because this was a secret goal that no one knew about.

I’m sure Marlene’s mum would be more than happy to co-sign a lease with me, but I couldn’t ask that of her. Not when she’s done so much for me already. No, I just need to hold my head high and keep moving forward. I put on my business face and strengthen my resolve, so the boys don’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.

Walking over to the fridge, I grab a Fanta and a Coke for Mrs. McKinnon. When I left the office earlier for my appointment, she asked me to bring one back. Now, I have to return to my job as her secretary at her own Real Estate office and try not to resent every client who walks in the door. When I shut the refrigerator door and turn to head to the register, I see James leaning against the glass of another fridge door.

When the hell did he creep up on me?

“Evans, how’s it going?”

“It’s been better.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

For a moment, I think about letting him in. I open my mouth to say something, but change my mind at the last second.

“You wish.”

“Right, well, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Narrowing my eyes, I observe James. We’ve been friends for years, and it’s a friendship I cherish more than anything. He’s always been there to make me laugh, to match my sarcasm and wit, and he’s never been afraid to go toe-to-toe with me. I know him well, almost as well as I know myself, but I’m not expecting his question or the butterflies that flutter in my stomach in response.

I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. His perpetual bedhead, black hair and piercing yet kind hazel eyes have always stood out to me. It’s no secret that he’s fit from lifting boxes all day and playing on a club football team in his free time. But I’ve never allowed myself to think there could be anything more between us besides friendship.

So, why does it feel like he’s asking me out? Am I misreading the signs? I decide to keep the ball in his court to get a better read on his intentions.

“I’m going dancing with Marlene and Mary,” I reply, keeping my voice cool and collected.

“Oh, sounds like fun.” He glances down at the bottles in my hands. “All set, then?”

I nod, and If I’m not mistaken, his shoulders slump as he turns to head back to the counter. Should I have invited him and the guys to join us? Before I can ponder it further, Sirius cuts me off and pushes me back into the aisle.

“You and the girls are going dancing? That sounds like fun. I’d bet my buddy over there would love to join you.” He raises his eyebrows as if willing me to catch his subtle hint, which I do.

“Wait, was James just trying to ask me out tomorrow?”

Sirius shrugs. “Probably, but you two have been friends forever, and despite his smooth-talking with most females, he seems to get tongue-tied around you.”

A burst of laughter bubbles out of me. “James? Tongue-tied? Around me? What are you smoking?”

“Nothing, Evans. Just pointing out a fact.”

Fine, if Sirius is going to pester me about this, I will prove him wrong. I brush past him toward James so I can pay for the drinks and be on my way. Sliding a couple pounds to James over the counter, I smirk at him.

“You know, Potter, I could use a dancing partner tomorrow night. Pick me up at eight?”

His head snaps up, and he looks shocked before a goofy smile replaces the surprise on his face. “Er, yeah, alright. I mean, if you’re sure—”

Cutting him off, I put him out of his misery. “Great, see you then.”

The following evening, we’re walking into Alohomora, the most popular nightclub in Peckham. My friends and I frequent the club at least once a month. I love its mix of neons glowing amongst the blacklights and the worn leather benches framing the booths around the perimeter of the dance floor. It’s come to feel like a second home to me.

Dancing is an outlet for my frustrations. I love letting the music consume my soul as the loud thumps of the bass vibrate through my body as I spin on the floor. Tonight will be no different, except that James is with me. As my date. At least, I think he’s my date. Neither of us have actually talked about what this is.

“Wow, I haven’t been here in ages. Have they changed the layout recently?” James asks.

“Not that I can recall,” I wave his question off as I hear a number of people shout my name in greeting.

“I didn’t realize how popular you were here, Evans. I’m impressed.”

“Impressed by what? It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I have more friends than you three. I hope that doesn’t make you jealous.” My playful banter is accompanied by a smirk as James laughs.

“Me? Jealous? Of course not. Care for a drink first?”

“Sure.”

Usually, I’d prefer to dance a bit first, but I don’t want to drag James onto the dance floor if he doesn’t want to. I’m not even sure if he enjoys dancing since I’ve never seen him here before. He’s flagging down the bartender when someone calls to me.

“Lily! Hey, Lily!” Terry Fawcett is pushing his way through the crowded dance floor. “Wanna dance?”

He holds out his hand when he reaches me, but I shake my head.

“Sorry, Ter, I’m here with someone else tonight.”

James turns as he overhears the interaction and waves me on. He contorts his face in a weird, ‘trying to be chill, but still looks sort of pained’ way.

“It’s alright, Evans, go ahead.”

I’m taken aback. Maybe we really weren’t on a date. “But—are you sure?”

“Yeah, just save one for me later.”

“Oh, well, alright.”

My hand falls into Terry’s even though I’m not certain I want to dance with him. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m not used to as I walk away from James. It’s ridiculous, but I think I’m actually disappointed that James passed me off so easily. And I’m just as mad at Sirius for even putting the thought that James might fancy me in my head because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since yesterday afternoon.

Well, there’s only one way to find out once and for all if he cares. Make him jealous.

I dance as I’ve never danced before when the music changes to an upbeat Latin tune. I spin around the floor, dancing with Terry before I’m passed off to other men that I’ve danced with once or twice in the past. It takes everything in my power to not steal glances at James, but I do catch when his baffled look turns dark as he begins to scowl at the men who are practically lined up to dance with me.

By the time he does walk out to the dance floor to cut in, I’m exhausted. He pulls me into his arms, but I’m still annoyed that he’s waited this long.

“Potter, I need a break.”

I pull away from him and walk toward the bar, where Sirius holds two drinks in his hands. I grab one and slam it down, shoving the glass into his chest once it’s empty. Then, I turn and head for the exit to get some air. It’s much quieter on the street, save for the ambient sounds of traffic in the background, a stark contrast to inside the club. I lean against the wall as I catch my breath and watch the cars go by.

The door to the club opens, and the music splits the night air as James steps out.

“Evans, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

What? Is he angry? Good. Let him be angry.

“You! You ask me to come with you, spend all night dancing with other blokes, and then when I try to cut in, you ditch me.”

A derisive bark escapes my lips as I push off the wall and step closer to him, matching his stance.

“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me, Potter. You’re the one who pushed me away! I would have been perfectly happy dancing with you all night, but no, you sat back and watched as I danced with everyone else.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do!?”

He can’t be serious right now, playing the victim and passing this onto me. There’s no way I’m letting him get away with this. I step even closer, thankful that my heels bring me closer to eye level with him, so it’s more of an even match.

“I don’t know, put your arm around me and tell the bloke to fuck off? That I’m taken?”

“Are you taken?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Our breathing is heavy, chests heaving as our noses are a hair’s width apart. All I can focus on is the intensity in his eyes, the gold flecks burning like the flames in a fire. I wait for him to say something, or do something, anything except stare at me. I give him more than enough time, and he doesn’t make a move, so I decide that I’m done.

As much as I don’t want to, I break eye contact and turn away. I’m not in the mood to stay out, so I begin the walk home. James and I are friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be, but that doesn’t stop me from cursing Sirius for putting the thought that we could be more in my head. Because now that I’ve accepted the thought, I’m not sure I want to stay friends. But it’s clear now, this wasn’t meant to be anything special, and I was stupid for thinking it could be.

[fandom-collective-writers]

Vampire in a Bottle (Le Comte de Saint-Germain x MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Le Comte de Saint-Germain x MC

Prompt: cursed object

Warning: Smut!!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 7,251

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsister​/@lordsisterxotome (Click here to support me on ko-fi!<3)

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Cybird. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: I legit expected this to be 5 maybe 6 pages long. Was not expecting it to end up being 15 whole ass pages long.

       She’d heard stories about creatures tied to objects, bound to them my wizards or witches or priests. Everyone had. The djinni of the lamp, silkies and their skin, even myths of demons lending their bloodlust to legendary swords. 

       The vampire stuck in the wine bottle though, now that was a first.

       It had come as a surprise when MC had first stumbled upon the mansion on one of her hikes outside the city. She must’ve hiked the same path a hundred times and never had she caught so much as a glimpse of the sprawling estate, even if it was only a shell of its obvious former glory now. Had she taken a wrong path somewhere? Drifted away in her thoughts too much and unintentionally wandered away into the bushes? Looking back the way she’d come, she realized that no, she hadn’t veered in any way from her usual path, which made the sudden appearance of the mansion especially strange. 

       It was quite the complex, all graceful arches and columns, reds and whites. A massive fountain topped with a headless statue centered an overgrown path, and even from her vantage point still a ways away from the building, she could tell that what was once a manicured garden lay behind the mansion. It was like something out of a fairy tail; she wondered about it’s story, who lived here and what events had taken place within its walls. Now, the place was positively decrepit, still somewhat majestic, but old and creepy nonetheless.

       So, doing what any normal person would do, MC thought, ‘Very old and creepy,’ and turned back the way she’d come. There was no way in hell she was going to wander in like some airheaded protagonist out of a horror movie and get pestered or possessed or who knows what else. Nope. She was going to choose life today.

       It seemed her fears about the place being somewhat supernatural were true though, because a few minutes later, when she was sure she was about to step back onto a more familiar leg of the path, she emerged right on the same cliff overlooking the estate as before. The mansion sat there expectantly and she almost imagined it was saying, “Oh, you’re back.”

       Blinking, she stared for a moment before scoffing and shaking her head, soft mutters of “no, no, no, no, no,” falling from her lips as she turned away and rubbed her eyes. Her heart was beating a little faster now, sweat forming on the back of her neck. This was too strange. She’d hiked this path a hundred times and there had never, ever been a mansion here before. Furthermore, there was no way she was going around in circles. She knew the area and its trails well enough to have been able to find her way even if she did get lost.

       Pulling out her phone, MC tried and failed to find her location on the google maps, cursing as the words ‘No Signal’ replaced the usual friendly bars in the left-hand corner. Shoving the device back into her pocket, she sighed and stomped back down the path. This time she paid attention to familiar landmarks, carefully retracing her steps. For a second, she thought for sure she was in the clear, that she would come out on the path and walk away to forget this ever happened as some strange hallucination.

       Apparently that was not to be the case today though as, lo and behold, when she ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, there she was again, the mansion laid out and waiting before her. She could practically feel it rolling its eyes at her this time. 

       Collapsing on the leaves and pine needles, she laughed breathlessly. No way was this happening. Why today of all days? Why couldn’t the universe just let her keep having her normal days without throwing in a mansion that appeared and disappeared like a ghost ship too? She felt like she was going crazy. 

       After a few minutes of deep breathing and burying her face in her knees, trying to rub the image of the mansion away, she rose to her feet. This place wanted her to...do something? Fine. She had a feeling it would just keep making her walk in circles until she came inside. Best case scenario it really was just an old mansion and she would find another way back to the trail after having searched the property. Worst case scenario? She was dragged to the underworld by whatever vengeful ghosts might inhabit the place. No problem, right?

       Her legs felt weak as she picked her way down the cliffside, slowly getting closer and closer to the hulking abode. The grass on the vast lawn was so overgrown she had a hard time making her way across it, nearly tripping a couple of times when it got caught around her calves and ankles. As she got closer, she started to realize just how massive the place really was. So similar to most of the castles and palaces and royal mansions she’d visited on trips, whoever had built this place and lived here had gone for extravagance, a show of wealth, but something about it was quiet in a way that made it seem like it was meant to be tucked away back here. It would have been beautiful if the situation were different and she wasn’t so freaked out.

       On the bright side, at least the weather wasn’t cloudy like these kinds of places usually were in books and movies, and she didn’t have the feeling anyone was watching her. It was a sunny day, the sky blue and dotted here and there with the occasional cloud. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless as she faced the beast.

       Taking a minute, MC just stood there in front of the mansion, staring up at broken windows and ivy covered columns and weeds poking up through the stones. “What do you want from me?” she grumbled to herself before shaking her head and taking a deep breath.

       Heavy iron rings hung on the wooden doors, their white paint peeled away to reveal the brown wood beneath. Her hand looked tiny in comparison to the ring as she grasped it, cold and dark against her skin, and pulled the door open. It grated against the floor as it opened, and she paused, tensed and waiting for something to jump out at her, for a swarm of bats or something. But nothing came and after a minute, she peered inside. Part of the roof had fallen in, allowing shafts of daylight to pierce the gloom and illuminate the grand receiving hall. Her shoes padded softly against the marble floor as she took a few steps inside, careful of the debris. A grand staircase of white stone led up to a second story and as she turned in a circle to fully take in the room MC saw more signs of wealth: giant paintings, moth-eaten tapestries, silver candlesticks nearly too tarnished to recognize. 

       A gentle breeze blew in from the open door behind her, stirring leaves across the floor and up the stairs. After another quick glance around, she crept up the staircase, brushing her fingers across the cold, stone banister as she did. Choosing to turn to her left once she was at the top of the stairs, she followed a long hallway in what she guessed was the west wing. More paintings and golden sconces decorated the walls, curtains made of dusty velvet framing smashed windows. The mansion had yet to make its next move, to give her any indication of what it wanted her to do, where it wanted her to go. It was hard to tell because everything was so old and nature had long since started reclaiming the place, but she thought she saw signs of a struggle, irregularly torn canvases and tables knocked over, their vintage contents spilled all over the floor.

       She startled, gasping, when a door at the end of the hall creaked open, a strong breeze whistling down the corridor and urging her along. MC could feel the mansion’s impatience pushing in at her from all sides, tugging at her hair and pushing at her back. Balling her fists, she gulped and creeped towards the indicated entryway, trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever she might find. 

       Her breath stuck in her throat as she took a careful look inside, surprised at the luxury and opulence that met her gaze. The chamber was so large and gilded it had to be the master bedroom. The walls and ceiling were framed in gold, the ceiling painted with some scene that belonged in a cathedral. The canopied bed had long since succumbed to moths and the forces of nature, but the size of it could have rivaled any king size bed, and the rugs, once richly colored, still retained some of their ancient plushness as she stepped into the room. Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the carved edge of a table, tracing the intricate whorls and flowers. The same signs of a struggle were here too, a sharp gash taken out of the leg of the table and old books and shattered glass lying on the floor.

       A strong gust of wind blew in from the broken window, disturbing the heavy velvet curtains and knocking an old wine bottle off the small table in front of the broken pane. She winced as the bottle hit the floor, expecting it to shatter, but instead it bounced, rolling until it stopped against her foot.

       MC blinked and bent down to pick it up, noting the strange weight inside it. There wasn’t a label and she tipped it back and forth in her palm, weighing its contents. The red glass was too dark to see whatever was inside, but it didn’t feel like liquid sloshing around, that was for sure. Idly tapping a nail against the cool surface as she went to put it back on the table, she nearly screamed when something tapped back. 

       Letting go of the bottle and skittering back, she tripped over a chair, sending her falling on her ass. The bottle didn’t bounce this time, shattering instead with a sound like thunder that shook the mansion. A whirlwind filled the room, sending debris flying as it exploded outwards. Crouching and covering her head with her arms, MC waited, eyes squeezed shut and heart pounding, for whatever was happening to stop. It could’ve been seconds or minutes; she barely knew which as the gale settled, ending as quickly as it had begun. Uncovering her head, she peeked, shaking, around the room. Anything that had been in contact certainly wasn’t now, nothing but shafts of wood and scraps of fabric remaining. But the furniture held the least of her attention right now, not with the sudden appearance of the room’s other occupant.

       He was on his knees, heaving and gasping. She couldn’t see his face from her place behind the chair, only locks of yellow hair. His clothes - a long coat of burnished gold, brown trousers, and soft leather boots - were all embroidered in gold thread, rich and quietly vibrant. 

       She didn’t understand who he was or where he had come from. It refused to click in her mind that he had actually been stuck in that wine bottle, tapping back to her. People didn’t come from inside bottles. That kind of thing only happened in myths and fairy tales - things that were only stories.

       Rising to her feet on legs still shaky, she kept her gaze on the man as she slid a foot back, thinking to make a quiet exit, unnoticed. Of course, with so much debris scattered about the room, something like a quiet escape was absolutely impossible. Before the edge of her shoe had moved even a few inches, it disturbed a shard of wood with enough force to send it scittering a few inches over the stone floor, breaking the silence only broken by his heavy breathing.

       Piercing yellow eyes snapped to her and she gasped at the intensity within their depths, frozen, a deer in headlights. He turned, stumbling to his feet, eyes still locked with hers, and dear god, she believed in fairy tales looking at him. His face was unnaturally beautiful, something someone had dreamed up rather than someone born. It spoke of marble sculptures carved in his image, of candlelight on silk sheets, and there was a depth to his eyes, something she couldn’t fathom, something that marked him as...inhuman.

       MC hadn’t realized that her jaw had dropped and she swallowed, opening her mouth to say something and choking on air. Before she could manage her way through anything even vaguely coherent, he surged forward, barely a centimeter in front of her in the blink of an eye. Yelping, she tried to jump back, but his arms were already around her, dragging her against his chest. She struggled fruitlessly in his grip as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, lips and nose nuzzling against the soft skin as he breathed deep of her scent.

       “W-What are you-? S-Stop!” she demanded weakly, the panic rising in her chest choking her pleas. 

       “Smells so good,” the stranger breathed, his voice hoarse from disuse, and pulled back just enough that he could peer into her wide eyes. He looked absolutely wild now, ravenous and uncontrollable. “I’m sorry, but I need your help, mademoiselle.”

       The hand around her shoulders grabbed a handful of her hair, gently moving it away from her neck. Her fingers clawed into his lapels as she stared at him, fearful and confused, prey in the arms of a predator. His face lowered to her neck once again and she shivered as his breath fanned against her skin. What was he doing?

       “Try to relax, ma cherie.”

       The unexpected pain of two fangs sinking into her made her scream, bucking in his unyielding hold as he took long drawls of her blood. 

       It was physical pain as well as mental pain, the pain of confusion and everything she’d thought she’d known about the realistic world cracking. Pain. And then pleasure. Pleasure unlike any she had ever experienced before, setting her entire body alight and turning her mind white.

       And that was how she met him, Le Comte de Saint-Germain, a starving vampire trapped inside a wine bottle for 100 years.

       She’d woken later with her head in his lap, the ghost of his touch on her cheek stirring her. The ceiling spun above her and MC groaned, turning into him and covering her eyes with an arm.

       “Shh, you’re okay, ma cherie. It’ll pass soon.”

       Her eyes flew open, met with an abundance of gold and yellow, and she shot upwards, falling on her side as the world spun again. Hands reached to steady her out of the corner of her vision, but she flinched away from them, remembering the strange pain and pleasure his bite had brought. 

       “Stop!” she bit out, and he did, hovering a few feet away from her. “Who are you and what did you do to me?!”

       He blinked at her, seeming to think for a second before answering with a gentle smile, “I am Le Comte de Saint-Germain, and...moments ago I was starving for your blood.”

       “Starving for my-” She shook her head, still confused and afraid. “What?”

       “I’m not human, as you might have guessed.” His tone was polite, but warm, friendly as he spoke to her. “I’m a creature out of your myths and folklore, a vampire.”

       And her day officially couldn’t get any weirder!

       There, sitting on the cold, stone floor and shredded rugs, Le Comte had told her his story, that he was an immortal vampire trapped inside a wine bottle by another of his kind who he’d once considered a friend. He had been the one to build the mansion and live in it, assimilating into human high society and traveling between countries for centuries until the event of his capture.

       When MC had asked him about how the mansion had appeared and disappeared, he’d answered that it was part of the curse placed on him, that none should have been able to find and release him. Even he didn’t know how she had managed to stumble upon it.

       She believed him, choosing to trust the earnestness in his gaze when he’d apologized for biting her in a fit of starvation, but it was still a lot to take in, and they just sat there like that, blinking at each other, for a good minute or so. He seemed just as curious of her as she was of him, a little disoriented too, but she guessed that was to be expected after being trapped in a wine bottle for a hundred years. Finally, she said, “So what happens now? What are you going to do now that you’re free?” What was she going to do? She couldn’t just walk away from this place like it had never happened, right?

       He hummed, chuckling as he gazed around at the ruin of his home. “Rebuild, I suppose; catch up on what I’ve missed in the past hundred years.”

       MC blinked, biting her lip as she contemplated the impact of what she was about to say. An hour ago, all she had wanted to do was get away from this place, to forget it and never see it again, but now her heart felt strangely heavy at the thought. If she left this place behind now, she would regret it, she could feel it in her bones. Could she be blamed for wanting to live out whatever fairy tale this was, just for a little longer?

       “I…” Those yellow eyes met hers again, and her fate was sealed. “I might be able to help you with that.”

        Thus began her relationship with an immortal vampire, visiting him every day with new technology and books on the modern age for him to catch up with. More than once, he returned to the city with her, eager and capable of exploring for himself. He adjusted surprisingly easily to the new time period and all the technological advances that came with it, but she guessed that was part of being immortal, having to adapt quickly to the change of time. 

       She didn’t know what magic he possessed, but every day the mansion looked a little better, damaged furnishings either replaced or repaired, broken windows whole again, even the hole in the ceiling of the entry was miraculously fixed when she came one day. The lawn and garden still needed a great deal of attention, but those could definitely wait, especially since Le Comte was still weak after his long entrapment.

       “Le Comte?” MC called as she pushed the door open. The mansion welcomed her like an old friend now, warmth and the faint smell of sandalwood wrapping around her as she stepped into the entryway. She’d come to look forward to these daily meetings, noticeably out of it to her friends and colleagues when work or bad weather kept her from making the trip.

