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ay0nha · 11 months

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Idle Hands | Chef Luca

SUMMARY: Sometimes Luca wished he chose rivalry over admiration. But even if he had, you wouldn’t allow it. You would never go back to that world. It was far too demanding; you couldn’t thrive where you didn’t belong.

PAIRING: Chef!Luca x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

WARNINGS: mentions of eating/food, straight fluff, mutual pining, smidge of angst, Luca trying to poach reader for his restaurant, self indulgent, **I am not a chef nor a good cook** etc.

A/N: I wrote this in one sitting on my phone, so mind the typos and lack of cohesion. I didn’t think I would finish this, so also mind the rushed ending. Inspired some by things in Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential (he’s my idol). I’m interested in writing more, send some thoughts my way about Chef Luca. Enjoy.

The fog seemed idyllic. It was dense with humidity and carried the dawn light over the horizon better than the days prior; the rain was starting to get to you. It punctured your routine with puddles that were unavoidable and time that allowed your items to go stale because of a slow-trafficked day.

What had gone unnoticed during those days, and frankly underappreciated, was the space the weather provided. You had moved so quickly, your keys almost slipping from your hands as you bustled into the bakery, trying to keep dry. Yet, now your steps were paced by your exhaustion, only stopped by him.

Luca.

He knew better than to bring you coffee, the gesture acting more as an insult to your sleep schedule than a remedy to your dark circles. Instead, he was early, leaning against the brick wall of the bakery, waiting for you. Punctuality was just shy of being an aphrodisiac.

The cooking life was like a long love affair, with moments both sublime and ridiculous. Yet, like any love affair, looking back, you seemed to cling to the happy times the best—the things that drew you in in the first place, the things that kept you coming back for more.

Luca understood this well. Conscious or not, it hadn’t mattered; he indulged just the same. It was why he set on the stoop, day after day, only skipping out when the weather begged him to. Regardless he returned to you, waited for you, and deferred to you, even when his purpose was to poach you.

“I’m starting to lose count—” You refused a greeting. He blocked your journey to becoming a morning person. “—how many days does it take to be qualified as a stalker?”

Luca tutted teasingly, pushing through to find your humor. “Not quite eligible yet.”

“Shame.” You hummed, your key cracking open the rusted door. The click was becoming too screechy to ignore. The rain only proved further repercussions.

Noted. Fingers crossed, a handyman would be looking for something delectable on their break. Just as Luca came to expect your dry humor, you learned his body language just as well. Holding open the door you just unlocked, he held back the offer to repair it.

“Rumor has it you found your sous.” Your voice carried well through the echoing building. It was a small place, barely worth what you pay to keep it open.

Your fingers were stiff from the cold. You cursed the winter and how it made you physically fumble for the months it endured. It was as though your body rejected how it influenced you. Yet, once your fingers found the light switches, you retracted your afflictions.

“He’s temporary.” Always a man of few words. Pointed and punctual.

“And he knows that?” You scoffed, scarf still muffling your words ever so slightly.

Your back was to him as your question lingered. Luca’s gaze admired your routine, the one he memorized as if each layer of clothing was a recipe in itself. You always saved your scarf for last as if it the way it twirled was an old-fashioned caramel drizzle on a forbidden apple.

“Everyone knows I want you.” He said deftly. Even with your back to him, you were sure he could picture your flattered, flustered features. “...He’s good. Young.”

“Mmm…” You mused, facing him. A part of you was convinced Luca would stop coming by once he’d found his counterpart. But his dissatisfaction still radiated off of him. “How long do you think he’ll last?”

“Depends.” Luca matched your tone. Young meant talent, but it also meant naive. “When do you plan to join me?”

Your laugh was let out as a breath—its presence small but worth it. “Luca—

“I’ll give it a rest.” His promise wouldn’t last very long, but it would do.

Luca reached for the apron that he had donned as his own. He reached the shelves you struggled with, learning within days through observation where to place that for when you finally mosied over. He was envious of your movements, how you found joy in moving slowly, so unrushed and unbothered to the point of pleasure.

It was strange the routine formed. It was just as unorthodox as the relationship. But within the culinary world, nothing was off-limits. There was a vague beginning to the friendship, another fitting mark. You were a friend of a friend that knew a guy. And you were the one that’s rumors claimed you were better than him.

Sometimes Luca wished he chose rivalry over admiration. But even if he had, you wouldn’t allow it. You would never go back to that world. It was far too demanding; you couldn’t thrive where you didn’t belong. You liked when your hands were layered with flour to lay out your dough. To stir a glaze in just the right way so that there was enough for an extra taste. It was you and the stillness without the adrenaline-filled demands.

The quiet of working side by side, the soft clinking of metal sheets and ceramics, was the perfect white noise. The simple patter of packed flour being muddled with oil was far better than the tourists that invaded your senses. You couldn’t decide if it was a welcomed distraction.

“What do you think?” He respected hierarchy. It was perfect. But you valued the imperfections of each unique item.

“Hmm?” You looked to your side. Luca was close; the small layout allowed for it.

“Try it.” He slid the plate to you.

Routines were hard to break. Every morning you skipped breakfast, it wasn’t until your stomach rumbled would you realize you were hungry. Luca learned you loved things sickly sweet, just shy of making your mouth pucker.

You worked alone often; you hadn’t needed the company nor the help. However, the pair of hands that steadied themselves on your hips to pass by made you question your need. It made you question if the warmth that spread through your body was from him or from the oven pre-heating near your knees. It would have been easy to doubt it all if there hadn’t been a ghost print of flour on your black apron.

“Go on…” Luca returned, pushing a found spoon into your hands. “Give me your worst.”

You rolled your eyes. He knew it was good. You knew it was good. The first spoonful was annoyingly satisfying. You maintained your breath through the second bite. If you went for a third, you knew Luca’s ego would soar.

The extra hands were helpful, but you refused to let the aid blind his purpose. So, you deflected, pointing the spoon to him.“I’m sure it’ll sell.”

Luca’s lips played with a frown. You were good at reminding him that his so-called sweetness could cross over into becoming a chore. His thick skin was scarred, burned, and continually tested. You had the skill to crawl under it and almost get to him.

Accepting the utensil, he tasted his own creation. “It’s missing something.”

“Yeah?” You weren’t shy about plucking your finger into the cream filling for another taste. “What are you thinking?”

There it was, his earlier promise broken. With just a look, you knew what he was thinking; you. It was a tacky way to beg again for you to work with him; it was why he only gave you a look. One that was brief and gone before you could say anything before returning steely.

“Increase the fat content.” You advised, breaking your gaze. It was a test, and you were well aware you passed. It was textbook. Again, you’d proven your mind was in tune with his. “Cut it with acidity.”

He nodded, inked arms crossed against his chest. Luca lacked the asinine chef bravado. A welcome reprieve. Self-assured, steady, and strong. Your eyebrows pinched when he stumbled slightly, drawing in a breath to say something just to let the words die. It was out of character, a side to him you didn’t believe existed. He seemed nervous.

“It’ll be ready in a few weeks.” His words seemed to settle finally.

“Ah…” You wiped your hands on your chest, reaching for the next thing. The beauty in baking was constantly moving. Even when your patience was being tested while things rose, there was always another something to work on. “...I forgot how much modernist cuisine attracts attention.”

New items meant new clients. New reviews and new criticism. You continued to assure him, chatting softly of what snobs people could be when they were filled with only ignorance. You meant to ease his apprehension, but you realized it had nothing to do with hosting an event.

It had to do with the invitation that flew from his lips. “Think you’re free that night?”

#q #the bear #the bear fx #chef luca #luca x reader #chef!luca x reader #chef!luca x f!reader #luca x f!reader #chef!luca #the bear fic #chef luca fluff #chef luca angst #chef!luca fluff #chef!luca angst

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sirdindjarin · 24 days

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A Ghoul and a Vault-Dweller Walk Into a Bar

Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard x Lucy MacLean.

TAGS: Fluff, pining, introspection lol.

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol consumption.

Based off of this post ! I loved the idea and couldn't get it out of my head.

AO3 link 🤠

A few days after the events of the last episode, the Ghoul and Lucy take solace in a quiet saloon, only to find their dynamic is changing.

“Ain’t this a peach,” the Ghoul muttered, taking in the New Vegas saloon. It was a postwar attempt to recreate what no one still walking had ever experienced, but it was faithful enough to send the Ghoul back to the set of a movie some two centuries earlier. He could smell the burn of the stage lights, hear the staccato of studio executives arguing, and see PAs stumbling over cables in the background.

His bittersweet reverie ended when - what else - the Vault Dweller opened her mouth. Again.

Bouncing on her tiptoes, her wide smile was interrupted only by her exclamation, “Wow! This place is right out of a history book. Oh, gosh, look at that!”

Hanging from the ceiling was a myriad of materials in various stages of rust and decay. Grimy, glaring patrons grumbled as Lucy rushed past their tables to examine some memorabilia plastered to the wall. She gingerly ran her gray forefinger over the rusted farm equipment. “See these? They used to pull these behind a tractor, or a horse, and it made furrows in the ground. That made it a lot easier for them to plant things like corn, tobacco, wheat -”

The Ghoul ignored her lesson. Let the history buff have her boring version of fun, it’d give him some peace. After the past three days, he needed it. He strode toward the far end of the bar, spurs clinking.

