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noxturnalpascal · 5 months

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What's at Stake

(Vampire!)MaxPhillips x (VampireHunter!)F!Reader (7.8K)

Fic Exchange - Request Suggestion: readers a vampire hunter, one night she’s killed a bunch trying to take down Max, he casually strolls into area “All that blood looks good on you, brings out your eyes.” Hate fucking/ enemies to lovers esque, have fun with it

Merry Christmas @xdaddysprincessxx 💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers. Slow Burn. Made Up Vampire Lore. Monster fucking. Talk of blood, biting, sucking, and bleeding.

Struggling against the bindings holding you to the office chair, you try to ignore his whining voice prattling on about how you ruined everything. Sat in the middle of an abandoned office building, you look around the room for any kind of weapon, for an exit, for a way out of your predicament. Suddenly his breathy chuckle is right at your ear.

“I told ya that if ya kept fuckin’ sniffin’ around, the Boss wasn’t gonna like it, didn’t I?” he whispers.

You turn your head away from his hot breath fanning across your cheek, smelling like cinnamon and nutmeg.

“But you’re too goddamn stubborn to listen to me, aren’t ya?” he continues as he rounds your chair and grabs your face.

Fuck you, Max. You mutter between his squeezing palm. You’re pretty sure he understood you by the way he devilishly grins.

“We don’t have time for that unfortunately sweetheart,” he lets out an exaggerated sigh, “and what a shame that is.”

He rakes his gaze over you from head to toe. You feel the urge to shudder, but resist. However, you can’t stop the goosebumps from breaking out all over your skin. How is he doing this? Letting go of your face, he turns towards the guys behind you, the same ones who brought you into this room. He speaks to them in rapid Romanian. Your Romanian is pretty shit but you’re pretty sure you hear the words “deep” and “water.”

This doesn’t bode well for you. He’s been pacing back and forth along the floor, chastising you for not listening to him, since you were brought in here hand-cuffed, leg-cuffed, and dripping red from head to toe. You think he might be a little angry that you just took out a small cadre - only two dozen human men - of his boss’ protection detail. Or maybe he’s mad about the way you hacked their security system so easily.

Now that you're thinking about it though, he’s probably mainly pissed that you killed no less than eight of his family - vampires - just to get the necessary information on where his boss was holed up. It’s not your fault the first seven were so loyal that they didn’t give you what you needed. Maybe if he had more disloyal family members, you wouldn’t have had to kill so many of them.

He brings his face towards yours again, wafting his scent over you. He smells like crisp air, a warm hearth, and baked goods. Max leans his face in so his lips are just brushing the skin over your jugular and inhales deeply. He lets a low mmmmmm rumble from his mouth before he slowly licks a stripe up the side of your neck, tasting the blood drying on your skin.

“You come in here, trussed up and marinated like a fuckin’ Christmas Goose, and what? You think I’m not gonna take a bite?” He grazes his teeth over your neck. “Cuz sweetheart, ya really look good enough to eat.”

You let him continue on with his little charade. You know this is all for show, more a display of dominance for the men behind you than anything else. He’s not going to drink your blood. You both know that your blood, like the blood of the long line of Vampire Hunters before you, tastes disgusting to him and anyone like him. That’s not to say he couldn’t drink it. But most vampires - Max included - are far too vain to drink five pints of something they can’t stomach.

Honestly you’re more worried about this whole “deep water” thing.

“Can we skip this part and just get to the part where you reluctantly let me go only for me to inevitably find you again later?”

You hope the smug sarcasm you laid on covered up the desperation in your question.

“Not this time sweetheart,” he murmurs, digging through some paperwork on his desk.

He picks up a single file folder and shouts more orders in Romanian, causing five men with garbage bags to come into the room. They open the file cabinets and desk drawers and start removing any and all paperwork, stuffing them into the bags. The three men behind you grab you out of the chair and you can’t help the surprised squeal that escapes your lips.

“Hey, take it easy!” Max barks at them. Gripping you tight, they lower you to stand on the ground in front of him.

“I tried to warn ya sweetheart, I really did,” He brushes his thumb over your lips, gathering some still wet blood drops, and brings his thumb into his mouth to suck on the tip of it. “Goddamn, you look so fuckin’ good all covered in blood like this. It really brings out your eyes.”

He winks.

You sit up in bed in a sweat, panting heavily. You look around the room, eyes straining to focus in the dim light coming through the windows. You check the alarm clock. Just past 3am. Same as yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. No big deal, you just have the same fucking dream every single night.

It’s probably fair to classify it as a nightmare at this point. The worst part isn’t the dream - one of your biggest failures. It isn’t who’s in the dream - arguably your arch nemesis. It isn’t even the memories it evokes - you struggling to fight for your life after being pushed off a cliff into a deep quarry lake and left to die. No, the worst part is that every night you wake up with soaking wet fucking panties.

Max Fucking Phillips. How is he still doing this to you, all this time later?

You get up to check your email and for any replies to your posts on dozens of internet message boards. Nothing. The trail is cold. Ice cold. You have no clue where to look, you’ve been wandering aimlessly for months. The only thing warm are your thoughts of Max, plaguing your dreams each night.

Most vampires measure their age in decades, fewer measure it in centuries. But not Max’s maker. Zeno, or “the Boss,” as he’s affectionately called, measures his age in Millenia. You once heard that he’d bragged about hanging out with Alexander the Great, so it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he saw the beheading of Kings and Queens, fought in the crusades, or gave military advice to Attila the Hun.

He’s probably not even the oldest vampire to exist, if you think about it. He’s not the richest, not the most powerful, he’s not even the most evil. But he is the bane of your existence and the target of every one of your hunts. He’s also the fucker who killed nearly every relative of yours that ever tried to take him down, including your parents.

He’s the vampire that your family has been chasing for generations, ever since a failed turn rendered your great-great-great-great something into this - thing - he’s passed down the line. Not quite vampire, not quite human. Not a drinker of blood, but always thirsty. You aren’t immortal, you don’t have powers, and your regular teeth get regular checkups at the dentist.

But your family is driven by a deep-seated hunger, both destined and cursed to seek out Zeno. Led by deep, instinctual urges, you’ve all stalked him across the ages, longing and needing to draw yourself closer to him. It was once explained to you that the craving you constantly feel is a vampire’s way of keeping those he’s fed on - both his victims and those he sired - close to him.

It’s a false sense of loyalty. One that you and your family stopped feeling a long, long time ago. You especially, having been orphaned at 13, felt nothing but fury and hatred for this monster. He killed most of your family in one fell swoop. One night he came for vengeance and found it by taking your grandparents, 3 aunts, 4 uncles, 7 cousins, mother, and father away from you. Your Uncle Oz, maimed and having barely escaped the carnage, hasn’t left his house since.

It took you over a year to convince him to complete the training your father had started, giving you a chance to stand against this creature. In the last 15 years you’ve chased him around the globe, always catching his shadow as he turns a corner, never actually catching him. The closest you ever came was nearly five months ago, in California.

After spending nearly two years searching the web, running down leads, questioning entranced villagers, and staking any vampire you came across, you’d finally gotten the lead you needed. A mid-level leech in an expensive suit had sung like a canary - turns out he had an unfortunate intolerance to allium in his mortal life that was severely exacerbated after his transformation.

His tip had landed you in a remote area south of San Francisco just after sunrise. You easily disabled the complicated security system, having spent months preparing for this exact moment. The next part you also planned for, taking out his human guards with well-placed, simple improvised explosive devices. Daytime afforded you some protection against dealing with his army of vampire followers while outside of the compound.

Once you got inside though, it was a different story. Your half-year of preparations went out the window when you were promptly overwhelmed by the loyal little fuckers crawling out of their coffins to protect their master. You’re not sure where your planning failed you, if it was their supernatural strength or just their sheer numbers. Either way, it landed you right where you didn’t want to be, in front of Max.

You’d dealt with Max before, he’d caught you sneaking around about a half dozen times now, sniffing around for a trail but still far behind your main target. He’d snatch you up by the scruff of your neck and give you a bonk on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. At least that’s what it felt like. It felt like a fun little game the two of you played.

He’d always been flirty with you, dripping with smarmy charisma, but you didn’t let yourself fall for him. He was the enemy. You hated the way a dimple on his right cheek would come out when he gave you his signature smile with a wink. You hated the way he would make you forget about your dead parents for a while. You hated the way it would burn after he’d drag his fingers across your skin.

Hate him as you may, you felt like he understood you better than most people could. He knew what it was like to feel an uncontrollable urge. He also seemed to have a soft spot for you. He’d listened to you break down in tears once about your family and, to your surprise, didn’t judge you. He even once drove you to the hospital himself, dropping you off outside the ER after you fell two stories and broke your leg.

You actually thought he might be impressed last time with how close you got. Zeno was in the building, you were in the building. You’d never been so close. And yet, you accomplished nothing. Max shook his head at you once again, but this time he didn’t let you off with just a warning. He ordered his goons to execute you. It wasn’t fun anymore. It wasn’t a game.

Fuck him for ever making you feel playful. Fuck him for making you feel anything. Definitely fuck him for invading your dreams. Fuck. Him. The next time you saw Max Phillips, you were going to kill him. One less bloodsucking bastard standing in your way.

Several weeks later you find yourself in a seedy area of Moscow, dodging down alleyways and avoiding passing cars. You’d enlisted your Uncle Oz for help and he finally, reluctantly agreed, going so far as to hook you up with some old contacts of his. You’d been told about an increase in vampire activity in Russia, which of course the police and the news media would call something else; Missing Persons, Psychotic Slashers, Animal Attacks.

You knew better. These were the telltale signs of Zeno’s army of bloodthirsty assholes moving into the area and eating their way through the local population. Typically they’d show up in waves and begin fucking, sucking, killing, and turning, strengthening their bodies and their numbers. You had no way of knowing if the Boss was among them, but it was your only lead.

Avoiding the streetlights as best you can, you continue to dart down side roads, struggling to read the signs and addresses in an alphabet so different from your own. Finally, you come across a building with the same number on the front as you have scrawled inside your palm. No business name on the outside, two stories tall, with every single window painted black.

This has to be it.

You zip around to the back, keeping your head on a swivel, looking around and above you for any kind of security detail. You don’t see anyone. There’s not even any security cameras on the building. Your confidence starts to wane. Reaching the back loading dock you easily pick a lock and throw the door open.

Slowly padding through the largest of the rooms, you no longer quiet your footsteps in the clearly abandoned building. You hear a phone ringing but there’s no one here to answer it. There hasn’t been anyone here in a while. Chairs lay overturned on the floor, several of the lights flicker with dying bulbs, and an acrid smell still lingers in the room.

At least 30 desks sit empty, computer monitors on every one but all of the CPUs yanked away, their cords still stretched out on the floor. A large garbage bin in the middle of the room, filled with what was once the computers, is the source of the smell and also a large black ring burned into the floor below and ceiling above.

Following a scant trail of papers left on the floor, you’re led to an office at the back corner. The still-ringing phone sits on an empty desk with nothing else but a single piece of paper. Scrawled on the sheet are the words answer me. This is a new game.

You pick up the phone. Silence. You say nothing. Then you hear several clicks.

“Hey sweetheart, ya there?”

Fucking Max, of course. You say nothing. You’re not giving him the satisfaction-

“S’okay, ya don’t have to answer me. I already know it’s you.”

You grind your teeth.

“Good job catchin’ up with our little operation there in Moscow. Unfortunately you’re about three weeks too late.” You can almost hear his fake pout. “Also, the Boss? He was never even there so I’m not sure where you’re getting your information from. I’d be questioning the allegiance of my sources if I were you, cuz they seem a little unreliable.”

You shake your head. Smug asshole.

“Anyways sweetheart, I won’t keep ya. I just thought it’d been a while since we last talked so I wanted to see how you were doin’. I guess you could say I missed ya.”

“I’m doing fucking great considering you tried to have your idiot henchmen drown me,” you bite. You can’t help yourself. You’re pissed off at him and proud of yourself for surviving at the same time. You want to rub it in his face. He failed. He wants to rub your failure in your face? Fine. Two can play that game. “Too bad I’m a better swimmer than you thought, huh?”

“You’re absolutely right sweetie. It was such a disappointment to find out you survived that night, instead of dyin’ in that deep water that I told my idiot henchmen to throw ya in. It’s not like I could’ve known what a strong swimmer ya were. How could I know that?”

Your brows knit. There’s no way.

“I obviously would have no way of knowin’ that ya won a state championship two years in a row on your high school’s swim team.”

Your jaw drops open.

He says your name. Your heart stops. He never calls you by your fucking name.

“Stay outta trouble.” The line goes dead.

You jump as the remaining lights turn off, shrouding you in complete darkness.

It’s been nearly a year since your not-so-near miss in Moscow. Your uncle, scared for your safety, convinced you to come back home and take a short break. You’d planned to stay for a month and when it turned into two and then three, he didn’t comment on it. Although once you hit the six month mark, he started calling you his roommate, no matter how much you rolled your eyes.

You’d never taken this amount of time “off” your hunts before. Sure, you were still scouring message boards and chasing down leads but you were doing it all from a computer chair. You used to actually chase them down, using planes, trains, or automobiles. You didn’t mean to sit still this long, it wasn’t in your nature, but you keep hearing Max’s words buzzing in your ear.

Stay outta trouble.

Your dreams have lessened in frequency since Moscow, though not in intensity. He still has the same effect on you, waking up with your body screaming for his touch. Now the dreams aren’t just of the night in California, the dreams have evolved. You thought that you’d welcome a change, any change, to the monotony. But since the dreams are basically just sex-dreams now, you’re slightly annoyed by them.

You’re not really as annoyed as you pretend to be, but it is disturbing that you’re fantasizing about an undead monster; not that it’s interfering with your non-existent social life. You actually downloaded a dating app and went on a few dates. You’re a quirky gal, so that’s what you attract. And you don’t mind it. But even peculiar guys get weirded-out when you try to explain what you do for a living. Several first dates, zero second dates.

So you spend a lot of time alone, or with your Uncle Oz, who is terrible company - sitting in his living room recliner in a stained shirt, eating TV dinners and watching reruns of NCIS. He tells you to get a real job - as if you were even good at anything else. He tells you to go out and make friends - as if anyone would understand you. He tells you that the clawing ache you feel deep inside ‘gets better’ with time.

You don’t believe him. You know he still feels it just as strongly as he always did. It’s just that he’s scared now, and the paralyzing grip of that fear is stronger than the pang of vacancy that sits deep in his core. Sometimes you think you can feel the fear too, prickling at the edges. It feels like icy-cold fingers reaching around the edges of your mind and body, freezing your thoughts, holding you down.

Every day you stay up until 3, sometimes 4 in the morning, fighting against that fear. You practice your Romanian, earning little rewards in your DuoLingo app. You message back and forth with other hunters, working together designing new weapons in the fight against these monsters. You hack into local cameras around the world, using every tool at your disposal to search for that face in the dark. Max. No, wait. Zeno. You’re hunting Zeno.

It's a sunny late-September morning, just after noon, when you’re awoken by a strange ringtone. You sit up in bed, fumbling to reach your cell phone only to find it tucked under your pillow in silence. The ringing continues. What the-? A memory springs to your mind - of your uncle trying to throw his old phone in the trash but you grabbing it instead - just in case.

You throw open the bottom drawer of your nightstand and grab the phone just as it stops ringing. You consider calling the number back but the low battery warning is flashing and you don’t remember where the old charger for this thing is at the moment. You wait a moment longer and when the voicemail notification flashes, you dial in to listen.

What you hear is a choppy message left with a bad connection. The person speaking has a thick accent but you’re sure you hear them say the name that makes your blood run cold - Zeno. You run out to the living room and make your uncle listen to the message no less than nine times before he can tell you anything about it.

He’s pretty sure it’s an old contact of his named Mo, who used to live in Cairo.

Less than 36 hours later you find yourself in a bustling area just outside of Cairo. Tired from the lack of sleep in the tiny budget airline seats, you give the cab driver the wrong address. This is how you find yourself pushing your suitcase down the street, fumbling with your phone to get to your uncle’s emails.

Unable to reach Mo back and not wanting to lose any time on the lead, you got on the next flight that would eventually land you in Egypt. Concerned with your safety, Oz had promised to stay on the case from back home and update you. Unwilling to wait until you get to the hotel, you punch away at the phone screen, trying to connect to a local mobile network.

You blame your exhaustion for the way you don’t even hear the motorbike riding along the sidewalk behind you. Three people jump off it, point a gun at you, and grab all of your stuff. They snatch your luggage, your phone, they even take your airplane pillow. They’ve piled back on the bike and ridden away before you even process what just happened.

You blink slowly and before you can begin to panic, you remember the emergency cash you keep stuffed in your pockets. You are too exhausted to think or do anything right now. Tomorrow you can get a new phone, you can call your uncle and get money wired, you can continue on with your chase. Tonight, you just need to check into your hotel.

Not surprisingly, you have a fitful dream, but what does surprise you is the subject of the dream. You’re not being tossed around in cheap economy seating. You’re not being mugged at gun-point by strangers in the night. Hell, you’re not even being seduced by a disarmingly attractive vampire in a three-piece-suit.

You’re being chased. Like the kind of dream-chase where you run endlessly but make it nowhere. He bears down on you and you scream the kind of dream-scream, where your mouth is wide open but no sound comes out. He grabs you with his bony hands and you throw the kind of dream-punch where it feels like you’re fighting underwater. There is no escape.

You can’t see the face of the creature running you down in the dark, but you already know who it is. You would know him anywhere, anytime, even with your eyes closed. It’s Zeno. You know because even though your dream-legs are running away as fast as they can carry you, everything else in your body is screaming to turn and run the other way, to run towards him.

Max steps off the private plane onto the tarmac and almost immediately plops into the waiting SUV. It wasn’t a long flight but he’s not in a great mood, even the in-flight-meal - he thinks her name was Yulia - didn’t lift his spirits. He isn’t used to being summoned in the middle of the night like this by his boss, especially when everything has been going so well.

The boss had been traveling around the Mediterranean, visiting some of his old stomping grounds, while Max had set up their new operation in the Greek Isles. Beautiful country with a rich history, and his office had a killer view - even at night. He was almost glad you blew up their spot in San Francisco. All was going according to plan, every i was dotted and every t crossed.

But now the boss was calling him to Egypt for an emergency meeting. It’s probably some kind of promotion, also known as ‘more work’. Max was one of the younger members of Zeno’s family but his keen nose for business and his shrewd sensibilities quickly made him a favorite. Even before you were killing off his competition, he was rising quickly within the ranks.

He checks his phone again for the hundredth time in the last day and a half. He’s been tracking you for the last 16 months, ever since that night in California. For the last year he’s watched you barely leave a five-block radius… until yesterday, when you traveled to your local airport. He’s been watching but hasn’t seen your signal pop back up since.

Where the fuck are you?

He knows you haven’t found where he is, none of your internet searches have pointed you anywhere near his trail. He’s also positive that you don’t have the faintest clue where the boss is. Hell, until he was beckoned by private jet several hours ago, Max wasn’t even sure exactly where he was. Max has worked hard to make sure he’s ten steps ahead of you. It makes it easier this way. Easier to keep the boss happy. Easier to keep you safe.

Max is led inside an old, abandoned temple, lit only by the near-full moon streaming in through the unglazed windows. The structure was built into the side of a rock formation that clearly wasn’t as close to the river as it is now. Now, water weeps from the rocks that form the walls, dripping down and creating undulating rivers across the uneven floor.

Zeno stands in the center of the room, tall and gaunt, bent slightly over an altar.

The Boss starts talking, Max assumes to him, about ‘purpose’. They’ve had conversations like this before. When Max isn’t meeting the boss’ expectations, this is how he frames it. The shuddersome creature believes that all of his creations - the vampires he’s turned - are a reflection of him. Therefore, they must all be willing to ‘achieve greatness at any cost.’

He turns around and steps towards Max, cradling a figure in his arms covered by a black shroud. Max looks down at it, waiting for the boss to speak. When he says nothing, Max decides to ask.

“What’s this?”

“This is to remind you of your purpose,” the boss whispers, his voice a rasp, barely audible in the empty, echoing chamber.

“I already ate on the plane.”

“This isn’t for you, this is for me. I have plans.” His voice carries the final consonant like a hiss.

Whenever Zeno has plans, that means Max has more work. As if he doesn’t have enough work to do already, running the boss’s entire empire practically by himself. The ancient monster has lofty expectations, but is completely uninterested in the day-to-day mundanity of maintaining a global undead supremacy.

“What do you need, boss?”

“Complete the turn,” his voice scratches against Max’s eardrums, “make her your own.”

Max has turned vampires before, always at the behest of Zeno. He doesn’t relish doing it, nor is he consumed by the same desire his boss has to build up an army of loyal followers. He reaches over and pulls down on the shroud, revealing the pale face beneath.

Your face.

Max tries not to react but he’s sure his pupils dilate, betraying him.

“What’s this?” Max asks again, attempting but failing an even-toned voice.

“You don’t recognize her?” Zeno asks, already knowing the answer.

“I recognize her.”

Of course he recognizes you. Your face, your smell, even the twitch of your lips as you sleep is familiar to him. You occupy his thoughts constantly, and have for quite a while.

“You told me you took care of her.”

“I did.” Max looks him in his cloudy, lifeless eyes.

“I understand ‘taking care of someone’ to mean that they’ve been e-lim-in-at-ed,” Zeno slowly draws out the last word.

“It wasn’t... I had her under control,” Max hates that he even has to explain himself right now. It’s all been handled.

“had?”

“Well…. I’m not sure what she’s doing here.” He looks down at your face, watching you take shallow breaths. “I thought-”

“I called her here. It was so easy,” the fiend lowers his face to yours, running his pointed nose along your cheek. Max winces. “She wants to be here with me. She craves it.”

Max tries not to shudder at his words. He hates the thought of you being beholden to Zeno in any way. He had been trying so hard to keep you out of his clutches. In the silence he hears a dripping noise, closer than the drips coming down the walls. He looks down at his feet and notices a pool of dark liquid, rivulets of water running through it.