       “Here, ma cherie,” she heard him call from somewhere up the staircase. He could’ve been anywhere in this massive place and she still would have heard his call - another magical feature of the mansion and its connection with its owner. 

       It was weird. It had been months since she had found the mansion and Le Comte, but already she could barely remember what her life was like before. Her happiest moments were spent here, with him, her days filled with the smell of chamomile that she’d come to know as Le Comte’s, and easing the tension in her shoulders from the stress of modern life. 

       But it was more than that too, so much more. 

       She wasn’t dense. She knew what it meant for her heart to flutter the way it did at the mere thought of him. Truly, she’d had no intent of pursuing anything more than friendship when she started helping him. What more could there be between a human and a vampire? It had all seemed like a fairy tale, the beautiful mansion and the equally beautiful man in the bottle, waiting for her to find them, but this story would not end in romance, she was sure of it...or at least she had been. 

       She’d tried to reason with herself at first, that it was just the allure of something new and strange and magical in her ordinary life, that it was just the natural attraction of a vampiric predator to his human prey, but when had reason ever convinced a love-struck heart? He wasn’t going to hurt her, she was sure of that, and there were plenty of nice men in her normal life that she could have chosen from if she wanted a change of pace. No, she was in love with Le Comte and there was nothing she could do about it, no forwards or backwards, no place for her love to go, so it bloomed quietly in her chest, growing with each affectionate smile he sent her way. 

       MC found him hanging a painting in the hallway, a landscape she remembered him asking her opinion on last week when they went into town together. It made her cheeks warm a little, remembering his approving nod when she’d told him she liked it. The long, pale yellow coat he’d adopted lay across the back of a nearby chair, and the sleeves of his white button-up were rolled up, exposing pale forearms. It shouldn’t have made her blush, but to her shame it did, the sight of her crush’s bared skin making her feel like some pervert, excited by the least bit of exposed skin.

       “What do you think?” Stepping away from the painting, he dusted his hands off and she did her best to keep her eyes away from the elegant flex of his fingers. 

       “Looks nice,” she answered simply, turning her gaze to the painting and anywhere other than him. She could feel him looking at her, and she wondered what he was thinking, what was going on inside his head. 

       He hummed, pleased. “I bought it with you in mind.”

       “W-Why?” She didn’t know what to say. Lately, it was like each word he said to her was intended to make her heart pound.

       “I thought there should be something of you here.”

       Her cheeks were as good as on fire now, and she resisted the urge to reach up and press her cool palms against the heated skin. “I-I see.” She kept her gaze glued to the painting, staring but not seeing the whorls and colors that made up the bodies of two lovers entwined and hidden within the painting, not daring to look at him. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

       He didn’t respond, and the atmosphere suddenly felt too heavy, too many implications in his gaze, in buying this particular painting. Clearing her throat, she turned on her heel even as she spoke, “I’m going to go finish the cleaning I started in the kitchen yesterday.” MC cursed the way her voice swooped and dove, unwilling to settle on a tone and octave. 

       He chuckled and the sound warmed her to her bones. “Okay.”

       Her legs felt shaky as she made her way back down the steps and to the kitchen, blowing out a long breath as soon as she deemed herself far enough away from him. Mechanically, she pulled out the cutlery she’d been polishing the day before, her mind drifting as she did. Her heart felt shaky in her chest, fluttering and pounding and ready to run back up the stairs and throw itself into the hands of the vampire it belonged to. But she would do her best not to let it. 

       Falling in love with him was one thing. Starting a relationship with him was another. She couldn’t fully fathom what it would mean to be a vampire’s mate, what impact it would have on her human life, but she knew the cost would be immense. Besides, there was no telling if he even returned her feelings. He cared for her as any friend would - she knew that at least - and the affection he displayed was undeniable, but she refused to see it as anything more than platonic. Le Comte had already lived so much longer than her, and probably loved more than her too. Making assumptions would only lead to pain on both their parts.

       MC jumped, a noise of pain and surprise passing her lips, when her fingers slipped on the steak knife she’d been polishing, the sharp edge slicing the skin of her thumb. In seconds, a line of blood rose to the surface, gathering to drip down her skin in small drops. Hissing in pain, she turned to the sink, about to clean the wound, but she jumped when her attention caught on the sudden figure in the doorway. She hadn’t heard Le Comte approach, hadn’t even felt his presence, and how still he stood as he hovered in the doorway was immediately unsettling.

       “I wasn’t paying attention,” she tried to fill the silence, “I cut myself on one of the knives.”

       Still nothing from him, his gaze locked on her bleeding thumb.

       “Le Comte?”

       He seemed to startle out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, a shudder passing through him as he glanced up at her face before looking away entirely. His usual poise and grace was replaced by something hard, something sad. “You should leave,” he murmured, eyes shaded by his golden hair as he turned away from her, his movements stiff. 

       She blinked. “What? Why? I-”

       “Leave.” His voice was harder now, resonating with something that gripped her soul with icy claws. “Now.”

       So she did, helpless to disobey. Holding her bleeding hand, she ducked past him and hurried down the hall, through the door and down the path before her mind started to catch up. It hurt to be pushed away so cruelly by the one she loved, but she knew why he had done it, the memory of his fangs plunging into her neck months ago still a fresh reminder. He’d promised never to hurt her again, but he was still a vampire, surviving on blood. One slip up and...why didn’t the idea of him biting her bring her fear anymore?

       Her steps were small and slow as MC walked to the mansion the next day, tripping and stumbling more than once over roots and rocks she had always avoided easily before. She hadn’t slept well the night before, tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, those golden eyes were there, inviting her closer. She had considered not even coming today, but she’d eventually decided otherwise after spending all day unable to focus and watching the sun near the horizon from her bedroom window. Something restless in her heart wouldn’t let her avoid him.

       “Comte?” she called, too softly, when she opened the door. The newly polished wood and iron gave way easily under her touch. No answer, but she knew he could sense her, just as the mansion could. 

       The mansion at night made her want to curl up in front of a fire, preferably in the arms of her loved one. The candles in their newly restored candleholders cast warm, golden light on the richly colored walls and paintings, and she tried to ignore the burst of heat in her chest as she passed the painting Le Comte had gotten for her. The lovers within the frame became especially apparent in the romantic light, hands and lips on naked flesh. 

       She continued to Le Comte’s bedroom, taking a deep breath as she lifted a fist to knock. Still no answer, and her brow furrowed, but just as she was about to grasp the knob she heard something shatter from inside the room. 

       “Comte?” A pained moan and her heart jumped into her throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m coming in!”

       The glass shards lying across the floor were the least of her worries as she barged in, her attention falling on the man bent on the rug. A sense of deja vu settled over her, but before she’d taken even a few steps towards him one of his hands shot up, stopping her in place.

       “Why’d you come?” he grunted, his voice choked and dry. He didn’t give her any time to answer, continuing, “You shouldn’t be here.”

       “I came because I was worried,” she admitted softly, soothingly. “Comte, are you starving again?”

       “No!” The harsh edge to his tone made her jump, but she held her ground, digging her nails into her palm as she took another couple of steps towards him. He turned on her from his place on the floor, baring long, sharp fangs in a snarl. “Don’t come any closer!” 

       Maybe she should have, but MC felt no fear as she knelt in front of him, warm palm meeting his cool cheek. He stared at her, eyes shining with astonishment and hunger, sadness and longing. “Why didn’t you tell me you were starving?” she questioned, giving him a heartbroken smile. “Why didn’t you ask me for help? Do you not trust me enough for this?”

       Heartbeats passed as he stared at her, and for a second she wondered if he had heard her through his ravenous haze, if he was already too far gone in his bloodlust. Finally, his lips parted and he whispered, “It’s not that.” He closed his eyes, drooping into her touch. “It’s not that.”

       Without a word, she reached up, undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse. His eyes still closed, Le Comte let her guide him to the crook of her neck, but as soon as the warmth of her skin pressed against his cheek, he jolted, tearing out of her hold and dragging himself back along the rug, away from her.

       “You know nothing!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You have no idea what I want to do to you!”

       “Then tell me!” she pleaded, hands fisting in her skirt. “Let me help you!”

       “I want to bite you!” he cried, anguished that she didn’t understand even as his eyes glinted with a feral light. “I want to sink my fangs into you and fuck you until all of you is mine! Until you’re filled with me!”

       MC stared, frozen at his omission. Maybe she hadn’t known the extent of his hunger for her, what it fully entailed, but she would happily let him have everything he wanted of her depending on his answer to her next question.

       “Is it just because you’re starving?” she asked quietly. “Could anyone satisfy you right now?”

       His gaze locked with hers, weighing the question. He knew exactly what she was asking. “No,” he admitted, his voice hushed, and the tension in the room reached a climax. “Only you. I starve for your blood, your body, and yours alone.”

       “Then I don’t care,” she laughed breathlessly. Her heart felt like it was ready to beat out of her chest, and she couldn’t restrain her relieved smile as she met his wide-eyed expression. “Bite me...fuck me...and I’ll still love you.”

       A heartbeat later, she was lifted off the floor, weightless, and tossed onto the bed. She bounced on the mattress, sinking into the luscious pillows and blankets, before a solid weight settled over her. Grabbing her hands, Le Comte pinned them above her head, hot tongue leaving a wet trail against her neck. His hips settled between her legs, pinning her to the mattress as he teased the sensitive spot on the side of her throat with the tips of his fangs. 

       “Oh…” She writhed under him, skirt slipping up her thighs as she wrapped a leg around his waist. Her body still remembered how it felt to be bitten by him, the overwhelming pleasure, the heat. “Please…!”

       “Abel,” he whispered in her ear, making her still for a moment. “I want you calling me by my real name as I claim you.” His fangs slipped so suddenly into her neck, she barely registered the pain before pleasure claimed her unprepared body, nerve endings set alight with sudden arousal. Her vision blurred and she might’ve screamed, but she didn’t know, too focused on the way his body was pressing into her suddenly oversensitive one as her blood flowed into his mouth. It was more powerful this time, whether made so by the sudden confession between them or his increased need for her, she didn’t know and didn’t care. All she could think of was the mournful emptiness in her core and the rush of release that ruined her panties as he continued to drink from her.

       When MC came to, she was naked, bare to him in the firelight. Her heart was pounding and her inner thighs were wet, slick with her cum. Le Comte...Abel...wasn’t on top of her anymore, his hands on her calves holding her legs apart as he knelt by her feet. She gasped silently, eyes widening, when she realized he was equally bare, every inch of him more gorgeous than she could have ever imagined as the firelight danced across his skin.

       “So beautiful,” he purred, kissing up the inside of her leg from her ankle to her thigh. “You were sent here just for me, weren’t you? Sent to free me, all for me to love.” She couldn’t answer, squeezing her eyes shut and digging her fingers into the sheets as he neared the apex of her thighs. “Mmm, you smell positively delectable, mon amour.”

       She yelped, fingers flying to his hair as his fangs burrowed into the soft skin of her thigh. It was more painful in a spot so vulnerable, but the pleasure after the pain was more intense too, making her writhe in his grip as another wave of release soaked her thighs. She mewled and panted as he took greedy gulps from her, laving his tongue lovingly across the bloodied skin when he’d had his fill. Her body shuddered with the aftershocks of a second orgasm, and she whimpered, too sensitive to his touch. Such rapture shouldn’t have been humanly possible, wasn’t humanly possible.

       “You’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” Abel moaned, eyes half-lidded as he peered up at her from between her legs. His hands ran up and down her legs, bending them at the knees as he crawled closer, hot breath fanning against her wet pussy. He took her in so greedily, so hungrily, she had to resist the urge to close her legs around him, to hide away from the intensity of his gaze. Never had anyone looked at her like that before, starving for her. 

       MC gasped his name breathlessly when his tongue licked a stripe along her slit, and he groaned at the taste of her arousal. “Absolutely soaked,” he purred, licking his lips. “I don’t believe I even need to prepare you for me.” 

       She trembled as he licked her again, yelping and bucking her hips into his face when his mouth wrapped around her clit. His grip on her hips held her still as his tongue delved inside of her, chin shining with her wetness as he slurped and moaned. Though she had never admitted it, this was what she had wanted for so long, her love reciprocated to the utmost. And as much as she wanted him to continue, she was already oversensitive from the intensity of her previous two climaxes. She wouldn’t be able to take much more without it becoming painful soon and she wanted him inside of her, filling and stretching and claiming her.

       “A-Abel,” she managed to say, her vision blurred with pleasured tears. “T-Too much. Too sensitive.”

       That’s what she said, but she still nearly cried when his tongue left her, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut to keep herself from shoving his head back between her legs. His warmth fell over her as he moved on top of her, soft lips kissing the corners of her eyes and trailing over her cheeks. She mewled when his hardened cock brushed her throbbing core, unintentionally teasing her. Even just brushing against her, she could tell he was huge, bigger than any human male could ever be.

       “Are you okay?” he murmured softly, and she nodded.

       Opening her eyes, MC cupped his cheek, leaning up to kiss him with as much love and need as she could muster. “Please,” she whispered against his lips, “Make me yours?”

       Even though she’d already confessed so much to him tonight, Abel still looked at her with such amazement in his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe she was actually real and here with him. Placing his hand over hers, he closed his eyes, smiling into her palm. “I don’t deserve to...but it would be my honor.” He didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t need to; the weight of mutual love and adoration that filled the space between them and his overjoyed smile against her skin said enough.

       Without wasting another moment, he reached between them and gently guided himself into her, hazy, lust-focused golden eyes peering into hers as a shudder wracked their joined forms. Her nails dug into his back, core squeezing around the pulsing length burrowing inside of her.

       “Relax, mon amour,” he whispered, nuzzling the soft spot below her ear. Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, she tried to relax the clenching in her lower stomach, gradually adjusting to the stretch. 

       “Please,” she whined, planting kisses across his chin and jaw. “Move.”

       The world she knew fell away, nonexistent. All there was was him and her and this place, wrapped up with velvet and warm firelight as her vampire made love to her.

       His thrusts into her were slow and forceful, the pleasure it brought rolling over her in spine-tingling waves. Her back arched, head thrown back to expose her neck to his hungry lips, as he held her against him. 

       “Perfect,” he moaned against her skin, his breath raising goosebumps on her flesh. “Absolutely perfect.”

       Her toes curled as he lifted her hips, changing the angle and hitting spots deep inside of her that made her see stars. Her arms laced around him, vice-like as she held onto him desperately. Each powerful stroke into her teased the edge of her climax, igniting her nerves, and the feeling of his mouth closing around the nipple of one bouncing breast made her scream.

       She writhed, helplessly grinding her hips to meet his thrusts as he sucked the hardened bud, teasing it with his fangs. His other hand pinched and rolled its twin, his thrusts turning harder as he fucked her into the mattress. He let go of her breast with a wet pop, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake as he moved up her chest, nipping at her collarbone for good measure.

       “Does it feel good?” he purred in her ear, honeyed voice dripping with sin. “Do you like the way it feels, my fangs in your throat and my cock in your cunt?”

       “Yes!” she cried, desperate. She wanted so badly to cum again, to reach her climax for the third time tonight. It was already so, so close. “Please - anhg! - Don’t stop!”

       He chuckled, warm breath fanning against her skin. “I don’t intend to.” His cock slammed into the sensitive spot inside of her, his hand reaching between her legs to find her clit. “Not until your body knows me and me alone.”

       She could feel the coil deep in her stomach starting to tighten, signaling her impending climax. “Haa...A-Abel! I’m - I’m close! Ah...more! Feels...ha...so good! I need more!”

       Something changed in him at her words, whatever control he had recovered after drinking her blood vanishing. Grunting, he grabbed the backs of her knees and pushed them against her chest. “Cum around my cock,” he coaxed, face alight with feral desire. The expression was unfamiliar on his gentlemanly face, but it still shot a pulse of heat straight to her core, making her squeeze around him. “Make me cum inside of you.”

       MC screamed, coating him in her release as he rammed into her, the new position sending her over the edge and into her climax. She sobbed, fluttering around his piercing cock as the blunt head pummeled her cervix, the slight pain making her orgasm all the more ravaging. 

       He groaned, thrusts turning sloppy as her core milked him, and with another few deep thrusts inside of her, he came, growling into her neck as he pulsed. She trembled at the feeling of his cum filling her, hot and thick and pooling somewhere deep inside of her as her eyes closed and her body turned weightless.

       She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until her eyes fluttered open, finding herself tucked under the covers and cuddled against a warm, bare chest. 

       “You’re awake,” Le Comte’s voice rumbled against her cheek, and she tilted her head to peer up at him as his fingers carded soothingly through her hair. “Are you okay?”

       “Yeah.” She blushed, noting the soreness and lingering warmth between her thighs. “It was just...intense.” The corner of his lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk, and she kept talking before he could tease her. “Do you not sleep?” she said softly, reaching to tuck her arms around him in turn. 

       “I do,” he chuckled with a raised brow, relaxing into her embrace. 

       “Then why don’t you?”

       “...I’m almost afraid to sleep,” he admitted wryly. “Maybe this...meeting you...has all been a dream and I’m still stuck in that bottle.”

       Her grip on him tightened, snuggling him closer. She hadn’t known he’d felt this way, scarred by his time trapped and alone, but of course he would. He felt and processed experiences just as she did. Leaning up, she kissed him softly, feeling his arms pull her closer. “I’m real,” she murmured, holding his gaze, those brilliant golden eyes she had originally fallen so deeply in love with. “This is real, and I love you. I still don’t know how I was able to find this place, but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

       “What did I do for God to send you to me?” His breathing stuttered and he said on a shaky exhale, “I’ve done things, things that pervert the rules of nature, things that I never want to tell you. How can I possibly deserve you?”

       “Hmm, do you love me?” She smiled, her heart feeling full enough to burst from her chest.

       “Madly,” he answered, without missing a beat.

       “Then we’ll work our way up from there. Just know that I can’t remember ever being happier than I have been here with you these past months.” Leaning up for a last kiss, she felt him smile against her lips. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

       There was still much to discuss, a whole dynamic to work out between them, but it could wait until morning. For now, they could sleep in each other’s arms, blissfully in love and ready to face the challenges that would come with each tomorrow.

       They had all the time in the world, after all.

[wishbonetea]

The Whisper Networks

Alvarez has always heard the secrets of objects, whispering about who they truly belong to. But when Alvarez comes across a map on display in Laila’s Apothecary, stealing it doesn’t go to plan. Laila isn’t the fraud Alvarez assumed her to be, so while taking the map is a simple matter, keeping Laila from taking it back seems to be an impossible feat. When Alvarez realises that the map is more than a little magical, Alvarez and Laila have to put aside their petty feud and follow where the whispers lead.