Lucy had been silent after the revelation with her father. Downright catatonic, almost. The following morning, still in sight of the Hollywood sign, and out of the daggum goodness of his heart (truly, he’d been a saint to even think about it) he’d offered her a hit of an upper, but she’d curled her lip in disgust. No skin off his nose, he’d thought humorously, he would just let her stew.

Before the sun had set that next day, however, the girl abruptly flipped from traumatized silence to her usual non-stop chatter. He hadn't asked what changed. The Ghoul assumed she'd come to terms with her father being an evil sonofabitch. He expected her trauma would rear its ugly head at some point, but that was a future problem. Once she started talking again, he had again been a saint - he’d only thought about shooting her once. And that only because she had asked him a stupid question.

You mentioned finding your family. You have kids?

Sidling up to the bar top, his ragged coat slapping gently against the stool, the Ghoul’s attention was drawn to a jukebox against the wall to his right. Colorful lights flashed, dimmed by a layer of dust; but the old machine advertised it was ready to sing. He glanced curiously at some of the songs, felt a flicker of some emotion he wouldn’t put name to, and turned away. He drummed his gloved fingers on the wooden counter, impatient to have something to smother the spark of sadness. Here, the weight of the past was literally hanging over his head.

The Ghoul had directed his focus on the other end of the bar, where the barkeep seemed to be pointedly ignoring him, when a dull scraping sound alerted him to someone sitting beside him - between him and the mocking jukebox.

“Hi! Barkeep?” Lucy beamed and motioned between herself and the Ghoul, “Could we get a drink, please?”

The gruff man looked more like a patron than a bartender, all heavy gait and uninterested stare, but he raised his eyebrows at Lucy. The Ghoul laughed under his breath.

“What?” She asked in a whisper. Grimacing, she worried, “Oh… is that not how you’re supposed to do it?”

“There’s a laundry list of things you shouldn’t be doin’, Vaultie, but flaggin’ down the bartender ain’t one of ‘em.”

Lucy straightened her posture. “You know, we have established a mutual goal and I would appreciate mutual respect. I don’t think being laughed at is-”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t laughin’ at you; quit bein’ so sensitive,” the Ghoul stated flatly. “Don’t we make quite the damned pair? A Ghoul and a Vault Dweller walk into a bar…” he trailed off with another chuckle.

Lucy relaxed her shoulders, still feeling awkward. “Oh, haha.”

“All we got is distilled water and tequila. Which’un you want?” The bartender interrupted, though he spoke only to Lucy.

“Uh, I would like to try the tequila. I still have some water leftover and it’ll be fun to try something new.”

The bartender sucked on his teeth, turned, and left - resenting serving a peppy Vault Dweller and outright refusing to serve the arrogant ghoul seated beside her as though it was a person.

“They don’t much like my kind here, darlin’,” the Ghoul grinned lopsidedly. He tapped his holster with his new forefinger. “I’ll have to get my drink a different way.”

Eyes wide, Lucy nearly stood on the rung of the stool as she shouted to the bartender: “Make that two glasses of tequila, please.”

The barkeep went still for a brief moment before deciding it wasn’t worth it. He’d seen some weird shit, but if this wasn’t the strangest duo he’d ever served, he’d eat a radroach. He sent the shots sliding down the well-worn wood counter with surprising skill, and they stopped directly in front of Lucy. She nudged one of the grimy glasses toward the Ghoul, who grunted.

In those old movies, the characters often clinked their glasses together. Excited to perform a toast in a real saloon, Lucy raised her glass toward the Ghoul. Her eyes sparkled so earnestly that the Ghoul briefly considered indulging her. Instead, he tipped the shot glass into his parched mouth, eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Ah,” he hummed. This was nothing like the chems he used to stay sane, and tequila wasn’t his favorite, but damn if it didn’t feel like the alcohol stripped off some of the layers of the past week's shit.

Upon opening his eyes, he was surprised by the mix of amusement and regret in his chest at the way the girl’s face had fallen. It was childishly funny the way he could disappoint her so easily - as though they kept the same standards of behavior - but the pleasure of her disappointment only took the Ghoul so far.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he goaded, his voice deep and persuasive. “It ain’t top-shelf but it ain’t lizard-piss, either.”

“I don’t know what either of those mean,” Lucy mumbled as she brought the glass to her lips; she winced as fumes burned her nostrils. Abandoning caution, she threw the clear liquid into her mouth and swallowed as the Ghoul had. The liquid stung as it slid down her throat; her mouth puckered. Fighting the urge to cough, she cleared her throat instead. Lucy refused to let the Ghoul have anything more to bully her about.

Lucy blinked away the wetness in her eyes. The Ghoul was watching her. Lucy couldn’t discern the look in his eye, but it wasn’t one she’d seen before. The Ghoul had made certain of that.

“That was, um, so good,” she grimaced. But the warmth in her chest and stomach was pleasant. “You want another?”

The Ghoul chuckled, “If you’re buyin’.”

***

“No, I only meant it as a compliment,” Lucy slurred, blushing furiously. She was only four shots in, but the Ghoul was starting to get concerned that she would throw up on him. Lucy wobbled on her stool. “Really, they’re nice eyes. No, ‘m okey dokey. Wow, this stuff is strong.” She held her hand out in front of her and wiggled her fingers, fascinated by the way her vision seemed to be a half-second beyond reality.

“Must be. You,” he pointed in her face, “can’t handle your liquor.”

"Hey, it’s my first try," she steadied herself.

“It’s gon’ be your last if you paint my boots. You look a little green, Vaultie.”

Her big brown eyes refocused on the Ghoul. “Okay, well, distract me. I know you won’t tell me anything about yourself.”

He tensed.

“And that’s okay. But I don't even know your name." Lucy threw him a frown, "What if I have to call for you - what am I supposed to say?”

The Ghoul chewed at the inside of his cheek, tearing away some skin as he considered. He’d had twelve shots. She wasn’t asking anything too revealing; and she had saved his life. And maybe all her “Do Unto Others” bullshit wasn’t bullshit, but he still wasn’t about to crack open like a can of biscuits. The Ghoul gazed down into her doe eyes, then he and the tequila made a decision.

“Cooper,” he answered after safely looking away, his voice rough over the word.

Something scratched at the back of Lucy’s brain. Tipsy as she was, she knew this was important - she did not want to ruin whatever progress they seemed to have made. She nodded and replied politely, “That’s a good name. Cooper.”

Lucy watched the rainbow of lights as they reflected off the shiny bar. She slid off the stool and leaned over the jukebox, flipping idly through the songs.

Cooper held his thirteenth shot in his gloved hand as he stared ahead at the blank wall of the now-empty saloon. After they had collectively purchased nearly twenty shots, the bartender had lost all sense of distaste for either of them; he now sat in a chair, dozing, waiting for the Ghoul and the Vault Dweller to ask him for more.

A gasp came from Cooper’s right. His stool groaned as he turned, and he saw Lucy grinning up at him.

“Look at this song: I Walk the Line. It’s from one of my favorite movies -”

Cooper's stomach lurched.

“A Man and His Dog.” Lucy selected the song. “And the main character’s real name was Cooper. Used to watch those old Westerns with - with my dad all the time. The best ones are the ones with him. With Cooper Howard, I mean. He was always the good guy. He never hurt anyone. Well, unless he absolutely had to, of course.” She began to wax poetic about ethics, and her audience of one tuned out. The gruff croon of Johnny Cash filled the otherwise silent building.

Cooper Howard debated whether or not he should tell her the truth. He didn’t know how much she knew about his life as an actor - some of her questions about his family could be answered if she knew about his widely-publicized, definitely-public-record divorce - but seeing her face when she learned that her favorite cowboy movie star was the radiation-ravaged monster sitting beside her would be hilarious.

I keep my eyes wide open all the time

I keep the ends out for the tie that binds

Well, would it be hilarious? Cooper wasn’t so certain anymore. Lucy’s disappointment in him was rapidly losing its luster. Her cowboy had fallen a height that would’ve killed anyone else - had killed almost everyone else. The good man she idolized was dead. He wouldn’t resurrect him just to kill him again in front of Lucy.

For the second time that afternoon, she pulled him abruptly from a reverie.

“I wonder what it was like. Everyone in these saloons… with a jukebox playing while you dance with a handsome stranger,” Lucy gazed out at the empty room. “It must’ve been incredible.”

Cooper didn’t correct her about jukeboxes and saloons. Instead, he took his thirteenth shot, allowing it to burn away what was left of his judgment.

“Well, come on down, darlin’.” He held out his hand - the one that was one-fifth her.

Dubious, distrustful despite their fledgling partnership, Lucy’s eyes darted between his outstretched hand and his dark eyes. This man had cut off her finger less than a week before. He’d tried to sell her.

But this wasn't a desperate game of cat and mouse, and he no longer believed she was a lying murderer. (That conversation had been a hoot. One of the few times he’d asked her a question, Cooper had wondered what possessed her to cut off Wilzig’s fuckin’ head, and, after she told him Wilzig had left her no choice, she tearfully described the sound of his spine severing and nearly vomited. The Ghoul had laughed.) She was here of her own choice. Lucy chose to follow the Ghoul - Cooper - into the Wilds and the Wasteland. She trusted him now, and he her.