He pulls at the dark shroud and it falls off your legs, revealing a steady stream of blood dripping down your inner calf. He continues to pull away the fabric and sees the white shift you wear stained deep red at the source of the blood. What appears to be a bite wound, barely concealed by the thin material, sits high on the inside of your thigh.

Max has to tamp down the rage inside him about to boil over. Zeno has taken it upon himself to drain you of blood in preparation to turn you and he did it by putting his mouth where only a lover’s mouth should go. He had no fucking right to touch you like that. He has no fucking right to touch you at all.

“I think she’s your weakness, Max,” the elder one scoffs.

“She’s nothing-”

“Don’t lie,” Zeno growls. “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

Max grits his teeth, unable to respond.

“Turn her. Turn her and then she’ll actually be under your control. And then we’ll have some real fun.” The moonlight glints off the demon’s teeth and Max meets his dead eyes once again and he knows. He knows that the boss wants to make you immortal so he can hurt you over and over until the end of time. So he can punish you. So he can order Max to hurt you. So he can punish you both.

He knows he has no other choice.

You remember falling asleep atop the crisp sheets of your hotel bed, a warm breeze gently blowing through the open window. The next thing you remember is waking up with a splitting headache. A grating noise in your ears, starting out quiet but getting louder and louder - like nails dragging on a chalkboard - scraping around the inside of your skull.

The noise slowly forms itself into a voice, whistling like a tea kettle, stabbing the backs of your eyeballs. The voice enters your ears like the hissing of a snake, all tongue and teeth, unable to comprehend the words. You feel ice-cold pressure on your legs, then a sharp pain inside your thigh. You try to scream from the hurt but there isn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out.

You think you’re dreaming of Max again, but it’s not how it usually is. Pain creeps up your spine. You smell rot, wet earth, and copper. You feel shame. A warm flush burns your cheeks, the tips of your ears, down your neck to your chest. You don’t want to be thinking of him like this, not now, not as the ache in your head increases, not as your leg throbs. Wait, why is Max hurting you like this? He’d never do this. Why is he doing this?

You hear slurping noises and finally understand the word ‘sleep’ in your ear, and so you fall back asleep.

You’ve never been more tired in your life. You’re so tired that no matter what you do, you can’t wake up. You hear Max speaking now and smell warm caramel sauce. He’s in your dream again, but you can barely understand his words over the pounding in your head. A noise cuts through the constant buzz in your ears, a piercing howl, a throaty laugh that claps repeatedly against your eardrums.

Suddenly, an inhuman shriek rings out so loudly that you’re sure your ears are going to bleed, and then you’re falling. Falling, falling, falling into an endless pit of black. You’re never going to land, you’re never going to know peace, you’re never going to survive this. A wave of warmth splashes over you and suddenly you’re on solid ground. You’ve never felt so good in your entire life. You drift back into a hazy unconsciousness.

You awake when you hear all of the voices, it must be six or seven people, all shouting over each other, harried and barking. The voices clash like cymbals in your brain but you hear one voice distinctly above the others. Max. You know you hear Max. You hear him say don’t let her die, his voice almost melodic in comparison to the rest.

You think you open your eyes but it can’t be real because everything is red. Everything.

The smell of warm apple crumble fills your senses, and you’re pretty sure that’s what wakes you up. Not the incessant beeping of multiple hospital machines, or alarms blaring from speakers above you, or the yelling of the medical staff in a language you don’t understand. No, it’s the apple, brown sugar, and butter that invades your nose, your mouth, your brain.

You feel the warmth of it on your face, hot out of the oven. You’re pretty sure you can even taste it. Eventually you gather the strength to open your eyes and you see Max Phillips. You watch him prick his fingertip with his fang, gathering a drop of blood on his finger and moving it underneath your hospital gown. His eyes move to your face and he’s surprised to find you awake.

“Sorry, I-” he starts, and retracts his hand slightly. “This is just-”

His hand continues up the thin garment and you gasp when he smears the blood on his fingertip over a very sore spot on your leg. It’s high inside your thigh and you can’t remember how it got there. You’d be more embarrassed or shocked that Max was putting his hand there if it didn’t hurt so bad and then almost immediately feel so much better.

He then brings his hand up to your face. You see his fingertip still leaking a bit of blood.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, his words a song in your head.

You know he’s using his hypnotic vampire powers on you, but you know they don’t work. By now he should also know they don’t work. Whatever you are, whatever this thing is that you carry in your blood, vampire powers don’t work on you. Wait, why the fuck is your tongue sticking out of your open mouth? What is happening? Why is your body obeying him?

He slowly lowers his finger to your tongue, dabbing the remaining drop of blood on it.

“Swallow.”

You do. You don’t understand why, but you follow his command.

“Sleep,” he whispers, his hot-cider-scented breath wafting over you.

Your body obeys him again and falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next time you opened up your eyes you were back in your own bed. Your uncle said you'd been knocked out for the better part of a week but you felt like a million bucks when you woke up. It's finally over, he’d said. Finally over. You asked him what he meant and he said Don't you feel that? Feel what? You didn't feel anything. Exactly, he said. Don't feel anything.

Gone was the constant hunger, gone was the clawing emptiness, gone was the magnetic pull towards a minion of death.

Zeno was dead. That much you knew. You could feel it. Oz could feel it. How, why, or by whose hand he had no idea. He just knew that he woke up two days after you’d left for Cairo and felt the best he'd ever felt in his life. You were inexplicably back in your bed, and all his fears were miraculously gone.

You saw Oz laughing for the first time in years. He’d even felt up to planning a vacation to make up for lost time, though you declined to join him. You knew he was somewhere in Peru according to his latest email. You stayed home, trying to adjust to your new life as well, but there were still questions in your mind that seemed to be holding you back. Maybe just one question.

Where was Max Phillips?

You get your answer two nights later when you hear a knock at your front door, finding him standing in his trademark three-piece-suit on your front steps. He smiles at you before sniffing the air. He skips over the salutations and small talk.

“Where’s your uncle, sweetheart?”

“He’s back in his-”

“No, he’s not,” Max interrupts with a sly smile. You roll your eyes.

“Somewhere along the Amazon.”

“There’s the truth,” he looks across your face, taking you in for a moment. “You look…..” he trails off, then brings one hand up in sweeping motion, wafting the scent of butterscotch towards you. With a toothy grin he asks, “you gonna invite me in?”

Several hours later you’re standing in your kitchen, cheeks warm from drink and sore from laughter, pouring the last drops of your second bottle of wine into both of your glasses. He’d told you what he’s been up to for the last month - traveling the world he said. You lied and told him you’d been looking into doing the same.

You tell more lies when he asks about how your job hunt is going (good, just waiting on some call backs), if you’ve been making any new friends (meeting people every day), and how you’ve been feeling (totally great and not sad at all). You even think he bought the fake new hobby you made up (Knitting? Is that what you’d said?).

“You look well,” he huffs out, finally finishing the thought he started on your doorstep.

“You too,” is your awkward response as you turn, setting the bottle down on the counter behind you, hoping he doesn’t notice you cringe.

“Well, I always look this good,” he quips, never humble, “but you were in pretty rough shape last time I saw you.”

Memories that you had subconsciously pushed down come flooding back into your mind. Max was there. He was in Cairo. He saved you. What had he saved you from? You couldn’t really remember. You hadn’t been able to remember for weeks, the fuzzy images retreating further and further from your grasp with each passing day.

“You were there,” it’s not a question. You remember that much.

“I’m always there,” he says immediately.

“You saved me…”

“I always save you.

“You saved me from him, didn’t you?” A beat finally passes without an answer. Barely a whisper, “You killed him.”

“You remember that?” He tries to hide his smile.

“I remember your voice. I remember your smell,” you admit.

“My smell? What do I smell like?”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s different for everybody. What do I smell like to you, sweetheart?” he leans forward and tucks his face into your neck, inhaling the heat coming off of you as his own scent invades your nose. Pumpkin pie, mulled wine, and line-dried flannel.

“You smell like fuckin’ autumn,” you manage to get out before he catches your lips with his own.

He grabs your face in both hands and continues kissing you as he walks you backwards down the hall towards your bedroom. How does he know where your bedroom is? His tongue licks over your bottom lip and you feel lightheaded. All thought processes are interrupted when - unhappy with your slow pace - he picks you up and carries you bridal-style into your bedroom.

Tossing you on your bed, he undresses with inhuman speed, completely naked before you’ve even stopped bouncing on the springs. He prowls towards you, crawling on the bed overtop you, his legs slotting between yours, his arms caging your shoulders on either side.

“Why did you choose me over him?” Your words are barely audible to you over your own pounding heartbeat. He dips his head so his lips brush against the shell of your ear. You smell his sweet honeyed breath and hear him sigh your name.

“I always chose you,” he kisses a path along the line of your jaw until he reaches your chin, placing a long kiss on your lips. “And you know why.”

Your eyes fall closed as he continues his trail of kisses down your body, gently removing your clothing as he goes. Max firmly pinches one nipple until it is tight and stinging, then he brings his mouth over it to draw soft circles with the tip of his tongue, soothing the pebbled flesh. He sucks at the sensitive peaks, laving his tongue along the curve of your breasts and mouthing the underside, dividing his attention equally between them.

Unable to take much more of his torment, you grab his hair with both hands and moan his name. Understanding your message, he moves down your body, divesting you of the rest of your clothing. You can’t stop the shiver that shoots up your spine when you look down and see him, fangs bared, between your thighs.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” he coos, placing kisses on the soft places inside your legs.

“I’m not.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums.

His fingers spread you open as his flat tongue licks you with delicate strokes. He starts small but as you begin to moan and writhe underneath him he is soon reaching his tongue from your asshole to your clit, lapping at your arousal in between. When you grab at his hair again and your cries become insistent, he doubles down on his efforts on your nub.

Max has you seeing stars only minutes after entering the room. Before you can feel any kind of embarrassment for how easy it was for him to wind you up, he’s latched his mouth back on to you. Still sensitive from your climax, he’s careful to apply only gentle pressure to your core. Easily pushing a finger into your entrance, slick with your release, he begins to massage upward.

If the first orgasm came quickly, then the second one could be called instantaneous. You’re hoarsely crying out his name as it washes over you, tears spilling out of your clenched shut eyes and running down your face. You watch as Max pushes the finger that was inside your cunt into his wet mouth, wrapping his tongue around it for an especially lewd view.

Max Max Max. You repeat his name over and over.

“Max, please.”

“Please what, baby?” his voice is back at your ear

“You’ve been torturing me for so long, please just fuck me already,” you notice how whiny your own voice sounds but you can’t help it.

“We haven’t even been in this room for ten minutes and I’ve made you come twice, how exactly am I torturin’ you, hmm?” As if he doesn’t know.

“The dreams Max, the dreams.”

“You’ve been dreamin’ about me angel?” He drags his lips down your neck and across your collarbone, moving his face back up to your other ear.

“You know I have, you put a spell on me.” You feel him chuckle in your ear.

“That’s not a spell. That’s just called you being in fuckin’ love with me.”

“No I-”

You’re cut off by his mouth on your lips again. You watch him kiss you, his eyes closed, his fangs retracted, gentle at first and then growing more needy. You close your eyes too and lose yourself in the movements of his mouth, his tongue, the taste of you, the taste of him. Your hands roam his body, and it hits you suddenly… maybe he’s right. He pulls back to look at you.

“I love you too,” he responds to words you didn’t say.

You feel him then, pressing hard against your entrance and you spread your legs to open up for him. He pushes forward and finally, finally, begins to ease himself inside of you. You gasp, looking into his eyes as he stutters his hips, moving into you inch by inch. You think you must sound pitiful, but you can’t do anything about the breathy moans that leave your mouth now. You’ve been thinking about this moment for so long and now it’s happening, and it feels better than you ever imagined it could.

Your arms are wrapped around him, pulling him tight tight tight against you and you can’t stop kissing him. He seems more than happy to oblige as his mouth meets yours over and over. You hear him say baby, say sweetheart, say your name. You hear him tell you he loves you, breathing it into your mouth repeatedly. He pulls your body up off the bed a bit, holding you tight in his arms as the tempo of his hip thrusts increases.

Your head lolls back now, unable to keep kissing him while you groan louder and louder, telling him that you’ve dreamed of this, that he feels so good, that you need him. Spurred on by your praise, he snaps his hips into yours harder and faster, moving his body away enough to reach his hand between you. He rubs his thumb up and down over your hooded bud and brings you to another explosive peak in his embrace.

You spend the rest of the night taking your time with each other, bringing each other to orgasm after orgasm, so many that you lose count. It becomes clear to you that Max has been just as enamored with you as you have been with him. All of his bravado and even his superhuman abilities fall by the wayside when you take him into your mouth and tell him how much you love him, how much you love his dick.

In the quiet moments of recovery you take deep breaths, talk about your shared past, and even make some plans for a future that includes each other. At one point your curiosity gets the better of you, as you recall several moments over the years.

“What do I smell like to you?” You ask as your head rests on his chest. He leans his face down and buries it in the crown of your head, sniffing you, and placing a kiss there before he pulls away.

“You smell like home, sweetheart.

🖤

(that got so sappy at the end I'm sorry it turned into a vampire love story)

#max phillips x reader #max phillips #bloodsucking bastards #Vampire Hunter Reader #pedro pascal characters

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quinloki · 1 year

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How would Kid, Marco, and Zoro like a role play kink? Specifically some sort of Captured marine and big bad pirate character play? Could you also do primal play and femdom too? Please and thank you! I like this prompt a lot!

Oh man, if you want some Really Good Captured Marine and Kid vibes you need to go read The Captive by @abysscronica I can promise you won't be disappointed (It's a series too - book 1 and 2 are done and I believe 3 is ongoing.)

That said, I'll certainly give my two cents on the idea as a Role Play session \o/

Let's do this... hm, I think by kink.

Primal Play is kind of a hunter/hunted vibe. It's the dom/sub dynamic often without explicitly written or verbalized parameters.

Captured Marine / Big Bad Pirate RP:

Kid - FUCK Yes - Kid loves role-play - well, most of it. Some of it. There's a love/hate situation going on with it, he's either going to be all in for an idea, or just plain not keen on it. The more extreme the role dynamics the better, and he loves playing the bad guy. You tease him that it's almost like he thinks he needs the practice, and he probably does. He's no saint for sure, but he's not nearly the monster the Marines would have you believe.

But those teasing remarks fade away, when you get into the rough and tumble of the scene. He plays the villain well, and you find yourself feeling more and more defiant the better he plays his part. It actually gets a little bloody, but neither of you call it, the next morning though you're listening to Killer read you the riot act cause you cheek swelled up and you needed House to patch some bruises.

Marco - Sure - As long as it's not doctor/nurse he's willing to give it a try. There's emotions deep behind those lazy eyes, and that half lidded gaze, and the zing of it dances through you when he levels a truly cold gaze at you. The sound you make, caught between aroused and nervous changes his expression and he dives into it. It's more an emotional battle of wills than anything loud and physical. There's no defying him, no chance of biting back, he folds you like a house of cards and when you wake up the next day you almost half-expect to find yourself shackled to him in your early morning haze.

Zoro - Yes - The Pirate Hunter turned pirate has been in the shoes of a few roles in his short life thus far. He's not inclined to a lot of different roles, but he's certainly willing to fill the role of big bad pirate for the naughty, pardon, haughty marine who wandered into his clutches. Walking a line between Marco and Kid, he plays the role of the villain well, and he does a good job of ignoring your protests and only listening to your safe words as the scene progresses. It's not too much later after your first role-play session that he gifts you a maid outfit while he's wearing a suit.

Primal Play - I feel like, given the variances of this, for simplicity we'll focus on actual hunter/hunted roleplay:

Kid - Oh god you don't even know - Kid's not keen on the idea of "the chase" in terms of chasing you down to woo you or anything like that, but within the concept of a hunt, that's a different story. Kid has no issues getting down and dirty, and the idea of just taking you after tracking you down - the whole predator/prey concept - has him running as hot as his temper. It'll take you a good week of healing afterward, not because of any terrible wounds or anything like that, but just because he will have had his way with you until every muscle in your body was exhausted. You lose track of your orgasms by the end of it, probably lose track of your senses too, the entire thing likely to plunge you into subspace.

Marco - Yes - He's willing to give it a try, and he certainly ends up liking it. All he needs to track is you, and your safe word. Marco doesn't have Kid's particular brand of "kindness", he searches for you in the skies after giving you a decent head start.

It ends up becoming a game of cat and mouse - or more appropriately maybe Owl and Mouse, since Marco can fly. By the time you're caught you're both breathing heavy, sweat and thundering hearts, but Marco's eyes are open and wide, full of light and fire and while it's not something you do often, it is a game you repeat.

Zoro - Sure - Zoro tends to hold back in this. The hunter/hunted thing is good by him within a certain set of parameters, but the open setting of primal play is a little too unstructured for his tastes. It's too close to real, or combat, and he internally worries about keeping himself in check. He has a lot of control, and a lot of skill, so it's mostly an unfounded concern, but he knows how easily he could accidentally hurt you. So he holds back a bit, and doesn't quite get into it.

Maybe with time, he'll change his tune.

Femdom:

Kid - FUCK Yes - Oh I hope you don't think you're actually going to dominate him? This is role play sweetheart, and the closest you're going to get is trying to top him. He's going to be a complete brat through it, but he won't pull any of his dom cards for this. He's enjoying himself entirely too much. Let's see what you can do, let's see if you can actually bend him to your will?

Chances are it's going to turn into him power bottoming you more than anything else, but he loves the outfit and the little bit of reversal. With practice maybe one day you will manage to tame him, but he won't make it easy. And he will, at least, enjoy every minute of it.

Marco - Oh god you don't even know - He's not exactly a switch, but he's not not a switch either. Marco is delighted by the idea of you dominating him. The point is mutual enjoyment by the end of things, whatever the details of those things are, and if you want to guide him and boss him around, he's here for it. He's not a masochist (not that you could hurt the phoenix anyway), but you can imagine the sly smirk on his face if you're a little rough with him.

Marco doesn't seem like the kind of guy who pays you back at a later date, but surprises are surprises because you don't expect them.

Zoro - Yes - I think I've said before, but Zoro always strikes me as someone who is untested in sex until he meets you, so sure - if you want to teach him the ways of dominating by example, then please do so. He's a good student, after all, and it's only proper that the student eventually surpasses their teacher.

And if the role of who surpasses who happens to trade back and forth a few times? Well, who's he to complain? The best way to learn is by doing, and he has the stamina and focus to keep going.

Kinky One Piece Head Canon

#kinky one piece head canon #eustass kid #marco the phoenix #roronoa zoro #x reader #marco x reader #eustass kid x reader #zoro x reader

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happilyeverafter199 · 2 years

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Possible story ideas

Just for fun, I’d like to share some plot ideas that I might someday turn into books. If I ever make it as an author, boy do I have some stories to share.

- IVAN: A science-fiction/ romance story about a girl who finds a missing guy named Ivan. According to him, he’s been turned into a haft- robot by his captors to be used as a weapon of war and is now on the run from them.

- Double Brother Trouble: A modern Jekyll and Hyde science-fiction story.

- Peter and the Wolf: Just a dark twist of the tale with Peter being a werewolf hunter.

- Magic Treehouse: A future story where Jack and Annie are grown-up and estranged until they’re brought together for one last adventure.

- Miles to Heaven: A romantic drama about Miles, a 17-year-old who was murdered and his spirit tries to help his best friend and his girlfriend find his killer while at the same time he befriends a female ghost who had been murdered by the same person who killed Miles.

- Junie B. Jones: Can you imagine how her life would be in high school?

- The Playboy’s Lounge Murder: A crime romance where Detective Mila is called upon a murder that took place at a night club her playboy ex-boyfriend works at. And to make matters worse, she is now is charge with keeping him safe from the killer. Yeah, that’s not awkward at all.

- Marin: A romantic comedy about a modern re-telling of the Little Mermaid where the gender roles are switched. This time, a human girl finds a hot and naïve merman who wants to explore the world above.

- Penny: Another romantic comedy about a Tooth Fairy in training who falls in love with a heartbroken dentist.

- The Lost Continent: An adventure story based on the theme park Islands of Adventure in Universal Florida.

- Color in the Black and White: A romance between a new high school student named Grayson who always wears black and white clothes due to his dull personality. But then he meets Iris, a cheery and optimistic girl who loves color and happiness and is willing to bring more of that into Grayson’s life.

- Ocean’s Amazons: In a crew of female pirates, the first mate unexpectedly finds love with their prisoner, the son of the Cuban governor who longs for an adventure. It’s basically Pirates of the Caribbean but with female pirates.

What do you guys think?