⁂

A Magic AU for the @aftgbigbang

[Read on AO3]

Alvarez felt their stomach leave their body as gravity pulled them down the steep slope of 16th Street. San Francisco was known for its insane topography, but it made for a hell of a skatepark. There was, of course, the high risk that they would collide with oncoming traffic, but Alvarez had the timing of the traffic lights down to the second. Risk would never subside, but it was something they had learned to conquer over the twenty-two years they’d lived in the city. Alvarez—no first name, no last name, just the one name—was a first-generation Mexican-American and still spent a week every year in Mexico City with their extended family. But they had a huge family in Northern California too, and not just those they were blood related to. Sure, they had a whole address book filled with cousins and nephews and grandparents and in-laws, but Alvarez also considered their mailman family, along with the cashiers at their local greengrocers and the hot barista who blushed at Alvarez’s aimless flirting despite the engagement ring on her finger. She knew there was nothing to Alvarez’s pet names and compliments—it was something Alvarez graced with everyone and anyone they met—but it gave Alvarez an ego boost to see the effect they had on women all the same. It was aimless, sure, but it was still fun. Alvarez took a sharp turn onto the crosswalk while the pedestrian lights still flashed green, and weaved around pedestrians. They ducked down to control their weight more as their board slid back onto the asphalt and slipped past the parked cars that were half pulled up onto the sidewalk. The odd bits of trash littered the streets and Alvarez swerved to avoid an empty plastic bottle that rolled in the summer breeze. They almost hadn’t noticed it, and they definitely wouldn’t have heard it over the growl of their board’s wheels. Alvarez liked risks and high stakes, but they weren’t stupid enough to play music through headphones as they skated through the busy streets of the city, even if it would have made their daily journey considerably cooler. At the reform synagogue with green painted walls and LGBT flags hanging in the windows, Alvarez finally pulled onto Dolores Street, only coming to a stop when they reached the concrete stairs leading to Rosa Sanchez’s apartment. They leaned down to grab their board before it continued to roll out of reach, and tucked it under their arm as they jogged up to the front door. The glass rattled as they knocked once, twice, thrice— “Jesus, Jesus, I’m coming!” Rosa’s voice called through the doorway, impatient as always. The slap of chanclas punctuated each rushed step and Alvarez was already grinning by the time Rosa pulled open the door with an annoyed expression. “Hi, Rosa,” Alvarez said in a sing-song tone, as if she had hugged them tight and stuffed their pockets with their favourite chocolates. “I’m happy to see you, too!” “You’re late,” Rosa said. “I have a client due any minute now.” Alvarez scoffed. “They can wait. This is more important— you are more important.” “Ah, don’t give me that. You can’t charm your way out of everything, you know. One day that mouth of yours will get you into trouble.” Alvarez grinned. “But today is not that day. Instead, I come bearing gifts.” Alvarez shook off their backpack and unzipped it to bring out their latest find. It was a black-and-white photograph, featuring a group of women holding flyers and models of cable cars. At the sight of the photograph, Rosa quickly stopped her chastising. Her expression morphed into one of wonder, and it was because of reactions like these that Alvarez did what they did. “How— how did you find this? I haven’t seen this in years.” “Oh, you know.” They dismissed it like it had been easy to track down the photograph, because in truth: it had. Alvarez wasn’t like some bounty hunter, spending hours on the road looking for clues and making pin-boards with red string. It was less ‘finding an object for a client’ and more ‘finding a client for an object.’ Most of Alvarez’s

clients didn’t know them, and usually chased them off their front porch for talking nonsense. A few had threatened to call the police, though Alvarez tended to chalk that up for everyday racism rather than something strictly personal. But all of them shut up once Alvarez showed them the object that was intended for them. Because Alvarez knew without a shadow of doubt that the objects were meant for their clients: they knew this, because the objects said so. It was all very dramatic, and Alvarez often wished that the objects would talk back to them just so Alvarez was certain they’d heard all the complaints and grumbles about how infuriatingly vague the whispers were. But in the end, they found out. Whether it took hours or days or weeks, Alvarez eventually tracked down the owner of the objects they stumbled upon, and they perused the city trying to track them down and deliver their fates. The hardest part was to decipher the whispers enough to determine whether the object belonged to someone outside of the city or not. If so, returning it was usually a lost cause. Alvarez relied on gossip more than anything else, so more often than not they turned to their family for help. Everyone knew everyone in the Alvarez family, which meant that when Alvarez got home after a day’s work, they could trade a day’s chores for gossip from their brother, Félix, and ask, “Do you know who said ‘The colour and romance of San Francisco must not be destroyed?” If he didn’t know, they could then fix their mom a cup of coffee and ask her. If their mom didn’t know, she would turn and ask her husband, and if he didn’t know, she would pick up the landline phone from the side table and call her sister, and if she didn’t know she would yell to see if anyone in her household knew, and Alvarez’s cousins would text their friends and their friends’ families, and their friends’ families’ friends, and eventually someone knew that the phrase came from a series of flyers regarding a ballot in the 1940s. It made introductions at front doors a nightmare, as Alvarez often got tongue-tied over how many friend-of-a-friend they were, but eventually they said a name that sounded familiar, and they were invited in for tea. “My grandmother was part of a committee to save the cable cars in town when the mayor wanted to scrap them in favour of buses and cars,” Rosa explained. “They proposed this ballot initiative to amend the City Charter, and they managed to win.” Alvarez didn’t want to tell her that they already knew this, but it was nice for someone to fill in the blanks that the photograph had left out. When Rosa was momentarily lost in memories and nostalgia, Alvarez shot the photograph a glare, but it didn’t respond. They never did—not even to say thank you. “Where did you find it?” Rosa asked. And that was where Alvarez tended to find themself in trouble. Because objects that belonged to people but were not currently in those people’s possession, were either lost or stolen. Either way, they tended to be somewhere that wasn’t particularly easy to take out. Unfortunately, some objects refused to acknowledge the concept of trading, and on several occasions Alvarez had gone out of their way to take something from someone’s house and return it to their previous owner, only to find out that the previous owner had willingly sold it and didn’t want it anymore. On one occasion, an old white woman had paled and looked unusually shaken when Alvarez tried to return a garden flamingo to her: she then claimed that the flamingo was haunting her, and that she kept finding it in her garden after trying to sell it and donate it and throw it out six times previously. The flamingo called bullshit, but Alvarez was the only one to hear its protests. Since the woman didn’t want it, Alvarez had instead taken it home and it now sat proudly on their kitchen windowsill, complaining loudly at everything it could see through the kitchen window, or complaining about what it couldn’t see through the kitchen window, since the kitchen

didn’t have the best of views. “A library sale,” Alvarez said. “I think it was in the archives or something.” “Luck has graced us then,” Rosa said, with more fondness in her tone than she had offered Alvarez in every exchange prior to now. “Come in, you must stay for dinner. I’m making pozole.” “Oh, that’s alright, Rosa,” Alvarez said. “I don’t want to intrude and I’ve got a few errands to run for my mom.” “Tomorrow, then. Or the day after. I can’t simply thank you for returning this to me.” Alvarez smiled. “Tomorrow sounds good.” With promises to return to Rosa’s apartment at seven o’clock the following day, Alvarez zipped up their backpack and slung it over their shoulder again. They took to the streets again, their twisted hair waving behind them in the wind as they skated west. They lived in the Mission District, but Alvarez hadn’t been lying about the errands they had to run for their mom that afternoon. Thankfully, everything she’d wanted Alvarez to pick up could be found in one place: Laila’s Apothecary.

read the rest on AO3

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

Rewind

For Suptober Day 12: Rewind

So, this one really got away from me but I just couldn’t help myself so have 4300 words of Destiel fluff.

“Dean, did you inventory your half of the annex like I asked you to?” Sam hollered as he walked down the stairs of the bunker, having just got back from a hunt with Eileen.

Dean, who had his feet propped up on the map table and a beer in his hand, scoffed at his brother’s question. “I’ll get to it. I thought you were going to be gone for another few days, anyways.”

Sam flashed a bitch face at his brother as he set his duffel on the table. “Dude, I’ve been gone for a week longer than expected.”

“Whatever. It’ll get it done, I promise,” Dean replied as he took a sip of his beer.

“Dammit Dean! Can’t you just do something when I ask you to do it? We agreed to split the annex in half and I’m already done with my half. There could be tons of new books and artifacts that could be really useful, but we won’t know because you won’t sort through the stuff,” Sam said angrily.

Dean slammed his bottle on the table and dropped his feet to the floor. “Alright, if it will get you to quit bitching, I’ll go start now. Geez, how Eileen puts up with you is beyond me.” Dean drank the last of his beer before walking out the war room.

“Stupid, pushy brother. Always has to be on my case,” Dean grumbled as he made his way down the maze of hallways to the annex. “Dude needs to have a romp in the sack with Eileen and then maybe he can be like Elsa and let it go.”

Dean flicked the light switch on and groaned. Half of the annex was completely reorganized and not a single thing was out of place. The other half was disorderly with boxes thrown around haphazardly and sheets covering most of the stuff. “Son of a bitch,” he growled as he walked over to the nearest box and opened it. A mouse scurried out and ran across the toe of Dean’s boot before disappearing under a shelf.

He spent the next five hours cleaning and had barely seemed to make a dent. He went to the kitchen to grab a beer, happy that he didn’t run into his brother. He did run into somebody else, though.

Dean was walking into the kitchen and looking at his phone, so he never saw the trench coat clad angel walking through the entryway. As he collided with Cas, his phone fell to the floor and Dean would have fallen on his ass had Cas not grabbed him by the arm.

“Dean, are you ok?” Cas asked, his hand still wrapped tightly around the hunter’s bicep.

“Yeah Cas, I’m good. Thanks for catching me,” Dean said with a light blush.

Cas finally dropped his hand and picked up Dean’s phone off the floor. He handed it back and said, “You’re welcome. So, what are you and Sam up to?”

Dean pocketed his phone and went to the fridge to grab a beer. “I don’t even know where Sam is at the moment. Probably taking one of his six hour bubble baths. I’m organizing my half of the annex so Sammy will quit bitching at me to do it. What are you doing here, I thought you were taking care of some important angel business?”

“Um, it’s all done,” Cas said quickly. “I figured I would come check on you and your brother since I’ve been gone for so long.” Cas glanced at Dean before immediately looking away. 

Dean didn’t say anything about the angel acting kind of strange. He was used to Cas being a little odd. “We’re good actually. Just a few monster of the week cases but nothing major for once.”

Cas nodded once. “That’s good. Um, would you like any help with your organizing?”

Dean’s eyes went wide before he stammered, “Uh, n-no. I’m, I’m good. I promised Sam I’d do it on my own anyways. He did his side on his own, so it’s only fair for me to do it… on my own, you know?” Dean wanted to smack himself for how stupid he sounded.

The angel’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Ok. I’ll just go to my room then. If you change your mind, let me know.” Cas left without another word.

Dean watched him go before scrubbing a hand down his face and muttering, “Fuck.”

The crush he had carried for Cas had long since turned into full blown romantic love. Dean had no idea how to handle such a concept. He was not a guy who met someone, fell in love, and settled down. He was a hunter who loved them and left them after a night or two. With Cas, he could never imagine sleeping with the angel once and then leaving him. Dean wanted the apple pie life, but he knew he could never have that. He was a hunter and not to mention a pretty lousy human. Why would an Angel of the Lord ever consider Dean for a partner?

As Dean fell deeper in love with Cas, the more flustered he got being around the angel. He could hardly be in Cas’ presence for more than a few minutes before he started imagining what Cas’ lips would feel like or what his hands running along Dean’s skin would feel like. Having normal conversations with Cas was becoming impossible and now he just sounded like a love-sick idiot every time he was around the man. Dean knew if he had accepted Cas’ offer to help organize, he wouldn’t have organized anything because he would spend the whole time staring at the angel.

Dean sighed as he walked back to the annex. He started going through boxes again, putting things in two separate piles. A pile for stuff to be kept and a pile for broken junk that needed to get thrown away. Dean was grabbing another box off the shelf when he stepped on something and lost his footing. He crashed to the ground and the box went flying. “Son of a bitch,” he cried.

He rolled his shoulders before getting to his knees and picking up the stuff that now littered the floor. He had an armful of junk and dumped it back in the box. He looked around and grabbed a small wooden brown case that he had missed. He looked at the case and could barely make out some writing under the layer of dust. He rubbed his finger across the top and read the writing.

“Rewind Buzzer. What the heck can it rewind?” Dean asked as he opened the box.

The inside of the case was lined with red velvet and a piece of paper was lying on top of whatever was in the box. Dean picked the paper up and read the sentence written on it. His eyes got big at what he read. He dropped the paper to the ground and stared at the buzzer nestled in the case.

The buzzer was a device that could rewind time. Dean grinned at the idea of what he could do with that ability. The amount of pranks he could pull on Sam were infinite. He picked the paper back up and turned it over, searching for how far back in time the buzzer went.

Dean looked up when he heard his name called. Cas walked into the annex, wearing a pair of sweats and one of Dean’s old band tees. It was a rarity to see him in anything but his suit and trench coat and Dean couldn’t help but stare. Cas was always handsome but looking at him now, Dean thought he was drop dead gorgeous.

“Dean, are you ok? You’re staring at me more than usual,” Cas said, a small smile on his face.

“Uh, yeah, Cas, I’m good,” Dean replied, his cheeks turning a bright red. “Just not used to seeing you without your suit and trench coat.” He sat the case on the shelf and moved to stand in front of the angel.

Cas picked at the hem of his shirt. “I can go change if you want. You’ve told me for years the bunker is my home and one is supposed to be comfortable in their home, correct?”

Dean’s face softened as he reached out and laid his hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Yeah, buddy you are. Please don’t go change on my account. You have every right to be comfortable here. This is your home.”

“Thanks Dean,” Cas said as he hesitantly pulled the hunter in for a hug.

“You’re welcome angel,” Dean replied as he wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders. He savored being wrapped in the angel’s tight embrace, knowing it would only last for a few seconds. He couldn’t help but take in a deep breath of Cas’ rich earthy scent before the man pulled away. Dean barely managed to not whimper at losing the feeling of warmth the angel offered.

Cas looked over Dean’s shoulder and his gaze landed on the box Dean had been holding. He walked over to investigate. He picked the box up and studied the buzzer before looking at Dean. “This is a very powerful object and is imbued with archangel grace.”

“What?” Dean asked with surprise, moving to stand next to Cas. “So, do you know how it works then?”

Cas nodded. “I do, it was once carefully guarded by Heaven because of how powerful it is. It has the ability to rewind time even if it can only go back five minutes.”

“Five minutes doesn’t seem like such a big deal,” Dean scoffed. It wouldn’t be very useful in pulling pranks on his little brother, that was for sure.

“No, it doesn’t but five minutes can make a huge difference in something such as a battle. This was created to help angels gain an upper hand over demons in the war we had with them,” Cas explained. “The next time I go to Heaven, I will take this with me. We can’t afford for it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Dean, who had been lost in thought about what he could do if he could rewind time, looked up at Cas. “What? Why? The bunker is perfectly safe! No demon can get in here with all the warding.”

Cas titled his head. “I don’t know Dean. Heaven is even safer than this when it comes to demons. Why do you care where it goes anyways?”

“Uh, I do-don’t,” Dean stammered. “You know what, never mind. I’ll just put it on the shelf so you know where it is when you go back to Heaven.”

Cas nodded. “Thank you Dean. Now, are you sure you don’t want help with cleaning this up?”

Dean quickly replied, “Yeah, I’m sure! Like I said earlier, if Sam can do his half on his own, it’s only fair I do my half on my own. Why don’t you go relax in the Dean Cave. Watch some Netflix and Chill.”

Cas looked at Dean with curiosity but only said, “Okay Dean. If you want to join me, you’re welcome to.”

“Yeah, maybe in a little bit. I should get some more organizing done,” Dean replied.

“Alright, see you later,” Cas said lowly before turning around and walking out the room. 

As soon as he was gone, Dean grabbed the case off the shelf. While talking to Cas, he had come up with an idea. Even though he didn’t have much hope that Cas might actually like him, he finally had the guts to try. With the buzzer, he could tell Cas how he felt and then if the angel didn’t return the sentiment, Dean would just rewind time and deal with his broken heart by getting lost at the bottom of a bottle. He slipped the buzzer in his pocket before heading to the Dean Cave.

He walked in the room to see Cas sitting on the couch, Orange is the New Black playing on the TV. “Hey Cas,” Dean said softly.

Cas paused the show before looking over his shoulder at Dean. He smiled as he said, “Hello Dean. Change your mind?”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck as he answered, “Uh, well there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Ok, what is it?”

“Ok, well, the thing is, I, uh, wanted to tell you about how I feel. About you that is,” Dean added.

Cas stood up and walked towards Dean. “What exactly do you want to tell me?”

“So, the thing is, you know you mean a lot to me… and to Sam. We both, you know, care about you,” Dean said awkwardly.

“I know. You said you both think of me as a brother,” Cas said, his lips curved up at the corners.

“Exactly, well… not exactly. You see Cas, I don’t really think of you as a brother,” Dean replied, he cheeks turning red.

Cas snapped his head back. “Oh.” His shoulders slumped and his eyes became glued to the floor. “I just forgot there’s something I need to do. Excuse me.” Cas pushed past Dean, hurrying towards the exit.

Dean turned around and grabbed Cas’ wrist. “Cas, wait!”

“You know, you could have told me the truth instead of lying to me for so long,” Cas cried as he ripped his wrist out of Dean’s grasp.

He fled down the hallway before Dean could say anything else. “Son of a bitch,” Dean shouted in frustration. “That was not how it was supposed to go.” Dean pulled the buzzer out of his pocket. “Alright, I really hope this damn thing works.” 

He pressed the buzzer down and felt as if his stomach was being twisted from the inside out. He slammed his eyes shut and focused on trying not to puke. Once his stomach settled, he opened his eyes to find himself standing back in the annex. He blinked before looking at the buzzer. “Huh, guess it does work. Now, to try this again.”

Dean hurried to the Dean Cave. “Hey Cas, can I talk to you?”

Cas paused his show and looked over his shoulder. “Hello Dean, of course you can. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to tell you how I feel… about you, that is,” Dean added, the tips of his ears warming up.

Cas stood to his feet and walked over to Dean. “About me? I don’t understand.”

Dean took a deep breath before saying, “Ok, so you know how I told you that you’re like a brother to me and Sam. Well, the truth is… I uh, well I, um, dammit.” Dean cursed himself for getting tongue tied. Why was it so hard to just tell Cas how he felt?

Cas squinted his eyes. “Dean, you’re not making any sense.”

“I know, I’m not. I’m trying to tell you how I don’t think of you as a brother,” Dean cried.

Just like last time, Cas became extremely upset and stormed out of the room.

“Dammit! No more talking about Cas as a brother,” Dean growled before pressing the button again.

Once he had gotten over the jarring feeling of travelling back in time, Dean headed to Cas for a third time. “Cas, I need to talk to you,” he said, harsher than he intended, but he was getting frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard to tell the angel that Dean was in love with him.

Cas paused the show and said, “Ok, about what?”

Dean stood in front of the TV looking at Cas. “So, there’s something I’ve been hiding for a while and I decided it’s time that I tell you.”

Cas stood to his feet. “Ok, what is it?”

“The truth is, you’re important to me Cas, like really important,” Dean said in a rush.

Cas smiled. “Dean, I already know that. You’re important to me as well. You and Sam.”

Dean frowned. “I’m not talking about Sam right now, I’m talking about you and how I feel about you.”

“I already know how you feel about me Dean,” Cas said as he settled a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“You do?” Dean asked excitedly.

Cas nodded. “Of course, you told me how you and Sam consider me a brother. I know how high of an honor that is.”

“Ugh, why the hell does the whole thing about you being a brother keep coming up? That’s not how I feel about you anymore,” Dean hollered. For the third time in a row, he watched Cas walk out the room.

“Son of a bitch!”

Dean pressed the buzzer and then hurried towards the Dean Cave. “Cas I need to talk to you and it has nothing to do with you being like a brother to me and Sam.”

Cas paused the TV and looked at Dean with a head tilt. “Ok, that is random but oddly specific.”

“Whatever, I need to tell you something and I need you to listen,” Dean said, ignoring Cas’ comment.

“Well, I’m not stopping you.”

“So, here goes, the truth is Cas, I really really care about you a lot! Like a lot, a lot,” Dean said hurriedly. 

Cas chuckled. “Dean, I care about you a lot as well. It’s not like I didn’t already know that. Did you just want to get out of cleaning the annex?”

“What? No! Cas, are you listening to me? I just said I like you a lot!” Dean was staring at the angel, pleading with his eyes for Cas to understand what he meant.

Cas just smiled and patted Dean on the shoulder. “I like you a lot too, Dean, which is a good thing since we spend so much time together. I’m gonna grab a beer, would you like one?”

Dean watched helplessly as Cas walked out the room. “You’ve got to be kidding me! How could he not get what I was saying? Am I going to have to spell it out for him?” Dean groaned and pressed the buzzer again.

At this point, he didn’t even notice the twisting in his stomach from the buzzer. This time his stomach was twisting from something else. He didn’t say “I love you” very often and apparently he was going to have to say it for Cas to understand what Dean was trying to tell him. Things just got a whole lot harder. He trudged to the Dean Cave, trying to build up his courage. 

“Cas, can I talk to you?” Dean asked as he walked into the room.

“Of course,” Cas said as he paused the TV.

Dean huffed, “Alright, I’m just going to say it! Cas, I love yo- yo-yogurt.”

Cas snorted. “Oook. Thank you for telling me although I never would have thought you would like yogurt. That seems more like something Sam would like.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! How do I keep screwing this up?” Dean shouted. He didn’t even wait for Cas to walk out the room before pulling the buzzer out and pressing the button.

Dean tried again and this time told Cas he loved yodeling. “Who the fuck even likes yodeling?” Dean screamed after pressing the buzzer again.

He tried again and screwed up, this time tripping over his feet and breaking his wrist as he ran into the Dean Cave. Another try, another failure after he got so tongue tied that he just walked out the room, his head hanging in shame. Three more rewinds, three more failed attempts at telling Cas the truth. Once Dean rewound time again, he sunk to the floor and dropped his head in his hands.

He sat there, feeling hopeless. He could slice a vamp’s head off their shoulders or put a silver bullet straight through a werewolf’s head but he couldn’t tell a dorky angel how he felt about him. “I’ve saved the fucking world multiple times, but whenever I try to tell Cas I love him, I screw up. Maybe, I’m just not meant to be with Cas and this is some crazy sign.”

“Dean?”

The hunter looked up at the soft whisper of his voice. His face paled when he saw Cas standing in the doorway. He scrambled to his feet, refusing to look at the angel. He didn’t look up until Cas reached out and gently forced his chin up. Green locked with blue.

“Did you mean that? What you just said,” Cas asked, fear evident in his voice.

Dean wanted to disagree, wanted to deny the words, but he had been trying to tell the truth to the angel for the past hour. He had just hoped it would be in a different way. “Yeah, Cas, it’s true,” Dean said with a sigh.

Cas’ thumb rubbed against Dean’s cheek. “Why do you sound so upset about that?”

Dean pulled away from Cas and took the buzzer out of his pocket. “I’ve been trying to tell you the truth for the past half hour and couldn’t manage to say it to your face!”

“Dean, you’ve been in the annex for the past hour. I know you said you didn’t want my help, but I couldn’t let you do this all on your own,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head. “No, I’ve been using the rewind buzzer to keep going back in time, but I kept screwing up every time I tried to tell you the truth.”

“How many times have you used the buzzer?”

Dean thought about it before embarrassingly admitting, “Eleven times.”

“And you’ve rewound back to this time every time and not let the new timeline play out?”

“Well, yeah because I kept screwing up,” Dean said angrily.

“Dean, because you kept coming back here, the time loop reset itself. The only way it wouldn’t have is if you had gone back in time and let the new future play out, then I wouldn’t have been sitting on the couch watching Netflix for the past hour,” Cas explained.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, “Not like it really matters. Eleven times trying to tell you how I feel about you and eleven times I fucked up.”

Cas stepped closer and reached out and entwined his fingers with Dean’s. “Twelfth time’s a charm.”

“I didn’t want you to find out that way though. I wanted to tell you to your face but I kept getting so nervous because I really didn’t think you would feel the same way,” Dean admitted, as he dropped his eyes, not looking at Cas.