“It’s alright, Vaultie. Y’know I won’t bite,” he drawled with a smirk. “Of the two’ve us, which one has bitten the other?”

“Wh-?” Lucy started to ask, then decided better of it. Cooper had given her his name and his trust. He had been as kind as summer by Wasteland standards, and she would be damned if her manners were the poor ones. She took his hand.

As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

The room was spinning, and Lucy wasn’t sure if the blame should be placed on the tequila or the Ghoul who held her so gently. This was a far cry from the lasso he’d thrown around her last week. She opened her mouth, fully intent on telling him See, the Golden Rule is golden for a reason. But when his hand slid slowly from the curve of her waist to the small of her back, she found that the words were missing.

He guided them in a small, slow circle. Cooper’s chest was pressed up against her own, and it was though his centuries-deep layers of leather and cotton, and her pristine, thick Vault-Tec suit were non-existent. The vulnerability set his teeth on edge, but it relaxed Lucy. She let the music, the alcohol, and the Ghoul take her. Uncharacteristically shy, and somewhat nauseous, she laid her head on his shoulder.

Cooper hummed along with Johnny Cash, letting himself feel a modicum of peace in this improbable, inexplicable bubble. He could feel Lucy’s heart beating rapidly beneath her garish suit. His own heart felt like the tattoo of a horse’s hooves. Cooper’s jaw tensed as he wondered how she’d feel to know that. He found himself hoping.

Hope and contentment were as foreign to him as a nose and hair, now. Yet he felt the gnaw of yearning. Lucy was a reflection and a time machine. Maybe that cowboy - the one who deserved both hope and contentment - could live again.

And happiness I've known proves that it's right

Because you're mine, I walk the line.

#OTP: “Just like that.”#myfics #my fics #my writing #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic #the ghoul fanfic #walton goggins #lucy maclean #ella purnell #fluff #cooper howard fanfic #ghoulcy #ghoulcy fanfic #the ghoul x lucy maclean #cooper howard x lucy maclean

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finniestoncrane · 17 days

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I'm here with my boyfriend, Nick Valentine. Romantic Comedy. Front row.

I'll have salted popcorn, banana ice cream, and a cup of ranch.

Thank you so much

(God lord I'm sorry the order sounds stupid. Also I'm sorry for my stupid message about really old monster movies. I gave you like... 12 messages on just that)

HOORAY!! my first nick valentine fic!! i love this old man so much ;-; (also don't worry all the orders sound a bit nuts, there's only so much cinema food i could add before i had to start putting in condiments lmao) 💚🩷 cw: just pure fluff here 🔞minors dni🔞 send a request • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2k (to follow or to block)

"I think I've got this thing working. Took a lot though. It's a bit of an antique, and a rusty one at that."

"Takes one to know one, huh?"

Nick looked up from the projector, his degloved hand still fiddling with the dials, his eyes narrowing as your playful teasing registered with him.

"You're lucky I put up with you, kid."

He shot a quick smile in your direction before he heaved himself up, walking towards the pile of film reels to take a look through them. You crouched down by the second pile, searching for a horror, as if there wasn't enough of that in your day to day life.

"Well, well... what have we here?"

You turned to Nick who was as giddy as you'd ever seen him, presenting you with one of the reels.

"A noir detective movie? Really?"

"Don't knock it before you've tried it. This one was my favourite."

"I don't know... I'm more in it for a horror movie."

"You don't think we live through enough horror movies as it is?"

Scoffing, you folded your arms.

"You don't think I live through enough noir detective movies as it is?"

Nick tossed his film to you, catching you off guard and causing you to drop the one you held in your hands.

"You got a piss-poor negotiation style, kid, you know that?"

That was it. Argument over. But given how excited he had seemed, you couldn't help but go along with it. And once you had the film in the projector and made sure it was showing on the decrepit screen, you followed him back outside to a rusted car. He opened the door for you and then walked around to the other side, sitting on the bench seating beside you and lighting up a cigarette.

The seat creaked below him, a spring bursting out and pressing into him. You giggled a little, standing up and pulling him over to your side before sitting down in his lap.

"Is this really comfortable? We could try another car."

"I like being close to you, Nick. Makes me feel safe."

He smiled, just a quick expression before he coughed and distracted you both from that sweet sentiment.

"This is a great way to waste an afternoon. I promise, you'll love it this movie."

And you did, if only because it reminded you so much of Nick. If only because as you sat in his lap you could feel his excitement. It was soothing, to watch him experience some joy, some relaxation. Soothing enough that you hadn't quite realised that you were falling asleep until Nick shifted you awake.

"Hey, you're going to miss the ending."

"It's ok, I think I figured it out. The detective saves the day and the world feels better for having him around."

"How did you know?"

The sarcasm in his voice was evident, but you chose to ignore it as you buried your head back into his chest and tried to go back to sleep.

"Just a hunch."

#finnie2k #finnie writes #x reader #nick valentine

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katsukikitten · 1 year

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Bakugou Katsuki wasn't supposed to fall in love.

He long ago claimed it wasn't for him and he sure as hell wasn't supposed to fall in love with his neighbor in a shitty apartment complex after a suspension, more like a fucking exile, to the United States.

The argument and reprimanding fresh in his mind even after the grueling fourteen hour red eye. He was the only man awake on the plane, leg shaking as he hates anything that puts him in a position to trust someone else.

"I told you, he was in my fucking blind spot!" Bakugou shouts for the fourth time and the head of the hero commission shakes her head.

"So you didn't see him. What if he was a civilian? You nearly killed him. The public demands consequences."

"Since when do you give a fuck about my public image?" Bakugou snarls, staring her down. One eye a clouded garnet and the other a burning ember, "Ya sure had a good time trying to show off my disability. Cause the hero commission is so fuckin inclusive."

"Kaachan."

"Shut the fuck Deku!" Bakugou snarls, facing the mop of green curls, fisting the man's shirt. He hadn't lost his cool like this in nearly a decade but everything was grating to the nearly thirty year old. Especially today.

The pair, despite being the top heroes of Japan, were in over their heads when the syndicate they were breaking up had an unexpected ace up their sleeve. Temporary quirk silencers and strong ones at that. The hit Izuku who normally flanks Bakugou's now 'weaker' flank. And when someone much smaller than Izuku stepped into his blind spot his quirk acted out on its own. Igniting from the scar tissue on his arm and hitting the random Yakuza point blank in the face.

"Enough! I would be thanking Izuku if I were you. He's the reason you haven't been formally asked to step down. He's the one who found a happy middle ground. You're to train with a Hero in the states, if she sees improvement within two years you'll come back to Japan to continue your career. If not then you'll have to hang up your grenade belt for good."

"Yea cause sending me where the crime rate is practically tripled sounds like a great fuckin idea."

"Shitty fucking Deku." He hisses to himself as he grips harshly at his luggage, the plastic starting to melt from his grip.

He looks up at the apartment complex he's meant to stay in. It's worse for ware and every window on the first to the third floor has iron bars aside from the ones lucky enough to be snug against a rusted out fire escape.

He can feel it already. The eyes, all the fucking eyes that greedily drink in his cloudy eye and deep fissures that snake from his finger tips around his wrist and thick forearm. Dancing along the curve of his elbow and the veins of his shoulders. Even into his hairline, damaging it so deep that his sideburn never did grow back, his ear still gaged but the cartilage at the top split and jagged.

But eyes always lingered on how it branched up his throat, splashing onto his cheek stopping just before his nose but reaching the edge of his eyebrow.

He was considered a handsome man, once.

Eyes that burn him like a brand and he follows the weight of the gaze to a kid, a little boy. Patience far too thin he bares his teeth before growling out in perfect English.

"Fuck ya lookin?" The kid rounds the corner again, choking a sob before Bakugou lugs his one suitcase into the rotting complex. Taking the stairs, since there were only stairs, letting his big hero combat boots sink into the damp carpet. Each step brings a fresh waft of mildew to his nostrils, further souring his mood with each floor he rises.

"No tenant's laws in this bitch?" He growls in his mother tongue, agitated.

Getting to the sixth floor of the old brick building sandwiched between two identical dying residences. Finding his door 6C by the ware of the wood alone, the letter and number had long since fallen out of the stripped holes in the door.

He fishes in his pocket for the key, trying to shove it in. He flips it around once, twice, back to the original position and the goddamn thing won't fit. His palm pressed to the thin wooden door, the wood smoking from his touch and he has half a mind to blow the goddamn door off it's cheap hingest. It wouldn't take much.

Hell he was sure he could just open it with one rough shove of his shoulder and the door would fall flat into the foyer, if there even was one.

"Oh. Door trouble?" You've snuck up on him, on his right side in his goddamn blind spot and he turns just as his quirk hisses and pops to life. Caramel scents the air and his black skull shirt sleeve is fried.

"Ah M sorry." You smile sheepishly, "I don't mean to sneak up on you. Bad habit. I'm your neighbor, 6D."

You give him your name and he forgets it before you even finish shoving out the syllables. Snarling at you with disgust but his animosity either doesn't bother you or it went over your head.

"Do you mind?" You don't give him time to answer as you slip the key from his right hand with ease, ignoring the hot to touch metal of it before you wiggle the key in. Shimming it just right, listening with your perked ear and jiggling the handle, lifting before hitting the door with your shoulder.