#story ideas

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pseudolife · 1 month

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@pseudodead ; multimuse meme hey hot stuff -

ghost » roach. have you considered roach's idealization slow rolling into straight worship? how roach's worship of ghosts turns almost biblical? this is the man he would die or live for. the man he would absolutely break orders for. this is the man he'd absolutely torture and murder someone for. how if anything happened to ghost, be it an injury or a capture, he would grind himself to bone to try to make it right. » birdie. i see what you said on the one you gave me for them and - yes. birdie has a healthy acceptance of death already - she lost her twin, but she never lost her connection to her, and now that connection links her to death - but ghost is a reminder about it. not in a bad way, just in a way that it's natural, expected. and like with soap, she does come to him with problems - but only more serious ones. he's the only person she's spoken to about her sister, the only one who understands that link with death. he's the one she confesses to about how sometimes, she doesn't feel like she was the one to live through the drowning, how she doesn't feel like she lived at all past that moment. » nikolai. a brotherhood built on bad jokes, risky maneuvers, shitty family lives, and ghost's inability to drive / him being forbidden from touching the driver seat of any of nikolai's vehicles. » yeti. las almas. that night. you know what i'm talking about?

keegan » moe. HIS WIFE. HIS RIDE. have we considered him re-teaching her how to shoot? her being in a vehicle once with him driving and being actually terrified? spy mode wife doing steak-out type watches and interactions with people for him? molly russ, marine wife, dealing with other marine wives while he watches. » trick. brother-in-laws getting into trouble together. keegan asking trick for cia information for a mission. trick supervising a mission that keegan's on. the banter of brothers as trick watches keegan drive like shit ("is that a requirement of ghosts? no driving skills?") and keegan getting to listen and learn about how serious trick takes his work - but also how ridiculously efficient he is, and how good his memory is. also beat him up in training. thanks. he's out of shape. » kick. keegan witnessing kick at a bar and being ashamed of his teammate vs. also amazed at how his teammate can be in public. » fujiko. manipulative girlfriend. he's interested in not just the sex, but how she is as person (she's funny, she's clever, she's interesting) terrorist wife. i love that undercover idea you had. he's a new guy, fresh meat, and she's in need of a new pet to entertain her. » yeti. r e c r u i t h i m.

frank » hunter. husbands. frank having to sit in on deals. hunter having to witness frank's gang being murder disasters. hunter talking to julie ONCE and being forbidden to again. he's got too much charisma and frank is learning that the hard way. » birdie. he's her protector, her frankie. older birdie and older frank navigating a relationship that's built on a slasher-movie level horror. she's older and wiser, no less in love with him, but definitely more wary of his associates (except hunter). he's older and has a larger body count. » birdie & hunter. one's pulling him into drugs, the other's trying to teach him how to be a person.

mercer » wrench. wrench being microdosed. wrench being changed. wrench learning to control not only new impulses, but his new form. wrench projecting way too much into the linked minds. wrench causing absolute disasters in san francisco why they try to figure out what to do next. » kick. the ghosts. i see what you said about the boys being dispatched to cover up blacklight, and it's definitely the ghosts. kick is the resident genius (despite his personal life) and he's definitely pulled too deep into it. he's smart enough to understand the gist of the project before being pulled in for an assassination. when alex lives? kick is determined to figure out why and how he did - and how he himself fucked this up so bad.

daemon » fujiko. wife material. she likes to bother people, to play mind games. she likes sex, and she likes to bully people. who needs blackmail when you can just trick people into loving you? » birdie. you mentioned it so now i'm thinking about it. she's gentle, kind, naïve and idk anything about this world. she's just here. gentle and nice. unfortunately sharp as a tack when it comes to noticing things.

abelas » eoghan. he will not stop trying to fuck the trio of ancient elvhen, it is his goal because, yanno, the other options are letting whatever remains of a Goddess win in whatever game she's playing - and he doesn't wanna do that.

#mun » ooc #pseudodead

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81scorp · 1 year

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DCEU in general part 2

A while ago I made an editorial where I pointed out the DCEU`s lack of planning and came up with my own idea on how to structure the DCEU. I ended that editorial with Justice League 3 because I felt that a cinematic universe didn`t have to keep on going indefinitely. But after a while I felt that I still had a few ideas left for my own version of the DCEU, and now that the folks at Warner Bros have decided to try a new DC universe and use Marvel`s approach and actually structure it this time I feel that I should strike while the iron is hot and let these ideas out. If they had planned the DCEU from the beginning there wouldn`t be a need for Flash to reboot the universe in his (by the time I`m writing this) upcoming movie. At least not this early. If I knew then what I know now, would I have hired Ezra Miller, Jared Leto, Amber Heard and Zachary Levi? No, I don`t think so. If I could run so fast that I could screw the laws of physics and travel backwards in time, again, this is how I would have continued my version of the DCEU.

TV series Since there are a lot of characters that I want to put in this universe but I don`t think there is enough time for me to do so, if I were to only focus on the movies, I decided to include TV series in the DCEU. I don`t think there would be a need for a Flash show since he would already have his own movie. I think I`d cast Grant Gustin as Barry Allen. I could give Supergirl a series though.

Green Arrow series After Man of Steel has premiered there could be a Green Arrow TV series that takes place within the DCEU. The show could introduce characters like Black Canary, Speedy, Huntress and the Question.

Constantine series I would definitely want Matt Ryan as John Constantine. The show could introduce supernatural and occult characters like Zatanna, Dr Fate, Etrigan the demon, Phantom Stranger, deadman and the Spectre (who was technically introduced in an episode in the real show).

Supergirl series Like I said: there wouldn`t be any need for for a Flash series but I there should be room for a Supergirl series. After she has had her first appearance in Man of Steel 2 she could star in her own TV series, and have a cameo now or then in the Green Arrow series.

In my previous editorial "Constructive criticism: DCEU in general" I wrote "Then do some sequels to Green Lantern, The Flash and Aquaman (doesn`t necessarily have to be in that order)" but I didn`t go into any details (because I didn`t have any ideas for those movies at that time). So I want to takes this opportunity to retroactively add some ideas to those phase 3 movies, and put a little meat on the bones of the Cyborg Solo movie.

Solo Cyborg movie Cyborg fights some terrorists that he finds out are involved in the accident that almost killed him and led to him becoming the cyborg he is now.

Green Lantern 2 Since there can now be more than one Green Lantern per sector, Hal Jordan recruits a partner: John Stewart, a marine who now works as an architect. Their first mission as an intergalactic, crimefighting duo: To escort a witness to a trial where he can give a testimony. A testimony that could hopefully bring down a mob boss, and said mob boss has hired a bounty hunter to kill the witness. The Bounty hunter is none other than Lobo, the last czarnian. Also: turns out that there is another man who was worthy of becoming a Green Lantern: Guy Gardner. Hal picked John Stewart because he was closer. In a mid-credit scene Guy Gardner is visited by Krona who tells him this and as consolation offers him a yellow lantern ring.

The Flash 2 You know how every Indiana Jones movie (and James Bond movie) always starts with the main character right in the middle of a previous adventure? That`s how this movie could start. First Flash fights and defeats Trickster in the first five minutes. His struggle to prove his dad`s innocence continues, he fights Mirror Master (the main antagonist) and in the end Iris reveals to Barry that she knows that he is the Flash. Mid credit scene: Weather Wizard frees Mirror Master and Trickster from prison and introduce them to Captain Cold.

Aquaman 2 Aquman is growing into his role as a king, acts as a mentor figure to a young atlantean named Garth (Aqualad) and has a son now named Arthur Jr. Arthur Jr. is kidnapped by Black Manta who almost kills him but thanks to Garth, Arthur Jr. survives. Aquaman fights Manta and almost kills him but decides to spare his life and sentence him to prison. Mid-credit scene: An alantean breaks Black Manta out of prison. He works for someone who wants Manta to help them defeat Aquaman and take over Altantis.

Phase 4

Man of Steel 4 Superman is kidnapped by Mongul and is forced to fight as a gladiator on Mongul`s "Warworld". He is still strong but weakened by the planet`s orange sun and in order to survive, defeat Mongul and escape Warworld he has to team up with... Lobo. In the end Mongul is defeated, the prisoners are freed and Superman takes a spaceship and hopes that it will be enough to take him home back to Earth.

Green Lantern 3 Hal Jordan and John Stewart teams up with Carol Ferris who is in possesion of a Star Sapphire ring (that works similar to the Green Lantern ring) to fight Sinestro, Krona, Guy Gardner and Doctor Hector Hammond who have their own Yellow Lantern rings. In the end though, Guy turns on the yellow lantern gang and takes the side of the heroes.

Steel (See my constructive criticism of Steel)

Wonder woman 3 Diana, Cheetah and Supergirl teams up to fight Ares (the real one this time), who has been freed from his prison by Circe, Phobos and Deimos.

Flash 3 Barry finally gets his father out of prison. Also: he fights the Rogues: Weather Wizard, Trickster, Mirror Master, Captain Cold and Captain Boomerang. (Captain Boomerang has had the explosives that were planted in his neck removed and joins the Rogues as a quid pro quo.) But since Captain Boomerang had a character arc in Suicide Squad he turns on the Rogues in the third act.

Aquaman 3 Aquaman (and Garth) has to fight Eochaid Bres who has allied herself with Black Manta.

Justice League 4 Superman finally returns to Earth. JL fights Brainiac. Yes, I know, in my previous editorial I thought that it would be a good idea to use up Brainiac in Man of Steel 2. But since Brainiac is a pretty big deal when it comes to villains it would be better to save him for a Justice League movie. So I would like to retroactively change my villain idea for Man of Steel 2. Instead Superman and Supergirl could fight... Mr Mxzpltk. Because why not?

Phase 5

Joker movie A new inmate at Arkham Asylum who has the Joker as his role model convinces the Joker to tell his backstory. The Joker tells the tragic story of his life. His name was Joe and he was a janitor at Ace chemicals who had dreams of becoming a comedian. There was a woman that he loved, but she died. in the end he joined a gang of criminals who one night decided to rob Ace chemicals. Batman showed up, defeated the other members of the gang and threw poor Joe into the vat of chemicals. He was flushed out into a river, crawled up on land, had a mental breakdown and laughed at the nightsky like a madman. He was now the Joker. The new inmate notices a few inconsistencies in Joker`s story however. Riddler and Poison Ivy who has been sitting there and listened to the story with him tells him that the Joker does this all the time, he makes up new versions of his past. As far as they know, he has no true back story. The inmate is disappointed and leaves, the Joker himself just thought it was fun and has a good laugh.

Swamp thing It begins In Medias Res in the swamps of Louisiana. A bunch of goons are harassing Alec Holland, he tells them to go away, they blow up his lab, on flames he throws himself into the swamp. He passes out and wakes up as the Swamp thing. We find out more about his life before he accident a little later. John Consantine shows up and helps him discover some powers that he didn`t know he had. Then a giant threat of some kind shows up and Swamp thing has to fight it.

Green Lantern 4 Hal Jordan gets possessed by Parallax and John Stewart, Guy Gardner and Carol Ferris has to fight him. In the end Parallax is driven out of Hal`s body but is not quite defeated. You can`t destroy energy after all, and you can`t defat fear by punching it. Hal, feeling that he is no longer worthy to use the green lantern ring gives it to Guy who reluctantly accepts it.

Shazam 2 The Shazam family has to fight Dr Sivana who has teamed up with Mr Mind and Black Adam.

Harley and Ivy Nothing against Birds of Prey (and the fantabulous emancipation of one Harley Quinn) but I had my own idea for a Harley Quinn movie that I really like. Harley has been dumped by the Joker and thrown out on the streets. Poison Ivy gives her a place to stay. Harley decides to commit a crime to show herself that she`s better off without the Joker and doesn`t need him anymore, she`s gonna steal the MacGuffin diamond. But it turns out that Roman Sionis (Black Mask) also wants the diamond, and Huntress wants to prevent both of them from stealing it. In the end Catwoman comes out of nowhere and steals the diamond from them. Black Mask is angry, Huntress is angry and so is Harley, but only temporarily. Harley realizes that she got what she needed: a fun adventure with a friend who cares about and respects her: Ivy. It ends with them under the moon, sitting on a rooftop and sharing a pizza. Harley kisses Ivy and then realizes something about herself. Harley: "I think I`m bi." Ivy: "I think so too."

Batman film A scientist named Kirk Langstrom has created a serum that turns him into a big, human-like bat. A Man-bat if you will. Batman has to find him before Prof. Hugo Strange does. Hugo wants to use Man-bat`s DNA to create more bat-creatures but Batman wants to save him. Hugo is also a skilled psychological manipulator and uses these skills to try to get into Batman`s head.

Justice League 5 An adaptation of the tower of Babel

Phase 6

Man of Steel 5 Supes fights an evil, alternate reality version of himself called Ultraman and gets help from a good, alternate reality version of Lex Luthor*. Mid-credit scene: A satellite orbiting the Earth. A large man in a futuristic armor talks to his assistant, a woman named Harbringer. The man himself is called... Monitor. *Both Ultraman and Good Lex come from the same alternate universe which I will name the Ultraman universe.

Lobo movie Lobo does his usual thing, then he gets transported to an alternate reality, one where the forces of Darkseid defeated the Justice League in the first JL movie*. At first Lobo likes living in a world where the good guys didn`t win, but then he realizes how boring it is. In the end Lobo returns to his home dimension. Mid-credit scene: We are introduced to the Anti-Monitor! *I will call this the Darkseid won universe

Cyborg sequel Victor Stone is reunited with an old, charismatic friend: Ronald Evers. He finds out that Ronald is involved in criminal activity and has to fight him.

Flash 4 Flash VS Reverse Flash. also: Mid-credit scene with Monitor and Harbinger

Wonder woman 4 Diana become a mentor figure to Donna Troy, a young girl whose parents have just died. Donna has superpowers and turns out to be part amazon. Diana lets her live on Themiscyra but it turns out that Donna is a sleeper agent of Circe. It turns out that many years ago, Circe cut off a strand of hair from Diana when she was just a kid and used it to make Donna. They fight, Donna gets her mind back and hates that someone used her like a puppet. In the end she and Diana fight Circe.

Aquaman 4 Orm returns and is now allied with Starro the conqueror, a creature that looks like a giant starfish that uses tiny copies of itself that can latch on to other beings and control them.

Justice League 6 Adaptation of Crisis on Infinite Earths. (We get to revisit the Ultraman universe and the Darkseid won universe.) Guy Gardner gives the green lantern ring back to Hal Jordan (He doesn`t need it, he still has his own yellow lantern ring.) because they need all the heroes they can get.

You may have noticed that I haven`t come up with many Batman movies, there`s only 3 of them if you count Batman V Superman. That is because there have been so many Batman movies over the years, it`s like he`s almost the only character from DC Comics that Warner Bros are not afraid to make movies about. As if they don`know about any other characters. So I felt that the dark Knight could step aside so that some the other heroes got a chance to shine. There would still be plenty of room for the caped crusader though, he would appear in all the Justice League movie and have cameos in several of the other characters`movies, kinda like MCU`s Nick Fury.

So anyway, those are my ideas for a DCEU that could have been. Originally I was gonna stop at phase 3 because I think that a big superhero cinematic universe should eventually stop and not go on forever. Kind of like, quit while you`re ahead. I know, not a very capitalist way of thinking. But then I started thinking about how the other characters hadn`t gotten their movie trilogies, how some elements felt like they were left dangling, untapped potential and how writing these little essays is a fun excercise in creativity. And hearing about James Gunn`s plans for a more organized DC movie universe also contributed in reigniting my interest for more stories in this universe that never happened. After making these movies I would step down as the creative producer guy (or whatever the title is), in this alternate universe where I got to be the Kevin Fiege of the DCEU, and let someone else take over.

But it may be possible that I come back some day in the future and say "Hey, you guys! I`ve come up with some ideas for phase 7 to 9 in my own version of the DCEU!" since my decision to stop after phase 3 didn`t last.

Oh well, with all that said, I look forward to see what James Gunn has in store for us. ------------------------------------------------------ Written stuff: 50

Started writing this: 2023-03-11

Other movies on my Constructive Criticism list that you can look forward to

Burton`s Batman Schumacher`s Batman Supergirl (1984) Jonah Hex (2010) Dragonball evolution The Spirit (2008) The Dark Knight trilogy

And as usual: English is not my first language, so if my writing doesn`t seem to flow naturally, you know why.

#dceu #dceu films #editorial #Written Stuff #constructive criticism #DC comics #81scorp

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zorosq · 2 years

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fated scenario ; roronoa zoro

↻ cussing, nothing canon, grammatical error, not proofread, crack ending cuz i said so

↻ pairing ↬ none

@bowman-42 asked: You asked for a request, I am here to provide:

The Strawhats arrive on an island and Zoro wanders off. Somehow he winds up lost in the local marine base and, upon realizing just who this random green haired man that just randomly stumbled into their undermanned, under supplied token base is, the marines panic and start trying to very covertly get him to leave, they do not have the resources to deal with this guy. He quickly catches on and instead of leaving, decides to play around with them for awhile. Shenanigans ensues as Zoro basically finds himself in charge of his very own little marine base for a day. How will this end? Will he leave the base in better or worse condition than how he found it? What would happen if someone like Nami were to catch up to him? What if Luffy did? How did he get that high navy officers coat that reads "gretest swordsmen in th nevy"? May he find love in this, the most unlikely of places?

Free reins with where it ends 😁

a/n that was such a long request- but i am up for the challenge to write this <3 im also very sorry that it took so long to write this 😭

as the sun continued to shone on his skin, his grumbles becoming even more louder. “what’s up with this hot weather?” he groaned, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

the green-haired male was hoping for a shelter. the island was way hotter than alabasta, he thought. he cursed under his breath for the hundredth time at his friends for getting lost.

but then a big building came into view. it looks so inviting. with how tired he had been, zoro reluctantly dragged his foot towards the building. he hadn't realize what sort of building it was for he was way too tired.

his footsteps came to a halt. his eyes widened when he saw that it was the local's marine base. before stepping inside, he observed the area. though he doubt that any of the captains could really defeat him.

“hey, do you recognize who that man is?” a marine asked, pointing his finger towards the swordsman. the male that stood beside him squint his eyes to get a better look.

his eyes widened in fear. “it’s the pirate hunter! roronoa zoro!” he screamed. within seconds, the place was nothing but in chaos. zoro took this as an opportunity to sneak inside the building and search for a place where he could take his nap undisturbed.

he racked through his brain, thinking of a possible comfortable place where he could sleep. an idea strikes him. the captain’s office.

with the help of the other marine soldiers, he made it to the captain’s office after making the fifth failed attempt. he flopped himself down on the chair, sighing contently at how comfortable it is.

“i could get use to this,” he grinned before drifting into deep slumber.

alas, how easy would life be without anyone bothering your sleep. sadly, the captain had came back to his office earlier. though the moment he saw the first crew mate of the straw hat, he bolted out of his office and off the island.

so much for earning the captain title. he stirred in his sleep, the commotion that the captain had caused woke him up from his dreamless sleep.

the door was crowded by the marines soldier who now was left in absent of their captain. “the hell are you guys staring at?” they all rushed to multiple direction, plans to kick him out of the base was quickly left abandoned.

his lips quirked upwards as he thought of something very amusing.

when one of the marine soldier approached him, she had told him to wear the marine coat which he shrugged and shoved it away from his face.

he is a pirate. it wouldn’t look good for a pirate to wear a marine coat. it seems all too odd for him to be doing so. he was getting skeptical by each moment one of them would come over to him and offered to help in any way.

realization dawn onto him.

they all saw him as someone superior. a higher up since he sure as hell could cut everyone there.

a smile made its way to his lips. another amusing thought occurred.

he had given them orders to practice swords. real swords.

the soldiers swing the sword in front of them tiredly. one of them at the verge of fainting. he chugged the whole bottle of sake that was brought to him with a satisfied grin.

“never knew that the marine would have this much of sake. would’ve joined them if i knew of this,”

with the sun high and burning into the ground, they were all sweating bullets and panting for air. the hot weather had dried their mouth. although it was almost evening, the weather still shows no sign of mercy for them.

deciding that he had enough of watching them train, zoro unsheathed his swords and get into his fighting stance. when the marines took notice of this, they immediately dropped their swords before scattering around the base.

“we’re gonna die!” one of them shouted. zoro smiled sadistically before getting a familiar knock to the head. “so this is where you have been you piece of-”

“zoro!” chopper yelled before throwing his weight onto zoro, cutting nami off. “you dumbass! where have you been?!” the reindeer cried out. “oi- are you trying to suffocate me or something?!”

he was surprised by the strong grip from the reindeer who wouldn’t let him go no matter what. in the end, nami had to dragged him by the collar with chopper clinging onto his face while still crying.

the marines let out a relieved sigh but soon screamed in terror once they saw the captain of the straw hats himself. “food!”

#zoro #roronoa zoro #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #one piece #straw hat crew #pirate hunter zoro #nami #luffy #sanji #usopp #franky #robin #brook #chopper

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charkyzombicorn · 3 years

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Okay but what if luffy got his devil fruit a bit younger? Like he was 4ish when shanks brought it. Garp gets pissy earlier and decides to tie some balloons to his grandson and let the sky handle him while he makes arrangements with dadan.

But then it's a particularly bad day for luffy, and a strong wind carried him away from his island, he ends up falling right into one of the newer slave trader's ships and well fuck. He tried to fight them off but one of them has a collar with sea stone that the big boss person gives to every ship, even the smaller ones. So now luffy's fucked.

Since he's got a devil fruit, he's taken to the big boss child slave distributor asshole (put that on a business card) and then eventually gets taken to judge, because of course that dickhead would buy superpowered children. Judge gets him purely because rubber boy can take a hell of a walloping and also is stronger than the average four year old.

The vinsmoke brats and Sanji end up being pitted against Luffy and luffy does not win, but he doesnt die either so that's a plus. Sanji hates beating up a four year old, his brothers seem to love being able to punch something as much as they want without them being taken away or dying.

Luffy ends up learning how to fight by force, and eventually he's dubbed Sanji's fighting partner since they're both the weakest, which sucks because if sanji loses he gets locked up and if luffy loses then judge gives the other three brothers sharp objects and free time with luffy

Eventually luffy befriends sanji because of course he does, and loving food as much as he does he becomes the taste tester for sanji's cooking endeavors, and sometimes luffy manages to limp away to talk to sanji when he's in his cell.

When they escape, they escape together, and sanji becomes a bus boy and luffy just carries shit because he cant really do anything else but he could deadlift a ship at 10 so hey

When the attack happens, sanji's trying to save luffy, but zeff has to save him. Sanji sits on that rock almost certain that luffy's dead.

Luffy didn't die tho, because no, and he got saved, idk how, this is a writing prompt u figure it out, and they end up growing up apart for a bit after that. Luffy doesn't find his island again, but he does a bit of bounty hunting to get by and ends up making a name for himself because apparently his 'training' with the vinsmokes was a little more brutal than he thought.

Sanji works hard, he feels he owes a debt to both zeff and luffy, both of which helped him in some of his worse moments, and ends up a bit more edgy than in canon because he thinks his only friend is dead (push him to the edge🎶)

But then luffy gets blamed for something that was only really half his fault and half the random bandit he was fighting's fault, and he ends up with a bounty. It isn't a big one, just about 10000 berri, he kinda destroyed a bit more marine property than is recommended. But then sanji sees the bounty in the paper and he doesnt know if he should be glad his friend is alive or angry that luffy let him think he was dead.