“Dean, how could you possibly think I don’t feel the same way? Have you never noticed the way I look at you or the unbelievable amount of times I’ve told you we shared a more profound bond? I always take care of you first before healing Sam and I’ve never turned up a chance to work a case with you or join you at a diner for burgers and pie. Dean, I’ve loved you for years but I didn’t think you did,” Cas declared.

Dean looked up in awe. “You really mean all of that?”

“Mhm, every word of it.”

“But why, I’m just a human and a lousy one at that,” Dean said, self-deprecating as always.

“You are no such thing! You are the strongest, bravest man I know and there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for your family! You think so little of yourself because you’ve always made sure everybody else was taken care of. Well, now it’s my turn to take care of you. Please, let me,” Cas begged.

Dean looked into the eyes of the angel he loved. “I’m not strong enough to say no.”

“That’s ok, this one time you can be weak,” Cas whispered before pulling Dean into a kiss. Dean slid his hands into Cas' hair while the angel wrapped one hand around Dean’s waist and the other around the back of his neck.

Cas slid his lips against Dean’s lightly, just savoring the feel of the hunter’s lips against his. Dean, it seemed, wasn’t wanting gentle. Dean pressed his lips harder against Cas’ before slipping his tongue out and licking along the seam of Cas’ mouth. Cas opened immediately and Dean slid his tongue inside of the angel’s mouth. Their tongues met in the middle and slid against each other before moving to explore one another’s mouth. Cas angled his head, allowing him to seal his mouth even more tightly over Dean’s as their tongues continued to dance together.

Dean finally had to pull away, the need for air too great. He smirked when he saw that Cas was just as affected by the kiss. His hair was sticking up at all angles and his lips were swollen and red. Dean figured he didn’t look much better.

Cas looked affectionately at Dean. “Does that prove how I feel about you?”

Dean’s lips turned up at the corners. “Yeah Cas it does. I love you too.” He rubbed his nose against Cas before pressing another chaste kiss to the angel’s lips as his arms slid around Cas’ waist. He let his cheek rest on Cas’ shoulder, enjoying the warmth of being wrapped in the angel’s arms.

Cas smiled down at the hunter, reaching a hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I love you so much Dean,” he whispered. He had been wrong, the bunker wasn’t home. This was home, being wrapped around the hunter he had loved for years.

“You know, you were right. That buzzer belongs in Heaven,” Dean whispered.

“No more rewinding time for you,” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean pressed his body even closer to Cas’. “Don’t need to rewind time anymore, I got what I want right here.” The annex didn’t get organized as they spent the rest of the day wrapped up in each other.

[hufflepuffhollander]

apocalypse: tom holland series pt. 3 (finale)

a/n | this is the final part of the apocalypse series (sad face)! i felt it was a strong way to end the story without dragging it out. i definitely got a lil teary eyed writing this so brace urselves! (& thank you to all of the readers who stuck w me through this trilogy, u are greatly appreciated).🤍

summary | a toxic storm that has wiped out most of the world’s population has you taking shelter and fighting for survival with an unexpected ally.

cw | language, a tiny argument, lots of panic, fluff, and truly poetic smut. you’re welcome.

Read Part 2, join the taglist :)

The toxic fog enveloping your car seemed to have a personality; to be alive. It clawed its way up your windshield and clung to the side mirrors, threatening to seep in and join your quest for refuge. It whispered to you as you drove, Tom fast asleep in the seat next to you. Any time the fog started to get under your skin, you could just look over at your sleepy passenger and take a sigh of relief knowing that you weren’t alone; and you had a pretty good feeling that, no matter how much further the world sank into apocalyptic ruin, you would never have to face it alone again.

Driving far down a nameless road on your way to find Tom’s brothers, you heard a distinct grumble come from the sky, a noise you’d been able to go the last two days without hearing. Another low, loud clap of thunder made you yelp, waking Tom up. The sky started to look darker, more menacing...and your heart rate started to skyrocket.

Tom rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Hey, love, what is it?”

“Tom, I think the rain is coming again,” you said shakily, brain too focused on scoping out what neighborhoods were closest to find shelter in. There was no way in hell you would risk bracing the storm in a car.

“Are you sure?”

“Just look outside.”

That finally woke him up, as his eyes went a little wider looking at the state of the sky above you.

“We need to find somewhere to stop,” he murmured, taking the map off the dashboard and turning it every which way, trying to orient himself. “I think there’s a town a few miles north of here- take your next left and follow the road, and hopefully we’ll see some houses.”

The clouds grew larger and more threatening as the seconds passed, your speedometer not able to keep up with your pulse.

“How much further?”

“Just another mile or so,” Tom said, strangely calm.

As he spoke, it was as if someone had thrown a black curtain over the planet, and you had to turn your brights on just to see in front of you.

“Tom, we're running out of time,” you felt your whole body go cold, the warmth of his hand suddenly placed on your arm putting your body in a sort of shock.

“We’ll make it, y/n,” he said, his voice faltering. You saw houses start to appear behind the mist.

“I’m just going to pull into one of the closest ones,” you decided out loud. Tom grumbled in disagreement.

“I think we should drive a little further to the bigger houses up ahead, they’re more likely to have generators.”

You shot him a look of disapproval. “Why would we stay on the road any longer than we have to? I’m pulling over here-”

He spoke harshly. “y/n, do not stop driving.”

You started to panic more as you saw lightning not too far ahead. “Tom, this is absolutely idiotic.” 

“We need to give ourselves the best chance of survival.”

“By driving right into the rain?!” Against your best wishes, you pressed the gas pedal into the floor and continued to move forward.

Once the larger houses started to come into focus, you heard light patters start to hit the metal roof of the van. Tom looked up at the car ceiling, a string of expletives leaving his lips.

“Fuck. Fuck. Tom, it’s raining!” you yelled, gripping the wheel tightly enough so that all of the blood had drained from your hands.

“Just keep driving!”

“We’re going to fucking die!” You made an executive decision to careen into the empty driveway of a nondescript house, but the garage door was closed. “How the hell do you expect us to make it inside now, genius?”

He swallowed hard and looked around frantically. “It hasn’t picked up yet. We can make a break for it...but it has to be now.”

You felt the fear palpably pinpricking your eyes. “Tom, what the hell were you thinking-”

He reached in the back and grabbed his coat, wrapping it around you in your seat, ignoring your comment. “I’m going first so I can knock down the door if it’s locked. Don’t waste any time and run the moment you see it open.”

You didn’t have time to reply before he tossed his hood up over his head, threw open the door, and jumped out of the car, running straight into the rain.

“Tom!” 

You were scared out of your mind watching him sprint to the porch of the house. Right as he made it, he cried out in pain, clutching his arm close to his chest. But he kicked the door in and stumbled inside, falling over the threshold. You felt stiff, frozen, going insane with worry and fear- but if you waited any longer, you knew you wouldn’t make it. You flung open the door, running as fast as you ever had to the porch, Tom’s coat protecting you from the few drops that fell to the ground. Seemingly, right as you were under the cover of the roof, the sky opened up, and once again the world was engulfed in torrential tar.

You slammed the front door shut behind you and fell down to your knees when you saw Tom curled into a ball on the floor. You tried to turn him over as you let a panic attack get the better of you. “Oh my god, Tom, please be okay, are you with me? Tom?!” You could barely see him through the thick tears streaming down your face. After the longest minute of your life he slowly groaned and opened his eyes, seeing you but closing them again as he winced in pain. His arm was still tucked tight into his body.

“Love, I- I got...b-burned,” His face was scrunched and pale as he let his arm fall to the floor, and you saw the atrocity that was at least a two inch circle of burned flesh painted bright red on his forearm.

“Oh god, fuck, Tom, what do I do?” your voice cracked as you continued to cry, completely stuck in place.

His breathing became choppier and his eyes fluttered open and shut again. “I don’t- I don’t know...”

“Baby, don’t leave me,” you lowered your head to his and sobbed, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Please be okay. God, please don’t leave me.”

Truthfully, you had no idea if this was all it took to kill a person. You couldn’t think straight as you heard the love of your life whimpering, his body vibrating softly as he fell into some kind of paralyzed sleep.

You stood up as your body went into hyperdrive, running through the house and looking around for something, anything that might help. In the master bathroom you found alcohol, antibiotic ointment and bandages, and thanked whatever was up there beyond the rain as you rushed back to Tom, still lying on the foyer floor. He was unresponsive.

“Stay with me, Tommy, come on,” you untwisted the bottle of isopropyl. “This might hurt a bit, sweetheart,” you whispered as you poured it out over his wound.

That jolted his system awake and he cried out as it sloshed around the exposed burn. By some type of miracle, the acid clinging to his skin seemed to disperse as the alcohol flushed it out, washing into a sizzling pile on the floor. Tom’s entire body relaxed suddenly, and he took a long, jagged exhale. Careful not to touch the burn, you squeezed the ointment across his arm and wrapped it up in the long bandage you’d found. Tom opened his eyes again, found your worried stare, and his eyes filled with tears of relief.

“Thank-...thank you.” His eyes shut again.

“Tom...” you whispered, putting a hand up to cup his cheek, one of your tears falling onto his forehead, making him flinch. “Are you okay?”

His chest rose and fell a few times, bringing you some semblance of comfort. “I’ll be alright, darling,” he said quietly, resting his own hand over yours. He was eventually able to meet your gaze and sat up slowly, ignoring the pain and moving to cradle you with his good arm. Somehow, it was the tightest, most loving embrace he’d ever held you in.

You wept into his chest as he kissed your forehead. “Love, please don’t cry.”

You brought your face up to his and kissed him desperately, body still shaking. “Tom-”

“What, darling?”

“I- I love you s-so much.”

“I love you too, y/n. I love you too.” He nuzzled your nose up with his own so he could bring his lips to yours again, the taste of him mixing with the salty tears clinging to your face. “Thank you for saving my life.”

You spoke quietly as if the rain would hear you. “I was so scared...I thought you were- I thought you left me.”

“I could never, sweetheart.”

Tom tried to lift up his hurt arm and frowned. “I feel like my body is made of lead.”

“We should get you some rest,” you said, standing to help him up. “There’s a big, comfy looking bed in the master bedroom.” You shined your flashlight around the hallway until you found a candle, and took the matchbook from your pocket to light it. The house was only growing darker, and you knew that soon you wouldn’t be able to see. Supporting his weight as you walked to the bedroom, Tom finally collapsed into the blankets with a contented sigh.

“I’ll go look for some food-”

“Baby, don’t go anywhere.”

You looked at him quizzically, and he motioned for you to come lie with him. “I want to just stare at your beautiful face for a while, is that alright?”

You smiled and crawled in next to him, wrapping the thick comforter around you both and cozying up in his chest. You took a deep inhale to revel in his comforting smell, and he kissed your forehead over and over again, tickling your face. You giggled into him, and he let out a small, breathy laugh.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

You brought your face to his to kiss him tenderly, and you rested your hand in the crook of his neck as you fell into a slow rhythm. You didn’t think you could be any happier in that moment, just to have him back, completely tuning out the downpour coming from outside. You pulled back to look into his eyes backlit by the candle.

“How is your arm?”

“Feels much better now, thanks to you,” he said, moving it slowly back and forth, getting used to the discomfort. “But let’s not worry about me, darling. I want to focus on you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him as you heard his tone change. “What are you talking about?”

“I believe I owe you something,” he said, moving to place his mouth right under your jawbone, giving you chills. “You did save me, y’know. You deserve to be properly thanked.”

He moved to support himself with his good arm and lightly rested his bandaged one on your waist, continuing to leave a trail of kisses down your neck.

“Tom, what are you doing? You need to take it easy-”

He shut you up with a hard kiss to the lips, and started to tug down at the neckline of your t-shirt. 

“No, love, what I need right now is you.”

He used his body weight to push you flat against the pillows, moving on top of you and pressing his lips further and deeper into your skin, now wriggling your shirt up and over your head. You started to giggle again, unsure of how to process it. Tom lifted his head up from kissing your belly button to look at you inquisitively. “What?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you whispered, fingers running through his curls.

“My veins are pumping with adrenaline right now, darling, and you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”

You tugged at the shoulder of his hoodie to bring him back up to your face, kissing him again and sucking his bottom lip lightly between your teeth, starting to feel the heat rush up through you too. He sat up on his knees and took off his sweatshirt and tee underneath in one fell swoop, his injured arm seeming to be the furthest thing from his mind right now. You couldn’t make out most details in the candlelight, but were able to see the love and lust swirling together in his eyes in some mesmerizing way. Placing your hands delicately on his lower back, you smoothed them over his skin all the way up to his shoulderblades and loved feeling him shiver underneath you. He pulled away from your liplock to stare into your eyes, and you pushed the pads of your fingers a little harder into his back, whispering. “Why did you wait so long, then?”

He rested his forehead on top of yours and smiled through his words. “I guess I was too busy falling in love with you in the dark.”

You had never seen Tom this way, hungrily nipping your skin and letting his hands explore your body as if they’d never experienced touch until this very moment. He left hot paths of kisses and bites across your neck and chest, all the while relentlessly grinding his hips into yours, which you encouraged with your own bucks upward. Eventually, you had your legs wrapped around his bare body, and he gave you the slowest, deepest kiss humanly possible as he eased himself inside of you, both of you shuddering at the feeling.

“Tom-” you inhaled sharply and would’ve done absolutely anything to have all of him just then, rolling your body upwards into his. His ragged breaths were drowned out by the sound of the violent rain falling above you, but you had become an expert at hearing his voice through the noise. 

“I’m so...fucking...in love with you.”

He continued to slowly push into you, his body shaking underneath your grip more and more with every bit further he felt himself go, lapping at your mouth with his own. He refused to break eye contact, and his glossy stare sent you reeling, only able to breathlessly speak a few words back.

“Show me.”

Your toes curled, you aimlessly pawed at his back. He sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you, the shadows of your bodies intertwined flickering onto the walls. He fucked you slow and hard, with every thrust sputtering out sweet nothings into your ear. Every twitch and flex of muscle you felt through his skin just made you fall deeper into a state of bliss, and you swore you had never felt a love like this before.

Through lofted breaths, Tom moaned in time with you rhythmically gasping out his name. He was littering your neck with bruises, you were carving scratch marks into his back; and you pushed each other over the edge at the same time, sealing in your bond as apocalyptic soulmates. 

He had collapsed next to you, his heart still in full sprint as he pulled your tired, loved-up body into his own, nudging his face into your hair and rubbing aimless circles on your arm with his thumb. The candle was dwindling and the storm raged on, providing an almost soothing white noise throughout the still room, only accompanied by the sound of you existing with one another. You fell into a deep sleep for countless hours, only waking up because Tom was standing over the bed, shaking you.

“Wh- what?”

“y/n, you have to come see this,” he said, hand still clasped around your wrist before you’d even wriggled out of the blankets.

He guided you by flashlight to what you assumed was an office, and you were shellshocked as you stood in front a computer screen, bright with power.

“I found a generator.” Tom smiled brightly, waiting for you to put the pieces together.

“So...there’s power?”

“Babe, there’s connection. My brothers have been sending me messages for weeks.”

Your jaw fell open as you looked at the monitor, sure enough alight with internet, a phenomenon of the past. “Your brothers, they’re... alive?!” You couldn’t find the words as you saw Tom shed a few joyful tears, the two of you hugging and jumping around like excited toddlers.

“We can talk to them, y/n. My family is still out there waiting for us, and in the next wave of light, we’ll be able to find them,” he said through cracks in his voice, happier than you could ever remember him being.

“I’m so happy for you, Tommy,” you kissed his cheek, but didn’t convince him as he could hear the sadness hiding in your voice. He knew you were thinking about your own family, and how you knew you’d never see them again.

“Love, listen to me,” he kneeled down in front of you and you followed suit so you were both sitting on the fluffy rug of the office. “I know you’ve lost so much. But you found me, we survived. And we’ll keep surviving—we don’t have another choice.” You sighed and nodded. “I know.”

“And it’s not the same, I know, but...you have a family now, with me, with us. We can rebuild together, darling. Fuck the storm. No matter what it throws at us, we have each other to help us through it.”

You reached for his soft hand, melting under his sweet ramblings. “...I know.”

“I never thought it would take the world ending to find you,” he said, lacing his fingers between yours. “but I did, and I’ll be forever thankful for that. We’ll be alright now, sweetheart. I’ll live the rest of my life to keep you safe.”

You gave him a knowing nod and sat in silence in the dark of a room that wasn’t yours, listening to the world unravel on the other side of the wall. Your chest flurrying with a mix of hope and heartache, you resolved yourself to understand that this was living now, that you would have to adapt to this new normal. You were petrified of what the future held, but seeing the boy sitting across from you, holding your hand and your heart in his steady gaze, helped you to breathe through the fear. 

The rain had taken everything from you—but it had given you your everything, too.

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Work It Out

After a drunken fight with your dad, Sebastian, you go to your uncle’s house where he forces the two of you to work it out.

-

           “Jesus, babe, just…” Your boyfriend was doing his best to get you back into your bedroom from the fire escape outside your window, but he wasn’t doing enough. You were so drunk that you could barely swing your leg over. You just wanted to sleep. But your boyfriend had to sneak you back in because it was him who snuck you out.

           “I’m tryingggg,” you slurred. He laughed and physically picked you up, carrying you through the window. He set food on the ground and put you back down, helping to steady you. “Well, my dad isn’t here. Maybe he didn’t find out.”

           “Really, Y/n? Think again.” Your father’s voice was cross as he sat in your desk chair, arms crossed against his chest.

           “Oh, fantastic,” you said. That was probably the clearest sentence you’d said in a while. You were drunk enough that consequences didn’t seem that bad, but you were also drunk enough to smart off to him when you normally never would.

           “Alex, I called you an Uber. It should be downstairs. Text Y/n and I’ll know you got home safe. And use the front door, not the fire escape.” Your boyfriend’s cheeks flushed and he let you go.

           “Sure. Sorry, Mr. Stan.” Your dad’s eyes softened a little bit.

           “Thank you for making sure my girl got home. But next time she decides to try and sneak out of the house, don’t help her.”

           “Roger that.” Your boyfriend walked out of your room and you soon heard the front door shut, leaving you and your dad. You sat down on your bed while all of that was going on, removing your high heels, and you un-zipped the back of your dress. You grabbed a t-shirt from your dresser and pulled it on, then took your dress off to reveal the shorts you had on underneath. You knew there was a fight coming, but you wished it could wait until tomorrow.

           “What were you even thinking, Y/n?” Your dad asked you. His voice was quiet. His fingers rubbed at his temples and you realized you must have woken him up. He had a flight at 9 the next morning, so he should have been asleep already. It was only 11, but it felt so much later now that you were completely and totally intoxicated.

           “I was thinking I got invited out to a party and I wanted to go?” You said, curling up in a blanket you kept folded at the foot of your bed. Your dad kept the house absolutely freezing cold, and for what reason you would never know. Your dad sighed.

           “I don’t even know what to do here. First you sneak out, when you could’ve just asked me. Then you have the audacity to sneak back in and think I won’t catch you when you’re drunk as hell. Which, by the way, when did you start drinking, because I must have missed that too.” His voice rose and fell and you could just hear how angry he was with you. Even drunk you felt guilty. Sober you would have felt so guilty you could cry yourself to sleep.

           “I’m sorry, Dad,” you responded.

           “Sorry’s not good enough. Do you know how dangerous it is to be out there at night?”

           “Dad, we live on the Upper East Side. If Blair Waldorf didn’t get kidnapped and raped I won’t.” Your dad scoffed at the mention of your favorite show, one he happened to have been in.

           “And that’s besides the point. What you did was so dangerous, Y/n. If you called me, I would’ve picked you up, because what agreement do we have?”

           “If I ever need you, you’re there. No questions asked.”

           “And this would’ve counted. I would’ve come to get you in a heartbeat, but you can’t just sneak out like that. It’s one thing if we’re in Atlanta or California, it’s a whole other thing in Manhattan.” Your vision became clearer and clearer as you started sobering up, but everything your dad was saying fell on deaf ears. You weren’t listening because you were so exhausted.

           “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

           “Oh, don’t do that, I know you’re not sorry,” he rolled his eyes. You never called him Daddy unless you wanted something or you wanted him off your back, and this was one of the latter.

           “I am!” You replied.

           “No, you’re not. Otherwise you wouldn’t have done something so stupid in the first place. I’m so disappointed in you, Y/n. This is why we have rules in place, this is why we have the no questions asked agreement. I’m half tempted to cancel my flight and stay here because you obviously can’t be left on your own for a night.”

           “I promise, I won’t do anything stupid.” If he thought you were serious, he didn’t care.

           “I don’t know if I can believe you.” You suddenly had that feeling in your stomach, and you stood up. “Where do you think you’re going?”

           “To throw up two water bottles of Malibu,” you responded dryly, walking into the bathroom attached to your bedroom. You barely made it to the toilet before you threw up. Instead of holding your hair back, your dad chose the route of going to get you some water.

           “Jesus Christ, babe. This is so unlike you.” You shrugged and picked your head up, thinking you were done for the time being.

           “I know. I’m stupid. I know,” you repeated over and over, accepting the water that he gave you.

           “Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go to bed, I’m going to think about a punishment, and you’re going to take it when you wake up tomorrow at approximately 6 AM to drive me to the airport at 6:30. Got it?” You gave him a thumbs up. “I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

           “You barely even raised me at all,” you snapped back without even meaning to. “You’re always gone, remember?”

           “So you’re saying this is all my fault?”