A soft oof leaves your pretty lips and Bakugou's chest tightens. He's about to berate you out of habit until you turn around, opening the door wider for him without stepping over the threshold.

"Welcome home.♡" You say it so sweetly that it costs his tongue, dripping down the back of his throat where it forms into an unexpected lump.

He can't remember the last time he'd been welcome home by anything other than an angry reporter or a screaming cellphone demanding answers for his actions. His correct actions.

Because the fuck did those dumb ass pencil pushers know when it came to being out in the field?

Jack fuckin shit that's what they knew.

That's why he was standing in the USA, in the middle of winter, in one of the coldest fucking states and biggest fucking cities.

Why he was standing in this apartment that reeked of cheap cigarettes.

Why he was standing in this hallway, facing a woman he'd nearly blown up by accident, daydreaming about you opening that door every day for the rest of his hellish 730 days.

Swallowing thickly, unable to alleviate the tightness of his throat forcing him to grunt out "Thanks."

Shoulder checking you as he shoves into his apartment. But you were in a city full of rude assholes, so your neighbor being one would be no surprise.

"See ya around, hot head."

Bakugou slams the door on your words and it rattles the whole floor from the force. Dark eyes boring holes into the dingy, nicotine stained walls.

Kitchen, small and open to the living area, a sagging couch and groaning refrigerator. Katsuki was sure the oven being simply plugged in was a fire hazard on its own. Hardwood floors were thin, showing scuffed nail heads indicating it had been sanding three times too many in a poor attempt to save money and a portion stained a suspicious ruddy brown in a massive organic shape.

The bedroom and bathroom were no better, cleaned in a rush if at all and on the window sill there is a fresh coat of white paint forever trapping dead flies in the latex.

"What the fuck…" He swore he'd find a convenience store, getting cleaning supplies among other things but first he needed to lie down. Exhaustion hits him as he thinks of how difficult it was going to be to find another apartment and to break this lease. This place being the only complex with a last minute opening and for an astronomical price just for it to be another shit hole in his life.

He doesn't even bother with the stained mattress, picking it up and shoving it into the hallway to lean against the other, knowing full well all of this furniture was found the same god damn way. Shoved in and dressed up for shoddy pictures with half the view of the room blocked my wrinkled white finger tips.

He throws his two towels on the floor of the bedroom, using his bag for a pillow getting the worst sleep of his fucking life.

Even worse than when he and Deku had to share a single sleeping bag on an undercover mission in the middle of a snow storm.

But not before he orders absolutely everything that he can to make this place semi liveable, even if he didn't think he'd be here more than a month.

Morning comes with the loud slam of a door and a heated argument, making him sit straight up, both palms burning bright orange. Remnants of his dreams that always lead him astray.

Of eighteen years ago, his puncture scars ache from the memory before the one along his face and arm grows numb. Tingling numb and yet it feels as if fire ants let their pinchers sink into his tender flesh and root around in his eye socket.

Before the one on his sternum heats, expanding as he takes a deep calming breath making the cartilage crack from the inhale. It does little to qualm it and he just cracks his neck, forever used to waking up with adrenaline in his veins, threatening to explode his fragile heart.

The thought makes his stomach churn, normally a cold shower would do him good but the idea of standing under the stagnant shower head made it far worse. Skin crawling as he rises to grab supplies for his apartment before his evening would be eaten up by whoever the hell he was meeting.

His phone chiming with a reminder of unread messages, several in the group chat of well wishes and hoping you made it before he replies.

Fuck all of you.

He locks his phone after putting it on do not disturb before killing his entire morning, getting almost lost in a city very much like his home.

He's thankful he was studious growing up. That he can read and speak English well. His face covered in a mask and his spiky blonde hair shoved under a dark beanie makes navigating the city after one missed stop easy.

People left him well enough alone and he found his way back to his apartment on the first try. Most would call it luck but Bakugou would call it skill. Obsessive observation more like it.

Scrubbing at the hardwood and apartment felt as if he was scrubbing away the grime that stuck to the edges of his mind. Some parts of the floor he could get so shiny they reflected his own smug scarred smirk and others, like that blotchy stain, blood stain, just wouldn't come out no matter how hard he tried.

No matter what solution or tool he used.

Nothing worked, leaving him frustrated, covered in flaking wood stain and smelling like rust.

He checks his phone to see his shipments will be late and growls, asking himself what's the point of scheduling a time before he showers and heads out again.

The rundown warehouse he finds himself in front of gives him a dreadful sense of deja vu. As if he's transported back to yesterday, standing outside the apartment complex. He can feel eyes on him again, to the right of him.

But he knows no one is around, nothing but a stray cat that runs away from the old building to chase the flock of seagulls.

He double checks the address in the email sent from the hero commission and rolls his eyes. Shoving his hands with his phone in his pockets as he figured they let some lacky type out the address instead of concerning themselves with the hot head anymore.

He's about to turn on his heel and leave when the metal door swings open.

Curiosity was a deadly thing.

Slinking in, quiet as a cat, despite his brash and bold quirk. Having learned the hard way that sometimes subtlety is the only way. His eye adjusts quickly to the dark, sunlight bleeding in through the rotted roof and the windows that weren't boarded up. His ears perk as he listens, willing his heart to quiet and slow before that odd sensation settles in his bones. Hairs standing on end as if something were breathing on his neck.

But the puff of air never comes.

They say your body always knows when someone lays eyes on you, even when you're asleep.

It only took Bakugou losing one of his eyes to believe it.

Someone was standing in his blind spot.

Instinctively he turns, over and over in a circle and nothing ever comes into sight. He cannot hear what is there and he cannot see it but he knows something stands right outside his field of vision.

Like trying to meet face to face with the shadows that only grow in the corner of one's eye and when you look directly at it is when it disappears.

Sure as he's fucking breathing someone loomed and stalked just within reach although fully out of sight.

Each turn clenches his jaw tighter and tighter. More and more pent up anger as his hand glows on its own.

Once known as the best in the game for quirk control was now actively, and often, experiencing quirk failure.

He hears a pillar crack and then another and another until he's standing in the middle of the room with groaning concrete slabs compromised long before he came in.

"Fuck." He hisses, watching the trap reveal itself in real time before the building caved in from its own weight.

Subconsciously Bakugou knew there was symbolism in here somewhere. It felt a lot like he did, holding up a crumbling career for what he didn't know.

He only had his mother and father as family. His friends were successful and no longer needed his help in anything aside from maybe dating advice. Which was stupid, Bakugou was always the one getting broken up with but in his defense he didn't even know they were dating. He always assumed they knew he needed nothing more than to get his dick wet.

As the building collapses he sends out small bursts to keep himself from getting crushed and from sending debris flying out within a ten mile radius.

It's only when the dust settles does he feel someone in his blind spot again, except this time they step out of it before he can react.

"Let fear and anger be a source of power without consuming you." A woman shorter than him and only five or so years older, stood before him. Long graying hair placed up in a neat, smooth bun, contrasting against her dark jumpsuit. More notably are her milky eyes that hold onto his gaze without seeing anything at all.

Her demeanor and voice make his scars burn. Makes him think back of his first therapist he had to see twice a week until he was 22 to keep his gnawing anger in check.

The very one that laid at his feet in the form of bent rebar and heavy concrete.

"Fuck was that?" He dusts off his shoulders, "If I wanted vague advice I could have read it in a fuck all subreddit."

She says nothing, just listens to him shuffle as he moves around, knowing exactly where he is from the sound and the feel of her bare feet on the solid concrete floor.

"And how much is this fuckin building gonna cost me?" He growls to himself, only the third he's EVER unintentionally damaged. His first day as a hero in America already wasn't looking so great.

"Nothing."

"Haaah, ya get brick and mortar blasted into your ears? Buildings don't cost nothing."

"Normally yes, it would cost something. Even one as dilapidated as this. But the city had plans to tear it down, I just saved them money on the explosives." She smiles, knowing that now Katsuki would catch on. She read his file, the braille didn't lie, he was quick to catch on but faster to temper.

"So you knew I'd blow this shit hole to hell?" He snarls, hates being so predictable, it was as good as being fuckin stupid when it came to a fight.

"I did. Your file said you react when people stand in your blind spot. Why is that?"

"Isn't that fucking obvi-" His complaint dies in his throat when his gaze meets hers.

"You've had more than a decade to adjust, in fact it was as if you hadn't even lost vision in your right eye when you got out of the hospital. Only those close to you could see it bothered you."

"Yea like fucking who?"

"Like Izuku and Kirishima. Although it was subtle then it seems to be a bigger issue now. More than it was when the injury was fresh." A tremor of rage runs through his thick frame, his mind bringing him back to putting the stinging eye drops into his dying eye, hoping he could keep some semblance of vision but soon those blurry blobs faded into nothing but inky black.

He can practically feel the stinging now, and the gauze pulling at his fresh skin, of the fish scales they tried to use to help with the decay.

How the doctors murmured they might have to amputate his crushed and twisted arm, sedating him after his violent outburst. Unwilling to give up half his quirk so young.

Although some could argue a misfiring arm was far more dangerous than a little chrome.

He scoffs, looking down at his right palm from what was at one point his non dominant eye.

"So fuckin what. I'm Dynamight. I always bounce back." He lets the I have to lodge in his throat.