But then luffy comes to the baratie when hes about 15-16, and then he sees sanji again and now he's super fuckin happy because how would luffy know sanji was alive?? They both came to the conclusion of mutual misunderstanding and lack of information after a bit of angst, because its sanji and luffy. But they get over it because they were both on the bottom end of the vinsmoke hellhole and does it really matter when they're reunited?

Zeff let's luffy steal sanji because it's been over a decade but luffy still wants to be the motherfuckin king, okay? And sanji's gonna be the cook for the pirate king and find the all blue because

Sanji becomes luffy's first mate and then start a sailing. Luffy attracts friends like a magnet, they get usopp next, and luffy kills kuro because luffy isn't as not-killerish as he is in canon because tragic backstory and if you leave a kid alone to be a bounty hunter long enough with only their own brain to make the morals, what do you expect will happen? Usopp joins because 'UwU piwate' is his opinion on the matter

They get nami, and sanji's a bit more chill than in canon because growing up with a guy that was also nice along with his sister and mother had a bit of an impact. He's still a bit if a french goth and treats nami better than other people but he isn't being a douche about a lady fighting or making faces quite as stupid.

Zoro joins but Does Not like sanji, which is mutual but luffy likes him so sanji must deal. They make their way toward the grand line, going back to the baratie, or what's left of it.

Sanji gets another thick layer of angst learning that while he was gone, don krieg destroyed the ship trying to steal it, and then they go to find don krieg, postponing grand line for a hot second because luffy wont leave until he gets to personally kick the ass of whoever made his cook so extra angsty, and sanji seconds that.

They find don krieg in Cocoyashi island, after crashing there with his broke ass ship. They fight him, the ruckus brings out arlong before Nami can attempt to lie to save them.

Sanji gets off one angst and gets it replaced with another when he can barely do shit because he was cooking all this time and is no longer as strong as luffy, who was only really working on fighting. Luffy almost dies because he has to fight both those shitheads back to back, but he wins.

Sanji starts getting more aggressive with zoro, and zoro only stays because he saw the fight and respects his captain, but that's a bit of a loose thing, ready to snap with a wrong move. Or maybe zoro leaves because he needed that fight with mihawk to realise this was serious and he was a pirate now, to each their own.

They stay in the east blue a little longer because luffy nearly died and they dont have a doctor, but he's fine. Sanji gets more guilt tho because that's how he is, and starts treating luffy nicer, which leads to luffy instigating a fight between the two of them because luffy wont swallow that shit. It helps things because violence is sometimes the answer

They head to the grand line, up reverse mountain, meet the whale, the whole shebang. Sanji might catch feels by this point because honestly who wouldn't?

Nami gets sick, and luffy doesn't know how to deal with that because back when he was being carted around with a sea stone collar and 30 other starving children, they just shot the ones that got sick. Ptsd time and guess who gets to help because zoro isn't first mate/here? Sanji! Which definitely puts things into perspective because for as long as he'd known him, luffy's tried his hardest to make sanji smile, and keep him company, even though after being bought luffy's only purpose was to be a stepping stone in sanji's development. So sanji finally being smacked across the face with the brunt of bottled up traumatized child luffy, he needs a fuckin smoke.

They find drum island and then same shit as canon, except it hits a bit harder with luffy carrying a dying nami and a heavily injured sanji up sheer rock because that's the only person that luffy had when shit got rough that he's holding between his teeth.

When sanji wakes up he probably notices how injured luffy is and can estimate the ringer he's been through because Sanji had to personally find out how luffy's healing factor worked because he was a good fraction of the reason luffy needed to heal so much.

They acquire a chopper :3

This is getting long and it's pretty much the end of my idea, sorry for the long informal post.

#one piece #lusan #i will take my leave

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bookishofalder · 3 years

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hi! i just recently found ur account and love it💞💞 can i request adam driver x reader and they are dating. reader is a bit younger and he gets jealous over one of her guy friends bc he thinks she deserves someone younger than him. & it ends super fluffy :)

@avengxrs423

Yay, my first request! Thank you so much for the kind words. This was fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Doubts

Pairing- Adam Driver X FemReader

Summary: Adam has always been aware of the age gap he has with his fiance. He tries to move past it, but a chance meeting with your famous old friend brings the worry crashing back.

Warnings: Language, insecurity, mild smut, paparazzi. WC-2,700

“Mr. Driver, over here! Miss (Y/L/N), this way!” Adam followed you out of the car, thanking the driver, his eyes on you as the crowd of reporters and paparazzi lined either side of the walkway into the restaurant. It was always these sorts of outings, where the press knew he’d be in attendance to a new hot spot, that made him nervous. Wary of how easily you could be accosted, even injured. He was nothing if not protective of you.

Standing closely next to you, Adam places his hand on your lower back, joining you in smiling around for the cameras as you slowly moved forward. His security team had the doors open ahead of you, mere steps away.

“Have you set a date for the wedding yet?”

“Let’s see the ring again, Miss. (Y/L/N)!”

“Mr. Driver, what do you have to say to fans who find the age gap between you to be too much?”

Adam worked actively not to react to the last question, his body tensing. When he looked down at you, he found you were already watching him, the glamorous smile still dazzling everyone, but he read the caution in your eyes. When you were both through the doors and they shut behind you, he began to breathe a little more freely, casting the reporter's rude question out of his mind.

He was taking you on a date and wanted to make sure the evening was special. His publicist had set it up, as this new restaurant was the current ‘place to be and be seen’ in New York City. While Adam could care less, he knew fans everywhere were chomping at the bit to see more of him and you together, in New York especially.

The makeup artist who won the movie star’s heart. It was a major headline when you first started dating publicly, which made you both laugh as Adam had to work to convince you he was interested, in the beginning. Newly engaged now, Adam could see the romance of it, could understand why fans enjoyed the story. But he hated, absolutely despised, how every damn article made sure to mention, directly or not, the age gap between the two of you.

He had had no intention of falling in love with anyone he worked with, he hadn’t been actively seeking-but you had shown up one day one and after one brief conversation, he was smitten. His feelings only grew over the two years you worked together, but he had hesitated greatly in acting on them, solely because you were 10 years younger than him.

When you finally got together, he felt like the luckiest man, that you would love him back, age be damned. You were cautious at first, eventually believing he genuinely wanted to be with you, not just have a fling. He had waited four months into the relationship to make it public (which was no easy feat, but you were supportive through all of it), and of course, the articles started on pointing it out straight away, some going as far as to point out where you were when he was enlisted in the Marines, or graduating Juilliard.

You told him it didn’t matter, repeatedly. And never got mad at him for fixating when a particularly brutal article was released. He had felt guilty many times that you had to comfort and reassure him so consistently, yet it made him love you even harder. And life went on, happily, your relationship solid.

When news broke that he had proposed, the articles started up with renewed fervour. He had been trying to hide from you just how much this upset him, how the doubt was creeping back into his mind...

Tonight was meant to be a sophisticated, romantic evening that served the double purpose of getting Adam press coverage before heading back to L.A. As you were shown to your table by the excited owner, Adam watched you chatting away with her, complimenting their design and success. You wore a beautiful hunter green dress made of satin, it fell to just above your knees and complimented your glowing skin perfectly. He was enraptured by you, whether your wore sweatpants, a dress-and especially when you wore nothing. Green was his favourite colour on you.

At the table reserved for the two of you, Adam helped you take your seat, his hand brushing gently against your hair, before taking his own. Annie and the waiter who had appeared handed you the course descriptions, before asking if you had any dietary needs. “Thank you so much, Annie-honestly just tell the chef we’re game for anything!” You said, grinning. Annie winked before setting off to the kitchen.

Adam nodded politely at the waiter, who took their drink orders, before sweeping away, finally giving him time to study you. “How do you like it?” He gestured around them, at the dark lit, moody and stylish venue. It was busy, filled mainly with notable celebrities, though he hadn’t seen anyone he’d met before. He hoped you liked it, not being one for going out to fancy dinners-you were a homebody, preferring to curl up with a good book.

“Adam, this is great! We haven’t been to a dinner like this in forever, and did you hear what Annie said?” You gushed, beaming, and Adam felt his worries washing away, “13 courses! 13! You’re going to have to carry me out of here, babe.”

“I’m fine with that,” He replied, enjoying the flush that spread across your cheeks. “But let’s be honest, you’re going to end up giving me half your food, pretty girl, you always do.”

You pouted, “I’m making a renewed effort tonight, just wait.”

Adam laughed, and the two of you settled in, the conversation flowing as you discussed the upcoming film Adam was starring in, of which you were working as his artist. The food was, as expected, incredible. Adam loved how you took a photo of each plate, even though neither of you had social media accounts. You still took photos of all the food you ate, just for the fun of it, or as you told him ‘simply to document our adventures!’.

It was around the ninth course that the evening took a turn.

A commotion at the doors captured the attention of some of the patrons. Adam glanced up, but from where your table was, he couldn’t see much. The paparazzi outside were shouting too loudly to decipher what they were saying, so it wasn’t until Adam saw your friend walk in, his brother and friend in tow, that he knew his mood was about to shift.

Tom Holland was one of the first celebrities you had worked with when you started working in L.A. And he’d always kept in touch, even when his own fame skyrocketed and before you were public with Adam. And actually, Adam did like the kid-he was beyond well mannered and genuine, and from the stories you had told, a very considerate friend. Tom’s glowing recommendation of your work was part of the reason Disney had hired you on for the Star Wars films, which was how Adam had met you.

Really, Adam had no reason not to love Tom Holland and be happy to see him arrive with his brother Harry and friend Harrison. It was just the minor, ridiculous concern Adam had that, being close in age, you and Tom were more much suited for one another. A concern that had poisoned his mind for your entire relationship.

Seeing his eyes over your shoulder, you turned to look where Adam had been and exclaimed in delight when you saw your friend. Adam quickly arranged his features to match yours, nerves shooting through him. Tom spotted you when you stood, in all your dazzling beauty, and grinned before making a beeline towards your table. The owner, Annie, had been leading the men to a nearby table and stood back politely while you all greeted one another.

“(Y/N), love! How are you?” Tom gave you a hug, “And Adam, good to see you mate!” Adam took his offered hand, giving a quick handshake. (Y/N) hugged the other two, chatting amicably.

“Good to see you, Tom-hi Harry, Harrison,” Adam greeted the other two before placing his hand on your lower back. Inwardly, he felt more stable in doing this, but he worried it would look possessive. If you thought so, you made no objection, stepping a little closer to his side while you beamed at your friends.

“I didn’t realize you’d be in New York this week, Tom!” You said, smacking his arm playfully.

Tom held his hands up as if in surrender, “It was completely last minute, just stopping off for two days before we head to L.A.” He glanced between the two of you, “I nearly forgot-congratulations again on the engagement! This is the first time I’ve seen you both in person since!”

Adam smiled, “We really appreciated the gift you sent, Tom-that was too kind.” And it had been quite the gift, in addition to a beautiful and extravagant flower arrangement, Tom had made a personal donation to Adam’s charity, Arts in the Armed Forces, and shared the charity on his social media. They’d had an influx of new donations from his fans and followers.

“Arts in the Armed Forces is incredibly important to Adam and me, Tom-you really knocked that gift out of the park.” (Y/N) agreed, her arm snaking around Adam’s waist with affection.

Tom waved off their thanks good-naturedly, “Well, we’re going to leave you to what looks very delicious-Annie, I’ll have what Adam and (Y/N) are having!” Tom grinned briefly at the owner, “And we’re still on for lunch when you both come to L.A. Next week, yeah?”

After assuring Tom they’d see him soon and bidding their farewells, Adam and you sat back down, diving back into your food. You chatted happily about bumping into Tom, which quickly transitioned into excitement for returning to L.A., as the cold of January in New York City was getting a little old for you both. You loved it here, were all too happy to call it home when your relationship escalated and Adam asked you to live with him. And though you both spent a lot of time away from your New York brownstone, it was always going to be home.

Adam worked to enjoy the rest of the evening, but he’d rather lost his appetite, the food tasteless on his tongue. Because seeing Tom had brought the wave of insecurity crashing back down on Adam, that you were too good for him, too young, that you deserved someone better, to be with someone who smiled more easily and with whom you shared more in common with. He knew you loved him, but his brain kept asking-did you realize what you could have if you broke up?

When you climbed into the car after dinner, having said warm goodbyes to Tom and his party and touring the kitchen with Annie to thank the chef and his team, Adam’s smile dropped. He sat back in his seat, confirming with the driver that he could take them home, before dropping his head against the headrest and closing the divider between the front and back seats.

“Adam?” Your voice cut through the silence after only a few moments, concern evident in your tone.

Adam glanced down at you next to him, softening when he looked into your wide eyes, “Sorry, sweetheart, what’s up?”

You frowned, turning in your seat to face him more directly, “I want you to tell me what’s up, you’ve been in a funny mood half the night-you okay?”

“I’m alright, just tired-that was a lot of food over a long time.” He shrugged, looking away. For a moment, he thought you were going to leave it at that, but he should have known better; one of the reasons he adored you was your commitment to being the most stubborn person in the room. In an instant, you undid your seatbelt and slid from your seat, carefully climbing over him so that you could straddle his lap, all of his attention now on you.

Adam’s hands went to your hips instinctively to hold you steady, as you glared at him, “Babe, I know you’re not saying it, and I don’t want you to feel forced here, but I thought we’d talked about this.” The car hit a minor bump and you sank into his lap, nearly bumping heads, from the force.

He gripped your hips tighter, “We did, I just...I can’t help it, I feel like-like I’m holding you back.” He murmured with his eyes on your stomach, shame flooding through him.

You sighed, not without affection, “Holding me back from what, exactly? You are my everything, Adam, and without you...I can’t even begin to imagine my life without you.”

You slid your hands from his chest to his neck, where they rested gently, thumbs brushing across the lower half of his jaw. Adam closed his eyes briefly, “But if you did imagine it, properly, you might see that someone like Tom-I mean, he’s your age, goes to more parties and events, you’d have more fun-“

Your mouth was on his, cutting off Adam’s words, his mind going blank. The feel of you against him, your lips on his, was more than enough to render him speechless. After a moment, you pulled back, your cheeks flushed and expression serious, “I understand that sometimes, we notice the age gap a little more because the press thinks it’s interesting, but Adam, I need you to understand. I need you to see just how much I do not care about any of that, what they say or think or even about the actual difference in our ages! I never think about it, because it has no effect whatsoever on how fucking madly in love with you I am.” (Y/N) cupped his face in her hands, holding his gaze.

“I-I love you too, so much, pretty girl,” He sighed, his emotions raw, “I just want the best for you, always.”

“You are the best for me, which is why I said yes to marrying you when you got down on one knee, in our apartment, wearing nothing but those ridiculous shorts. It’s why I’d say yes, again and again, Adam. Do you think I like going to parties? That I don’t have fun with you?” Your voice raised slightly in exasperation, while Adam stared at you in wonder; you’d never been so passionate about this before-despite having had the conversation many times, “I have an adventure every single day with you, I love everything about our lives together, and honestly, babe...” Your voice lowered considerably, a soft breathy croon now, “I can’t picture a guy like Tom treating me how you do, knowing exactly what I need from a man, always taking such good care of me.”

She punctuated these words by grinding against him, her eyes darkening in arousal. Adam groaned at the sensation, “Pretty girl, you’re too good for me.”

(Y/N) smiled at Adam, “No, I’m just right for you and you’re just right for me.”

“Damn it, I love you!” He gasped, before sliding one hand from your hip to the back of your neck and pulling you close, his lips on yours before you could reply. You let out a small whimper, melting into him. Your arms circled around his neck, and Adam could feel the intent in your body, the overwhelming need to send him the message that he was yours, and you-you were his.

“I love you, Adam, forever.” You sighed against his lips, deepening the kiss further.

All thoughts that weren’t of (Y/N) kissing him in the back of their town car, soared from Adam’s mind. His new focus on getting you home, so that he could show you just how much he appreciated your patience and understanding. And as you shivered from his touch, his name on your lips, you successfully and unknowingly convinced Adam his doubts were unwarranted, that you loved him endlessly, as he loved you.

#adam driver x reader #adam Driver x you #adam driver #reader insert #reader x tom holland #fanfic #requests open #requested #fluff #angst

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occasionaloneshots · 3 years

Text

Ring- zNation

younger brother! 10K, wife! Georgia, female reader

CW: Mentions death, explosions (all canon related) some-what angst, minor swearing

In which she only knew he was her brother when he recognized an old ring and she didn’t truly recognize him until weeks later.

Word Count: 1644

The urgent steps of the short haired woman quickly caught the attention of her wife, leather jacket flying up behind her slightly as she walks. The other woman’s eyes follow her, eyes lifting from the speech she was editing. “Georgie?” She jumps up from her seat, “What’s wrong?” “Talkers at the welcome center. They’re hungry and the center doesn’t have any bizcuits.” The dark haired woman blows a kiss to her wife as she speeds out of the building. Sliding the pencil and speech into her pocket (Y/N) stands up from the table, heading for the double doors that her wife ran out of moments before. A new set of arrivals wasn’t something new for Altura, this happens pretty often, and (Y/N) has desperate hope every single time one does.

Head of Pacifica security heads over to the quarantine station of the bigger outpost. She knew it was a slim chance, yet every time there was new arrivals she had the need to check for the boy. Twisting the ring on her right finger, the woman waited patiently for the truckload to return her wife and bring in a new shipment of dirty, tired faces. Her nervous eyes search the area around her, a few welcome committee members give her a gentle smile, others shaking their head in exhaustion. Eight years of apocalypse couldn’t shake her belief that her family is out there. Anyone other than Dante and Georgia would call her hopeless for still believing but (Y/N)’s intuition had never failed them. If her gut told her they were still out there, the two would believe her until the end.

Nervous summersaults enter the girl’s stomach as a vehicle comes into her sight line. “Don’t get your hopes up,” the woman whispers to herself, toying with the piece of metal on her finger. A kind voice speaks to a doctor, telling him that he and his friends had to go through quarantine before gaining citizenship. (Y/N)’s eyes search the group, one face catching her eye. He was too far for her to tell for sure, but the woman swore she recognized him. Georgia leaves the group, making her way to the woman. “One day playing with your ring like that is going to make it get stuck,” she chuckles, kissing the worried woman on her forehead. Shaking her head, (Y/N) leans into her lover’s side, “I’m just nervous.” Rubbing a hand up the soft material of her wife’s sweater Georgia frowns, “Did the feeling go away?” “No, no, I’m still sure someone is out there,” she bites her lip, “I just, feel like I know that guy, the dark haired one you just brought in. I can’t place him though like it’s been years since I passed him in a crowd or something.”

“After he gets through quarantine, you and I can go talk to him together okay?” “That would be great,” she pulls the speech out of her pocket, handing it and the pencil to the woman on her side, “You need an opener, a joke or something to get people’s attention.” “You are an angel,” George laughs, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I try,” she teases, smiling over at the woman. “His name is Ten Thousand, if that helps.” “That’s a number, not a name. What was he before the apocalypse? A government experiment?”

(Y/N) waiting patiently for the quarantine process to end on the new arrivals, it felt like someone had their eyes on her the whole time. The feeling made her stomach feel like it was churning, the nerves killing her. George’s hand on her back lead her over to the group. She learned that the doctor Georgia was speaking to wasn’t a doctor but more of a therapist turned drug dealer from a small conversation. The short woman with him, Sargent Muller was a sweet girl, a fellow marine from before the world fell apart. The whole time she spoke to them, she twirled the ring, cutting eyes at the boy. He was glaring at her hands watching the metal and gems spin.

“Where the hell did you get that,” it was the first thing he said and it felt as if he spit it at her. “Pardon?” The girl tucked herself into her wife’s side, the voice made him even more familiar but the anger in his tone was something she didn’t expect. “Where did you get that ring? You steal it off a corpse or something?” His face was full of disgust as he snatched her hand up. The stranger stared at the silver flower, eying the center gems. 4, his birthstone, his ma’s. his pa’s, and (Y/N)’s. “It was a gift from my mother, thank you,” She scoffs, yanking her hand back. For the first time she took a good look at his face. She knew those eyes anywhere, they were her mother’s, the scar in his eyebrow from where he got hit by a hunter’s knife as it slipped from her hand. And suddenly, she didn’t have to trust the feeling anymore, her brother was most definitely alive. George moves to step between the two, not liking the way the stranger roughly snapped her wife’s hand up. She’s shocked to feel the other woman shove her to the side, hugging the man suddenly, “Tomcat!” The male’s body jolts at the impact, pushing her off slightly, “(Y/N)?” She slumps her shoulders, affected by the rejected hug from her once clingy brother, “Yeah, it’s good to see you.”

-----

(Y/n)’s back is pressed against the side of the building, trying to ignore everything happening in the building. She feels guilt already building in her stomach for being out in the grass while the woman she loves gives a speech she promised to be there for, but being in there feels impossible. Hot tears burn her eyes as she stares into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Hey,” the voice catches her attention, her eyes refocusing on the frame that appeared before her, “You missed an amazing speech you know.” “Yeah, she’s good at them, you should hear her when she has to give a speech on the spot,” her voice is slightly hoarse as she looks up at him. “So uh,” he waves to the ground beside her, “Mind if I join you?” “Go ahead, 10k,” she lets out a half-assed chuckle.

Hearing his chosen name in her voice stung like venom as he sits down beside her. “You know, in fourteen years of living with you, I don’t think I can ever remember you crying, (Y/n/n).” She sniffles, smiling at the old nickname, “Well, you were the clingy family softy back then and I was the heartless one, remember?” “You were never heartless.” “Fourteen year old you felt different. You know the last thing I said to you was ‘the world won’t end while I’m gone’. It’s almost hilarious the way the world works like that,” she toys with the hem of her shirt as she talks. “Yeah, and I told you eight months might as well been eight years, look where we are now.” She laughs, leaning into his side, “What the hell happened to us?” “The real question is, why are you out here? I don’t know much about Georgia, but she seems pretty good to you.”