           “Yeah, buddy!” You replied with a small giggle. “You’re on the right track now.” If you had looked at him, you would have seen the tears in his eyes. Was it really his fault? Was he really so absent from your life that he caused you to act out the first chance you got? He sighed, deciding just to leave you alone.

           “Alright. Just… We’ll talk tomorrow morning.” He slumped out of your room, feeling dejected, angry, and upset as hell because he’d never even thought it could be his fault before. But you pointed out the obvious; if he wasn’t gone all the time, maybe you wouldn’t feel the need to get his attention like this.

           Something inside of you just said fuck it. You were sober enough to walk to the other side of your room, change clothes, and grab your phone charger and wallet. You looked at your phone map for a minute – your uncle Chris was in town, at least for a few days, and he was supposed to take you out to lunch tomorrow anyway.

           Are you up? You texted him. He responded within a second that he was. So it was decided. You had never closed the fire escape window, so you could go back out the way you came in. Your wallet had pepper spray attached to it and you flicked it open, ready to spray anyone who dared mess with you at this time of night. Thankfully, most people in that area of New York just minded their own business unless you looked like you had something valuable. But you, barely sixteen, in a sweatshirt and shorts, carrying a wallet and pepper spray at 11 PM, didn’t look like you had anything of value to yourself even.

           You were halfway to Chris’s hotel when you passed the block with the police precinct, and as if it was on cue, blue and white lights lit up the street. You looked around – you were the only person on the street, so they must have been referring to you. You sighed.

           “I’m sorry, Dad,” you said out loud, rubbing your eyelid as a piece of mascara found its way into your eye. An officer got out of the cruiser and walked over to you with a flashlight.

           “Ma’am, can I ask you what you’re doing on the streets at this time of night?” You sighed. Were you about to lie to the NYPD because you didn’t want to go home? Yes, yes you were. This entire night was dumb, but this was probably the dumbest thing you could’ve done.

           “I was at a friend’s apartment, I’m just going back to my uncle’s hotel,” you explained. “I have pepper spray.” The officer scoffed.

           “It’s not safe for you to be walking around here. Where are you from?”

           “I’m from here, but I live half the time in Atlanta.” You weren’t lying completely there – you did have a Georgia driver’s license, your primary address was all listed in Georgia because that was where you went to middle school because your dad was still working for Marvel at that point.

           “And you’re with your uncle, you said?”

           “Yeah, my parents are divorced.” A lie. Your parents weren’t divorced because they’d never been together. You were the product of a meaningless relationship that your dad spent your entire life trying to make up to you.

           “Alright. Well, we can’t have you walking the streets out here at night, so would you like us to go ahead and bring you back to your uncle’s? How old are you, sixteen?”

           “Sixteen,” you responded. “I can call my uncle now.”

           “You can just get into the back seat of that car.” You nodded and started heading toward the cop car, calling Chris. He answered immediately.

           “Hey, sweetie, what are you doing up?” He asked you. You could tell he was up still – he was always a night owl.

           “I was walking to yours and the police caught me. Can they drive me over?”

           “Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you in the lobby. It seems like you have something to talk about, don’t you?”

           “Yeah. I’m sorry.” You opened the door to the car and got inside.

           “It’s okay. I’ll see you in a few.” You told the cop the address of Chris’s hotel, checking your phone to make sure your dad hadn’t called you or texted you. Nothing. He probably didn’t even know you were gone. That was the con of living on separate floors in an old brownstone – if you left he might not even know. Half the time you just yelled out to figure out if he was there because you couldn’t tell otherwise.

           “I’ll get out and walk you in,” the officer said when you arrived at the hotel. You saw Chris standing in the brightly lit lobby, looking down at his phone, and raised his hand when he saw you.

           “Thank you, officer, for getting her back to me,” Chris said, shaking hands with the cop that had brought you over. They chatted for a minute when the officer recognized him, but they let you go without even asking for any kind of proof of anything whatsoever. As soon as the officer got in the car and left, Chris nearly dragged you over to the elevator.

           “Ow,” you groaned. You knew you were sobering up, but your body still felt loose.

           “What are you doing here? Your dad doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

           “We got in a fight because I got drunk and he said some stuff and I said some stuff that I don’t remember, but it must have been really mean.” Chris sighed, pressing the elevator up, and when you got to the room you sat down in one of the chairs. It was a nice hotel, one he usually stayed at, so you were at least familiar with it.

           “You want some coffee?” He asked you, turning on the hotel’s small instant coffee maker. You nodded, running your hands through your hair. Your phone lit up with a call from your dad, and you didn’t answer. You didn’t know why you didn’t answer; because you were scared of him, because you didn’t want to talk to him, or maybe a combination of both. You just wanted to be with Chris right now – he always knew how to talk you down when you argued, and you knew he wouldn’t judge you for being drunk and stupid because he’d spent half of his teenage years doing the same thing.

           “Thanks,” you said as he handed you a hot cup of coffee a minute later. He sat beside you and rubbed your back, trying to warm you up from the freezing March weather.

           “Any reason why Seb’s calling you non-stop?”

           “Yeah,” you said. “He probably just realized I’m gone.” Chris sighed.

           “You can’t just run away in the middle of the night, half drunk, and not tell your dad. I’ll call him and…” Just as he was talking, there was a knock at his hotel room door. He sighed and stood up, confused as to who it could be, and when he opened the door, it was Sebastian. He opened the door wider for him to come in, and your dad just stared you down.

           “Really, Y/n?” He asked loudly.

           “Okay, you two, some rules. No yelling. You talk this out. I’m going down to the bar to catch the end of the hockey game. If I get a noise complaint, it’s all on you guys. Deal?” You both nodded and Chris left the room, leaving the two of you alone.

           “How’d you get here?” Your dad asked you, sitting down on the bed across from you. You offered him a sip of your coffee, which he took, and handed back to you.

           “A cop found me so I lied and said I was staying with Chris,” you admitted.

           “Well, at least it was a cop and not some rando. Babe, you can’t run away every time we get into an argument.”

           “I don’t even know why I did.” You took a sip of coffee and it warmed you up and woke you up at the same time, causing you to sit up a little straighter. He sighed, his head in his hands.

           “I didn’t mean anything of what I said back there. I was just aggravated that you snuck out. And I’m glad you were with your boyfriend, but still. You have to tell me where you’re going, that’s why we have that rule.”

           “I know. I get it.”

           “I thought you actually ran away ran away.”

           “I just came here because I knew he’d let me stay with him until you were gone.” Your dad sighed. “I didn’t mean to say it was your fault. It’s not. It’s mine.”

           “No, you were right. I wasn’t here. For a lot of things. I was too busy being Bucky Barnes that I forgot how to be your dad, and I’m sorry. You needed a dad and that was the one role I didn’t know how to do.” You were both quiet for a minute. “Why don’t you come out to L.A. with me tomorrow? We can take a few days after my audition, just you and me, and we can get ourselves together.”

           “I’d like that.” It had been a long time since he’d taken you anywhere without the intention of just letting you stay in a hotel all day. “You work hard. And I know that. I just miss you. And I guess I just got mad because I miss you.”

           “I miss you too, babe. Come here.” You stood up at the same time he did and he wrapped you in a hug. He could still smell the alcohol on your breath, but he paid no mind to it. He just hugged you tighter than he had in a long time. That was when the door opened again and Chris was standing there.

           “Oh, thank God, you worked it out. Seb, how’d you even know she was here?”

           “Would you believe me if I said I was coming to talk to you because I didn’t even know she was gone?” Chris chuckled.

           “Yeah, I actually would believe that.” Your dad laughed, letting you go finally.

           “Alright, we’re gonna head home. I’m taking her out to L.A. with me, but if you wanna use the house you’re welcome to take the guest room still.”

           “Thanks, man. And the both of you just need to learn how to talk to each other, because if I wasn’t here you’d probably still be in a screaming match.” You sniffled and gave Chris a hug, thanking him, and your dad called a car to come get the both of you.

           “By the way, water bottles full of Malibu? I know it’s clear, but you should really get a colored water bottle if you’re gonna do that.” You elbowed your dad, laughing for the first time in forever, and wiped away a tear that had been on your face.

A/N: So I ended up combining three requests with this, one where she sneaks in with her boyfriend, one where she goes to Chris’s after an argument, and one where she gets picked up by the police. I hope that’s okay with you guys, but I thought they all worked so well together that I might as well!

[twdeadfanfic]

Warm

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary:  After an accident while Y/N is out in the woods looking for Sophia with Daryl, she ends up bedridden at the Greene’s farm. By luck, or rather bad luck, just the next day Daryl ends up it that same bed, badly hurt. And that’s how it all beings. Based on a request asking for a reader who’s always cold, trying to steal Daryl’s warmth.

Chapter 1/5

Updated on Wednesdays.

My new mini series! I hope you’ll like it!

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You bit your lip to stifle another groan. Everything hurt and you were feeling a bit dizzy, but mostly, you were feeling confused.

You would have never, ever, imagined that you’d end up in Daryl’s arms…you hadn’t even shaken hands with the guy, or had even thought you would. You were starting to know him a little bit better, if you might call it so, during your search for Sophia, but still, being carried by him bridal style was something that hadn’t crossed your mind until that moment.

Sure, it was because you were injured and couldn’t walk by yourself, but your current situation was surprising anyway, But what was he going to do, just leave you there to be eaten? Daryl wasn’t like that. You might have thought it, maybe, back in the quarry, before you really knew anything about it, but not anymore.

“I ain’t taking you with me anymore” Daryl grumbled.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon, Daryl…”

“It hurts too bad?” He looked at you, it was just a second, but you wondered if he actually looked worried.

“I’ll live.”

You had been searching for Sophia with Daryl once again. Since the little girl disappeared and Daryl began his search, you had been joining him. You worried about the little girl, of course, but you also didn’t know what else to do with yourself. It wasn’t like you had any special and useful ability, or actual friends in the group, you had lost everyone already. But it was better than being alone, and they were nice. And so, you decided that even though you couldn’t track, you might do something useful by looking for Sophia, even though, honestly, you weren’t as confident as Daryl in finding her alive. You were mentally preparing yourself to find a corpse, either walking or not.

At least, until today, when Daryl found a cabin and you saw a closet in which someone the size of a kid could have been hiding and some empty cans of food. Someone had been there. Could be Sophia, or could be someone else. But even if it was someone else, that person might need your help anyway.

Then, you had suggested you split. At this moment, you didn’t know why you had done it, if you were trying to prove a point or what, but you were very much regretting it. Daryl had marked in a map the areas close to the cabin in which he thought Sophia might be, and so you had suggested splitting to cover more ground. Daryl hadn’t been very sure, though, but you had tried to appear confident, and so finally you had parted ways, which had been a mistake on your side. It seemed Daryl hadn’t gone too far from you, though, luckily for you.

You had ended up face to face with a group of walkers. You had put down a couple before, but always at Daryl’s side, watching how he did it, never alone. They were too many for you anyway, you knew it, and so not knowing what else to do, you ran. You had run faster than ever in your life, going downhill, but before you could get far enough from the walkers, you had tripped on a root and fallen down, rolling down a few meters before stopping. You had some scrapes, your head hurt, but the worst was how your tailbone hurt pretty bad, and your ankle shot waves of pain through you every time you tried to move it. No, the worst was how you could see the walkers approaching you.

You had tried to stand up, but when you’d tried to walk, the pain in your ankle had made you cry out and feel dizzy, and you had ended up on the ground again. You had cried for help, even if you were pretty sure there was no one around. But then Daryl had showed up out of nowhere, shooting at the walkers, and then just putting them down by knife with that skill that you didn’t know how he could have, as if he’d been putting down walkers all his life, as if those things were usual pests in his town before they roamed the whole world.

Then, he had approached you. You’d been sure he was going to start yelling at you for having messed the search, but he hadn’t. He had yelled at you, yes, but about you wanting to go alone when you couldn’t protect yourself, about you being an idiot, about almost, getting bitten, and so on and so on.

You had been scared, more than scared, you were hurting, you felt like an idiot indeed, and Daryl was angry and was yelling at you…so you had begun crying. It had been embarrassing, you had felt like even more of an idiot, you had been sure Daryl was going to yell even more at you, but he hadn’t.

He had stopped and he had looked at you in shock, in horror even, seeming like he didn’t know what to do, awkward as hell. He had stood there, looking at you while you hid your face in embarrassment, and then he had approached you. He hadn’t yelled more, in fact, he’d checked you and your injuries, even though he seemed beyond awkward.

He had assured you that you had nothing broken, and you had to trust him even though your tailbone hurt, and your ankle burned like hell. You’d tried again, but couldn’t walk, almost passing out when you put weight on your ankle, and so Daryl had scooped you up into his arms. It had more than surprised you, but you were grateful nonetheless. When your body jerked as he walked, pain shot through you, but it was way better than having to walk like that…and you couldn’t deny it, there was something comforting in being held like that, even if it was for practical reasons.

Daryl had been carrying you for a while now and you knew he was getting tired, even though he wasn’t saying anything. He was breathing harder and his arms were starting to shake a bit. He had strong arms, you knew…you had actually checked his arms subtly one or two, or five times before, but it wasn’t like you weighed nothing, he’d to get tired, strong arms or not.

“I could try to walk now, maybe…” You offered.

“Are you really this idiot?” Daryl retorted and you tried not to take offense, he was harsh like that but by now you had found that half of the time he didn’t mean anything bad, he just had that instinct of biting back.

“No, but you’re tired of having to carry me.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, but after walking some meters more, he carefully lowered you to the ground. You winced a bit as your tailbone hit the ground, and you wiggled until you found a way in which it didn’t hurt too much, half sitting half lying, trying to not bother your ankle either, though all your body hurt.

Daryl sat down too and he took a bottle of water out of his bag. After taking a sip he passed it to you, and you took a grateful sip. Once the bottle was back in his bag, he reached out to examine your ankle once more. Pain shot through you when he touched it, making you dizzy, and you had to stop yourself from kicking Daryl with your other leg and push him away.

“You sure it’s not broken?” You asked in concern.

“No, but you strained it or something.”

“And the tailbone?” That really had you worried.

“Definitely not broken, just bruised.”

“Okay…” It was reassuring, though you weren’t very sure as for why you trusted Daryl was right, you just did.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know…” You murmured.

“Why you wanted to go alone if you couldn’t fight walkers?”

“I could have fought one…two maybe…” You protested weakly. “Just…wanted to be useful…didn’t want to be a burden for you…to the search.” You shrugged, wincing at how it made your body hurt, and you looked down as you tried not to cry again. “But I messed everything. I’m sorry, Daryl.” You hadn’t really checked the area and now Daryl’d lose that day because he had to carry you back.

“I’ll go back to the cabin tomorrow, if Sophia is out there, is the only safe place she has, she could go back,” Daryl said, and you didn’t know if it was an attempt to make you feel better, even though you didn’t expect it, or if he was just thinking aloud. “Didn’t find tracks or nothing around that could be from her, though…” He did look thoughtful, concerned even. He was always so hopeful about finding Sophia, you didn’t like to see him seemingly doubting like that.

“’ Cause you didn’t have time, you had to save my ass. Thank you, by the way…for not being far and…well yeah, for saving my life…” You shrugged, blushing. “And for being helping me now. Thank you, Daryl.” You had just realized you hadn’t actually thanked him.

Daryl looked at you, but didn’t say anything. “Let’s keep going.” He carefully picked you up again and you groaned in pain.

“It hurts every time you move…” You whined.

“Would you rather crawl?” Daryl retorted and you had to remind yourself again that probably he didn’t mean anything bad, it was just the way he was, he tended to snap like that, and so you said nothing, just held onto him and tried not to let dizziness overcame you.

*

Back on the farm, you were honestly surprised to see some of the people from your group looking truly concerned about you. They were nice most of the time, sure, but you didn’t really have friends, so you hadn’t expected it, but it was heartwarming, helping you feel better…maybe you weren’t that alone. Mostly, though, they seemed confused about the image of Daryl carrying you. Well, you were too, but what was the man supposed to do, leave you in the woods?

Hershel checked you, and much to your relief, he confirmed that you didn’t have anything broken, you were just bruised and your ankle was sprained, you had to rest it, and your tailbone too, so you’d have to stay in bed for some days.  Daryl had carried you to the other spare bedroom in the main floor of the house, next to the one in which Carl was recovering, and left you on the bed, watching while Hershel checked you, and part of you was glad he was there, instead of you and Hershel alone, when you were feeling weak and you still didn’t know the man that well yet, and he didn’t seem that thrilled to have you in his land, though he was acting fairly professional.

He gave you some more than welcomed painkillers and he bandaged your ankle properly before leaving you alone, and you wiggled in the bed, trying to find a position than didn’t bother your tailbone neither your ankle, half lying on your side and snuggling a pillow to you. Daryl was still there, looking at you.

“You good?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Just knowing that he was right and that Hershel had said you’d be okay was enough for your peace of mind, besides you had a fluffy bed and pillow for the first time in months, safe walls and all, you had to look at the positive side, you guessed. “Painkillers are starting to kick in.” Daryl just nodded and turned around to leave the room. “Daryl, wait.” You called for him and he stopped, looking at you over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Daryl just nodded again and left the room.

*

You didn’t see Daryl again after late afternoon the next day, and the sight was quite a shock. You had been bored all day, but boredom was welcomed these days, lying in bed and reading a book that Maggie had lent you, when you had heard a shot outside. You had tried to get up and go to the window, scared out of your mind, but you had almost fallen to the floor. There was no other shot, so you hoped everything was okay, maybe a single walker had wandered too close or something like that, and you limped back to the bed.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on? It’s everything okay?” You yelled but there was no answer, and suddenly Rick and Shane were rushing into the room, carrying an unconscious and bloodied up Daryl, Hershel following them.

“Oh my god, what happened? Is he okay?!” The sight of Daryl like that scared you but he seemed to be alive, he was groaning and his eyes opened when they placed him on the bed next to you, looking clouded,  before they closed again.

For what you could gather listening to Hershel working, something seemed to have gone through Daryl’s side, and arrow, according to Daryl’s whimpers and grunts as Hershel stitched him up, and according to Daryl’s grunts too, the bitch had shot him but only grazed the side of his head. The bitch was Andrea, and you were lost, wondering what the hell was going on. At the very least, it seemed to have been a mistake, not that your group had decided to start shooting at each other.

After some disinfectant, stitches, and bandages, Hershel declared Daryl good enough, though he’d have to rest. Daryl seemed to be in pain, despite the painkillers, but he didn’t seem unconscious anymore, as if he were fighting to be awake. He was grunting and fighting to sit up, looking at Rick and reaching out for something you couldn’t see.

“The doll,” he mumbled and Rick nodded, sitting down on the bed.

“Yeah, I saw it, I saw it. It’s Sophia’s, yeah?” Rick asked and Daryl nodded.

“You found her?” You asked. It didn’t make sense, though, it Sophia were back you’d have heard of it, people would be celebrating…maybe Daryl had found her right before getting hurt? But no, Daryl wouldn’t leave her no matter what. Maybe…maybe he had found her dead…

“Just the doll,” Shane answered for Daryl.

“She gotta be close,” Daryl said weakly, reaching out again. “Map.” Rick took the map and placed it on top of the bed, next to Daryl, and he pointed at it. “Here, found it here.”

“Okay, okay.” Rick nodded, marking the spot. “The sun will go down soon, I can’t go out now, but I’ll check it first thing in the morning.”

It didn’t seem enough for Daryl, but he was too weak to do anything else, falling back onto the bed with a grunt. Rick and Shane didn’t say anything else and they left, leaving you and Daryl alone, and closing the door behind them.

Well, damn, this was awkward. Daryl turned his head to look at you, frowning, his eyes clouded, and opening his mouth as if to say something, but then he was closing it again, his eyes closing tight as if his head hurt. He grunted, shaking his head, which just seemed to make it worse. You saw him trying and failing to keep his eyes open, and then he was falling unconscious.

Now that he was out, you looked him down…he really looked like hell. Besides the bandages, his body was covered in fresh bruises and cuts, and you wondered what the hell had happened to him. There were some faint scars on his chest too, but those weren’t recent, or didn’t look like so.

You realized, although it had been kind of obvious since you were just thinking about his bruises and scars, that he didn’t have his shirt on, and you found yourself staring at the arms, shoulders, and part of his chest that the sheet wasn’t covering. You had been thinking about his strong arms that morning, and there you had them in full display, with the wide shoulders and barreled chest and…and yeah, you were a total pervert. This shit wasn’t right. He was lying unconscious, in pain, severely hurt, and you were ogling him. You blushed and looked away quickly.

You realized, too, that you were both in the same bed. It had been kind of obvious, too, and it made you blush even more. It was clear that Daryl needed to rest in bed, though, and you couldn’t move much either, and you were told to lay low for a couple of days more at least. There was no other bedroom on the main floor, so you guessed it kind of made sense that you two were put in the same bed, since you both needed it.

Still, it was awkward as hell. Maybe you could try and limp to a sofa or something, Daryl looked like he needed the bed way more than you, but when you moved your ankle and tailbone complained painfully, so you decided to stop trying for now.

A couple of hours passed while Daryl was still out, and the sun began to go down. You had been reading and so you turned on the nightstand lamp, hoping it wouldn’t bother Daryl, to keep reading. Honestly, you kept reading the same two pages again and again, unable to focus, thinking on Daryl lying next to you.

You didn’t know if it was the light or if Daryl had slept enough, but you heard him groaning and when you looked at him he was frowning, stirring awake and trying to blink his eyes open. His eyes landed on you and he frowned again, looking around before looking back at you, and then he tried to move further away from you, grunting in pain as he did so.