"Hmm so they say." She hums, tapping her foot twice before she speaks again, "You're a good size you know with a great range. Not to mention your sixth sense is phenomenal for someone who shoves things down."

"I don't shove shit down."

"Then why do you explode? Why does it seem that your fresh nitroglycerin is at half life? So volatile so quickly." She presses on when he doesn't speak, "You know I wasn't always blind either. My quirk grew in strength at the price of my sight, however it seems your body is more adaptable than mine. Your hearing is excellent despite the deafening explosions you create but you never know when that could be lost. So your homework is-"

"Homework?" He interrupts, turning to face her before he feels something in his blind spot again, turning quickly to be greeted with a hissing cat from his sudden movement. Back arched and swiping before it runs off.

"Yes, homework."

"M here to do hero work." He stalks closer to her, standing well within her personal space.

"No, you're here to heal." She doesn't even flinch, just tilts her head up towards him out of habit to keep eye contact.

"Cut this sappy bullshit. This ain't a Hallmark movie where I come to a new country. Get yet another fucking mentor that talks to me in riddles that I somehow get and then fall in love with my next door neighbor." He growls, "Wake up this is fuckin reality. I'm here to do hero shit, you're here to send me back in three months."

She laughs at that, "Three months is impossible even for you, overachiever."

He glares down at her, holding his breath to count down from ten and then up when his temper still burns in his veins.

"Your homework will be to listen. Not with your ears but-" She taps her finger over his old scar that sits over his heart, "Here."

Bakugou thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Listen to his body? His fucking heart? Didn't she hear of him before? The media was sure to remind Bakugou that he was nothing but a heartless, selfish asshole. So what the fuck was listening to his heart going to do?

But what other choice does Bakugou have?

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader

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enjoy-the-butterf1ies · 8 months

Text

The Garden: A Story of a Stable Boy And a Princess- Prologue

Pairing: Lando Norris x Princess! Reader

Summary: Royalty AU. In which a small town stable boy with big dreams falls for the princess of F1 Kingdom. Will the stars align for such an unlikely pair?

Things to know: This is a fantasy/royalty AU so it’s placed in the olden times! The setting of our story is F1 Kingdom; and in replace of F1 racing we have horse racing instead. So it’s the same concept as F1 but on horses rather than cars. Each team (Mclaren, Ferarri, Alpine, Redbull, etc.) represents a different village in the kingdom. And that’s the gist of what you need to know! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Summary: And so, our story begins in an old, rusted tavern.

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of alcohol, drinking.

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

“Pour me another one mate!!” Cheers among the tavern were loud, guests fumbling over their feet and struggling to stay still all at once. The smell of meat and rum was enough to send the average villager into a state of intoxicated shock- but for our regulars, it was simply another Tuesday night. Laughter and shouts just from this bar were sure to be heard all the way to the castle.

Beer after beer after beer. As if it was a routine.

One group in particular, who resided in the darkest corner of the tavern (one that they had nobly claimed as “their corner” in the previous weeks) is where we start our story. A large group of the best horse racers the kingdom had ever seen- known as the prestigious Formula 1 racers.

“Come on Sir Vettel, tell us one of your tales! It would be a grand welcome to our newest guy.” Sir Lewis Hamilton said, flashing a big grin. He was the current world champion for Mercedes Village, unstoppable when he was on a stallion. And when he got alcohol in his system.

The group chimed in, agreeing with Lewis’ statement. Max Verstappen, the newest addition to F1, curiously looked between all of them. He had moved from Redbull kingdom to race for his hometown- such a young racer excited fans and clearly the team as well. Though in moments such as this, he felt particularly clueless. “Tales? As in a story?” He asked, eyeing Sir Vettel with piqued attention. Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“No, no, I could never bore you all with such things,” He protested. Sebastian Vettel was the eldest of the racers- therefore the wisest. Having served his due diligence to the sport, everyone looked up to him in that way. He was sure to go down as the best in all the kingdom. Who wouldn’t admire such a feat?

Lewis stood up and smacked his glass the table with a bang. “Nonsense!” He laughed, the rum clearly taking over. “Your stories are second to your racing. I’ll be damned if we leave tonight without satisfaction.”

“Yeah!”

“Here, here!!”

“I can raise a glass to that one!”

The crowd all cheered, fist pumping and jugs in the air. Max had never been in such an environment- he was interested as to why everyone was so adamant about these stories. Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny how much he agreed with them.

Sebastian eyed Max and smirked. “Shall I?” He asked. The man would be lying if he denied how much he loved storytelling. He shrugged. “The people do say I have a rather poetic tongue.”

Max couldn’t help but chuckle at this. “Please, go ahead,” He nodded eagerly. He was only one drink in, but it seemed they would need many more for the night to come. “I must see this.”

Pierre Gasly (a proud Alpine racer) excitedly pat Max on the back at that. “That’s more like it!” He shouted, causing an uproar of rowdiness again.

Sebastian laughed and held his hands up. “As you wish! As you all wish!!” He chuckled, bringing a proud finger to his lips. “Hush now as I begin a tale of love-“

“Love?” Max couldn’t help but interrupt. The racers all eyes him angrily at that, but Max didn’t care. “M-My apologies but you gathered us for a romance story?” Maybe he just was just tipsy, but the last thing on his mind was a sap story.

Sebastian shook his head, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. In fact, it made things all the more exciting for him. “Oh but it is so much more than a romantic story, young Verstappen. It is a story of adventure, heartbreak, horrors, dreams… and how love prevails through all.” He said proudly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “But, if you do not want to hear then it can wait-“

“No! Continue, continue,” Max urged, his interests getting the better of him. Sebastian smirked once again. “We have all night, do we not?”

The group clinked glasses and a few more “here, here” could be heard amongst them. “Very well,” Vettel chuckled. His eyes met Lewis’ who gave him a knowing grin.

“Our story begins in a royal garden. With a young princess and a stable boy…”

A/N: Ahh sorry this is short but I’m so excited about this one!!

#f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #formula one #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris imagine #lando norris fantasy au #f1 fantasy au #f1 fantasy imagine #the garden #sebastian vettel #lewis hamilton #max verstappen #pierre gasly #princess x stable boy

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clairenovakz · 8 months

Text

asylum (sam winchester x reader)

pairing: season one sam x reader warnings: canon compliant, general violence, hint of smut (more like just making out) summary: canon-insert for episode 1x10, asylum. on a routine hunt, you run into a pair of hunters - one of which has a sad smile and the look of a kicked puppy. word count: 5k a/n: hello! i've been rewatching supernatural recently and had this idea cooking in my brain... i've never written fanfic like this before so any feedback is appreciated! i feel like i've written this with a continuation in mind but... we'll see! i would love to write stuff that isn't just fully based in canon so feel free to send me requests

Walking through the Roosevelt Asylum was definitely not in your list of top ten things you wanted to do today, and yet - here you are. The air is musty with the scent of old rust and clinging spiderwebs, and you are almost certain this place has to be haunted by something.

You’d seen the reports of the death of Walter Kelly and had immediately been suspicious. After doing some preliminary research about the area and its lore, you’d gone straight to the asylum to check it out. This wasn’t your first rodeo; as a seasoned hunter with more than just a few kills under your belt, you weren’t feeling too spooked about this hunt in particular. A ghost, an asylum, a freaky accident. It’s basically textbook.

Creeping through the dark, you had one hand on an EMF meter and another on a flashlight. The room you were in wasn’t lighting anything up on the EMF, and you shook it just to be sure, as if somehow that would call the ghosts to you. Sighing, you slipped out of the room. There was already a fine layer of dust just coating your body from being in this place, and it was gross.

Just as you were beginning to think that this was maybe a fruitless endeavor, you heard some footsteps. “Shit,” you muttered, pressing yourself up against the nearest wall to listen. With two clicks, you shut your flashlight and your EMF off. If it was cops, this was really not going to look great on your permanent record…

“I told you, it’s not ESP!” A man’s voice was coming from around the corner, and your ears perked up. “I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Another voice. You felt your skin prickle and you shifted your foot, attempting to move back. They were coming towards you.

“You get any reading on that thing or what?” The first voice spoke again. As you listened, you could hear the telltale signs of an EMF meter.

You furrowed your brow. Either they were amateur ghost hunters, or something more similar to yourself. Definitely not cops. Or maybe just really weird cops. You were beginning to doubt yourself.

Figuring this was as good a time as any to reveal yourself, you stepped out from the dark and down the hall to the voices. Flashes of light from the window slats hit your face as you made yourself known. In front of you were two young men, one tall and slightly lanky with a brown flop of hair, and the other shorter with an almost too-chiseled jawline. They immediately tensed seeing you.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You smiled at them slightly sheepishly.

“Who are you?” The short one asked, hand reaching behind him as he glared at you.

“Better question - who are you guys?” You asked back, holding your hands up to show you were defenseless. Well, as far as they knew.

“You really shouldn’t be in here…” The short one raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, says the two guys who are also in here.” You countered. Deciding talking to this guy wasn’t working, you aimed your eyes at the taller one. He was definitely younger - you could see that his warm hazel eyes didn’t seem so suspicious of you.

“I’m Sam, this is Dean.” He said cautiously, tapping the shorter one on the back as if to tell him to relax. “We’re looking around, just doing some research for a project.”