“She’s amazing, too good to everyone sometimes if we’re all honest. All about trust and second chances. Georgia can really give you insight into your own humanity you know? I lost mine for a while, then there was her.” He nods, “Yeah I think we all lost ours a some point.” “Not her though, and I’m so proud of her, but the idea of walking back into that room made me feel sick.” “You know he can’t hurt her again, right?” She nods, her head falling back, “I know, but last time I was in there I was laughing with Dante, we were planning a double date to celebrate that the vote went through until he had to leave. Now he and Marge are dead, my wife has a black eye and a busted lip, and I couldn’t protect either of them, or you.” “My hand wasn’t your fault, you weren’t here. You didn’t kill Dante, or torture George. That’s not your fault.” “No, Ten, how long were you alone out there before your team found you? You lost Ma and Pa and I was with Lieutenant Dante looking for his wife states away. I should have gone looking for you the moment the apocalypse started, fuck my orders.”

“You knew Dante a long time?” “I did, he was my Lieutenant until we got separated in Colorado four years ago. I just headed North from there, found Georgia, and trusted my gut that I would run into you instead of looking for you.” “Stop blaming yourself for me being alone, I grew up (Y/N). And we found each other eventually.” She fought a laugh, the person she knew as her brother was lost, she would have to find comfort in the new person who occupied his body. She never expected him to be the kid she left alone years before but she never imagined he’d be like this now. “I guess we did, Tomcat.” The dark haired male laughs, standing up and offering her his hand, “Now, let’s get you to your wife. You need to properly introduce me to my sister in law.” She laughs, taking his hand, “Thanks for being cool about that by the way. Pa would have lost it the moment he saw us together.” “We always had each other’s backs, it was the ruling of not getting in trouble with Pa,” the boy laughs, pulling her up from the ground. And for that moment, he was Tommy.

#z nation #10k #10kimagine #georgia st. claire #znation imagines #George st. Claire #sibling imagine #apocolypse

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fingergunsbidean · 4 years

Text

A Journey in Bisexuality

Word Count: 4.3k Pairings: Dean/Castiel (main), Dean/OMC, Dean/Lee, Dean/Garth Warnings: Underage feelings for Harrison Ford, internalized homophobia, mentions of homophobia but no homophobic actions are done towards Dean, drunken kissing, NSFW elements but no smut, alcoholism implied, and mentions of John Winchester’s A+ parenting, but no actual interactions with him. Summary: A character study of Dean and his journey with discovering and accepting his bisexuality.

Note: I was NEVER actually planning on posting this. I’m NOT a fic writer lol. I actually wrote this as a self paragraph in a 1x1 ten months ago, but I thought we could all use some Dean going to therapy and healing after that finale, so here we are.

Dean is fourteen when he starts looking at Harrison Ford differently. It’s not just him, it’s all his favorites, but right now it’s all about Harrison Ford.

His dad is on a hunt in the next town over, leaving Sam and Dean in some cheap motel. For once, he’s not itching to join him, because the local cable is having an all day Harrison Ford marathon, starting with Star Wars and ending with Indiana Jones.

He’s always admired the guy. He’s good looking, knows how to handle a gun, wears an awesome hat, and always wins the hot girl in the end.

The thing is that Dean always wanted to be him, and as he watches Indi somersault out of the way of an oncoming boulder, he still does, but there’s something more there tonight that he hasn’t noticed in the past.

His cheeks feel flushed and there’s heat tickling underneath his skin. At first, he thinks he’s getting a fever or something and moves over to the other bed, just in case he’s contagious.

The space does nothing to help Dean though, and his pink cheeks grow bright red when Indiana kisses Willie in Temple of Doom. As the music swells, and he lowly says the words “primitive sexual practices,” Dean finds that he’s picturing himself in Willie’s place, with Harrison Ford looming over him and dipping down to kiss him deeply.

The realization of what he’s doing crashes into him, leaving him a little sick to his stomach as he snatches the remote and turns the TV off abruptly. He swallows roughly to chase away the sick feeling and gives Sam a feigned apologetic look.

“I–uh–think I’m gettin’ sick or something. I’m going to bed,” He says. But hours after the lights are turned off and he’s buried under the covers, he’s still wide awake.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is seventeen, and this is the longest they’ve stayed in one place since he watched their house in Lawrence disappear from the backseat in the Impala.

When their dad took on a pretty big case in Florida, he left the Sam and Dean with Bobby, and then…just kind of left them there. It’s been three months. At first he was pissed. He’s old enough to go on hunts with his dad. He’s been on plenty, while Sam was safely hidden away in a motel.

“You gotta watch over Sammy,” John said, like he always does when Dean asks to go.

It felt like a shitty excuse at the time, but now he can’t imagine being away from his little brother this long, and while he’ll never admit it, he’s glad he left them with Bobby.

For the first time, Dean actually knows the names of the other kids in his class. He has decent grades, and he’s even considering trying out for the baseball team.

Sammy seems happy too. Dean has seen the poor kid get ripped away from school after school, trying to keep his sobs quiet in the backseat as their dad drove away from yet another town. He hates himself for thinking of it, but when he sees how settled Sam is at Bobby’s, he hopes their dad doesn’t come back.

And maybe he’s happy too, and he tries not to feel guilty, but it’s not like his dad will ever know. Whenever he shows up for them, Dean will follow with a “yes, sir,” like he always does.

Until then, he just lets himself be a normal seventeen year old for once. He even found a group of friends and everything, a few guys from his gym class. There’s Matt, Jordan, and Aaron with the too blue eyes, or at least that’s what he calls him in his head. As if he’d ever have the nerve to call him that aloud.

Thoughts about boys creep up on him like itch, dull at first but the more he ignores it the more insistent it becomes. When he first noticed these…feelings, he told himself, “It’s a celebrity crush, it’s fine. Everyone gets those.” But then it grew into, “It’s just some stranger in a diner, it’s fine. You’ll never see him again,” and now it’s, “It’s just your good looking friend, it’s fine.”

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

It’s not fine, but Dean pushes it down and pretends it’s not there. Besides, he hasn’t stopped noticing girls. If anything, he’s notices them more. As long as that’s the case, there’s no reason to act on these feelings or even acknowledge them.

His dad doesn’t want a whole lot from him. He wants him to protect Sam and be a good hunter, but Dean sure as hell knows what he doesn’t want for him, and that’s being with another guy like that, especially when he’s still attracted to girls. He’s seen the way his dad looks at gay guys, heard the comments he makes under his breath, and there’s no way that’s the kind of life he wants for his sons.

So, every time Aaron gives him the kind of smile that makes his chest warm or he finds himself staring too long, he reminds himself of all the reasons why this can’t be a thing. And just because Dean is thinking things he shouldn’t be, doesn’t mean Aaron is too.

He needs that reminder right now as the four of them are packed together in a crowded movie theater, seeing Scream. At some point, Aaron scooted closer to Dean’s side, pressing their shoulders together.

The screams from the crowd sound like a dull roar in his ears when Aaron’s pinky brushes against his, and he holds his breath as he slowly tangles them together, until they’re practically holding pinkies.

He should rip his hand away, he even stiffens as he prepares himself to, but then his shoulders sag as he leans further into the touch. He doesn’t want to pull away. His eyes burn as he stares fixedly at the screen with how badly he doesn’t want to pull away.

They stay like that for the rest of the movie, sneaking glances at each other, but keeping the touch to just their shoulders and pinkies. When the credits roll, Dean finally pulls away, stretching as he stands to try and come off as casual as possible.

They toss their popcorn in the trash and talk about the movie as they head out of the theater. Matt and Jordan give them a quick pat on the shoulders before heading off, and before Dean can go searching for Bobby’s truck in the parking lot, Aaron grabs his elbow to keep him from leaving.

“Dean?” His blue eyes flicker from Dean’s face to the ground nervously, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. Like without Matt and Jordan.”

Dean feels his throat close as he struggles to get air in his lungs, worried that his popcorn might come back up. He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. There’s nothing wrong with hanging out just the two of them, but from the way Aaron’s blushing he has a feeling it’s more than that.

“You mean like…” He trails off, unsure if he can even say it, but Aaron beats him to it.

“Like a date, yeah. I don’t know if you–if you’re–well, I thought I’d try, at least,” He gives a nervous look as he braves meeting Dean’s gaze.

His first instinct is to be furious, to fly off the handle at him for even daring to assume that Dean isn’t anything but straight, to tell him he doesn’t swing that way and storm off, maybe even get a punch in, but he’s frozen.

Despite all his promises to himself that he wouldn’t ever acknowledge this thing that follows him around, he starts entertaining the idea of letting himself have this. His dad is on the other side of the country, he’ll never find out. Nobody has to know if they keep it to themselves. He can just try it this once to get it out of his system and then stick to girls.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean chokes out before he even fully gives himself permission to, and he knows he needs to leave now before he chickens out, “I gotta go. Uh–I’ll call you.” Aaron lets out a huge, relieved breath before giving Dean one of those grins that make his insides squirm with delight, and he smiles back, giving him a playful wink before walking away.

He spends the drive back to Bobby’s going between panic and excitement, planning out potential date ideas but also rehearsing ways to turn Aaron down. As he pulls into the Salvage yard and sees the Impala, he realizes it’s all for nothing and feels strangely numb. It’s time for the next hunt, and he knows with absolute certainty that he’ll never see Aaron again. It’s for the best, he tells himself.

Who was he fucking kidding anyway?

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is twenty-one and drunk on the beach. His vision is a little fuzzy, and when he looks up at the sheer amount of stars in the pitch black sky, he feels dizzy, causing him to stumble into the body beside him.

“Watch it, brother. You don’t wanna eat sand,” A husky voice laughs as he grips Dean’s shoulders with strong hands to steady him.

Lee can’t fill the hole that Sam left when he went off to Stanford, but having him around helps him feel a little less like he’s suffocating. John swung by Texhoma in hopes to recruit his old buddy for a hunt, but got his son instead. Dean and John were glad for the turn of events for different reasons. His dad admired how strong of a fighter Lee was, his training precise enough for John’s Marine standards.

Dean just admired him, in general. He’s having a hell of a time ignoring it when his dad is always there. Maybe, it’s just his paranoia talking, but it feels like he’s watching Dean too closely, noting how he acts around Lee. Which is what inspires their first escape from John Winchester in a slew of rowdy drunken activities.

After he caught them wasted in a middle of a hunt, they started being more discreet about it, so while John was dead asleep in his motel room, the two of them snuck off to a bar and then stumbled their way to the closest beach.

Lee’s hands on his shoulders make him feel both grounded but also like he’s teetering over the edge of a cliff. The moon illuminates his face from where it’s hovering near Dean’s, his blue eyes boring into his.

In his drunken state, he forgets what they were talking about, or if they were even talking at all, and all those walls he’s been building around himself for the past decade feel flimsy, like the slightest nudge will knock them all down.

Dean’s gaze flickers wildly over his face before landing on a piece of hair that fell over his eyes. “You have sand in your hair,” He drunkenly giggles and lifts a hand to pull the sand out before tucking the errant hair behind Lee’s ear. Instead of dropping his hand like he planned to, he cups his friends cheek instead, his thumb absently brushing over his soft skin.

“Dean,” Lee breathes, low and rough, and it sends a tingle down his spine.

“Hey,” He answers, because it feels like the right the thing to say in the moment, or maybe he just doesn’t know what the hell to say when they’re standing this close and he wants nothing more than to just close the remaining distance, give into this want that’s been burning in his chest for years.

Something like recognition shows in Lee’s eyes before he clasps the back of Dean’s neck and draws him down to seal their lips together in a tentative kiss. It’s more gentle and hesitant than his actual first kiss, but it makes his entire body practically sing.

He hears a desperate noise over the sound of the waves, and he thinks it might’ve come for him, but he doesn’t care. He can beat himself up for that later, but for now, he sighs against Lee’s lips and deepens the kiss, letting himself have this.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Lee is the longest relationship he’s ever had, which is pretty sad, considering it lasts for about a month. But in that month, they find creative ways to sneak around his dad and even get caught up in some kind of wild orgy with triplets.

It all crashes and burns when a case in Arizona goes horribly, horribly wrong, and Lee can’t just move past it. He quits hunting and leaves Dean to go back home, giving him one last lingering kiss before he drives away.

With hardly anything more than a dismissive grunt, John leaves shortly after, deciding Dean is finally old enough to hunt on his own, and that they’ll cover more ground to find whatever killed mom if they split up. The fact that his dad trusts him to do this on his own should be enough to fill him with pride, but it feels more like punishment, and for the first time in his life, he’s completely alone.

A week after Lee and his dad left, he’s sitting in the parked Impala, dialing Sam’s number.

“Heya, Sammy,” He greets his brother, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant and cheerful as possible.

They talk about Sam’s homework and friends, and Dean tells him about some interesting hunts, leaving out the most recent one. He doesn’t tell him about dad leaving, but Lee is on the tip of his tongue. Part of him wants to tell Sam–to get this weight off his shoulders, for one more person to know, so it doesn’t feel like some big fever dream.

“Sam,” He starts, his tone suddenly serious. “I’m…” He stops. He’s what? He’s not gay, but he obviously ain’t straight either. But who says he has to label himself right this second though? He can just tell him about Lee. “I…” He tries again, but the words just don’t come.

That time he agreed to go on a date with Aaron, he told himself it’d be a one time thing to get it out of his system, and while this wasn’t Aaron, that’s what Lee can be. A one time thing. Something that Sam doesn’t need to know about.

“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, okay?”

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is thirty and fucking grateful for it. It’s 2009, and not 2014. He still has time to fix this. When he whips around and sees Cas standing there on the empty street, there’s a look on his face that Dean can only describe as tenderness, and that makes him believe he really can fix this.

“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas,” Dean breathes shakily, overwhelmed by the sheer relief that this Cas is his Cas, not the version he left in 2014.

“We had an appointment,” Cas replies, and there’s so much warmth in his gravely voice that Dean wants to chase it and hold it close to his chest.

He feels his face do something that’s probably too open and too fond, but he doesn’t do anything to mask it. Instead, he firmly rests a hand on the angel’s shoulder and looks him straight in the eye before saying, “Don’t ever change.”

Dean wouldn’t say Cas has much variety in his facial expressions, so the hint of a smile he gets in return feels huge. It reaches his eyes more than his lips, and something about that makes it more genuine.

This isn’t the first time Dean felt something after prolonged eye contact with the guy, far from it, but it’s usually a shock of heat or desire–this is something else entirely. He just wants to find more ways to earn looks like this, which seems impossible with the apocalypse around the corner, but he wants to try.

It’s been nearly a decade since he told himself he wouldn’t let himself act on feelings for another man, but shit has changed. His dad is dead, and that’s not enough to erase the shame that still washes over him any time he accidentally checks out another dude, but John Winchester is not an excuse anymore.

The world is ending, isn’t this the best time to say fuck it and try?

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

Dean is thirty-two, and he’s very naked, and very sticky. He curses himself under his breath for not taking the time to clean up before passing out, but he must’ve worn himself out.

For a second he forgets where he is or who he was with the night before, but when he cracks an eye open, he sees peeling yellow wallpaper from the ugly ass motel room he’s been staying in. He blindly reaches a hand out behind him and makes contact with an equally naked and sticky body.

“Hey, watch the hand,” A very familiar voice laughs from behind him, causing Dean to whip around in surprise, wincing at the soreness that follows.

“Garth?” He asks wearily.

“Yeah, who else? We didn’t even drink last night, don’t pull the forgotten one night stand act with me, Dean Winchester,” Garth chastises him gently, propping himself up on his elbow as he smiles down at him.

Dean blinks a few times to try and wake himself up, and when he’s feeling a little less disoriented, the night before comes back to him–and, oh yeah, he remembers it. Who would’ve thought a little guy like Garth could be such a firecracker in bed? Maybe, he somehow sensed that about him, and that’s why he was so eager to find out.

In the short time he’s known Garth, he wouldn’t say he’s had many dirty thoughts about him. He didn’t have many thoughts about anyone these days, not since Cas…Dean quickly ends that train of thought there. The nightmares are enough.

The thing with Garth just kind of happened, between the goodbye hugs, and the comments about how good he smells, the little smiles he keeps sending Dean’s way, he figured why the hell not?

He wasn’t disappointed with his choice either. Garth was surprisingly strong and confident, which are all things Dean likes in his partners. He just wouldn’t usually go for someone he sees so often–makes things awkward.

“I remember,” He gives a quiet laugh before clearing his throat awkwardly, looking from Garth’s bare chest to the sheets. “Look, Garth, I–uh–I’m not really looking for a relationship or anything,” He begins, and it feels so overused and rehearsed.

He hates having this talk, which is why he usually sticks to waitresses or women, and the occasional man that he won’t ever see again. He doesn’t want to shoot Garth down, but after Cas–he just thought things would be different by now. He thought they would be different now, but that hope died when he pulled Cas’s soaking trench coat out of the water.

He doesn’t know what he kind of response he expects, but it’s definitely not for him to throw his head back with a loud laugh. “Oh, Dean, I should’ve known you’d be this funny the morning after. Look at you, trying to give me the it’s not you, it’s me talk. We’re fine, buddy. Just two guys looking for a night of fun,” He shakes his head and gives Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Dean feels his entire body sag in relief, and now that, that awkwardness is out of the way, he feels his body react to Garth’s close proximity, the memory of the night before has him ready to go all over again.

Resting a hand on the hunter’s naked hip, he leans in until their noses brush, “In that case, round two?” He asks, his voice practically a quiet purr.

“Round two,” Garth agrees before pulling him in for a heated kiss.

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

“I don’t know. I guess that was the first time I did something like that without feeling guilty after. I didn’t really even think about the fact that he was a dude that time,” Dean recounts, picking at a stray thread on his jeans.

He’s forty-one and the world is still turning. Chuck is gone, Jack and Eileen are back, Cas is human, Sam is okay, and everything should be fine. But it turns out that peace on earth doesn’t erase decades worth of repression and trauma.

It took storming out of a few therapist’s office before he found the right one. Dr. Williams, or Charlotte, is pretty nice, so far. She listens to all his stories that would sound absolutely insane to an outsider, and hardly bats an eye.

Usually, they talk about Hell or Michael, but somehow the subject shifted to his history with men today, starting with him telling her about the ring he got Cas for Christmas. The one he almost didn’t give him–the ring that isn’t an engagement ring despite the looks Sam keeps giving him, but hopefully isn’t just a friendship ring either.

“And how do you feel now? With Castiel? Do you still feel ashamed of your feelings or sexuality?” She asks calmly as she looks up at him over her notebook.

Dean grimaces at that word–sexuality. He’s had so many years to accept the fact that he isn’t straight, that he likes men too, that he more than likes a particular man specifically.

Still, he can’t get himself to say the actual word, not even in his own head. His old man has been dead for thirteen years, and it still feels like he’s looming over his shoulder whenever he even considers it.

Sometimes, he wishes he told him when he accidentally wished him back into existence, but he’s glad he didn’t. Of all the people who deserve to hear it first, it’s not his dad. The fact that he even thinks that, tells him these sessions are doing something.

“Sometimes…yeah,” Dean mutters and nervously licks his lower lip, “I know my family won’t care. Hell, they probably already know, but I don’t know. I just can’t shake it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to come out,” Charlotte tells him, and her voice isn’t too gentle like some of the other Therapist’s were, but it’s not too matter-of-fact either, which is why he likes her so much.

“Not with an official statement, at least. You should do what you’re comfortable with. Like, next time you watch Star Wars, instead of keeping all those thoughts about Harrison Ford to yourself, say them aloud.”

Dean merely raises a brow in response, he’s pretty sure nobody wants to hear what he has to say about Harrison Ford. He’s come up with way too many jerking off fantasies to that guy. Most of his thoughts are something along the lines of, “I’d sell my soul to fuck Harrison Ford.”

Charlotte seems to catch on quick and lets out an amused snort, “The safe for work version.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure there is a safe for work version,” Dean points out and waggles his brows suggestively before dropping the act and sagging a little in his seat, his face going blank in thought.

“I know that uh–that being bisexual is okay,” He stammers out and rubs the back of his neck as it prickles with nerves, “Which is what I am, I mean, bisexual. I’m just trying to believe that it is.”

It’s the first time he actually said it, and it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he thought it would be. He still feels sick with anxiety, and like he wants to drink an entire bottle of whiskey when he gets home, but the fact that he did it at all lifts a huge weight from his shoulders.

Charlotte gives him an impressed nod and jots down a few notes, “Well, that’s a good start.”

⚤ ⚤ ⚤ ⚤

After his session, he comes home and gives some flimsy excuse about his whereabouts before pouring himself a drink. Cas isn’t in the kitchen or his room, but it doesn’t take Dean long to track him down.

The new human spends a lot of time in the same spot these days. Shrugging on a coat, he brings his glass outside and walks to the little area Cas so carefully turned into his garden.

Dean doesn’t announce his presence, just watches from a safe distance as Cas mutters quietly to his plants. The sun occasionally glints off the silver ring on his middle finger, and it brings a fond smile to his lips.

After everything they’ve been through, after losing him so many times, Dean can’t believe he’s really here. It’s not perfect, Cas is struggling with his new humanity, and the distance between them hasn’t been fixed, but it’s still good.

And Dean loves him.

“I’m in love with Cas,” He mentally tells himself, another thing that he’s known for ages but has been too damn scared to actually put into words. It’s just as nerve-wracking as his confession to Charlotte earlier, but it still brings him peace.

He doesn’t know when he’ll tell Cas, or if he ever will, but right now he’s okay just telling himself. He’s okay just standing here and watching him garden. It’s more than he thought he’d ever have.