Yeah, you understood. Awkward as hell.

“Seems like this is the only free bed downstairs and we’re both bedridden…” You said, but Daryl still seemed as awkward as you, or more, frowning at you, his face flushed and seeming ready to storm away if it weren’t because he had stitches on his side. “It’s okay, you need it more than me, I’ll go sit down on the sofa.” You tried to move, stifling a groan as you rubbed your tailbone on the bed the wrong way.

“You’re an idiot.” Third time in a day, you were going to start to take offense. “You can’t walk.”

“I can limp…” It hurt, though, and you weren’t sure you could limp your way to the sofa by yourself. “You aren’t looking that healthy either, you know.”

“I’m good,” Daryl grumbled. He tried to get up, you didn’t know if to go to the sofa himself, but it seemed like so, and he grunted and groaned in pain but didn’t stop trying.

“Daryl, stop. Stop!” You repeated when he still tried to move. “You have stitches, you were shot at, an arrow went through your side. You need to lie down and rest. Stop.” It was probably the pain and not your words what made Daryl stop, landing back on the pillow with another grunt. “The bed is big enough…I know it’s super awkward, but we could both at least spend this night resting here, it could make us some good.

Daryl wasn’t saying anything but he wasn’t trying to move away either, so you guessed it was a yes. You moved further away from him, trying to give him space, and Daryl went to turn onto his side, his back to you, grunting as it made him press on his wound. He seemed to think it better, and he began to try to sit up again, reaching towards a chair where his shirt was, it was close to the foot of the bed but far from his reach, grunting in pain as he tried to grab it.

You had caught a glimpse of his back when he’d moved, and the faint scars you had seen on his chest were nothing compared to the ones on his back, he had more there, deeper and longer. You guessed maybe he wasn’t comfortable with you seeing him without his shirt on and so you sat up too, groaning at the pain in your tailbone. “Wait, let me…” You didn’t have stitches, after all. Still, you groaned in pain as you shifted towards the foot of the bed, falling onto your side, and you couldn’t help your chuckle. “Damn…we’re useless, aren’t we…”

Daryl snorted and when you looked at him he was smirking and nodding, much to your surprise. You tried again but couldn’t, and you rolled back to your spot on the bed, complaining and groaning as you did so. Daryl tried again and clutched his wounded side as he let out a muffled whimper, and you were afraid he had really hurt himself that time, so you were glad when he stopped trying, falling back onto the bed, seeming annoyed.

He began tugging at the sheets, trying to cover himself more, and without a word, you reached out to help him, hoping that at least it’d help him be a bit more at ease. Once his back and chest were covered as he wanted it, he turned onto his side, his back to you, grunting as he did so, shifting as he tried to put less pressure on the wound.

“Hurts?” You asked quietly.

“Yeah.” He admitted.

“What happened to you?”

“I was an idiot like you.”

“Stop calling me that!” You half complained, and you couldn’t help your smile when you saw him smirking…maybe he didn’t think you were an idiot, maybe he was just…Daryl.

“The horse got scared and threw me, I fell down a ravine, impaled myself with my own arrow, passed out, woke up to a walker gnawing my shoe,” Daryl retold, much to your horror. “Pulled out the arrow, killed the walkers, climbed back up, came back, bitch shot me.”

“Shit Daryl…”

“Yeah…shit of a day…” He groaned, turning to lie onto his other side, the one that wasn’t hurt, though that meant he had to face you. You felt that it made him uncomfortable and so you rolled onto your back, looking at the ceiling.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You call this okay?” Daryl grumbled.

“Alive, I mean.” You shrugged, and Daryl just hummed.

You turned onto your side, your back to Daryl. He was covered with the sheet but had pushed the duvet off, and you tugged at it, wrapping it around you.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit…”

“How can you be cold?” You looked at Daryl over your shoulder and he was frowning at you. You knew the day was hot, but still, you were feeling a bit cold, lying there.

“I don’t know…but I’m cold a lot…like my blood isn’t warm or something.” You snorted.

“Could be a way to deceive walkers.” Daryl joked back, and you turned onto your back again, groaning, to look at him. He was facing the ceiling, eyes closed, but you saw him smirking.

“Well…if it is, it hasn’t worked for now.”

“Hmm…better not test it again then.”

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First chapter of my new mini-series, what you thought? Do you think are going to like it? Anon who requested it, are you still here? I’m afraid you might not...I’m sorry requests take me this long.

Please if you enjoyed it and you have time, leave me a comment with your thoughts.

As always, excuse my english, is not my first language.

If you want to be (un)tagged let me know.

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[mercurryblack]

Chapter 10: Hattie

The night is but young.

❃❃❃

“Are you done yet? Are you done yet?” Hattie asked, squirming as she repeated her question for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“For the thousandth time, no, I’m not done yet. Stupid three thousand word count.” Cait groaned, slouched over their desk. “I swear, the day I graduate, I’m gonna kick Professor Rook square in the junk… boring old bastard… ”

“Sorry, time’s getting away from me.” Hattie apologized. “You’re still using that trick I told you about?”

Cait shrugged. “Even if I don’t count it as I go, it still feels like I’m never gonna finish it.”

The two had been spending the entire evening in their dorm room; Cait had been working on their assignment since the moment the Armilde sisters had left, and Hattie had been trying to keep herself busy by dusting, staring outside, dusting again, and even going as far as to read a lesson they hadn’t yet covered in class.

Tossing the Modern Remnant History textbook to her side, Hattie fell back on her bed spread-eagled, disappointed at the evening so far. She regretted how she had never really fostered a social life outside of Haven Academy— or much less her team, for that matter.

She had grown up as a ward of the underground Sisterhood, mostly keeping to herself and her small collection of fairytale books back then. Having dwelled for so long down in the habitable mine tunnels that the Sisterhood called home, she had recently found herself wanting to explore the world outside more often, if only to make up for lost time.

Those extracurricular lessons with Professor Gormlaith don’t count, she mentally noted.

Hattie didn’t have many friends, either— ironically, the happy-go-lucky girl could be a lot more introverted than extroverted at times. She knew a few students in their year by name, but not enough to warrant anything closer than a “hello” in the hallways. Plus, she didn’t find it to be much fun going out without her friends, which essentially consisted of LLAC and pretty much nobody else.

Well, there is CMYK, she thought to herself, remembering the team of now-second-years that they had tutored in the previous semester. I bet ol’ Mallow or Kara would have been free at this hour… but they’re all over in Vale helping with the set-up for the Vytal Festival, lucky dogs.

And since Lillian and Amaryllis were out doing their own things, she was left cooped up with Cait, who had been taking their time in writing an essay she had already finished.

“…Don’t you have anywhere else to go, Hattie?” Cait asked, glancing over their shoulder.

Hattie turned, wilting slightly as she did. “Should I leave you alone?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” Cait replied. “I just don’t want you to feel stuck here with me, y’know? You could go if you wanted to.”

Hattie shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t really wanna. I’d prefer to wait for you rather than leave by myself.”

“Fair. Are we going somewhere after I’m done, anyways?” Cait said, turning back to their writing.

“I don’t know. I mean, Ammy said we can come down to her boyfriend’s family’s charity event, but it sounds kinda formal.” Hattie said, then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood for formal tonight.”

“So you don’t have a plan for this evening?” Cait inquired.

“I was kinda hoping you had that part sorted out,” she said with a lopsided smile. Having hung out with them the most, Hattie had always left the ideas up to Cait— they did always know where to go for a fun time. Also, she tended to worry that she’d make a big plan and it would turn out to be a flop.

Lost for any follow-up, she wondered aloud, “What do you think Detective Yuen and the old guys are up to now?”

“Probably living their nice and worry-free adult life.” Cait said sarcastically.

“Do you think we should give them a call? You know, check up on them?”

“Nah. I’m sure they’re doing fine on their own for one night.”

Hattie grabbed her Scroll from the far edge of her bed and waved at Cait, sticking out her tongue. “I’m gonna do it anyways! What if they’ve finally found the bad guys or something?”

Cait rolled their eyes. “Whatever you say…”

***

Sardion paced back and forth in Yuen’s office, his gaze fixed on the vinyl floor. The day had been yet another bust— Rudyard had hung back at Yaara’s house, while Sardion and Yuen, with little else to do, had returned to the precinct.

“I’m just saying, don’t you think we should give LLAC a call?” Yuen suggested. “They’re part of this investigation too, and we could really use some help right now. Plus, they might see something we’ve overlooked.”

“They’re having a night off, Yuen. I’m sure they have better things to do.” Sardion replied. “You don’t want to tire the young’uns out before they even graduate, right?”

“Maybe.” Yuen sighed. “Hear anything from Rudyard?” 

“Not yet, but he said he’d call if he found anything to go on.”

***

Rudyard stared up to the inky heavens, taking in the starry night sky from Yaara’s old lawn chair, a half-empty bottle of beer loosely grasped in his fingertips.

In the backyard of her humble home, the Huntress had cultivated a small flower garden. In the back of his mind, Rudyard reflected on the visits he had paid her, how she had meticulously tended to them every day; thoroughly watering them, rooting out any weeds, gently humming while she kept her garden impeccable.

Now, seeing as their owner had been dead for a week, the garden had slowly begun to die as well. The bright petals and leaves of the flowers had begun to fade and wilt from a lack of water, and weeds had taken over a small patch of dandelions.

Rudyard rose to pick up a rusty old watering can on the back veranda, then filled it up with a nearby hose. As he let the water trickle down onto the garden’s parched soil, he let out a long sigh— after all she had done for him, it was the least he could do. Eventually emptying the can, he opted to go back inside, as the night air started to grow colder.

Searching for a spot where the police hadn’t tagged or taped anything of interest, he made himself comfortable in a reclining chair in her personal study. Looking around, a single book lying on her desk caught his eye, the tip of a torn sheaf of paper stuck in the pages halfway through. The title on the cover read Eternal Blue Sky, luminescent gold font on a pastel blue background.

“Of course.” Rudyard chuckled to himself. “You would have hated this, Yaara, leaving a book unfinished.” Absentmindedly, he picked up the book and opened it up to the bookmarked page.

He paused.

Written on the scrap of paper in what was unmistakably Yaara’s handwriting was a short message; 1100 apr 23 for further details - stored on hosaki comm log 1138.

“April…?” Rudyard muttered, squinting at the writing. He remembered that April 21st had been the starting date of the last mission on her and Berilo’s record, and it had been marked as remaining within city limits.

He had never heard of a place called “Hosaki” anywhere in Mistral City.

Frowning, he tucked the sheaf of paper into his pocket and rose from the chair, reaching into his pocket. “Wonder what Yuen’ll make of this.”

He paused, fingers fumbling inside an empty pocket.

“…Where’d I put my Scroll?”

***

“Do you know of any other places they might have escaped to?” Sardion asked as he took a closer look at the map of Mistral spread over Yuen’s desk, doing his best to focus despite his inner restlessness slowly clouding his mind.

“Besides the forest, nothing, and if that’s the case then they’re likely long gone by now.” Yuen said, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe the Manju-Shage District, but I doubt it. The whole thing’s cordoned off by a tripwired security fence. There’s no way someone could’ve broken in without us knowing about it.” She continued, tapping her fingers against the armrests in mild frustration.

“Well, maybe they could’ve snuck in, if they had the right Semblance for the job. At this point, I’m ready to try anything if it means we might find a lead,” Sardion paused, sharply exhaling, “Any step we take, no matter how small, is at least a bit closer to the whoever’s behind this.”

“True.” Yuen said, glancing up at him. “After all, there’ve been times that thugs occasionally get the great idea to break in and squat there, to lay low or whatever… you want to check it out, just in case?”

“Might as well. I’ve already got my weapon on me.” Sardion shrugged. “I’ll call up Rudyard first, see if he’s up for it.” He pulled out his Scroll and sent a call to Rudyard’s contact.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. A small buzzing hum came from beneath a stack of papers on the right of Yuen’s desk. The Huntsman and the detective exchanged confused looks, before realizing what was making the noise.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sardion muttered, sticking his hand underneath the stack and pulling out a Scroll— Rudyard’s own. “Perfect time to forget this, you freakin’ cueball…” He stuck his Scroll back in his jacket and tossed Rudyard’s onto Yuen’s desk.

“Okay, well, that’s a bust… like I said before, we could call up LLAC.” Yuen suggested.

Sardion was inclined to disagree with her, given that it had been the students’ night off— calling them in for duty at such an hour wouldn’t be the most gracious move. However, he figured that they’d best bring some backup, if only to cover more ground if nothing else.

“Alright, go for it.” he said.

Yuen took out her Scroll and pulled up Lillian’s contact. “Here goes. Hope for the best.”

***

“Why do I always have to be the one to make the food?” Rosario asked, swinging her now-empty basket from one hand as she walked alongside Lillian down the cliffside path.

“You’re a great cook, and I can’t even season my food correctly.” Lillian replied. “Do you remember the last time when I tried to make instant ramen unsupervised?”

“Point.” Rosario said. “You did literally set a pot of water on fire. I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty certain that violates every law of thermodynamics that there is.”

Lillian nodded. “See?”

“Riiiight.” Rosario drawled. “Imagine what adult life would be like. Every night, it’ll just be me greeting you, ‘Welcome home, mi amor! What do you want first? Dinner? A bath? Me?’ And then you’ll go, ‘I’ll have you for dinner in the bath!’”

“I know you’re trying to make fun of me, but you’re drooling, Rosario.” Lillian said, giving her girlfriend a flat stare.

Rosario flushed red, wiping the corner of her mouth. “I am not.”

Lillian snorted.

***

“Damnit, her Scroll’s turned off.” Yuen groaned. “Her sister’s offline as well.”

“Thought so. They have private lives too, you know.” Sardion shrugged, slinging his coat over his shoulders. “C’mon, might as well see if any airships are available and just get this over with.”

Yuen rose from her chair. “Fine. I’ll leave them a message if we do find anything.” Just as she was about to follow Sardion out, her Scroll suddenly vibrated in her coat.

The profile picture that displayed the caller wasn’t Lillian— rather, it was the Lazuli kid calling her.

It’s something, I guess. Yuen thought to herself, swiping to accept the call.

“…Hey, Detective Yuen.” Hattie chirped up on the other end.” How’s it going? It’s Hattie from, uh, Team LLAC. Uhm, we just wanted to check in, and—” She continued, stumbling slightly over her words.

“As a matter of fact, I’m glad you called.” Yuen replied. “Listen, Sardion and I are going to investigate a possible lead down in the old Manju-Shage District, and your help would be very much appreciated.” She hesitated before continuing. “That is, if you’re not already preoccupied.”

***

On the other end of the line, Hattie’s face lit up as she heard Yuen’s invitation. For the moment, she managed to suppress the urge to whoop and cheer out of deference to the still-working Cait. “Nononono, no problem. We’ll be there right away, Detective,” she said, struggling to contain her excitement as she ended the call.

It took her a few seconds before she was able to produce words, since all that was coming out of her mouth were muffled joyful squeaks. “…Cait?”

“Gimme a sec.” Cait replied, holding up a finger.

Hattie paused, her smile falling slightly.

“Cait.” she repeated, her tone becoming  normal.

“Wait, I’m almost done.” Cait said, focused on their computer’s monitor.

“Cait!” Hattie repeated for a third time, her voice rising slightly as she grew irked by their dismissal.

“I said wait, Hattie.” Cait said, still not turning around. “…’Make sure to provide footnotes along with citations’? Aw, what the hell’s the point of that?” they muttered to themself as they reviewed their essay.

Hattie scowled darkly, thoroughly annoyed at the brush-off. After a moment, she tiptoed up next to her teammate’s shoulder and leaned in towards their ear as close as possible.

“CAAAAAAAAAAAIT!” she screamed.

“AUUUUUUUGH!” Cait screeched, jumping up from their seat in shock as they spun around to face her. Their brow contorted, startled and frustrated at the girl’s outburst.

“WHAT?!” they snapped.

Hattie’s expression morphed into a tooth-bared cheshire grin, her attempt at emulating Cait’s own habit.

“I know what we’re gonna do tonight~♪.”

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Begins

Part 13

Summary: Jensen and the reader find time in their busy schedules to go out on a second date. 

Word Count: 4.9K+

Warnings: Language, a brief discussion of emotional abuse, protected sexual intercourse, oral sex (male receiving) 18+ only

Author’s Note: I just want to start off by thanking everyone for their patience with this one. Things have been hectic in my life and my anxiety has been on high, which for me means I shut down anything that requires more than 10% of my attention. Anyway, I hope this makes up for it. As always, I love to hear what you think, so don’t be shy!

Catch up with the series masterlist and check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

The apartment was still dark when Y/n unlocked the door upon her return. She could tell Jared had yet to return, as he usually leaves a trail of evidence when he does. He would have left out something he pulled from the kitchen to munch on, or more likely, he would have left a light on. It was a bad habit of his, not turning off the lights, which drove her insane. 

She sighed with relief realizing he had yet to return. As she made her way to her room, she hung up her coat on its hook. She didn’t turn on a light until she was in her room. It took her no time at all to strip out of her clothes and into some warm pajamas. As she moved across the hall to the bathroom to remove her makeup and wash her face, she realized that she couldn’t stop smiling. It was a small smirk that refused to leave her lips. She bit her bottom lip, trying to will it away, but that only seemed to make it grow. And it was all Jensen’s fault.

It had been longer than she cared to admit since she had been on a first date that was as amazing and theirs. Her first dates usually consisted of bad small talk and not enough alcohol. Granted, they also tended to be the only dates she would embark on. Her mother wasn’t lying when she said it had been a long time since she had a serious relationship. Since Alec, she had only ever ventured towards friends with benefits relationships. Their breakup had broken her, for a long time. It took her years to gain back the self-love and confidence that she possessed today. And that still was nothing compared to what she once was. The emotional abuse she experienced at his hand made it nearly impossible to trust any guy enough to let him close to her. But with Jensen, she didn’t need to let him in. He had somehow found his own way in without her even knowing. He didn’t know everything, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care if he found out. The truth behind her break up was one that she didn’t even tell her family. Her mother couldn’t understand why she hadn’t had a boyfriend since, and Y/n couldn’t blame her for that. No, it was Y/n’s fault for not telling her. But Jensen… Jensen was safe and calming, and she found she would tell him anything he wanted to know. They had a lot to learn about each other, but she had never been more excited about it. 

Her phone screen was lit when she came back into her room. She shut off the lights and crawled into bed with it. There were a few messages from Jensen.

I had a good time tonight, regardless.

Did you decide if I can take you out again?

She chuckled to herself as she read. He was the softest guy she had met. But she couldn’t let him get off that easily.

I had a nice time too. And I decided that you cannot take me out.

She watched as the bubbles popped up immediately, indicating he was curating his reply. 

It was the baseball analogy wasn’t it?

A snort fell from her. He would bring that up.

Yeah, and well, I figured that I should repay the favor this time. Let me take you out. A girl’s gotta woo her man too. 

His reply came quickly again.

Oh, so I’m your man now? 

Don’t get ahead of yourself Ackles, it’s a figure of speech. 

Ouch... that hurt, Padalecki. 

Somehow, I think you’ll forgive me. 

Always. Now get some sleep, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and you can tell me all about this date you have planned.

She didn’t want to admit the clutch that his reply had on her heart. Jensen always somehow knew exactly what to say, even if she didn’t know it was what she needed. She bid him goodnight before plugging her phone into its charger and snuggling into bed, her grin even wider than before. 

****

Commotion in the kitchen jolted her into consciousness the next morning. She could hear voices talking, their timbre low. Curiosity got the better of her, and she climbed out of bed to see what the ruckus was. She wiped the sleep from her eyes as the sunlight from the common room of the apartment hit her when she opened her bedroom door. 

“Ah, look who decided to grace us with her presence.” From her angle in the hallway, she could see Jared pouring out a shake from his blender into a cup. He had on his workout out gear, likely ready to head out to the gym.

“Us?” Her voice was timid as she made her way into the kitchen. As she made her way down the hallway, she could see the ‘us’ in which Jared was referring to. 

“Yeah, us.” Jensen spoke up from his seat at the island bar top. He was also clad in workout clothes, a water bottle sitting on the counter in front of him.

“Well, I would still be sleeping if you two weren’t making the most noise you possibly could out here.” She growled at her brother as she made her way over to the coffee maker. She could feel Jensen’s eyes on her as she poured some coffee into a mug. His gaze was making her feel self conscious in her state of undress. Granted, he had seen her naked, but that was a far cry from the dried drool in the corner of her mouth, and the rats nest that was currently her hair.

“It’s almost eight o’clock. This is sleeping in for us.” Jared pointed out as he turned to her. 

“Ugh, you and your facts.” She grumbled and took a sip of her coffee. The liquid warmed her body on its way down, and she had to fight the clichéd sigh. Jensen chuckled from his place at the counter and her eyes flickered to his for the first time. She glared at him, having hoped to hide pre-coffee Y/n from him for a little longer than this. There was no going back now, she supposed.

“Please tell me you two are going to the gym to leave me in some peace and quiet.” 

“We were just heading out, your majesty.” Jared bowed in front of her. “I just have to grab my jacket.” He skirted off down the hall and into his room. His absence left her a small window of opportunity to mess with Jensen a little. Sure, she respected his wishes, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating. How could you not look at the man and be frustrated? She was a warm blooded American woman after all. Two could play at this game. 

Y/n made her way around the island and stopped to lean an elbow on the counter, putting her right in Jensen’s line of sight.