“Psh.” You scoffed. “Like I believe that for a second.”

“Lady, what’s your problem?” The short one - Dean, you suppose - cocked his head at you.

“I’m Y/N.” You said, lowering your hands finally. “I’m here because I’m hunting whatever decided to make Walter Kelly kill himself.”

Sam and Dean stopped in their tracks, and then looked at each other, communicating silently. Finally, Dean threw his head back in annoyance and looked at you again. “You’re for real?”

“No, I’m just being crazy,” You retorted, rolling your eyes. “Yes. Obviously. I wouldn’t wander an asylum for fun in my free time.”

Sam choked back a laugh at that, and Dean hit his elbow. “Alright, Y/N.” Dean said your name like you’d taken some candy from him. “We’re here for the same thing, happy? Now I’d appreciate it if you moved out of the way so we could do our job.”

“Dean.” Sam coughed slightly.

“What?” Dean looked around incredulously.

“I’m pretty sure I got here before you two bozos.” You said, also trying to hold back a laugh. “So I’m gonna say I’ll graciously let you work the case with me. If you’d like.”

The three of you exchanged glances. You could tell they were sizing you up. You were in plain clothes, but the bag slung crossbody over your bag was full of hunting gear. You looked them over as well. They seemed capable enough. It had been quite some time since you’d worked a case with someone else, and somehow you felt a little relieved they’d come along. Hunting alone was probably the loneliest thing anyone could do.

“Fine.” Dean said, moving to push past you. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“Oh, whatever.” You moved to follow him down the hallway towards another room. Sam came up behind you.

“Sorry. Brothers, right?” He gave you a small smile and you looked at his dimples. For some reason, you felt a small kick in your chest, and realized you were staring.

“Hm.” You humored him with a smile of your own, tucking some of your hair back. “I wouldn’t know.”

After investigating the asylum, the three of you had discovered that a man named Sanford Ellicott had been the Chief of Staff at the asylum. You had sensed that the boys had paused whatever conversation they were having now that you were around, but you pretended that you didn’t notice. You had never really been a part of a large community of hunters, if one existed out there, so being with two working the same case was a little odd. You swapped numbers with them quickly and then had set to work.

As crass as Dean had been in your first conversation, he seemed to warm a little to you after walking around the asylum together. Sam, however, kept trying to make easy conversation with you, and it was making you feel unnecessarily mushy inside. Okay, he was really cute. And you didn’t have to pretend to have a day job around him. But being the professional you were, you weren’t going to make a move until the job had settled down. Besides, you weren’t exactly sure what vibe you were picking up from him anyway.

You had been quick to track down a living relative of Ellicott’s - a man named James Ellicott who was working as a psychiatrist. After telling Sam and Dean, they quickly hatched a plan to send Sam in to have a session with him in order to gain information. This left you with Dean to loiter around the outside of the medical center and pretend like you weren’t suspicious.

“So…” You started, hoping to get on Dean’s good side while Sam was away.

“What?” Dean didn’t turn to look at you, spacing out as he looked in the far distance.

“How long have you been hunting?” You asked, just by way of making small talk.

“Mm,” Dean shrugged. “Probably my whole life. Runs in the family.” He seemed almost reluctant to keep his mouth shut, but you couldn’t get a full read on him.

You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.” You thought back to your parents, and the way you had lived on the road when they were still alive. Sometimes it was easier just to forget. “You and Sam got any family around?”

Dean gave you a slightly pained look. “We’re, uh, actually kind of looking for our dad right now.” His eyes shifted away from you. “It’s kind of why we even came here in the first place.”

“Hm.” You sensed he probably didn’t want to talk about it. Not wanting to make things more awkward, you both went back to spacing out until Sam got back.

As Sam exited the doors of the medical center, Dean hurried to catch up to him, you following closely behind. “Dude! You were in there forever, what the hell were you talking about?”

Sam shrugged, continuing to walk. “Just the hospital, you know.”

“And…?”

Sam began to relay the information to the two of you. What really caught your interest was that the patients had rioted and killed Ellicott, but his body was apparently never recovered.

“Christ,” you said, shaking your head a little. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “The hospital closed down after all that.”

“So, to sum it up,” Dean grumbled. “We've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.”

The three of you made a plan to return to the asylum that night. There was a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. Dealing with death wasn’t easy, despite your job. Being in a place of such tragedy only made things worse. When you thought back to the things you’d seen, you sometimes wished you weren’t in this life. But it was like Dean had said - these things ran in the family business. You shuddered to think about the gory details.

You and the boys decked yourself out in hunting gear. EMF, flashlights, shotguns filled with salt rounds, and a video camera that Sam had in hand. A chill passed over you as the three of you walked through the front doors once again, stepping into the dust and old wood.

As you covered the floor, the three of you began to separate. It wasn’t until you heard yelling that you quickly ran back to Sam. An old woman covered in blood was coming towards him, and you quickly lifted your shotgun. “Get down!”

Sam threw himself to the floor as you shot. The woman quickly disintegrated, and Dean ran over to his brother to help him up. Panting slightly, the three of you converged.

“That was weird.” Sam said, looking around in slight shock.

“Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.” Dean said, quickly beginning to move away.

“Weird how?” You asked, following behind closely.

“Just - weird that she didn’t attack me.” Sam caught up to the two of you. You and Dean exchanged a glance.

“Uh, she was coming right at you, wasn’t she?” You asked, confused.

“She didn't hurt me.” Sam insisted. “She didn't even try! So if she didn't wanna hurt me then what did she want?”

Before either of you could reply, a noise startled you all. Dean raised his shotgun as you crept forward, moving slowly and scanning the room. Sam reached out and suddenly revealed a living, human girl crouching in the corner. She nearly screamed at the sight of you all.

“It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you.” You said calmly. You reached out for her and she grabbed your hand, steadying herself. “What’s your name?”

The girl explained her name was Kat, and that she was here with her boyfriend Gavin. You groaned internally, knowing how stupid it was for these teens to be around the asylum. Even worse, she wanted to stick around to find her boyfriend even when offered to be escorted outside. You put your arm around her and tried to give her some comfort.

“It’s no joke around here,” Dean said crossly. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know! That’s why I’ve gotta find Gavin…” Kat seemed insistent, despite her obvious fear. You squeezed her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna find him.” You gave her your best reassuring smile, and then looked at the boys. Sam was giving you a soft look and then smiled at you slightly, although you couldn’t exactly discern why.

“Alright, I guess we’re gonna split up.” Dean motioned for Kat to come with him. “Let’s go.”

You let Kat go as she followed Dean. Sticking by Sam, you decided to go deeper into the asylum.

“Gavin? Gavin?” Sam called out, you trailing behind him. He stopped suddenly and you bumped into his back quite hard. “Shit, sorry, Y/N.” He whirled around to take a look at your face.

“Warn me next time you’re gonna do that.” You said through a smile.

“Sorry.” He apologized again, sheepishly smiling at you.

“You already said that, dummy.” You gently punched his shoulder and then started walking, trying to guide him to keep looking. “Don’t worry about it. Did you see something or…?”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Sam looked around again, trying to catch what had stopped him. “Oh wait- look!”

He hurried into the next room and you followed, seeing a boy on the floor, unconscious. Clearly, Gavin.

Sam went to wake him as you stood behind. You could see how soft his hair looked from behind and it was really beginning to distract you. You shook your head to keep yourself focused, and then finally tuned in to what Gavin was saying.

“She tried to kiss you?” You almost wanted to laugh, even though you knew how disgusting that probably was. Gavin looked like he wanted to cry or vomit. Or both.

“Yeah, her face was all messed up. It was seriously freaky.”

“But did she… she didn’t hurt you, physically?” Sam asked, trying to get at something. You finally remembered your earlier conversation that had gotten cut off. Did Sam think the ghosts here were completely mundane, and not evil spirits?

“Dude! She kissed me! I’m scarred for life!”

Sam turned back to look at you with a look of ‘can-you-believe-this-guy?’ and you actually had to turn around to keep from laughing. You hadn’t imagined that Sam had a secret bitchy side, but it was endearing.

After collecting Gavin, you and Sam headed back to Dean. As you drew near, you could hear sounds of shouting and something against the wall. You quickened your pace alongside Sam.

“Dean! What’s going on?” Sam shouted, running up to his brother, who was attempting to jam the door open.

“She’s inside with one of them!”

Kat was screaming inside and you immediately began trying to slam your body against the door with Dean, trying to get it open. It was futile thought, and the more Kat screamed “help me!” the more you felt sick with guilt. You shouldn’t have left her side - she was the most vulnerable one in the situation. And you knew exactly how that felt.

“Kat, it’s not going to hurt you.” Sam suddenly said. “Listen, you’ve got to face it. Try to calm down.”

You and Dean both turned to Sam in slight astonishment. What Sam meant clicked for you slightly faster than it did for Dean, as you shouted, “Oh shit, I get it!” at the same time that he said “She’s gotta what?!”

“These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate.” Sam was slightly panicking, although you could tell he was trying to stay calm. “You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

“No! You face it!” Kat’s voice on the other side of the door was desperate.

“Kat, just look at it! You can do this!” You said, deciding to trust Sam. You gave him a slight nod and he nodded back.