#destiel #destiel fic #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #dean is bi #mine

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gildedmuse · 4 years

Note

Law is still Shichibukai (for some reason) and meets with the others including Mihawk for government business or something. He learns he had a relationship with Zoro during the 2 years. Even though Law is in a relationship with him now Mihawk & Zoro never really ended theirs officially so Law gets jealous and competative

Right, I have to pass out. But here is part one of three of this magical tale.

Oh thank God someone else has thought of this because I think about this SO MUCH. Like, "what are you even doing with your life?" / "Oh, you know, mostly trying to set up a Mihawk/Zoro/Law love triangle." / "..... Just WHY?"

Because it'd be super hot that's why.

One dude whose super possessive, one who hates losing and one who's totally obvious to all that shit. are you kidding me? That was made for fanfic glory.

I don't know if I can do such a delicious thing justice in a "let's see if I remember how words work" post, but damn right I'll try it.

It's 2020. The world needs this you guys. And hopefully it inspires others to look deep within themselves and realize the Mihawk/Zoro/Law triangle was inside them all along.

To War Over You

"Why do I have to be here again? No offense, Torao, this whole thing sounds boring as hell."

Law closes his eyes and draws a deep breath; the best way to deal with any of the Strawhat crew if you didn't want it to end in bloodshed and a broken alliance. "Did you not understand the first three times I went over the situation, Zoro-ya? I don't know if I can explain it in any simpler terms without resorting to coloring books and grade school lessons."

It may have been a little snippy, but for as confidently as he struts down the hallways of the naval base just those side of Marie Joice, Law could never get use to having marines on either side, standing at every doorway, eyeing him suspiciously as they walk past him in the halls. He'd seen what these men would do given the orders or the chance, so despite how well he could hide behind a haughty mask and arrogant demeanor, Law can't help feeling once more like a frightened child on the run from these very same men.

He had fully expected to have to lead Zoro through the whole parade, tell him not to jump at the sight of every uniform (as is still, deep down, Law's immediately response) but the other swordsman comes off as almost entirely unaffected. He makes eye contact with passing marines as if daring them to question his presence or better yet try something. He doesn't even have a hand on his sword, a sure sign of the boy's nervousness. He walks next to Law, appearing utterly calm and unafraid and, well, bored.

It's giving Law a headache to be honest. Could one if the Strawhats even pretend to behave like normal pirates?

When Zoro's shoulder bumps against Law's he wonders, fleetingly, if this this is the part where Zoro finally admits how paranoid this whole scene leaves him.

They walk past a pair of marines like that, Zoro leaning into his shoulder practically hanging off Law, and neither men blinks an eye. In fact, they make a point of not even glancing up at the passing pirates, their conversation going quiet and their eyes locked to the floor until they've past. That's been the case more and more this visit; a complete change from the first time Law had been invited where even privates and ensigns felt confident enough to give him bad looks, expressions that clearly asked what one of his kind was doing there.

Zoro also waits until the heavy steps of the two marines are mostly out of earshot before he leans, somehow, even closer. Until Law can feel the boy's hot mouth up against his skin, heating the metal hoops in his ear. "I'm so sorry oh powerful warlord," Zoro teases because, since it really occured to him that Law is a Shichibukai - and apparently one the government is desperate to keep on their side - he couldn't seem to stop himself from mocking the title. If it were any other pirate, Law could have chopped them into parts and been done with it, but for whatever reason he allows the vice captain of the straw hats to get away with such insults. "I must have been distracted at the time."

Ah, yes. That's why.

Law ducks his head, as if attempting to hide a smirk as they go by another three marines - ensigns based on their uniforms and the way their eyes go wide before they scurry past. Ah, well, at worst they'll think he's planning something big, something illegal (which he is, though not for a while) though more than likely they'll just think that's how pirates are. Cocky and unafraid.

Law doesn't mind the reputation.

Of course, if they knew the real reason Trafalgar Law, pirate captain, worst generation, and Shichibukai looked so damn smug they probably would have hurried by all the faster.

Is it his fault that there is something so pleasing about taking a man with the reputation of Roronoa Zoro and having him on his knees and begging? Law can't help the spark of pride knowing that while most others couldn't even halt Zoro's steps were he determined to get by, Law could leave him sprawled out, exhausted, panting on the bed after being made to come a fourth time and yet in two hours he'd crawl into Law's lap, needy and impatient and wanting anything the older pirate would give him.

It's enough to make any man a little conceited. After all, how many can say they've reduced the pirate hunter to such a desperate state?

Law has every right to feel proud.

Still nearly climbing on top of Law even as they walked, Zoro takes the other man's ear in his mouth, tongue first warming the metal and then teeth pulling at the earrings. Law really should make him stop; they must have all sorts of surveillance inside the base. But he just can't find it in him to do more than find the most obvious of the recording snails stuck to the walls, offering it and whoever is lucky enough to be watching a cocky smile.

And because Zoro, like the most crew, doesn't seem to understand the idea of subtle, he follows the bite up with, "I guess having you fuck my mouth interests me more than some political bullshit. Hard paying attention to all this useless junk when your buried that deep in my throat."

It's not romantic. It's hardly even sexy. And yet even as Zoro slides back into his own space, Law can feel something in his gut start to tighten, to want. It had been such a mistake to bring the swordsman along, he should have known better.

Only he'd received a hint from a certain high ranking, unnamed inspector general that the navy knew he was harbouring at least some of the Straw hats on his ship (However did they find that out, Zoro-ya? Maybe if you didn't insist on fighting every battle ship you saw). He would still be expected to attend the meeting, of course, but if he did show up they would certainly search his ship for the pirates and, failing that, likely charge him all the same. Especially after they couldn't use the Doflamigo incident against him, in part thanks to Issho's very live, very unscripted broadcast.

It seemed obviously to Law that their best option is to claim these straw hats had made the decision to work under him (some more literally than others) which only left the matter of which one to bring, to show Law isn't afraid of their suspicious.

Robin could lie very well and would have easily been the best choice, except she was just as likely to stand in front of some of the top ranked marines and inform them that, in fact, she is still and will always be a Strawhat. And she'd say it with a smile. Franky... Well, no. Franky wouldn't last two minutes into an interrogation. Usopp could lie, but there's a chance he'd over do it, or simple break down at the sight of so many marines.

No, Zoro had been his best choice, which is a condemnation of his chooses really. He's just hoping the vice captain will be able to clentch his teeth and get through it.

As added incentive, Law made plenty of promises.... And threats. Depending, of course, on Zoro's ability to behave.

"What's the point of even calling you out here?" Zoro asks in an entirely casual tone, as if he hadn't just described sucking Law off. "Not like the government acts wants your opinion on anything."

Law has to admit Zoro's right, but after the near catastrophe at Dressrosa, Law is trying to play ball. If they haven't expelled him yet it's because they need something from him, and Law is determined to find out what. "Just do as I tell you and don't make a scene," Law says, knowing those two instructions are impossible for any strawhat to follow, perhaps especially this one. "So long as you don't-"

Suddenly, Law is no longer looking at Zoro but at the plain walls of the military base. Confused, he looks back to see Zoro has come to a stop in the middle of the hall. There is a dangerous grin pulling at his lips, one that Law would definitely be afraid of of he hadn't seen it so many times right before Zoro swallowed him whole. Now it just makes him lose his breath a little too fast, the heat in his gut pours through the rest of him, becoming something he can't control.

Expect Zoro isn't looking his way at all.

"Hawkeye," Zoro says simply, and while his voice is harsh his expression certainly isn't. "I forgot they still recognize you as a Shichibukai. When I defeat you then, do I get that title as well?"

Law jerks to look back so abruptly he feels a little sick, but sure enough there he is; fellow Shichibukai and world's greatest swordsman. A title that Law knows Zoro coverts, perhaps explaining the gleam in his eyes as he stares down the other swordsman. Though Law would have expected it to hold more.... Hostility. Instead, despite the seriousness of his tone and the challenge in his eyes, Zoro's lips keep twitching, unable to completely hide the a smile.

He's probably just happy to get this chance at a rematch. Not that Law is about to let that happen in the middle of a marine base. Zoro may be less than cautious and driven by his heart rather than solid reason, but he isn't that crazy.

.... Is he?

"Roronoa," Mihawk greets him formally and, again, his voice even and devoid of humour, and yet the older Shichibukai does nothing to hide his smile. "How strange to see the rabbit has wandered so far from its burrow."

Zoro wrinkles his nose before deciding to go for something slight more intimidating. "I told you not to call me that." He might try and pass it off as a growl, but honestly he sounds like a pouting child. It's cute, in a way.

In the way that it would have been cute, if it had been for Law.

Mihawk's smirk grows more amused, more cocky at Zoro's reply. "I seem to recall you didn't mind at times." Mihawk's long strides eat up the room between him and Zoro in a matter of seconds, and before Law even thought to be on guard the older man is leaning down, whispering something for only Zoro to hear.

Law may not know what exactly is said, but he recognizes the flush in the other boy's cheeks, the way his eyes go wide before falling half closed as he rocks, almost consciously, up onto his toes and closer to the one teasing him.

It's a state he's enjoyed putting the swordsman in in the past, one he's never had to witness as a third party.

When Mihawk has finished, Zoro is just a touch too pink and too breathless for Law's comfort. But it's the smirk on the older swordsman's lips when he pulls away that makes Law clench his fist and bite doesn't hard. If they weren't at this base, he's fairly certain nothing, not even his intelligence or will to survive, could stop him from casting a room and cutting Mihawk's heart out. At the least.

It's only after Mihawk has had his fun with Zoro that he looks up, his sharp golden eyes falling on Law. Law can only remember one other time the master swordsman has graced him with so much as a vague consideration; when he'd first arrived here, a newly appointed warlord. Mihawk had merely regarded him with nothing more than a passing glance before declaring he had more important things to attend to and making a swift, unapologetic exit.

Now, though, his eyes seem to study Law like he's preforming a dissection, seeing parts of him that Law would have thought impossible to see.

"Trafalgar," Mihawk uses the same even tone as he had with Zoro, only lacking in any signs of warmth as he had with Zoro. "I see you decided to join us after all." Before Law can point out that he could hardly deny the summon he had been sent, Mihawk's eyes are back on Zoro. "Am I to believe the rumours of you abandoning your captain are true then, Roronoa?"

Before Zoro can ruin their cover (Law can see it in his face and feel the aura around him, this refusal to deny his captain) Law is quick to leap in. "Zoro-ya is under me now, if that is what you're asking," Law snaps, perhaps with more bite than is necessary. And if his words can be taken more than one way, well, that's really up to the listener to decide. "Otherwise, why would I entrust him to accompany me to this summit?"

#ask and you shall receive #the zolaw au nobody asked for #zoro x law #zoro x mihawk #one piece #one piece au #one piece fanfiction #mizo #zolaw

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: Black Dog - part three Word count: ±2700 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part three summary: Two leads point into different directions. Which one are the Winchester brothers going to follow? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

Dean gives his Chevrolet Impala a final clean up and looks at the end result. Ronny nods satisfied, too. “Good as new.” They mechanics carefully beat out the small dent in the lid and restored the paint with a polisher. The lock of the trunk took some time to replace, but now it closes perfectly.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says gratefully, offering him some money for the work. “Any time. Put that away. I owe you Winchesters more than that,” Ronny reminds him. “Sure you guys don’t want a beer?” Dean hesitates, but then shakes his head. “I’d love to catch up, but we should get going. The world isn’t rid of all evil motherfuckers just yet.” Ronny chuckles at that. “Fair enough. Good to see you again, though.” “You too. Take care, Ron,” the oldest Winchester brother returns.

The ex-hunter retreats back into his garage, and Dean glances at the trunk for the second time and smiles satisfied. He’s glad he got it fixed. The clunking sound every time they hit a pothole was driving him crazy, and with enough arsenal for a small military operation inside, he wasn’t really keen on leaving it unlocked either.

As he takes a look around the abandoned street, he realizes he’s missing the tall individual that usually occupies the passenger’s seat. Where the hell did Sam go? Instinctively, Dean scans the area, uneasiness evident in his stomach, a sensation which arises ever since he was a kid, whenever he loses sight of his little brother. Then he spots him a bit further down the road. He’s on the phone with someone, and for a second he wonders if it’s Zoë he’s having a conversation with.

Waiting for his brother to return, he leans against his car, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sun feels nice and warm on his back as it burns away the coolness of the night. Now that he has nothing to do for a moment, his thoughts sneak off. He doesn’t like it one bit, but he can’t help but think of the huntress they crossed paths with a little under a week ago. He may pretend that he doesn’t give a shit, but he has to admit that she has been on his mind more than a couple of times. Not that he likes her, fuck no, but Sullivan left an impression that has him wondering. She has been through more in the twenty-five years that she has walked this earth than most endure in an entire lifetime. Maybe that is why he deep down cares; he can relate to her.

Dean exhales, not dwelling too long on the reason behind the intrigue. Instead, he wonders if Sam’s presumption is actually true. The fierce Zoë Sullivan being in deep shit; he can barely picture it. She always seems in control, even when things don't go as planned. She caught him off guard. He, Dean Winchester, can you fuckin’ believe that? The older Winchester sibling rolls his harmed shoulder, testing its mobility. She shot me, for fuck’s sake.

Even though he has been in the field longer than she has, Zoë seems to expertly know her way around the world of monsters that is their reality. She’s a bright girl, skilled, fast, fearless. She has every aspect of a perfect hunter. But after those last words back in Paragould, he was left with the impression that the battle she was going towards, is one she didn’t expect to win. It truly felt like a final goodbye. A disturbing question pops up in his head; did he make a mistake not going after her? The two guys they saved from a werewolf in Waco probably don’t think so.

Dean stares ahead, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth while contemplating his choices. Maybe they should go after her anyway, see if they can pick up her trail. North is indeed a big place, but then again, a hot chick on a Harley Davidson would stand out. It’s a long shot, but if they play this right, they may be able to find her.

The matter escapes his mind when he feels his phone vibrating, the buzzing device startling him slightly. Somewhat annoyed by his own reflex, the hunter takes his Motorola and notices the small icon of an envelope in the right upper corner; he has received a text message. It’s probably Erin, his hook up back in Waco, who had to wake up alone this morning. She must be wondering where the man she met in a bar three days prior has gone. But when Dean opens his inbox, his eyes widen in shock.

At the top of the list of incoming messages, it says ‘Dad’.

Dean’s heart has picked up speed, now pounding twice as fast than it was seconds ago. Last time he checked, his father’s phone was inactive, and now there’s a message coming in from that number? Different scenarios flash through his mind, not sure if he should prepare for good or bad news. With shaky fingers, he opens the text.

Job: 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W

Dean exhales, still staring at his cell. He can’t fucking believe it. John disappeared from the face of the earth, nowhere to be found, and after all this time he sent a few numbers and letters. The older Winchester brother huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t matter, though. Relief frees Dean from the crippling worry that he has tried to stuff down for over a month now, but kept him up at night nonetheless. This text confirms what he’s been hoping for; Dad is alive.

Thrilled, Dean turns around and glances down the street, noticing Sam, who hastens towards the car. He can’t wait to share the news, knowing they have both been so desperate for a breakthrough.

“We’ve gotta go,” they both say at the same time. “Me first,” Dean demands, childish. “What are you? Seven?” Sam huffs, raising an eyebrow to match with the sass. Despite his accusation, he counters in the same manner. “What I’ve just heard is bigger.” “Bigger than this?” Dean brags while flashing a grin, victoriously handing his brother the Motorola.

Curiosity wins and Sam takes it, attentively reading the message. His eyes narrow, but then his jaw falls open when he realizes who the sender is. John’s youngest son isn’t impressed, though. In fact, what shows on the display infuriates him.

“That’s it?” he scoffs, agitated, giving the phone back to his brother. “After a month of silence, that’s what he gives us?” “Sam, don’t you realize what this means? He’s okay!” Dean brings to mind. “Don’t bitch about this.” “Just because he’s able to send us a text message, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. We’re not even sure it’s him!” Sam returns bitterly. “Oh, come on. This is so Dad. One word and coordinates, that’s straight up Marine Corps right there. It’s more convincing than his fuckin’ signature,” the older brother argues.

“And what the hell are we supposed to do with this? Trust him blindly and do a job he can’t find the time for because he’s hunting whatever the thing is that killed Mom?” Sam assumes, his arms flying up before he lets them come down to his sides again. “Exactly,” Dean states, matter of factly. “Don’t you see, Sam? This is what I’ve been telling you. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants us to hunt.”

Dean opens the passenger side door and rummages in the dashboard locker. When he straightens his back, he pulls out a brown notebook; it’s John’s journal. “This book. This is dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. He could’ve taken it with him, but he didn’t. He’s passed it on to us.” Dean looks deep into his brother's eyes while he points at the leather bound book that is the representation of the Bible to the Winchesters. “Dad’s journal, the text... Dad is telling us he wants us to do what we were trained for.”

“You know what I want? I want to find him,” Sam returns determined, handing back the phone. “And how the fuck were you planning to achieve that, huh?” Dean returns. “I don’t need a plan, I already know where he is,” the younger brother states.

Puzzled, Dean stares at him, waiting for an explanation. There has been zero contact between their old man and Sam for years, and now all of a sudden he has figured out where John is at? “How?” he questions, suspicion rising. “I just received a call. He’s in Tennessee. In Nashville to be precise,” his sibling states. Dean frowns. “A call? From who?”

The shrug of Sam’s shoulders is nonchalant. “I think she might be a hunter or something.” “She? Does this mystery lady have a name?” Dean questions further, trying to get details while frustration bubbles in his chest, triggered by his brother’s short answers. “She didn’t give it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to Tennessee,” Sam decides.

Dean laughs out loud, dropping the journal on the passenger’s seat before he turns away. Then he returns to glare at Sam as if he just made a joke. “You wanna go to fucking Nashville based on an anonymous call? Did the sun fry your brain or something? This could be a fucking trap, Sam!” Dean shouts, indignant. But his sibling is determined. “I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m going.”

Dean steps closer and halts right in front of him. He has to look up to stare into the eyes of his taller brother, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating.

“Dad has given us an order,” he growls, his words spoken in a low tone. “I said: I. don’t. care,” Sam battles him. “Well I do, you stubborn dumbass!” Dean counters with a raised voice. “What you are planning to do is fucking dangerous! Dad doesn’t want you on his tail, you’ll blow his cover!”

“You’re calling me a dumbass?! Dad is after an incredibly powerful monster by himself, alone! He’s the dumbass for not accepting our help! We already lost Mom, I lost Jess, I’m not going to lose him too. I want answers, I want a piece of that son of a bitch that ruined our lives and I want it right fucking now! If Dad doesn’t want me there, that’s his problem!” Sam shouts angrily.

“You’re going against him?” Dean isn’t impressed with the outbreak, and slightly shakes his head. “Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you always do; the exact opposite of what he asks!” he continues cynically. “He doesn’t ask. He orders,” his brother corrects. “And you follow those orders like a fucking lapdog.” “It doesn’t matter how he tells us what to do, Sam! He’s our God damn father, so you better suck it up and fucking LISTEN!!!”

Dean is sure one of Ronny’s neighbors is going to emerge from one of the houses, telling them to shut up and take this argument elsewhere, instead of fighting it out in the middle of the street. He doesn’t care, however. His little brother has forgotten his place, and he needs to set him straight.

“I do whatever the hell he tells me to do because I trust him, because I respect him, which is something I’m gonna strongly advise you to do as well, because your attitude fucking stinks,” Dean lectures, his moss green eyes penetrating, fire burning in his irises. “Now get in the fucking car, because we’re going to drive to wherever those coordinates lead us to.”

Puffing his chest while straightening his back to make himself seem even taller, Sam crosses his arms. His older sibling might think he has all the authority, but he’s not a little kid anymore who he can boss around. Those days are long gone. He thought his departure to Stanford taught Dean a lesson or two, but apparently he needs to remind his brother that he plays by his own rules, and no one else's. “I’m not going with you,” he decides, standing his ground.

For a moment, Dean just stares at him, giving him a second to reconsider that conclusion, but Sam doesn’t even blink. Their gazes battle, the air between them almost too thick to breathe, rivalry carving a deep canyon between the two. “I’m gonna give you a choice,” Dean snarls. “You can come with me and solve that case, or you can go fuck yourself.”

Sam gulps, but stands his ground. His facial expression doesn’t change as he steps back, away from his brother, and heads over to the back of the Impala without breaking eye contact, until he opens the trunk to grab his duffel. The glare Dean receives when he slams the lid closed says enough; he’s not coming along for the ride.

Stunned, Dean stares at him and huffs in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable. He has always known Sam was stubborn, but now he takes the cake. Disappointed, the older brother shakes his head. This is the second time Sam has chosen a different path and leaves him without even batting an eye, but it scares Dean just as much as when he left and went to college. He’s not alright with what he’s about to do, but he can’t give in. He has to listen to his father. Frustratingly, he pulls open the door of the Impala. “Goodbye, Sam.”

Trying to hide his unpleasant surprise, the man left in the road watches him. He didn’t expect this, Dean taking off without him, but then again, how could he not expect a soldier to follow orders from his general? It doesn’t change anything, though. He is dead set on investigating this lead and finding his father.

The man who is about to put a distance between himself and the one person he swore to never part with again, glances in the rearview mirror. He wishes he hadn’t, because the coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes seems foreign, yet familiar. As Dean starts the engine, he realizes he is either having a major deja-vu, or is reliving one of the worst days of his life. Despite the painful pressure that’s building in his chest and the panic that floods his brain, he lowers his right foot on the gas pedal, and the car rolls away. He doesn’t drive off as fast as he normally would, because he’s fighting the urge to turn around. Pained, he glances in his mirror again. “C’mon, Sam. Move,” he begs.

But Sam doesn’t even lift a finger, and he remains in the exact same spot. Then he does move, but not in the way Dean hoped. His little brother turns his back on him and heads towards downtown Hillsboro, in the opposite direction.

With a deep sigh, Dean shakes his head, clamping his left hand around the wheel until his knuckles turn white. “Stubborn bastard,” he sighs.