“You know, if you wanted to see me again so soon, you could’ve just asked.” She kept her voice low, as Jared had left his door open behind him. 

“I did, and you said no remember?”

“No, I said you don’t get to take me out. There is a distinct difference there.” Jensen narrowed his eyes, trying to pick up on what she meant. “Chew on that a bit.” With that she pushed off the counter and headed back for her room. Jensen was a smart guy, and she knew he would catch up with her at some point. 

As she passed the desk in her room, she picked up her laptop and climbed into her bed. Today was her day to catch up on things for her business. She had a photo shoot that was coming up soon that she needed to finalize details for and book a plane ticket to New York. They had a lot to get done before Ashley went on maternity leave, and she was determined to do it. That had been their compromise after the whole debacle. They were to shoot everything they needed now, and it will be strategically posted to both of their social media profiles later when the collection launches. They were exceedingly lucky that their schedules lined up perfectly. She had a long weekend off from filming soon, and she needed to take advantage of every opportunity that she could.

Once she settled all that, she would dive into planning something special for Jensen. Who says that a guy has to do all the romantic stuff in a relationship? Equality and stuff, right? She was determined to figure something out, and she liked to think that she knew him well enough to make it a night to remember. 

The task was harder than she anticipated. Jensen just wasn’t a gooey guy. He was a Texan boy and though that meant he was a gentleman, it also meant that getting him back for making her cry was damn near impossible. Not to mention, as much as she hates to admit it, he knew a lot more about her than she knew about him. 

Eventually she gave in, deciding that she would go with the humor approach. She was going to make him laugh until his ribs ached and ply him full of alcohol. They will have a damn good time if it killed her. The place she had found to take him to was a dive to say the least. Definitely a place the Winchester brothers would find themselves on a crack hunt. But that was part of the charm of the evening. As well, it meant it would be less likely someone would spot them. All she needed was to wait until Jared was out of the way. 

****

It was a quiet day on set. They were working on a few scenes on the bunker stages, which meant no fun work for her. She was mostly present to make sure the guys didn’t get too shiny. Hell, even Trish had the day off. That’s how little her services were needed. 

She sat in one of the uncomfortable cast chairs, her one leg crossed over the other, bouncing mindlessly as she scrolled through social media. The director called cut and she hopped up from her spot to run and check on Jared and Jensen. 

Jared sat down on the map table so she could reach him. “I wish you could come home this week with me.”

She smiled at her brother with a slight roll of her eyes. “You’re just saying that so I can babysit for free while you and Gen do things I want to know nothing about.” 

“Hey, the kids miss you.” Jared acted offended by her words.

“Wow, you aren’t even denying it.” Jensen piped up from where he stood next to them. He crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk. 

With an exaggerated gasp, she pointed the brush in her hand at Jensen. “Yes! Thank you. Just hire a babysitter like normal people and leave me out of it.” 

“Whatever, smalls. You’ll understand one day when you have kids. And I won’t be there to bail you out when you and your baby daddy want some alone time.” Jared stood as she indicated she was done with him. Her nose wrinkled at his choice of words. Out of all the terms he could have used, he went with ‘baby daddy’? 

“Fine by me, wanna know why? Cause I’ll have hired a babysitter.” She shoved his shoulder when he rolled his eyes at her. Jared’s action only served to fuel her annoyance with him, her  jaw setting while she thought of some retort, but Jared was too quick for her. 

“You know you seem a little cranky. When was the last time you ate?” She frowned, knowing it would prompt him to run off to the food table and get him off her back. “I’ll go grab a snack really quick. Jensen?” Jared raised his eyebrows as he turned his attention to Jensen. Jensen just shook his head as she glared at her brother. Jared disappeared from the set, leaving the two of them forgotten as the crew worked to set up the next scene. 

“You know, you and Jared’s bitch faces are disturbingly similar.” Jensen said as she indicated for him to sit as well. As she tucked away Jared’s makeup and swapped it for Jensen’s, she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Probably the dimples.” 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” He grinned as he looked up at her. Her heart stuttered in her chest from his gaze. Every time he looked at her like that, it seemed to take her breath away. It was hard to describe, but the simple adoration and the way his skin crinkled at the corner of his eyes just did something to her. 

“So, Jared leaves first thing tomorrow morning, and I was thinking, if you were interested, we could go on that second date.” Her voice lowered as she finished her sentence. Both of them glanced around their immediate area for any prying ears on the set. 

“I would love that.” Being next to her was growing increasingly difficult. Jensen was fighting every instinct inside him that wanted to reach out and touch her. Especially considering they hadn’t had a moment alone since their first date, and that was two weeks ago. There wasn’t even a small chance to sneak a quick peck to her lips. He was seriously reconsidering his adamance about keeping sex out of the equation. And she wasn’t helping the situation, either. She was antagonizing him, that he knew for sure. Women did it all the time around him. Swaying their hips and ensuring that their breasts were the best accessory to whatever outfit they chose to wear. He refused to play her game though. Taking things slow was the hardest decision he had ever made, but his previous relationship patterns were consistent. Each one started out hot and heavy, and each one burned out before they even had the chance to see the light. Even though whatever it was they had going between them was new, he knew that he did not want this to turn out like all the others. Something in his gut was telling him this could be different, and he was determined to keep them from fizzling out. 

“Good, I’ll text you.” Her voice brought him back to the moment. He had to remind himself to just take it day by day. To take in each moment as it comes. He was committed to remembering the little things about their time together. Like the way the tip of her tongue was now fixed in the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on her work. Or the obvious excitement in her voice at the prospect of setting up their next date. 

“So banana or apple?” Jared appeared next to them, popping the bubble they had unintentionally disappeared into. Y/n snapped closed the powdered foundation in her hand and kept her gaze on Jensen. 

“Oh, banana for sure.” 

****

“I’m kind of regretting keeping you in the dark for our first date right now.” 

“Stop worrying, you’ll have fun.” She whined for the third time that evening. She had only given him as much to go on as he had given her for their last date, and it turned out that Jensen was an even bigger baby about surprises than she was. 

“I’m sure, but I’m just curious as to why you insisted that I wear jeans and cowboy boots.” Jensen fiddled with his legs, looking down at his weathered leather boots on his feet. 

“Ah, but it’s all part of the fun. Besides, the wait is over, we’re here.” Y/n pointed out the windshield as their uber turned into the gravel parking lot. The building that they had pulled up to was, for the most part, nondescript. The only hint as to what was inside came from the various neon signs that indicated the brands of beer they sold. 

The deep bass of the music playing inside could be heard as the two exited the car. Jensen still had a skeptical look on his face as she came around and grabbed his hand to drag him inside. The chaos that reigned behind the door hit them in the face as they entered the bar. The long bar on the south side of the building was the main focal point as they made their way inside. It sat directly across the way from a stage where a live band was currently playing something neither of them recognized. The theme inside was anything but subtle, and he immediately recognized where they were. 

“Really? A honky tonk bar?” Jensen had a wide grin on his face as she turned back to him. 

“Well, you can take the girl out of Texas…” She trailed off, not needing to finish her idiom. Her lips were pursed as she tried to fight her smile. “You like?”

“You know, I think I do. This is honestly the last place I ever expected, but man I do miss home sometimes.” Jensen continued to follow her to a few open seats at the bar. He slipped his arms around her waist as she flagged down the bartender and ordered two beers and four shots. 

She slid two shots to Jensen and kept two for herself when they arrived. “Here’s to Texas.” She held up the shot and Jensen tapped his own against it.

“God bless Texas.” He agreed before the both of them downed the amber liquid. Y/n immediately picked up her second shot and threw it back with a hiss. She shook out her head as she fought against the burn in her throat. 

“Come on Ackles, keep up.” She picked up the large pint of beer and disappeared into the crowd of people dancing. Jensen smirked to himself before throwing back his second shot and setting off after her, his own beer in hand. 

****

The front door to Jared’s apartment flew open, bouncing off of the small decorative table that had the unfortunate incidence of being placed where it was. The small potted plant that sat atop it shook in its place from the force. 

Jensen and Y/n were attached at the lips as they stumbled inside. His hands fumbled to find the handle to close the door behind them as he refused to separate from her. A giggle fell from her lips as he growled in frustration and finally relented. He fastened the deadbolt before turning back to her. With a breath, he allowed himself a second to take in her flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips. Even after a night of dancing, drinking, and yes, bull riding, she looked as beautiful as ever. It was corny as shit, but there was nothing he didn’t love when he looked at her. And right now, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

“What?” Her self-consciousness picked up under his intense stare. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had something on her face.

“Nothing, just admiring the view.” He answered honestly. An eye roll was her only response. Jensen always said sappy shit like that, but she would be lying if she said that she didn’t love it. Frankly, his open affection was uncharted territory for her. Sure, she had slept with her share of willing men, but both of them were just looking to get off. Niceties were not on anyone’s minds. With Jensen, it was different. She could actually feel the admiration, and to describe the way it made her feel would be impossible. Words cannot express that warmth. 

“You’re not half bad yourself, Ackles.” She purred as she took his hand and pulled him down the hall. He followed happily, allowing her to drag him through the door and push him down onto the edge of the bed. She snuck her way between his thighs, hovering over him. His heavy eyes flitted up to hers as he drew his neck back to look up. 

“This view looks familiar.” She cocked her head before catching his lips in hers again. The high of feeling his barely chapped yet still pillow soft lips against her was one she would chase over and over. It radiated heat throughout her, only to be intensified where his wide palms rose to rest against her hips. 

“Y/n-”

“Shhh,” Now was not the time for talking. No, she just wanted to feel him, to be able to commit these moments to memory. Including his heaving chest and lust blown eyes. And Jensen didn’t have any will to object to it either, not when her fingers were tugging on the soft hairs on the base of his skull, the action getting him more and more excited. 

He chased after her lips as she sank down to her knees in front of him. He lifted his feet at her insistence, allowing her to pull off his boots and socks. Both of her hands pulled back her hair to toss it over one of her shoulders before she raised back up off of her calves. Heavy breathes fell from Jensen as he leaned back and supported his weight with his arms behind him and watched her reach for his belt. The metal jingled as she pulled it open, not once taking her eyes off of the half wrecked man in front of her. There was a smug satisfaction at knowing how undone he had come already, and she hadn’t even touched him yet. 

A hum of contentment left her lips as she continued to take off Jensen's jeans and briefs while he took care of his shirts. “Did I mention how lucky I am?” She asked him as she lazily stroked his half hard erection.

“Jesus,” He groaned and ran his hand over her head and through the locks along her shoulder. “You have my cock in your hand and you’re the lucky one?” Her only reply was a gentle nod of her head before she wrapped her lips around his reddened tip. Jensen sucked in a breath at her sudden warmth before letting it out in a low moan. 

It was like a symphony to her ears, the noise jolting her core with arousal. “Mm, lucky.” She asserted as she coated him in her saliva and took as much of him in her mouth as she could. Jensen was making delicious noises as she worked him over, sucking him for all he was worth. In no time, his thighs were clenching against her sides and she could tell he was close. With a soft pop, she took her mouth from his throbbing cock. Jensen whimpered, fully frustrated by her removal before he fell back on the bed in a heap. 

“Oh my…” He watched her as she shed her own clothes and went in search of a condom. She motioned for him to move up the bed and tossed him the small packet she had secured. 

“You can call me Y/n.” She drawled in a bad southern accent. The bed bounced as she playfully jumped onto it. The movement gave Jensen temporary issues as he worked to secure the condom on himself. Once it was finally on, he moved to sit up, but she stopped him, pushing him back against the comforter. His rough hands found her waist as she straddled his hips. She bucked forward, rubbing her dripping pussy against his cock, causing both of them to hiss. 

“How’s about I call you amazing?” He smiled up at her as her right hand fell onto the bed next to his head. She kissed him deep and swift, savoring the taste of his tongue in her mouth and his breaths mixing with her own. 

“That works too.” She supposed, lining him up with her entrance and sinking down. Her chin fell to her chest as he stretched her, cascading her hair into a curtain around their faces. The tip of her tongue was turning white where she had it clenched between her teeth as she tried not to cry out. Her memory of that first night had not done either of them justice. It was hazier than she had thought, because she was sure she would have accurately remembered this feeling. Frankly, she was kind of pissed that she hadn’t gotten the clear picture. Sure, she had felt it in the morning, but that was nothing compared to the fullness she was experiencing now. 

“You good?” Jensen had his knowing smirk on as he repeated the phrase she had chastised him for that first night. Without a word, she fixed her hair back over one shoulder before she raised her hips up and lowered them back down in a slow, calculated movement. Jensen grunted, his fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips.

“Are you good?” Jensen laughed at her quick retort. That was a fair response, he assumed, as she repeated her movement. Quickly, she had to adjust her support, moving her hand higher near his head and bracing her left hand against his chest near the base of his throat, before she could set a pace with her hips.

The room quickly filled with the sound of her skin against skin mixing with her deep moans and Jensen’s heavy breaths. He had planted his feet, meeting her thrust for thrust, his hands helping to bring her back down to him. Jensen took over every sense she had, and she wanted nothing more than to freeze this moment right here and hold onto it for as long as she could. Fire was now burning through her veins as the coil tightened in her belly. She wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to last, her body racing to the edge. 

“Y/n,” he warned her through gritted teeth, not needing to say anything else. A loud moan that emanated from the back of her throat was all she could offer him in confirmation that she was right there with him. “You’re doing so good baby, riding my cock. Come for me, Y/n.” 

She captured his lips again as she finally fell over the edge, her pussy clenching tight around him. Their mouths met in heated tongue and teeth as Jensen gave her another few good thrusts before following her off the cliff and emptying himself into the condom. Under trembling legs, she forced herself off of him and dropped in a sweaty heap on his right. Her hands searched him out as she worked to slow her breathing, her fingers eventually making their way through the longer locks on the crown of his head. Her gaze fixed on the paint lines across the ceiling as she allowed herself to come down.

“You know, I thought you were going to fight me on this.” She mused as Jensen rolled over her, his arm folded against her stomach to support his head just below her ribs. 

“What do you mean?” He asked as he kissed her sternum, just below her breasts.

“The whole, ‘let’s not make this just about sex’ thing. I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“We did wait… for the second date.” He joked before turning serious again. “Besides, it’s harder to argue when you don’t believe your own words?” He had a content smile still on his face as she played with his hair. She searched his face for any hint he may be lying to her, but she couldn’t find anything hidden there. 

“Okay, I just didn’t want you to feel pressured. I didn’t pressure you, did I?” 

“No, no pressure.” He promised with another kiss against her sweaty and flushed skin. Jensen laid his cheek against her belly, her fingers still in his hair. The two remained that way in silence for a moment or two before Jensen spoke up again.

“What did you mean earlier, when you said you were lucky?” His brow furrowed as he adjusted himself to get a better look at her face. 

“Hmmm, well, I was referring to the fact that millions of girls would pay out the ass to be on their knees in front of you, and I got to do it for free.” She had to cut the moment with an ounce of humor. Jensen pinched her side as he frowned at her. She yelped before squirming out from underneath him. “I’m serious, if this acting thing doesn’t pan out, you could make a killing.” 

“You’re not funny you know that?” He tried to chase after her, but she was out of the bed before he could blink. He threw one of her pillows across the room at her. She caught it with a huge smile and headed back to the edge of the bed. 

“I’m hilarious.” She countered and tossed the pillow back to him before jumping back onto the bed. “For real though, I don’t think I could even express to you just yet how lucky I feel right now.” 

Jensen accepted her answer, inviting her back to his side. The two of them snuggled back into each other, content to just listen to the sound of their own breathing. That was until something hit him. 

“We really need to stop fucking in Jared’s homes.” He wrinkled his nose and she fell into another fit of laughter.

“Could be worse, it could have been his bed.” She got out in between breaths. 

“Yeah, well, I like my head attached to my body.”

A/N 2: I struggled with whether or not I want to make the reader’s previous relationship abusive, because I don’t like the idea that she needed something horrific to happen to her to push my plot agenda. Eventually though, I came to the unfortunate conclusion that the fact remains that it is an unfortunate reality for a lot of women, and that I can make it about more than just a plot device. 

If you or someone you know is suffering abuse at the hand of a domestic partner, I want you to know that there is help. Visit https://www.thehotline.org/help/ for more information.

Part 14

Forevers: @spn-impala @22sarah08 @turtlepad @callmekda @chaldei @hobby27 @casualfestivaltrashpainter @cowboysnwinchesters @tranquility-or-chaos @pikabootoyouchu @dawnie1988 @grease222 @frackinawesomeninja @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @polina-93 @clarinette07 @moonlight-babeh @suckerforfanfic @witandnargles @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @geeksareunique

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl @hillface89 @arses21434 @thevelvetseries @sslater34 @mrsirishboru @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @encounterthepast @facadeformyrealblog  @supernatural-bellawinchester @screechingartisancashbailiff @rebeccathefangirl @squirrelnotsam @heartinmyhead1 @1d-killed-me @samsgirl93 @deans-baby-momma @deanmonandnegansbitch @woodworthti666 @supraveng @onethirstyunicorn @heartsaved @know2grow @littlewhiterose @surprisinglysarah @stoneyggirl @carryon-doctor-lock @thebookisbtr @youaremyfiveever

[justaghostingon]

Cogs in a Steel Heart

Chapter 5: Letting Go

Hugo makes his choice, and Cyrus decides its time to do a meet-the-parents.

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331849/chapters/60360532

Hugo made his choice at the edge of the dark kingdom. In typical Hugo fashion, he does so with a wink and a lie. As if Cyrus is just some rich noble he’s conning out of his money, and not someone who’s been able to see through him for years.

“It's the wrong kingdom,” Hugo says. “The trial is in the ice kingdom just that way, but I’ll lead them through this one just to keep them occupied for a bit, so there’s no need to pay too much attention.”

Cyrus wondered why Hugo always seemed to think he’s dumb. He’s not. He may not be a genius on the level of Hugo and Donella, but he’s not an idiot. He checked with Donella to gain a map of all the kingdoms involved on the quest before he left so he could pack properly. Hugo should have noticed, except he’d been too busy tapping his foot impatiently and complaining that leaving now meant now and not in an hour later.

He knows that this is not the correct place. He knows that Hugo is lying to him to try and get him to back off and not report it all back to Donella. He can see through this flimsy excuse and read Hugo’s true intentions: he’s choosing Goggles and his team over Donella.

“Ok,” he says in response. Because he’s fine with that. Really. If this is what Hugo wants, well, he’s nineteen, its high time he started thinking for himself. And besides, there was a spark in Hugo’s eyes he hadn’t seen in years, burning bright. He’s practically weightless, bouncing on his feet like a man who’d finally had the weight of the world removed from his shoulders.

Hugo turned to leave, spring in his step, and Cyrus felt his lips twitch slightly upward as he watched him go. Hugo had found happiness, and it warmed Cyrus’s soul to see.

At the edge of the clearing, Hugo stopped, head turning slightly back to Cyrus. Cyrus hastily removed any trace of emotion from his face, staring back as impassively as he could manage. Hugo hesitated. “Mona,” he said.

“Yeah?” Cyrus said, wariness leaking into his voice. Hugo never used someone’s real name unless he was about to discuss something important.

“I never thanked her,” Hugo looked down at his feet, “for the hat.”

“Oh,” Cyrus blinked. That was unexpected. Hugo had learned to say ‘thank you.’ He wondered who had taught him that. “I’ll pass on the thanks,” he offers with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Of course,” Hugo turned back to the trail ahead. “Thank you Cyrus,” he says, a finality in his words that told Cyrus he wasn’t being thanked for passing on a message. His gut twisted as he watched Hugo step forward, vanishing among the trees.

Cyrus stood in the clearing for a long while, lost in thought as the blackened leaves fell down around him. Finally he grit his teeth and released two words, “Ahh hell.”

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

“It’s not that I don’t think that this is good for him. He’s happy! Happier than I’ve ever seen him! And he’s nineteen, so its damn time he went through a little teenage rebellion! It’s just-” Cyrus ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “-I just don’t know anything about these people and what they think of Hugo!” He threw up his hands in the air and looked at his audience for a reaction.

His audience, a dusty old crow that apparently didn’t know how to fly or stand properly lay on a log and gave a caw. Cyrus decided to take it as an agreement.

“Exactly! I know what Hugo thinks of them. But I also know Firecracker and Princess were suspicious before they learned to trust him, what’s to stop them from suspecting him again the next time something goes wrong? And he’s so infatuated with this Goggles, but Goggles was willing to up and abandon everyone! I can’t just leave Hugo with people like that without figuring out what they’re really like. Right?”

The crow didn’t respond in favor of pecking up in the air like he expected it to be wood. Cyrus sighed. He missed Mona. She’d know what to do. But she wasn’t here, and he didn’t have time to send her a letter and ask her for advice.

He tapped his fingers to his chin. “I need to meet Hugo’s friends, make sure they actually care about Hugo, and aren’t about to leave him dead in a ditch somewhere. It’s my job after all, as his bodyguard.”

He glanced back at the crow, who had somehow dragged itself up into a semi-upright position. “What do you think about doing a bit of improv?”

The crow gave a squawk of agreement and promptly fell off the log.

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

Cyrus adjusted the bear mask more properly over his face. Perfect. The crow, for all its inability to fly in straight lines, seemed surprisingly adept at finding threatening disguises. He gave the bird a sly grin, and it proceeded to caw in the wrong direction as its eyes spun in circles.

He picked it up and put it on his shoulder. There, final touch complete. Now he looked like a madman. He’d have to take the mask off for some of the more theatrical bits, but this would make a pretty good entrance. He gripped his club, took in a deep breath, and stepped out from the trees and into the dark kingdom.