A tense silence fell over your group as you struggled to hear what Kat was doing. “Man, I hope you’re right about this.” Dean muttered, looking worried.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the door clicked open and Kat stepped out. “Kat…” Gavin stepped forward to embrace her as Sam examined the room she had just been in. You put your hand on Kat’s shoulder and tension seemed to leave her body a bit. Sam stepped back out and only shook his head.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” You said sincerely, and Kat only trembled in response.

“One-thirty-seven.” She said, finally.

“What’s that?” You asked.

“It whispered in my ear. One-thirty-seven.”

“Room number.” Sam and Dean said in unison. They stepped back to have a private conversation, and you, not wanting to leave Kat and Gavin lest another spirit appear, tried to give the couple some small comfort.

“Alright, you guys ready to get out of here?” Dean asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

You had opted to escort the couple out while Sam and Dean went to investigate room 137. As they disappeared, Kat and Gavin followed behind you as you tried to weave your way back to the entrance.

“How did you end up doing this job?” Kat asked suddenly, and you blew out a heavy breath.

“Shitty family?” You tried to laugh, but it wasn’t really funny.

“And Sam and Dean, are they like… your bosses?”

“God, no.” This time you actually laughed. “I only met them like earlier today.”

Kat and Gavin seemed somewhat impressed by this. “You guys work well together.”

You didn’t respond, but you had been thinking the same thing. You’d never really given much thought to trying to hunt with others again, given that the last time you had… it hadn’t ended how you’d liked. You just shrugged and the conversation petered off, trying to focus on leaving. But every door you tried was locked.

“We have a problem.” You finally said, admitting defeat.

“Can’t you break a door down? Or a window?” Gavin asked.

“The windows are barred. And no, I don’t think that’ll work anyway.” You half-mumbled, trying to parse out the situation. The spirits were keeping you here for some reason. But if it was as Sam said, and the spirits were friendly, then it wasn’t them. It had to be something else.

“Oh god, what the hell do we do?” Gavin was beginning to sweat.

“It’s going to be okay, calm down.” You tried to use your best reassuring voice, but it was hard when you didn’t know what to do either. Suddenly, you felt your phone buzzing. As you pulled it out, you saw that it was Sam.

“Yeah?” You answered promptly.

“We’re in the basement, I can see it. It’s coming towards us.” His voice sounded odd somehow, but you couldn’t quite place it behind your sudden panic. “Hurry, Y/N!”

“On my way, stay there!” You said, hanging up. Gavin and Kat looked at you, and you reluctantly took out your shotgun. “Any chance you guys know how to use this?”

Gavin scoffed at the same time that Kat nodded. You smiled at her.

“Okay, it’s only loaded with rock salt. Shoot anything if it tries to get you.” You handed it to her. “And stay here!”

You felt bad leaving them again, but Kat seemed to have gained some new confidence after her experience with the spirit. You raced downstairs to the basement, hoping to catch Sam and Dean before they got into trouble. You clicked your flashlight on, beams hitting shakily in front of you as you ran. “Sam? Dean?”

Down in the basement, you hurriedly began looking for the brothers, but found no sign of them. “Hello? Sam? Dean?” Your flashlight started to flicker suddenly, and you tapped it to try to get it to work again. “Dammit, what the hell?” You peeked past a few curtains and decided to backtrack.

Turning around suddenly, you saw Sam standing right in front of you. “Holy shit!” You nearly screamed. “Sam, you scared me. Where were you?”

“I’m fine.” He said solemnly, slightly stilted. His hands were slightly behind his back, which you found odd but didn’t question.

“I thought you said you were in trouble.” You said, looking around. “And where’s Dean, weren’t you with him?”

“He’ll be here very soon.” Sam said. He seemed so stiff all of a sudden, and as you looked at him you couldn’t seem to see life in his eyes anymore.

“What’s going on? Are you okay, for real?” You asked nervously, taking a step back. A creeping feeling ran over your neck.

“You’re asking way too many questions.” Suddenly, Sam raised an arm and hit you so hard with a metal pipe that you saw stars. The last thing you saw before you passed out was Sam’s cold stare.

You woke up with a start. Blood was absolutely dripping down your face, covering you in what appeared to be a gorey mess, but you could tell it was just from your nose. You were laying flat on the ground, dizzy and somewhat disoriented. But you could immediately hear a kerfuffle not too far from you.

Dragging yourself out, you finally saw the scene in front of you with blurry eyes. Sam was aiming a gun at Dean, yelling about something you couldn’t quite understand with your just-waking-up brain. You pushed yourself forward, basically crawling as you tried to get closer. Dean was trapped under Sam, and you couldn’t quite see his face from the angle you were at.

As your vision began to clear, you heaved yourself up. Oh fuck, you thought to yourself through a wave of nausea. Sam is going to fucking kill his brother.

It occurred to you finally that Sam was possessed by that damn Ellicott. The gun he was pointing at Dean with was not the same shotgun filled with salt. You looked around for something to stop it from happening, and saw the discarded pipe he had hit you with earlier. You slowly moved towards it, and picked it up with a quiet strength. As you stood up to your full height, Dean finally saw you coming towards him and his brother with a pipe in hand.

“You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother?” Dean spat. “Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!”

Before Sam could do anything, you were already behind him. “Payback’s a bitch!” You said as you suddenly swung the pipe at Sam, knocking him out cold in one swing. You hadn’t hit him quite as hard as he had hit you, but the way he collided on the ground made you think you might have matching broken noses.

“Y/N, watch out!” Dean shouted, and suddenly a ghostly old man was upon you. His fingers were digging into your face and you were pushed down again, screaming.

“I’m going to make you all better.” Ellicott said, and you tried to wrestle away from him.

“Get off of me!” You yelled, straining to shield yourself from his attack. You could feel yourself being overcome, and almost thought you were done for when suddenly Ellicott started screaming too. You regained enough consciousness to see him suddenly ablaze, body turning black and ashen as he disappeared in smoke right in front of you. Dazed, you turned to see Dean with a lighter in front of a cupboard, the remains of a smoking body before him.

“Wow,” You said, laughing a little. “Go team.”

The three of you properly reconvened at a motel after saying goodbye to Kat and Gavin. You had set your nose and Sam was holding an ice pack to his head, still apologizing to you profusely after what he had done. You couldn’t believe this boy was so apologetic that he’d be sorry for something he had no control over whatsoever.

“Sam, seriously, for the last time - it’s okay.” You gently touched the part of his head you had hit. “I already got you back good.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He looked at you fondly and smiled, which you returned.

“Alright,” Dean flopped onto the motel bed. “Y/N, I hate to do this to you, but you gotta get out. It’s time for my beauty sleep.”

You grinned. “Okay, princess Dean. Whatever. Thanks for being on this hunt with me, guys.”

Dean gave you a thumbs up from the bed, and you had a feeling he wasn’t going to move again. Sam put a hand on the small of your back. “Can I walk you to your room?”

“Sure,” you said, rather shyly. After the events of the day and nearly killing each other, you’d think you would feel less like a teenage girl with a stupid crush. The two of you stepped outside and he walked with you to your room in the motel, which was only a few doors down. You unlocked it swiftly and stepped inside.

“So…” Sam started, finally taking the ice pack off and looking at you with what you could only describe as puppy-dog eyes.

“So… wanna come in?” You asked, stepping back to make room for him. He smiled widely at that.

The two of you sat on the motel bed together. The printed florals were really not matching the mood, but you could stand it if it meant he was here with you. Your heart was pounding as you inched your fingers towards his, placing your pinky on top of his. Before you could say anything, Sam suddenly turned and leaned in close. “Can I…”

“Yes, duh.” You closed the distance and suddenly the two of you were kissing desperately. Despite your nose, and despite his head injury, you didn’t seem to care anymore.

He pulled you close to him, fingers gripping your waist and finding the hem of your shirt. Having his hand against your skin made you flush, and you moaned slightly as he dipped you continuously closer to him. You brought a hand up to his hair, dragging your fingers through his locks as he laid you back against the bed. He groaned in return when you tugged slightly, kissing him with every fiber of your body.

You wanted to feel his skin. You moved your hands to pull his shirt up and he let you roam his chest, feeling how his lanky body was suddenly quite firm underneath. You were slightly surprised - he looked so much like a skinny nothing, yet he was hiding all this muscle under here. You kissed each other fervently, sweating slightly as he pulled your legs up.

“Do you have a condom?” He muttered in your ear, kissing down your neck.

“Yeah, I’ll get it.” You whispered back coyly, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth as you untangled yourself from him. You moved to your bag to grab your condoms, and then turned back to look at him.

There, in the dim light of the motel room, you could see how his eyes were slightly watery. His posture was tense, and he seemed somewhat on guard. And you knew then that something was wrong.

“Sam… do you want this?” You asked, sliding back onto the bed but a slight ways away from him.

“Of course I do.” He said, but only after hesitating slightly.

“Sam…” You reached out for him, linking your pinkies again. “It’s okay if you don’t. I’m fine either way.”

Sam studied you for a long moment. He seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say. Then, he leaned towards you and pulled you in for a long hug. Surprised, you slowly put your arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I hate to disappoint you.”

“No, no. Don’t say that.” You smiled at him gently. “You could never.”

He just nodded slightly. You put the condoms on the nightstand and leaned in close to him. “Do you want to talk?”

He hesitated again. Finally, after a tense moment, he spoke. “My… girlfriend died recently. And I’m… I think I still need time.”