His jaw clenches, as West Elm Street flows over in Route 22 and the landscape around him changes. Small homes and sheds make room for stretched out farmlands. But he doesn’t notice the scenery. His conscience is fighting his heart. He wants to hit the brakes and pull the car into a 180° so badly, but he has to listen to his father. Never in his life has Dean done anything else than that, disobedience not being a word one could find in his dictionary. Yet in this situation, both of the options are pitfalls. It doesn’t matter which way he goes, he will make a mistake either way. Because the one line that his father drilled in his mind over and over again keeps haunting him.

Take care of Sammy.

He grinds his teeth, but continues to drive further and further away, his upbringing leaving him no choice. The hunter has made his decision; he’s going to find the location of those coordinates and do the job his Dad has given him. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just hoping Sam does too, because if something happens to his little brother, Dean knows he will never be able to forgive himself.

Well, shit. The boys have gone separate ways. Who do you think will find what he’s looking for?

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part four here

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quinloki · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 2023 - Day 20

Those moments when it all goes up in... Smoke.

Character: Smoker Reader: gender neutral Reader Warnings: angst, some smooching, completely genderless description of reader and no pronouns used.

Summary: A Thief and a Marine. Romeo and Juliet probably had better odds, but you're not trying to risk 6 peoples lives inside of a week. So maybe it's better to kiss and run. -:- 1585 words

Bondage

You clicked the cuff around his wrist and he snarled, reaching out for you and missing as you clicked the other end of the seastone cuffs to the metal post. Dodging another swing you slipped out of his reach and smirked.

Smoker took a step toward you and his legs buckled. He was down on one knee as the seastone sapped his strength.

“Damn pirate!” He growled, tugging at the binds he had no hope of breaking.

“Not a pirate.” You say for the dozenth time. “Thief. There’s a difference.”

“Law breaker.” He grumbles in response.

You shrug. “You’re a marine, don’t try to be so sanctimonious.” You say looking down at him. “Dogs of the Celestials is all you are, protecting the biggest criminals in this entire world.” You spit onto the ground near him.

“Though, credit where it’s due, as far as marines go, you’re not so bad.” You tilt your head, admiring a physique you’d admired many times before now. You and the white hunter crossed paths with some regularity, but usually you only had to put him on the scent of a pirate crew, and he’d leave you alone.

It was kind of a shame he was a marine, and not a pirate himself. He’s hot when he’s glaring, and the look he’s giving you right now is delicious.

You look around, having been listening out for signs of any other marines. “Gave your crew – er, sorry, squad, the slip it seems.” You crouch down to be more at eye level with him, as he’s worked himself up into enough exhaustion that he’s barely holding himself up. “You really gotta learn to relax when you’re cuffed big guy. It’s no fun to play with someone who can’t even sit up.” You muse.

You reach out and caress his face without really thinking, and you feel his entire body tense. He grabs your wrist with his free hand and starts to bark something, but your grab his wrist back and pull him in.

You hadn’t planned on snogging a marine on the deserted streets of an abandoned town, but that’s where you were. His two cigars were in your free hand, and your tongue was in his mouth. He’d already established you as a criminal, why quibble over something like permission at this point.

He tasted like you expected, smokey, hot, something like malt and spice. He was so red you could feel the heat radiating off his face, and to his credit he only reflexively returned the kiss for a split second before he just seemingly froze.

You leaned back, licking your lips and smiling before you pulled your hand free easily.

You were on your feet quicker than he was back to his senses, and with a click and a tug you had his back to the pole and his other wrist shackled to it. Just regular iron, carrying around too much seastone was a pain. You stuck his jitte in the chains and twisted, pulling the whole set up tight.

Now you had Captain Smoker of the Marines sat on his ass in the street, cuffed and bound against a metal street lamp that had seen better days.

“You know, Smokey, you’re down right tempting like this.” You hum, practically prowling around him. “The things I’d do to you if I was half as terrible as you think I am.”

His heavy boots scraped against the concrete and rubble as he struggled against the chains.

“Oh save your strength you big lug.” You roll your eyes stepping over his legs and sitting on them “I’m good at getting out of shackles and ropes because I’m good at using them.” You explain resting your hands on his knees. “And that seastone’s pretty concentrated, big an’ burly as you are, you’re not going to be able to toss someone like me around."

He shifts underneath you, but your point remains and you hear the soft scrape of metal as he tries to move his arms despite it.

“Now what?” He growls, and you smile.

“Well, now, there’s a few options to be had.” You begin, scooting up just a little bit closer, sitting just above his knees instead of just below. “I could just do what I’ve fantasized about since the first time we ran into one another.” You look pointedly at his crotch for a second before looking back up to his brown eyes. Watching his face go red was an immense delight.

“I could sit here and keep you company until your companions get close.” You continue on, looking around. “There might not be many other actual people around, but it’s getting late, and the beasties will begin to stir. Regardless of what you think, I don’t actually want you maimed or dead.” You assure him, and see something other than a scowl flicker across his face for a moment.

“Or, since you despise me so much, I could just leave you here. Statistically, you should be fine.” You admit, leaning forward a little.

Smoker leans back as much as he can, but he’s not looking away from you. “What?”

“Would you kiss me back if I wasn’t a thief?” You question. Smoker’s body twitches underneath you and he looks at you dumbfounded for a moment.

“What?” He questions incredulously.

“Do you find me attractive, White Hunter?” You question more directly. “Moral implications of my profession aside, am I ugly in a purely objective manner? Ah, objective in, specifically your tastes, not in an objectifying way, before you decide to get pedantic on me.”

“… You’re not ugly.” He says, looking away after a long silence, and you smile.

“That wasn’t my question.” You assert, grabbing his face and pulling his gaze back to yours. “Would you kiss me back if I wasn’t a thief?”

There’s another long silence, and finally he sighs. “Yes.”

You smile, letting his face go and leaning a little closer. “If I stopped being one right now,” you whisper the words, looking at his lips for a moment before you looked into his eyes. “Would you kiss me?”

“I -.”

“Don’t worry about tomorrow.” You interject. “The next minute, the next hour, none of it matters. I’ve given up being a thief, Smoker, will you kiss me?”

“Yes,” he says it so quietly it’s almost hard to hear, need and desire hissed between teeth trying to hold back a word in his soul that fights against his head.

You put your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, a whisper away from his lips. “Then kiss me.”

Soft, warm, searching lips. The first brush of your lips makes you shiver in a way you’d bottle and hide away from the world if you could. The second connection is hungry, hot, almost desperate. The chains rattle as Smoker reflexively moves to hold you, your hands slipping through his hair as your mouths open and you sink deeper into one another.

A pleased moan bubbles up in your chest and rattles against your bones, and you don’t care if he hears it. You don’t care at this moment if he comes to know just how tangled up in him you are. How much you should be in irons for how bound to him you are.

There hasn’t been the lock made that can hold you, but if Smoker commanded…

You lean back, breathing heavy and listening to the rough breaths coming from him. You kiss his lips softly, once. Twice. You can feel his body tense and you know he’s seen the errant tears slipping down your cheeks.

It feels so good to finally, truly kiss him, but the pleasure is bittersweet.

It’ll never happen again.

“You’re-.” you both start to speak. He stops, you don’t.

“-the one thing I can not steal.” You admit softly. “The one thing I wouldn’t dare.” You let out an exasperated sigh, setting your head on his chest and taking a few deep breaths.

“Damn it all, I wasn’t ever going to say it.” You laugh bitterly. “A marine, after all they’d done to me, and you had to be a marine.”

You put a hand over his mouth before he can say anything, and heaved one last sigh. Looking up, you give him the best smile you can manage, but you know you probably looked wretched.

“I hope whatever you meant to do when you decided to become a marine is something you get to do, and, well, I’m really sorry for this.” You say apologetically, throwing a smoke bomb onto the ground.

The next few actions are just a little too fast for the bewildered captain. Your weight disappears from his hips, there’s slack in the chains, and something in his hands, but he didn’t realize it fast enough to grab your fingers.

It only takes him a few seconds to get free of the cuffs with the keys you left him. The smoke of your device becomes his, and a few seconds after that, the area is clear. It doesn’t matter how far you got, once you’re out of sight it’s almost impossible to find you again without a lucky break.

Thinking back to your words, he wondered if any of his breaks were lucky. The idea that you crossed his path of your own will every single time…

It was his turn to take in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. Lighting a cigar, Smoker wondered bitterly who was actually bound to whom.

#Release the Quin #Kinktober 2023 #x reader #reader insert #smoker one piece

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.) Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Kidd wears a fur coat, Killer is thirsty. Zoro is there until he isn’t.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Drinking, Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, It’s a PWP what can I say?

Read Chapter 1 here. Post-Wano setting. Content warning for mentions of Body Dysmorphia (relating to Killer).

***

Killer is drunk.

Technically he’s tipsy and on-his-way-to-drunk. There’s a bottle of sake in his hand, half-full or half-empty depending where his head is in a given moment. The straw between his lips is growing brittle, already frayed at the edge – he’s been toying with it rather than drinking for a while now, distracted by the feast running its course below.

With his ass firmly planted on the stone weight of one of the roofs – the inn’s, perhaps? Killer can’t recall why he got up here, much less which house it is – he’s got a view over all of Okobore Town, from where the outskirts are swallowed by the Wasteland to the pitiful square still lit by the bonfire’s embers. Whoever’s in charge of feeding the flames has obviously left their post or followed the siren song of free booze. They wouldn’t be the first to do so, the streets littered with those passed out or making out or both, somehow.

It reminds Killer a little of home. Well, the place they used to call home, him and Kidd, a town so small it isn’t really worth considering it one. Nothing more than the scrapyard of the bustling capital right next door with the people to match: Too poor to live, too stubborn to die and so they got carried along, forgotten by history.

Same bullshit, different island, Killer muses via the wisdom of too much sake in his blood. Different ocean altogether, and there’s no fondness in that.

Home isn’t a place for Killer but a feeling, the one he gets with full sails fluttering above and Kidd up front, hair wild in the wind.

Freedom’s a fickle thing, as quickly lost as it is gained with how complacent the masses tend to get. At sea it’s just them and their ship against the elements, life and death a matter of seeing the storm coming and having the guts to spit in its face.

Alone on that roof, Killer grins around the straw. That’s the shit worth living for, day after day after day.

Down there is Kidd, the red flash of his hair one Killer seeks out by sheer habit; his silhouette against the dying bonfire is imposing, that ridiculous coat hanging big and imperial off his shoulders. If he focuses, Killer could probably make out what he’s yelling about with… Strawhat’s navigator? Killer squints, infusing his sight with Haki where the dark and the holes in his mask fail him.

Yeah, that’s Nami. She says something, hands on expensive fur. She’s grinning, innocent and cunning all at once and that’s why they call her a cat, huh?

Killer considers cranking up the audio sensitivity on his helmet. Considers it, and tosses the thought right out the metaphorical window. Kidd’s a big boy, he can defend his precious coat from a thief. Nami, presumably, also knows what she’s getting into, poking the bear like that.

A long sip of sake later and Killer nods to himself. A good, rational choice.

His bottle is decidedly past half-empty when Roronoa Zoro finds him. Killer is not surprised, has felt him wandering around for a while now – there are two bottles of sake in his hands, his gait utterly steady despite the rosy tinge to his cheeks.

A heavy drinker, Killer’s heard that. He polishes off his drink to gesture to one of Zoro’s.

“You’ve got good timing, Pirate Hunter.”

“Who says it’s for you?”, Zoro asks with a snort, and gives him the second bottle anyways. When he sits, he does so with the kind of controlled grace many of Wano’s people wield, that flawless rigidity speaking of a life of discipline.

The way he drinks is the exact opposite of that. Interesting.

Killer concentrates on getting the straw through the narrow neck of the pitcher for a moment. The first sip proves it’s decent stuff; Killer’s mouth shapes itself around a pleased hum.

“You ever think about why the Marines call us what they do?”

It certainly makes Killer pause. Zoro doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to dabble in meaningless small talk – then again, what does Killer know? He turns his head to be able to see the look on Zoro’s face, watches the man nurse his sake with a pensive expression.

“‘Pirate Hunter’… Been a pirate longer than I was hunting ‘em. They could get the hint, y’know.”

They’re doing this, then. Pretending they weren’t at each other’s throats a mere week or two ago, like Zoro didn’t witness the side of Killer he loathes enough to hide it, always.

Fine. Killer can roll with that. “Which would you prefer? ‘Demon of the East Blue’?”

Zoro laughs and it’s so easy for him. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. You’ve been snooping, huh?”

“Sure as fuck not going into an alliance blind”, says Killer and it’s a bit pointed, a bit of a warning. They came back from war mere days ago but there’s room for blood when it comes to protecting their own.

“Mh. Wonder what that’s like.”

… Right. The guy’s the right hand of Strawhat Luffy, after all.

They drink, and Killer watches his captain. “The Marines don’t know shit, anyways.” A low hum to his side, prompting. Agreeing, perhaps. “Incompetent bastards thought I was the one to look out for when we made ourselves known, back in South Blue.”

“So ‘Massacre Soldier’ was, what, a misunderstanding?”

That makes Killer chuckle, a low ff ff ff sound. “Nah. Just that Kidd’s worse.”

“Ah.”

And it seems whatever else Zoro wants to add to that will have to wait. Even from afar Killer can feel it when Kidd’s eyes land on him and he sighs. “Speak of the devil. You might wanna get out of here.”

The sake stops on its way to Zoro’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Just giving you a fair warning, ’s all. Kidd kinda hates your guts over the whole”, a vague gesture to his own chest, “thing. He likes to keep grudges.”

“… Huh?”

Killer shrugs. It’s too late anyways. “Here he comes.”

“Hey! You!”

It doesn’t matter if he’s tipsy or drunk or whatever: Wrangling Kidd is something Killer grew up doing, and he stares him down now as Kidd pulls himself towards them by the metal in Killer’s mask. Hands up, no hesitation – Killer catches Kidd by the scruff of his coat, an arm winding around Kidd’s waist with enough strength to crush a smaller man and barely enough to drag this particular fool away.

To his credit, Zoro stays exactly where he is, his face blooming into something strangely close to delight. “Hah! You weren’t kidding.”

“Never am”, Killer tells him. He’s wheezing a little with how hard Kidd is struggling against his grip. “Captain! Fucking hell, you promised.”

“Didn’t promise shit”, Kidd hisses, a distinct slur to his words that Killer recognizes without trouble. Wasted indeed. “Roronoa! Hands off my partner!”

Zoro laughs – not the best of moves, Killer thinks with a wince – until his swords start vibrating. The smile drops real fast, then, becoming more of a tense smirk as he grabs on to that white katana of his.

“Oi, Spikey. Play nice now.”

All Kidd does is redouble his efforts, a whirlwind of bulging muscle in Killer’s arms and oh, Killer has had it. He presses his face against Kidd’s neck, his mouth only an inch or two away from his ear where they’re separated by Killer’s mask.

“Eustass fucking Kidd”, he growls. “Stop it or I will end you.”

Wasted or not, a shudder goes through his partner at that. It always does when Killer says his name like that. Killer knows, whatever happens now:

They both have a long night ahead of them.

Frantic hands, gasps of breath, lipstick smeared beyond hope between one kiss and the next. A moan, quiet against the sounds of belts being undone.

Killer pushes Kidd, gaze on him and only him as he bounces a little on the bed – their bed – and stares up at Killer. Eyes red as dusk, shining with the feral grin on his lips.

Killer gets on his knees for Kidd, always for him, and even if his blood wasn’t a-buzz with residue anger and alcohol, the way Kidd says “Fuck, Killer, yes” would get him there for sure. Trembling with it, Killer’s fingers hook into the waistband of Kidd’s pants to pull him closer, just where he wants him.

Kidd’s boots land on solid ground with a wooden thud. Legs splayed and Killer in the middle.

“You always have to make a mess”, Killer tells him, holds him down with one hand and the other working on his fly, “always so reckless”, and fuck, Kidd’s hard already. Hot and velvet-smooth in Killer’s palm and Killer forgets about chewing him out, for a moment.

It’s been weeks. Weeks since they’ve had time for this, hell, since Killer could even think about needing Kidd beyond the comfort his mere presence brings. With that infernal smile on his lips and his lungs clenching around the need to laugh, nothing would’ve come of it anyways.

Killer leans over and breathes Kidd in, gives him a gentle kiss, over the delicate vein that throbs under his lips. “We’re not done”, he lets him know, voice having lost most of its edge; Kidd laughs, runs a hand through the messy bangs falling into Killer’s eyes.

“I sure hope not. C’mon, don’t–”

Whatever Killer isn’t supposed to do gets lost in a moan. Kidd is big in Killer’s mouth, big and so familiar and Killer feels Kidd’s fingers tighten where they make a desperate grab for his hair. It makes him groan around the cock sliding over his tongue, again as he swallows around him and Kidd’s thighs jolt under the weight pinning them down.

Kidd is loud, it’s who he is, but there’s something about the cut-off calls of Killer’s name that gets to him. That makes him throw any sense of taking things slow to the wind and suck cock like he means it, lids fluttering shut and painted lips wide as he takes his captain as far down as he can get him without choking.

It’s been a while and it feels so good.

“Just like that, K. Keep goin’ just like that, don’t stop, fuck–”

And Killer feels his muscles shift under his hand, fingers splayed across Kidd’s abs straining with the need to move. Later, he might let him – can feel his own cock ache in too-tight jeans with the thought of Kidd holding him down and using him until he’s sated.

For now, he wants to get Kidd off, to hear his voice crack as it only does when he’s trembling on that edge.

It doesn’t take long at all, Killer’s lips and tongue and mouth dragging him there with no mercy for how breathless Kidd gets. “Kil”, Kidd gasps a warning; Killer hums, pulls off to catch the tip between his lips and jack him off the rest of the way, his hand easily gliding over spit-slick skin–

Kidd comes just like that, spilling into Killer’s mouth in twitching spurts. Given the garbage Kidd calls a diet he doesn’t taste the best but it’s Kidd, it’s the man Killer has hardwired his brain to adore no matter what. Killer moans softly, reaches down to rub himself as Kidd’s fingers release their death grip and sort of… pet him instead.

“Fuck me, darling, next time I’m horny I’ll just piss you off on purpose.”

Wiping his mouth, Killer huffs, “You already do that”, follows the trail of red leading up to Kidd’s navel with his lips. “You’re insufferable.” Licks along the valleys of his ripped stomach to kiss away the sweat gathering in the scar bisecting his pecs. “And we’re not done.”

Kidd rumbles a groan, pulls Killer into an open-mouthed kiss. The cold touch of metal worms its way under Killer’s shirt, in stark contrast to the need in Killer’s veins. It makes him shiver. “Kidd”, whispers Killer into that filthy kiss and it sounds like please, like more.

“Mh, I got you. Take this off, baby, let me see you.”

A demanding tug to Killer’s jeans. Killer doesn’t think twice about it: It’s a relief to get rid of them, the fabric starting to cling to his legs with how hot he’s running, and Killer throws off his boots and shirt to places unknown while he’s at it. Rolls his shoulders where they’re still a bit stiff from carrying his scythes all day.

Kidd is watching him, a hand on his own cock even if it won’t get hard quite yet. Leaning back in a sea of fur with the effortless grace of a king and the look of arrogant expectation to match. Killer meets it as he ties his hair into a loose knot to get it somewhat out of the way, nodding at him.

“You too. Or do you want me to tear ‘em off of you?”

How dark Kidd’s eyes can get. Those are his favorite pants though – Killer decides to be nice about it, unties Kidd’s boots enough for him to kick them off and save the rest of his clothes from an untimely demise.

Well, most of them. When Kidd makes to shrug off the coat Killer stops him. “Keep it.” His hands are on those suede-clad shoulders he’s been salivating over for hours now. “Keep the fur, Kidd”, an order he has no right to give, fingers clawed as they burrow between that softness and a heat that’s all Kidd.

It gets a look of genuine surprise out of Kidd. That, along with a pleased smile, closed-lipped. “Like it that much, do ya?”

Killer hums, “It’s soft”, kisses him, hides his own smile against demanding lips and the warning bite of teeth. “Makes me want to fuck you on it. Got a problem with that?”

“Shit, you kidding? Let’s ruin it.”

As much as he’s an impudent little shit anywhere else, here, coming alive under Killer, Kidd is all eager compliance and greedy hands across Killer’s back; it shouldn’t be as addicting as it is, the notion that this – the needy panting in his ear, the flush high in Kidd’s cheeks and spilling down to his chest – is all Killer’s. Only his, nobody else’s.

Killer slows down, then. Once Kidd has scrambled for the slick they keep around and Killer’s got his hands warmed up, he takes his time. Pushes one of Kidd’s legs to the side, keeps him there while he stretches Kidd finger by finger and fuck, he’s tight, clenching impatiently where Killer pushes in knuckle-deep.

“You’re killing me”, Kidd says, whines really, easily worked up by the twist of Killer’s fingers in him. Kidd’s prosthetic clings to Killer’s shoulder, his other hand in his own hair and tugging. “I’m ready, just – get in there!”

Killer is willing to rush a lot. Not this, though, never this.

“Shut up and relax”, he grumbles but he kisses Kidd, too, along the jagged edges of the scar down his face and his neck to suck on his clavicle. Kidd moans shamelessly, hips bucking into Killer’s curling fingers as he adds another.

Seeking that burning stretch before Killer can stop him. Killer curses, pulls out.

“Don’t complain later. You wanted this.”

Kidd tosses his head back into the covers and laughs. “Yesss. Fuck me, c’mon.”

Smug asshole. More slick, dripping from Killer’s cock to the fur below. The glide of his hand as he spreads it is already a lot, the sight of Kidd’s muscular neck bared and vulnerable hitting Killer somewhere instinctive, primal.

Deep down, Killer doesn’t want to wait either. He props himself up on one elbow, a mere inch or two separating their faces – and he stares at Kidd when he guides himself inside. At the way his mouth goes a little slack with it, the flare of his nose at the threadbare breath that follows.