The dark kingdom was, and there was no other words for it, creepy. The soil was blackened and dark, and instead of trees large black spikes littered the land. Cyrus had thought most of them had disappeared ages ago, put apparently some roots were too thick for even magic to remove. He suppressed a shutter and strode forward with large, echoing footprints.

Hugo’s team had stopped below a slight cliff, no doubt resting after getting their old donkey down. Or was it a mule? Cyrus couldn’t be certain. Whatever it was looked like it had outlived several lifetimes worth of drama. Even now it looked up at Cyrus’s bear costume as it chewed the grass, unimpressed to the extreme.

“What is it Prometheus?” A boy said, following his gaze upwards. He was shorter than Hugo, with goggles on his head and a wizard’s staff in his left hand. Cyrus briefly wondered if this was the Goggles he’d heard so much about. The boy looked up at him, expression wary. “Are you King Edmund?”

“What?” Cyrus gaped, completely thrown off track.

“Your son mentioned your love of bear clothing,” the boy continued with a slight cough into his hand.

Cyrus turned to look at the crow in confusion. The crow began to eat one of the bear’s ears. Cyrus looked back down at the four people below him, expressions ranging from wary to hopeful. He sighed. There goes his fear factor. Looks like he’d have to start step two sooner than he thought. “I don’t know who this king is. But if you really want to know,-” he threw off the hood, causing the crow on his shoulder to shriek and take off into the air, “-I’ve been following you. You have something I need, and I’m not leaving until I get it.” He lowered his knees slightly and hunched his shoulders, gritting his teeth into his most ferocious smile.

Behind Goggles, Hugo facepalmed.

His friends tensed. The girl and the little boy drew closer to Goggles, pulling out strange glowing chemicals and...was that a giant firecracker? Well, that nickname was certainly accurate, Cyrus thought as he eyed at the boy was now most definitely Firecracker. Goggles fingered the strange balls on his sash, and narrowed his eyes at Cyrus. “We aren't giving up the totems.”

“Oh I’m not here for the totems,” Cyrus drew himself up to his full height. “I’m here for him.” He pointed a finger directly at Hugo. Hugo’s jaw went slack.

“Me?” he pointed a finger at his chest. What are you doing Cyrus? his expression said.

Hugo’s companions all glanced back at Hugo, and he quickly schooled his expression to one of neutral confusion. Princess sighed, a hand on her hips. “What did you do Hugo?” Goggles and even Firecracker looked exasperated.

“Nothing!” Hugo protested. “I don’t know this guy!”

“You don’t need to know me,” Cyrus waved his hand at Hugo’s words. “My employer knows you, and they’ll pay a pretty penny for the head of the Alchemist who screwed over the Baron Von Drake!” It was the name of a royal Hugo had screwed over for something, Cyrus couldn’t remember what. But there was no point in bringing up Donella in the likely scenario that Hugo had not mentioned her to his team after he switched sides.

Hugo’s eyebrow rose. “You mean that guy who I sold the hair potion too?”

Cyrus held back a snort of laughter, disguising it as a cough. Oh it was that guy, heavens above that had been hilarious. Concentrate Cyrus, sad things, dead cats, hunger. He gave his best frown. “Yes, and he wants you dead for it.”

“For hair?” Goggles exclaimed.

Cyrus shrugged. “You know nobles, ruthless over the stupidest things.” Princess gave the slightest flinch, and Hugo’s brow furrowed. “But look,” Cyrus added, desperate to bring this back on track. “I’m a reasonable man. Just give me the criminal, and no one else has to get hurt.”

The three looked at each other. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Goggles said as he drew back his arm, a ball in his hand. “But thanks for being so polite about it.”

Cyrus made no move to dodge the ball as it fell, releasing a sticky substance that coated his feet. The crow landed beside it and began to peck, but to no avail.

“It should wear off in a few hours,” Goggles said, turning away. “Bye,”

Cyrus smiled. Straining his legs he kicked out, sending the hardened purple crumbling all around him. The crow gave a cry and flew off. The three children below gasped and drew back. Even Hugo, who was fully aware of exactly how strong Cyrus was, looked a little impressed. Cyrus wasn’t certain why though, an antidote to the purple goo had been the first thing Hugo had brewed, did he think Donella had asked for that purely for research purposes? Cyrus had coated nearly a whole bottle’s worth on his boots for this very attack.

But whatever the reason, the surprise worked in his favor, and Cyrus was not going to waist it. He jumped down the cliff like it was nothing, this one was completely on him he was pleased to admit, and charged straight at Hugo.

“What are you doing?” Hugo hissed as he ducked under Cyrus’s punch.

“Helping,” Cyrus hissed back as he ducked under a brightly colored ball. “Play along.” Hugo did not look at all convinced as Cyrus landed a solid kick and sent Hugo flying backwards.

Ooof. He thought as Hugo landed hard on his butt, gasping for breath. He hadn’t meant to kick him that hard. He tried not to wince as he slowed himself to a threatening walk.

“Stay away from him!” Goggles threw himself forward at Cyrus, clawing at his sides. Cyrus peeled him off easily, wondering why someone so smart would attack with his hands. He was quickly answered when something strange and green started to grow on his armor, no doubt another attempt to make him stop. Too bad Donella had Hugo-proofed this armor long ago to make their team ups go smoother, and if the smell of this was anything to go by, Hugo had definitely helped in its creation.

“That ain’t gonna work on me kid,” he said as he tossed Goggles back at Hugo. Hugo stretched out his arms to catch him, but ended up falling back, winded a second time. Goggles struggled to sit up, but ultimately fell back on Hugo, dazed.

“Leave him alone!” Princess jumped in Cyrus’s path. She raised a hand to her chest. “If it's money you are after, I am Princess Nuru of the Air Kingdom. I can easily settle any debit my companion has created.”

Appealing to his character’s obvious greed? Not a bad move. Except for how she exposed herself as an even more appealing target. Seriously, had Hugo taught her nothing about survival. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t here to kidnap princesses. “It doesn't work like that little lady,” Cyrus shrugged. “I have a code.” He stepped forward, and Princess spread her arms defensively. Cyrus rolled his eyes. “And what are you going to do to stop me little lady? You aren’t even armed.”

Princess’s lips twitched upwards, and too late Cyrus realized he hadn’t been paying attention to Firecracker. He whirled around, only to catch a glimpse of a giant firecracker coming straight towards him. He ducked, the firecracker grazing his back. A flash of victory filled Cyrus, and then numb shock as he was pulled along into the air.

Cyrus realized where he had smelled that stench before as he flew through the air. Hugo’s sticking powder. They’d turned it into goo! Well, Cyrus would be damned if that wasn’t impressive. He cast one more glance back at the little group. Varian was still struggling to unattach himself from the goo that held him to Hugo. Princess was kneeling beside them, giggling. Yong held a firecracker up, clearly offering to blow them free, and from Hugo’s expression, half horrified, and half amused, it looked like they didn’t have another one. But even with the growing fear in his eyes as the pyromaniac began lighting the firecrackers, Cyrus could tell he was completely happy. They’d take good care of him.

He smiled as the firecracker exploded behind him, sending him scorched and flying into the open air.

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

“What were you thinking?” Hugo demanded as he found him hours later, sitting on a log as he tried to recover from being blown out of the sky.

“I told you,” Cyrus pressed a cooling paste to his burned skin and silently thanked alchemy’s healing wonders. “I’m helping.”

“Helping? Helping? You call that helping?!” Hugo threw his hands into the air. “You attacked us! You nearly blew my cover!” He leaned down to get in Cyrus’s face, emerald eyes blazing with fury.

Cyrus stared back, unimpressed. “I didn’t put your cover in any kind of danger. I didn’t mention we knew each other, or Donella at all.”

“You didn’t have too!” Hugo shoved a finger in Cyrus’s chest. “I go to talk to you every other week! If one of them follows me and sees us together, it’s all over!” He punctuated the last line by pushing his finger deeper into Cyrus’s chest.

“Well then,” Cyrus shrugged and batted Hugo’s hand away. “I guess I’ll have to go back to Donella, tell her how I blew it, and how you can’t make reports anymore without me so there's no point in waiting for them.”

“Wh-what?” Hugo stepped back, eyes wide. “That means...” he shook his head, “No. No that will never work. The next kingdom is the iron kingdom, and Donella’s going to make a move for sure. Once they see you with her...”

“Then they will think she employed someone who has both openly admitted to not knowing you, and holds a personal grudge.” Cyrus crossed his arms and smiled. “Even if she completely outs you as a spy, they’ll never believe you wouldn’t have met a colleague as old as me, much less let me attack you for no reason. It will just look like we’re trying to smear you.”

“That is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard,” Hugo scowled. “It has so many holes it would sink like a stone in water.”

“Perhaps,” Cyrus rose to his feet. “But it's done now. So you’ll just have to continue on this quest, without any supervision or anyone to stop you if you decide to stick with them.” He began to limp over to grab his stuff.

“Oh,” Hugo’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Finally he got out. “Cyrus...”

The bushes began to rustle, and Cyrus jolted upright, body moving to block Hugo from view. “Leave,” he hissed. Hugo didn’t need telling twice, scrambling back into the foliage back towards his friends. He did not look back.

The rustling stopped as the crow jumped out. Cyrus let his shoulders relax as it cocked it head sideways to stare up at him with one eye while the other one spun in circles. “There you are, you coward,” he sighed. “You left me all by myself back there.”

The crow gave a sharp caw, and began to peck at the open air. Cyrus sighed as he sat back down. “It's over now,” he told the bird. “I’ll head back to Donella and tell her I messed up while Hugo stays here with his friends.”

The crow stared at him, it's usually mobile eyes stopping to pin him into place. Cyrus felt a shiver run down his back at the intelligence hidden deep inside them.

“Odin’s eyes,” his grandpa’s voice whispered in his ears. “Whatever the crow sees the king of the dark sees too.”

Cyrus shook his head to clear it of the fear. “Oh don’t look at me like that,” he told the crow. “You don’t know what’s like to raise a son. Sometimes staying with you just isn’t good for them.”

A strange, animalistic sympathy flashed across the crow’s bulging eyes. Then it bowed its head and began pecking at a rock on the ground, missing every now and then to hit the open air. All its intelligence seemed to vanish as if it had been nothing but Cyrus’s imagination.

Cyrus watched it peck away, mind still on Hugo and his friends. It was good that they cared about Hugo. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if they didn’t. But they had been willing to face Cyrus for Hugo, so they were all right in Cyrus’s book. Kinda small though. He briefly wondered if he should follow after them regardless, just to make sure they stayed alive. But no. They’d made short work of him, they would be fine.

Hugo would be fine. He was an adult now. Making his own friends and his own decisions. He didn’t need Cyrus to take out the trash anymore.

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

The alley behind the bar had been dark, but that was to Cyrus’s advantage, deep shadows hiding even his large form. Not that he needed surprise. His target wasn’t exactly in the best fighting shape. It was far from sporting, but as every thug in the guild could tell you, sporting wasn’t a thug’s job. Especially for people like this. Cyrus pulled his lips into a sharp smile.

Grimoire stepped into the alleyway, two friends at his side. Smart of him to have lackeys with him, but alas, still not enough. Cyrus darted forward, slamming a fist to the lackey on the left. Grimoire ducks, but Cyrus keeps his fist going, knocking the first lackey’s head into the second’s and sending them both crumbling to the ground. Good. He didn’t recognize them from earlier, so it was best to leave them out of this.

Grimoire scowled at him, already aware of what was coming. “Didn’t you tell the brat you’d leave me alive?” he mocked as he pulled out a knife and dropped into a waiting stance.

Cyrus didn’t bother to respond. Grimoire lunged with his knife at Cyrus’s stomach, but Cyrus sidestepped, catching the blade in one hand and twisting Grimoire’s wrist with the other. A single, well placed blow was all it took, and the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Cyrus took the knife and quietly finished him off. It was quick and painless, far better than he deserved. But Cyrus wasn’t the type to relish in cruelty when efficiency was an option. Task done, he turned on his heel, a strange satisfaction filled his stomach as he left the body to rot in the back alley.

There would be no consequences for this crime, Cyrus knew. There was no guild to protect Grimoire. And besides, there was a certain understanding on the streets about those who hurt children, even ones as annoying as Hugo. Even if everyone knew who killed Grimoire, no one was going to say anything. Sometimes it was better to let thugs be thugs.

Hugo never talked to Cyrus about Grimoire, but Cyrus could see a weight on his shoulders lift as news traveled around the underground that he was dead, killed in some back alley robbery. He didn’t seem to care to look any further into the flimsy details, like how nothing of Grimoire’s had been taken. Cyrus in turn never offered up any information of his own involvement.

Donella never said anything either. But the next day she quietly called Cyrus into her office and told him his probationary period was up, and he was now a full employee. It might have been a coincidence, but Cyrus had a feeling that the old bat knew far more than she was telling. Not that it much mattered. What was done was done.

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

The crow let out a sharp caw, startling Cyrus out of his dark thoughts. He shook his head and focused on the strange bird, who was now perched beside him one the log, somehow upside down.

“Guess I best be going,” he said as he rose to his feet. He gave the odd bird a two fingered salute. “It's been an honor to serve with you, my weird friend, but I’ve got to get home to my wife.” The bird raised a wing as if to give a salute back, and began absently nibbling on his own feathers.

Cyrus felt his lips twitch into a smile as he turned his face towards the setting sun, and home. He hoped Mona was making her famous stew. He’d send her a letter as soon as he ran into a town, and let her know to have some ready when he got back. He’d have quite the story to tell her over it.

[nishaapologist]

Dogmeat Me, Dogmeat You (Fallout 4, First Sentinel AU)

people have been asking and yes; both rookie AND sarah have a dogmeat, and of COURSE rookie takes their dogmeat with them to boston. what do they look like, a monster???

*

It’s as Sarah is staring very intently at an old and well-annotated map of Boston — drawn over countless times by various travellers, circling places of interest and scratching big Xs over pockets of deadly radiation or Radscorpion nests that sit atop neat typeface denoting another of Boston’s many attractions for Pre-War families — that Dogmeat starts hassling her for no good reason, prodding her snout under Sarah’s armpit as her owner leans over her desk in thought. She nudges her away gently, absently, murmuring not now as she tries to draw up some strategies for the next battery of missions she’s got planned for the Commonwealth, but Dogmeat’s insistent, snuffling and poking and pushing until Sarah loses her train of thought for the third time, and she finally sighs and stands up, abandoning the idea for now to instead look down into her dog’s big brown eyes.

“You hungry, girl? Is that it?”

Dogmeat wags her tail so hard that her whole body wriggles with the motion, and when she nearly sweeps one of Rookie’s countless collectible bottles of Quantum off the nearest coffee table — waiting to be put into a bulletproof, rocket-proof, explosion-proof and just about nuke-proof container — Sarah curses and starts ushering her downstairs. “C’mon, g’won, down you go—”

Truth be told, Home Plate is a little too small for a fully-grown German Shepard, which is only made all the smaller when Sarah makes eye contact with Old Dogmeat lying at the bottom of the stairs, Rookie’s ever-faithful cattledog now greying in the face. He doesn’t quite have the spring in his step that Sarah remembers him having a few years ago, but he’s a stubborn old bastard and Rookie loves him half to death, so Sarah expects him to be hanging around a few more years yet. If she’s being strictly honest, she’d never understood the appeal of having a hound by your side on the battlefield — dogs die so easily, and Sarah’s determination to save as many lives as possible is often tested by their presence — but now she’s got a dog of her own, and, well. Rookie’s just a little smug about it all.

Still, as soon as Sarah’s foot hits the last step on the stairs, he gets up to give Dogmeat a good sniffling before circling around her legs, and Sarah has a feeling this whole thing is a setup.

“Alright, alright,” she says, stepping gingerly over wayward paws. “You know, you could be annoying someone with a face much closer to your level—”

Old Dogmeat makes a gruff sort of woof in the back of his throat, and right in that same moment the front door opens, Rookie’s red cap poking through the gap before the rest of them follows, glancing down at both dogs before peering up to Sarah’s unamused face. They take a second of contemplation — backed by the sound of Dogmeat’s tail hitting the side of the door with a whud, whud, whud —  before cracking a grin as they put two and two together.

“Oh, man, they turned to you, huh? I told ‘em I was gonna go to Polly’s and pick up some meat, but apparently five minutes is on the long side of time for them.”

As they slide inside, there’s a wrapped parcel under one arm that both dogs look very interested in all of a sudden, and Rookie holds up above their head when Old Dogmeat snarts sniffing for it. “Ey, no! This isn’t all for you, fuckers, back off—”

Sarah snorts as she watches Rookie make for the kitchen, both Dogmeats hot on their heels. “I mean, don’t they say a year for humans is seven in dog years, or something? That means five minutes for them is, like…” Sarah does the maths, and she’s not ashamed to admit it takes quite a bit of finger-counting to get there. “Thirty-five minutes. You left them to starve for half a dog hour, Rookie. For shame.”

Rookie reaches the kitchen, slapping down the meat onto the wide countertop that Sarah had constructed out of scrap metal and a prayer, and Sarah laughs at the blank stare they look at her with. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re on their side now? I heard what you said through the door, asshole, not to mention that look on your face.”

Sarah shrugs with an easy acceptance,  but anything else Rookie had to say is quickly derailed when Dogmeat jumps up to rest her impressive paws on the counter, her angled head now level with Rookie’s eyes, and they yelp, quick to tuck an elbow about her neck to bring her back down to the floor. “No! Counter is for humans, not dogs—”

Meanwhile, on their other side, Old Dogmeat pulls the same trick, nearly pushing Rookie right over to sniff at bloodsoaked newspapers, and Rookie’s face is shot through with betrayal.

“No! Down! I fed you guys this morning, why are you being so dramatic?!”

Sarah just folds her arms, content to watch the carnage as both Dogmeats hop up one after another— not even going after the meat, it seems, with their tails wagging in a way that suggests its playtime — and when Rookie finally looks back to Sarah, it’s with a long and childish whine.

“Saraaaaaah,” they whinge, one hand firmly around Dogmeat’s worn leather collar as they try (and fail) to haul her away. “Control your stupid dog!”

“You first,” she offers in return, but she relents after that, letting off a short whistle that sees Dogmeat settle in an instant, padding her way to Sarah’s side to receive a pat between her pointed ears. Rookie scowls, but a harsh command between their teeth also makes Old Dogmeat finally sit at their feet, smiling up at them with his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth, unapologetic as ever.

“God,” Rookie starts, reaching over to a small basin habitually filled with clean water and left on the side to wash their hands and dishes in, dipping their hands in to find a mottled bar of soap at the bottom. “That dog suits you so well, you know that? I look at her face and I swear she looks like you sometimes.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow, and very specifically doesn’t look to Dogmeat, just in case she sees Rookie’s point get proven before her very eyes. “How so?”

“Well, you know! Weren’t German Shepards, like, Pre-War police dogs? Military dogs?” Rookie cants their head in Dogmeat’s direction, who cants hers right back. “Look at her! Tough as Brahmin hide, obeys all your commands, and she obeys even when it’s just a whistle or whatever… is she reading your mind?”

Sarah shrugs again, though even she’s been surprised by Dogmeat’s sheer tenacity out on the field. Picking her up at Red Rocket had been a spur of the moment idea, if only because Sarah’s compulsive need to do the Right Thing had convinced her to try and find the mutt an owner on the way to Diamond City, but then Dogmeat had defended Sarah from a plethora of attacks and had warned her of many more, always returning to Sarah’s side when called and finding her plenty of supplies with the aid of a keen nose. By the time they’d reached the Wall, Sarah found that she just couldn’t bring herself to let the damn dog go, and despite going through hell and high water… well, Dogmeat’s a survivor. Sarah can relate.

“I dunno,” Sarah finally says after a long minute, reaching down to scratch at Dogmeat’s ears again. “Maybe I’m just a dog person.”

Rookie watches her carefully, screwing up their face like they’re trying to puzzle something out for a few seconds, and then they relax all at once with an airy laugh.

“They say that owners and dogs are super similar, don’t they?” they begin, and Sarah’s not sure where this is going until Rookie winks over their shoulder. “Makes sense they’re just as hard to kill and as much of a pain in the ass as you are, right?”

Sarah glares back, and all it takes is for her to give a single disapproving click of her tongue before Dogmeat goes barrelling across the room, leaping up onto Rookie to cover their face in licks and nips. Rookie splutters — getting a mouthful of dog tongue in the process — and stumbles backwards, nearly crashing right into Sarah’s table of gun parts as they wrestle with her dog. “Sarah! Sarah— ugh, gross, Sarah! Call her off!”

Instead of doing that, Sarah crouches down to pat Old Dogmeat’s flank when he turns to nose at her socks, and she watches with a smile as Rookie nearly gets dragged to the floor underneath seventy pounds of muscled hound. “What do you say, buddy?” she asks, and Old Dogmeat’s shining, heterochromatic eyes watch her with wonder. “Shall I call her off in five minutes, or ten?”

The answer is actually about thirty seconds, but that’s mostly because Dogmeat ends up sitting across Rookie’s chest, pinning them to the floor as they squirm about, trapped under her weight. Rookie calls for Old Dogmeat’s help (sicc em, boy!) but when he wanders over just to lie down on their legs, Sarah’s nigh helpless with laughter.

“Traitors!” Rookie wheezes, but Sarah can’t really tell what they’re saying when Dogmeat rolls over, and all their words are muffled into a double-coat of dog hair.