“Good”, Killer tells him, catches Kidd’s gaze that’s barely past half-lidded. Licks over his bottom lip and kisses him, chaste as to not distract him from that first, long thrust.

“Doing so well, Kidd, almost there.”

Kidd feels sinful around him, warm and fluttering with tension that melts under the gentle thrusts Killer opens him up with. Leaning up to nip at Killer’s beard, his chin, and Killer indulges him, pushes his tongue into his mouth, slowly, languidly. Swallowing the soft noises Kidd makes as Killer hoists him up higher in his lap, Killer’s knees sliding apart in sleek fur.

He fucks him just like that, arms steady around Kidd and locking him in place when Killer finds a pace he can keep up for a while. Kidd fights it at first, he always does, not the kind of man to lie there and take it – Killer nuzzles his jaw, “It’s okay, let go, let go”, words that he knows Kidd needs to hear, cocky as he may act. Kidd’s breath shudders out of him and he does, finally relenting against the angle that makes him come undone each and every time.

Letting Killer sink in to the hilt and he groans, bites at Kidd’s throat and the pulse thundering there. “Good, so good for me.”

He rocks them both, hard enough to make Kidd shift against the fur. Kidd’s legs tighten where they’re tangled with Killer’s and he whimpers, far enough out of his head not to care what he sounds like anymore. A sound that burns in Killer’s gut, his chest, mouth open and panting over Kidd’s skin as he does it again and again and again.

It’s Kidd’s fingers going for the bundle of Killer’s hair and holding on; the feeling of Kidd’s prosthetic drawing red, stinging lines down the length of Killer’s back. “Kidd”, Killer mutters, demands, “Kidd–”

Kidd pulls at blonde strands coming loose, hard. “Whatever you want, K. Whatever you want, please–”

Voice gone, hoarse with the things Killer is doing to him.

Something in Killer snaps. The coat is torn open: Killer hears some of the seams pop in some places and he doesn’t care, mind and soul focused on turning Kidd around and getting him on his hands and knees.

“Fuck”, Kidd half-gasps, half-moans, “fuck–”

Then Killer is inside him again, sweating skin slapping against sweating skin, and his lips trace the shivers racing up Kidd’s spine, the faint freckles dotting Kidd’s shoulders. Kidd, Kidd, Kidd, his senses sharp as knives and hands roaming over what’s his, all his.

Whatever sounds Kidd is making, they are beyond words as he drops to his elbows and bends his back, pushing back into every hard shove of Killer’s hips. Killer moans, loud and breathless – feels Kidd clench around him and he gets a hand on Kidd’s cock, hard and leaking all over the coat, that fucking coat.

For the second time Kidd’s voice trembles, breaks apart on a high ah! as Killer squeezes him tight, so tight. Kidd comes around a choked noise and Killer keeps fucking him, his own peak tantalizingly in reach, not quite–

Kidd goes utterly boneless but there’s determination in the sliver of his eyes, the rasp of “keep goin’, want to feel ya”, and Killer grabs onto his hair just to tilt his head to the side and kiss him.

Over and over Killer takes him, covering Kidd with his bulk and it melts his brain, how Kidd just lets him. How Killer doesn’t have to hold back with him, going as deep as he possibly can and barely coming up for air until he loses himself in it, in Kidd.

Shaking apart above him, head bowed against the nape of Kidd’s neck. Killer rolls the last few thrusts just to feel how slick Kidd is, how well he takes him like this.

After that: A head full of static, numb limbs, cooling sweat.

“Hey, Kil.”

It’s Kidd’s voice that guides him back, “You there?”, the gentle motions of Kidd’s hand brushing the tie out of Killer’s hair and letting it fall around them. Killer pushes into that touch, humming. So comfortable.

“Babe, I kinda need to breathe here.”

Killer laughs and it’s fine like that, low and muffled against Kidd’s neck. “That so?”, he mumbles but he gets the hint, pushing himself to the side with a tired groan.

“Mmh. My head’s all fuzzy.”

“Yeah?” A hand slaps down on Killer’s chest, rough knuckles rubbing over the half-healed wound there. “From drinking or from fucking me to oblivion?”

Ff ff ff, Killer makes. He feels so light.

“Both, probably.”

Yeah, Killer is allowed a little smugness, too: Kidd’s hair is all mussed, lips red from kissing, neck covered in fresh, rose-colored bruises. Well used and looking like he doesn’t plan on moving even if the Punk’s cannons started firing around them.

Definitely worth slaying the coat over, Killer decides.

Still, when Killer takes Kidd’s hand in his, it’s all tenderness. Killer’s thumb brushes over Kidd’s knuckles, the same spot he presses a soft kiss to. Kidd lets him, squeezing back.

Their fingers entangle without really having to think about it, years of partnership in a single touch; and with the Punk's gentle sway all around them, they allow themselves to drift.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #one piece fanfiction #fanfiction #this is ns//fw (i just can't tag it properly 'cause tumblr)#this fic is also on AO3!!#my stuff #one piece spoilers

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themonsterattheendofthisfic · 4 years

Text

There had always been something there

If Destiel were to happen, in canon, between right now (5.13) and Carry On. Read on AO3 Here.

There had always been something there. Everybody knew it, but they knew it in that tight little place in your heart that you know not to touch. Demons, angels, they could poke at it, sure. They knew to poke at it.

That profound bond.

Castiel knew from the beginning it was doomed. That was what called him to fall from grace, after all, that something that he saw in Dean. And he thought that would be how he felt about all of humanity, but after Heaven shut him out? It wasn’t. It wasn’t the same; there was something about Dean. But he didn’t know, he didn’t know what it was.

Dean didn’t even think about it. Castiel was just suddenly there, and then he was Cas. And something about him made Dean trust him, it just did. And he was right, after all, Cas proved him right in that heaven room. And of course he wanted Cas there, he was Cas.

Sam didn’t even think about it until... because Dean and Cas were always just closer than he and Cas, and it made sense. I mean, Cas had been there for Dean when Sam went all dark side, they had history Sam couldn’t ever manufacture with the angel. And Cas had saved their asses more than a few times, and... Cas was always gonna be there for them. He was ride or die, and Dean’s loyalty was exclusively ride or die, no matter how stupid or lost or monstrous that buddy was. It was his thing; after all, he’d grown up with Sam as a little brother.

But as they got older, Sam started to look at old couples in diner booths and get sad. He started to want that kind of thing, and it didn’t make sense to him how Dean just... didn’t. He used to, talked about that “apple pie” life with the kind of wistful bitterness that was transparently envy. But then:

“You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?“

“Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about? You're tired. I can tell. You're exhausted. Well, I'm still wired, so I'm gonna pull over, get some gas. You hop in the back, get some Z's 'cause, buddy, you earned 'em.”

It just didn’t make sense. It didn’t really seem like Dean was lying. Pushing him away, sure, but not lying. Dean didn’t need anything, anybody more, not anymore. But how could he be so content with being alone? Besides... family?

And then Sam realized, just a little bitterly, that Dean wasn’t alone, at least not in everyday life. In their little trio, it wasn’t three guys making it by themselves together. No, when it came to home life, it was Sam, and it was Dean and Cas.

Of course, it wasn’t like... Well, I mean, it wasn’t like Dean was...

Okay, so Sam had always known that Dean looked at guys a certain way, got nervous with guys a certain way that he was never comfortable talking about. So they never talked about it.

And then he thought about all the looks that went on just a second too long, and how quick to anger Dean was when it came to Cas, and how broken he was when Cas was gone.

And all of a sudden, Sam thinks that maybe, maybe Dean’s a little in love with Cas. And maybe he doesn’t even realize it.

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean looked up from his book disinterestedly. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Sam cleared his throat and sat at the foot of Dean’s bed. Gingerly. “Uh... I just wanted to, I mean.”

“Come on, spit it out Sammy, I don’t have all day.”

Sam frowned. “This morning, you said you were dedicating the day to, and I quote, “relaxurbation.”

Dean nodded seriously. “And I’m on a very tight schedule.” It got a laugh out of Sam, which was all Dean wanted, because conversations that started with Sam stuttering made him nervous.

“Okay, so, I don’t mean to, like, pry or anything. And I’m not even saying this is it so like... don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You’re freaking me out right now!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sam cleared his throat again. “Okay, you know how we grew up...” He could see Dean opening his mouth to make a snide comment. “Just shut up, dude! For once.”

Dean blinked, pausing, and spread out his hands. Go ahead. “Dad raised us rough and in a bunch of podunk, nothing towns around a bunch of hillbilly, old-fashioned hunters.”

“Like Bobby?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, and like Travis.” Silence. He’d made his point. “Listen, all I’m saying is that we were raised around some pretty messed up stuff about being strong or whatever. About being a good man.”

“Okay, and?” Dean was squinting now, looking at Sam like he had no idea what he was saying.

Sam rolled his eyes. “And they weren’t right. I mean, they made fun of me for reading too much. The stuff they said about other people? About people that weren’t leather-wearing shotgun yielding hardasses? Some of them were just... bigots.”

“Sam, what the hell are you saying?” Dean was impatient again, but Sam’s heart sped up. Usually Dean got impatient when he was uncomfortable.

“I’m saying that it’s understandable, you know, for us to still feel some of that. But we don’t have to be like them, Dean.”

“Sammy, are you trying to tell me something?” Dean was leaning forward, hands on his knees.

“Yeah, man! I’m trying to say that I don’t think like them. I’m not- it doesn’t change anything for me if somebody’s, like, gay or something-”

Dean folded back up. “Oh, and you think it does for me? Jesus Sam, I may be a dick but I’m not an asshole.”

Sam put his face in his hands. This was coming out so wrong. “I’m saying, Dean, that looking at guys doesn’t make you any less of a man.” There was dead silence. Sam swallowed and looked up to see Dean staring at him angrily, but Sam could swear there was a little hint of fear in the way Dean was working his jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking you’re seeing Sammy, but you’re way off base.” He got up and stormed away to his room without another word.

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Dean slammed his bedroom door with a bang that made even him jump. He stopped dead and breathed shakily, trying to sort through his thoughts. He was pissed, for one thing. That much he knew. He was also shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture that dock he loved to fish at, the one he dreamed about on his best nights. It always calmed him down.

Why the hell would Sam think that he was… what, gay? Dean laughed out loud to himself. He loved the ladies. He more than loved the ladies. Hell, he had dumped Sam at a bar plenty of times to spend some quality time in their hotel room with a hot girl. No way, Sam must’ve hit his head.

But he went over the conversation in his head again, all that stuff Sam had said about John’s buddies growing up. It was true, marine vets and hunters in the ‘80s and ‘90s were not the most open-minded crowd. They’d given Sam shit about his good grades and his hair, given Dean shit about his cheekbones for gods’ sake. That time he’d wanted to go to the prom, that time they’d caught him listening to Radio Speedwagon… okay, so they were assholes. Sure. And no, some of them hadn’t had the greatest things to say about Freddie Mercury or Rock Hudson or David Bowie… But that didn’t make him like them. He didn’t have crushes on guys like that…

Okay so he could admit that Fred from Scooby Doo was annoyingly perfect. And he had been a little obsessed with him as a kid. But that didn’t mean he wanted the guy.

And Rodney, that guy in sophomore year that he tutored in Latin for extra cash, the swimmer. He’d tried so hard to make him laugh, he had such a nice laugh. And arms. But it wasn’t like he’d ever done anything…

Lee was a one-time thing. Dean was lonely and on an adrenaline rush from his first case without John, and they got drunk. It just happened. And they’d woken up to John banging on the door and even after they had all their clothes on, they still got chewed out for being drunk. And he and Lee, well, he never let it happen again. And after the cult thing, after the bloodbath in Arizona… Dean had been shitty. He had been mean and dismissive and told Lee to fuck off, that I was drunk, man, and he didn’t see Lee again until he had to kill him.

But that didn’t make him gay.

He hadn’t done stuff with a guy since. Maybe he’d looked at them. Maybe he’d gotten blushy and tongue-tied a couple of times around a couple of detectives, but he was naturally awkward sometimes. And plenty of straight dudes watched gay porn.

Dean laughed and felt a tear slide down his face, and he stopped it up tight. Okay, fine. So Sam was right. Maybe he liked guys. In a way adjacent to the way he liked girls.

Maybe that made him bi.

-------

“Sam.” It came out stern and rough and too loud, and Dean cleared his throat. Sam was making himself breakfast, so Dean leaned up against the counter and waited until he looked up from his eggs.

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. For the other night. Um…” He cleared his throat again. “Look, you were just trying to get me to ‘introspect’ or whatever, and I don’t really…”

“Deal with that well?” Sam smiled softly and Dean laughed nervously, looking down. He looked back up and caught Sam’s eye. Sam knew, he got it. And he knew what Dean was trying to say. Dean nodded and cleared his throat again.

“Thanks. Okay, enough of that talk for a lifetime!” he said cheerily. He started to practically run from the room but paused at the doorway and shouted. “Chicks are still hot though!”

Sam laughed. “Never doubted that, Dean. Nobody could fake your kind of enthusiasm.”

Dean grinned and winked, and then he left the room.

He was out.

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Sam talked to Cas next. For all the saving the world and working against God they were doing, they had a lot of down time. Cas was studying a lore book in the library while Jack and Dean watched a full season of “River Monsters” for an “educational break from the world destruction shit.”

“Hey Cas, can I ask you a question?” He sat down across from Cas and leaned across the table. This was going to be so much easier than the conversation with Dean. And he really needed to know if… well, if he was right. If there was a chance that, after all this, Dean could be happy with somebody who understood the life, like he wanted to be. That is, if they all survived.

“Of course, Sam, what is it?” Cas was as earnest as ever. He smiled. Dean’s constant gruffness could be good with that earnestness. Was already good with it.

“Angel… society, I guess. How does that work?”

Cas tilted his head, confusion and a hint of snark behind his words. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Sam. Angels have lived for millennia spread across the entire universe.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam sighed. Maybe this wouldn’t be that much easier. “Like, I know you said angels don’t have gender or anything, but… do you have sexuality? Love? Those kinds of… things?” Fuck, was he being too obvious? Dean would kill him. Chuck would actually get his perfect ending.

Cas was pondering. “Well, I suppose it changes in degree for every angel, as it does with humans. But, yes, we have emotions not unlike humans. Without them, I would never have fallen in the first place.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Right, like, you, um, you saw Dean and…”

Cas nodded. “Once I saw what heaven was doing to Dean and you, I started to have doubts. I started to feel… for humans. And well, Dean pushed me into making the right decision. He got me angry enough.” Cas smiled at the memory.

“Yeah, uh, he’s pretty good at that.” Sam cleared his throat. “So, you have emotions, can you fall in love?”

“I don’t know.” Cas looked at Sam’s perplexed face and tried to explain. “I can feel connection, I can feel loyalty, I can feel… desire…” Sam was un com fort able again, why did he decide to do this? “But whether that amounts to human love, I don’t know. I never had the chance to fall in love as a human; I too heavily relied on you and Dean to feel at all comfortable.”

“I mean, that sounds like love to me. All of that and… knowing that if you lost them, it would hurt something awful. That you’d do anything in the world to save them from any pain.” Sam was back on Eilleen again, he couldn’t shake her.

Cas was silent for a moment until Sam came out of his thoughts and motioned for him to continue. “As for sexuality, angels do not have what humans define as gay or straight or anything else. We see souls as much as vessels. Gender is inconsequential.”

“Right, yeah, I imagine it’s hard to be gay when you don’t have genders in the first place.” Sam laughed, but Cas stayed silent. Apparently he didn’t see any humor in it. “Well, uh, have you ever thought about… I mean, do you ever want to settle down or something?”

God, was he asking him for his intentions or something? Sam could not believe his clumsiness. It all sounded better in his head.

“Sam, I’ve been alive for millenia and will live for many more, if Chuck doesn’t destroy the world. If I were to find a mate or any such thing, I would have to see them age and die and live on. Is that something you would want in my shoes? Is it something anyone would want to be involved with?” Cas was almost… bitter. But more, he just seemed tired. And sad.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I never thought of it that way.” Sam started to stand, to leave him alone, but he paused. “For the record, though, yes, it is something I would want. We all have to lose people we love someday, but it’s pointless if you use that as an excuse. Sounds like something Dean would say.” He sighed and left Cas sitting alone with his thoughts.

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Cas was… he was pensive. Sam’s question’s replayed in his head, that last comment on repeat the most. Love and desire and loyalty and pain, that is what characterized love. He mulled it over. So many years had been wasted on heavenly wars, following orders without question and executing “the will of God” without doubt. Really, the only time he started to feel emotions that made him really… ache… well, it was with Dean.

Dean was the first human he’d ever met to treat him like he was… human. Dean was the first person he ever stepped in for, ever betrayed orders to try to protect. Dean was the first human to make him double over with laughter. Dean was still the only person who would go to the ends of the universe for him; he’d shown it time and time again.

But behind all the big stuff, Cas really started to think. He thought, at first, that his heart was speeding up from excitement, from the danger, that looking at Dean was just the alarm bells that would set off his fall. But they’d never stopped.

They had a profound bond.

It was possible, then, after all this time, that Megatron had been right. Castiel was in love, with humanity in general no, but with one man, yes. The one man he’d given up everything for. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe after Chuck was defeated, there would be time for love.

He remembered his deal with The Empty. If he was happy, truly, then he would die. But hadn’t Castiel risked that for Dean many times before?

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Dean’s first steps into intentional bisexuality included lots of porn and even more stuttering. He went out to a gay bar, the only one in 100 miles that he could tell, and bumped into every table his shaky legs could find. He spilled drinks and messed up pick up lines he’d used for years. His face saved him. He made out with a few guys, got pushed up against walls in the alley and discovered not only butts were butts, but mouths were mouths. Universally.

He never went any further.

He was far from a virgin, but, after so many years, Dean was scared. Ass hanging out in the wind scared. And he was not about to admit that to anybody, which meant he was not about to get in any kind of situation that he would freak in. So no sex.

So after a while, Dean laid off on the investigation and just… let it be. He started driving around in Baby a lot, parking in the middle of nowhere to think, trying to get comfortable with new and improved him. One night he accidentally did that until about 3 in the morning.

Dean drove back to the bunker that night, dazed and confused, if you will, by his feelings. He parked Baby in the garage and went around the long way, still trying to parse out why the hell he was so hung up on the idea of fucking a guy.

Castiel was waiting up for him. He sat in the library, holding a glass of whiskey that he’d obviously not touched. “Cas, buddy,” Dean yawned and stretched, walking over to him. “What are you doing out here?”

Cas shrugged. “I guess I was just making sure you got home. I mean, were alright. I didn’t know where you were.”

“You tell me everywhere you’re going?” Dean winced inwardly at how harsh that sounded. His gut reaction was still defensiveness; he wasn’t ready to tell Cas about any of this. He took the glass out of Cas’s hand and downed the whiskey; maybe that would soften his edges a bit.

“I was just worried.”

“Cas, phones, for the millionth time, phones exist. Pretty sure you were there when they were invented.”

Cas pursed his lips, annoyed. “Well excuse me for caring about you, Dean. I was under the impression that that was what we did around here.” He tried to stand up but Dean waved an arm at him that forced him to sit again.

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… working a few things out. Going on drives. Um…” Dean trailed off. Cas had tugged at his tie to loosen it; he got fidgety when he was annoyed. And that made Dean feel something that he was just learning to recognize. Cas looked up at him, confused at his sudden silence, and then they were just looking. At each other. Like they had so many times before. Except this time Dean knew exactly what he was feeling and it scared the fuck out of him. And Cas knew exactly what he was feeling, and it scared the fuck out of him.

“Okay, I’m, uh, I’m hitting the sack. You coming?” Dean started to stand up and almost choked on his own breath. “I mean, you going to your room, because it’s too creepy to think of you just sitting out in the dark like this all night.”

“Yes. I guess I am.” Cas said softly. Whatever made Dean happy. Even when he was being a dick.

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SAD ENDING:

They were ready. Well, not ready, but as ready as they ever would be. Chuck was waiting, he knew they were coming, and Team Free Will 2.0 had all the weapons they could muster. And yet they still geared up like it was a normal hunt. Sam was packing snacks, for fuck’s sake.

Dean walked the halls nervously, tapping on the wall by Jack’s open door. “Hey kid, you doing alright?”

Jack looked up at him, apprehension written all over his face. “When am I not ready to kill my grandparents, the two oldest cosmic beings, in a final hail Mary to save the entire universe and everyone I love?”

Dean chuckled as much as he could given the truth of the statement. “Hey, we’ve all got your back, kid. And if we go down, we’ll go down swinging. Together. ”

Jack nodded and Dean backed off, rounding the corner to Cas’s room. “Cas.” he said it softly, but Cas still startled and turned around. Dean held up his hands in surrender. “Just, uh, checking in, I guess.” Cas hesitated a second and nodded silently. “Did you ever think we’d get here, when you first chunked me out of hell?”

Cas smiled softly. Somehow, through everything, that time in hell had almost become a fond memory. “No, Dean, I can honestly say I never thought I would be here, with you, about to attempt to kill God. Chuck.” There was that bitterness that made Dean a little sad, made him remember how much Castiel believed in God in the beginning.

“Yeah, well, I guess this is it then.”

He looked at Cas and suddenly realized how close they were standing. His eyes searched Cas’s, and they looked at each other for too long of a beat.

“Yes. It seems like it.”

Dean sighed. “Cas, I just wanna say, before we, you know,” he waved a hand around. “I just wanna say, dimes for donuts we don’t make it out of this alive, and-”

“Dean, you don’t need to.”

Dean blanched. Dean, for one, didn’t have any idea what the hell he’d been about to say, so how did Cas? “I just mean-”

“Hasn’t everything already been said? Everything we’ve been through, over all these years, hasn’t that said enough?”

Dean sighed and looked down with a sad smile. “Guess you’re right.” He’d always been a man of action more than words.

Dean gave an infinitesimal nod and Cas gave one back, decided, and they went to fight. Maybe someday there would be a time for words.

Except there weren’t any more days. Not for them.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #fanfiction #canon compliant #canon destiel

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