You didn’t wait to pull him close to you again. This time, you squeezed him hard. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

“It’s… yeah, it is.” His voice was so small now you could hardly hear it.

“What do you need?” You asked.

“Some sleep, probably?” He forced a laugh out.

“Wanna stay here or go back to Dean?” You asked, pulling back to look at his beautiful hazel eyes. He looked so soft here, so much more boyish than he’d seemed during the day.

“Mm.” He slowly laid down on the bed. “If you’d have me… It might be nice to stay here for a bit.”

You laid down with him. “Sure, Sam.” Gently, you reached towards him to tuck his hair back. He closed his eyes. “Whatever you need.”

You quickly got ready for bed and the two of you fell asleep shortly after that. When morning came, you weren’t surprised to find him gone. Something ached in your chest as you reached over and saw he left without a trace.

It was early and you could just barely see the sun coming up through the window. You went through your morning routine with a slightly subdued pace. Back to your regular hunting life, now. It was a little bittersweet, but you knew it had to happen.

The loud sound of a car caught your attention as you finished getting dressed. Stepping into your boots, you went outside to see Sam and Dean loading up into their beautiful looking car. You whistled.

“Nice ride, hot stuff.” You joked, approaching them with ease. They looked up at you, Dean with a smile and Sam with a soft, appreciative look. “Heading out already? Not even breakfast?”

“We, uh, got a call from our dad.” Dean said, shaking his head. “Gotta catch a lead.”

You nodded firmly. “Gotta do what you gotta do.”

Dean went back inside to triple-check they had their things. Sam approached you slowly, hands in his pockets like he was trying to look smaller than he was. “About last night…”

“We don’t have to talk about it, Sam.” You said quietly. “You were perfect. Don’t doubt that.” Slowly, you reached up to cup his face. “And you let me know if you ever need anything.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Y/N. I will.”

When Dean stepped back out, the Winchesters were officially leaving. You gave them both a side-hug before they got into their car, which made things feel more final than they should have. You gave them a wave. “Seeya around, Y/N!” Dean called, as he started to pull out of the parking spot. Sam waved back at you.

“Bye, boys.” You watched them leave. That empty feeling was in your chest again.

You had a feeling you’d be seeing them soon enough.

#sam winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural one shot #spn one shot #sam x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #reader insert

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anthurak · 1 year

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One of the reasons I think it’s SUPER interesting, and honestly just love what the writers opted to do with Jaune this volume with the whole ‘aged-up’, ‘stable-time-loop’, ‘Rusted Knight’ twist is that it actually addresses the biggest issue I had with Jaune falling into the void with Team RWBY in the first place. And seems to be doing so in a brilliantly clever fashion.

See, one of the big things that made dropping Team RWBY into the void at the end of Volume 8 and stranding them in the Ever After so interesting was that it also cut them off from the fairly substantial amount of friends and allies they’d accumulated over the last several volumes. I mean, for as much as our heroines may have had the odds stacked against them in Volumes 7 or 8, they were hardly facing those odds alone.

So by sending Team RWBY to the Ever After, the story separates our heroines from all of the help they’ve had so far. Taking away the support network they’ve had and placing them in this new, unfamiliar environment alone with really only each other to truly trust and rely on. And seeing how Team RWBY adapts and copes with this whole new situation.

So you can see how dropping Jaune into the Ever After as well might at first feel like the story is diluting this concept, if only a little bit. Sure our heroines might have been separated from most of their friends and allies, but at least they still have one of their oldest and most dependable friends with them, right?

But with the twist of ‘Old Man Jaune’, the show completely flips this idea and really only isolates Team RWBY even more. As well as possibly giving them even more problems.

Because this Jaune is very much NOT the same friend that Team RWBY knows so well. Sure he’s familiar, but it’s clear that his many, MANY years in the Ever After have changed Jaune. He’s older, jaded, strung out, exhausted and very possibly more than a little twisted and unhinged. Simply put, this new Jaune is very much NOT the Jaune Team RWBY knows, and is just as much NOT OKAY.

All this means that I’m pretty sure Team RWBY is going to quickly find that they might NOT be able to depend on or even trust this new Jaune like they did the Jaune they knew.

I mean, I think it’s MORE than a little likely that Jaune could wind up presenting a major conflict for Team RWBY. Perhaps not to the point of Jaune being a full-blown villain this volume, but I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to imagine some kind of fight breaking out between Team RWBY and Jaune.

Just look at how Jaune comes off more than a little unhinged whenever the Curious Cat shows up. Sure, he has his reasons, but I think it’s pretty apparent there is a lot more going on in the Ever After than Jaune knows, or perhaps is willing to admit. Like how much do you want to bet that Jaune’s apparent hatred for the Curious Cat is fueled less by anything CC actually did, and more by Jaune projecting his own crippling guilt over not being able to help Alyx and Luis, and of course his killing of Penny?

After all, considering what we’ve seen with Qrow, Ozpin, Leonardo, Ironwood and more, should we really be so surprised that RWBY would present us with some older, seasoned veteran who at first appears to have things figured out and can be a great help to our heroines, but turns out to be a very broken man with a whole host of issues who creates more than a few PROBLEMS for our heroines to deal with?

In short, the story dropped Team RWBY into an all knew, unfamiliar and dangerous environment with one of their oldest and most dependable friends and allies. Only to turn said friend and ally into most likely a source of yet more conflict that only isolates Team RWBY further and makes their journey all the more difficult.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 9 #rwby analysis #Jaune Arc #Team RWBY #old jaune #jaune has PROBLEMS now

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jayz4dayz · 8 days

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RWBY Volume 9 Was A Total Missed Opportunity:

Putting this out there right now. Volume 9 is by far my favorite volume of RWBY for many reasons which I will not be addressing in this post, but there are a few things that have been on my mind since it's been released where I feel the storyline went wrong and could have been something so much more meaningful for the character's story arcs and development.

Starting off with our main man or should I say our old man Jaune Arc. His presence throughout Vol. 9 felt out of place not just for his character, but also the way his development was handled didn't feel right in the slightest. Becoming a crazy old crackpot because he foolishly made bad decision after bad decision, completely altering and undoing a lot of his character's timeline, and turning into this sort of secondary antagonist for Team RWBY made no sense to me. The way he said so many out of pocket things throughout the different episodes, including completely crossing a line with Ruby and being insensitive towards her mental and emotional condition instead of showing genuine concern like he normally would have, made me cringe to where I wasn't enjoying what I was watching anymore. Not in a good way!

Here's how I would have done it:

Going back to the very end of volume 8 where we see Jaune running towards the portal and barely missing it by mere inches, followed by seeing him fall into the dark abyss and joining the same fate as Team RWBY and Neo. Instead of that, we see him jumping through the portal at the very last second and making it to Vacuo by the skin of his teeth. The others see him and question why he's alone and where Team RWBY was, only for him to go "Uh..." and then the screen cuts to black and the credits start rolling.

We're gonna skip the three year hiatus and jump right into the beginning of Vol. 9 where only Team RWBY and Neo have fallen into the Ever After. For the first few episodes leading up to the reveal of the Rusted Knight, I don't think much needs to change except for the fact that they won't ever encounter Jaune, but they will still encounter the Rusted Knight who, in this version, is someone that would have had the entire fandom shook to their core when the big reveal of the Rusted Knight's identity happened: Pyrrha.

Now, how would she get to this point, you might ask? Well, remember when she got pierced by Cinder's Arrow and her body seemed to disintegrate? This scene:

This death compared to all the other characters who were killed off was unique in the fact that there was no body left behind and it almost appeared her energy was transported to another place. Hmm, perhaps another realm such as the In Between or the Ever After? Why this happened, in my opinion, was because of the use of someone else's semblance. We know very little about Pyrrha's family and have only seen her mother on screen once, so we don't know much about her backstory or semblance either. However, if her semblance worked anything like Raven's to where she needed to be attached to someone in order for her semblance to work and transfer her loved ones to a safer location to escape a deadly threat, now we have something. What if her mom's semblance transported the body to another realm of her choice right before the moment of death? (I like to call it a "divine intervention" semblance.) If that's the case, then why wouldn't it make sense for a mother's love to send her daughter somewhere familiar and (relatively) safe and still accessible to Remnant? The Ever After was based on a children's tale that everyone knew growing up and Pyrrha being as smart as she is would instantly recognize where she was transported to. Maybe she had knowledge of her mother's semblance and knew this might have happened one day, or maybe not. I find the one scene her mother is in to be very interesting because while she was talking to Jaune, she had a very bitter-sweet attitude about it and almost talked as if she knew more than she let on, but I digress.

In the story's timeline, when Team RWBY arrives in the Ever After, Pyrrha would have been there already for a couple of years. That would have given her enough time to establish herself and explore the different acres because let's be real here, Pyrrha wouldn't have stumbled upon the time travel fruit and messed around with it like Jaune did, nor would she have focused all her energy into the people of the land even though she would protect them with her life if she had to, but at the end of the day, she was just trying to figure out a way home. Once she stumbles across Team RWBY, it would all make sense why the Tree didn't let her return to Remnant yet. By this point, I'm sure she would have encountered Alyx, Lewis, and the Curious cat, probably handled the situation a lot better than Jaune did, and give Team RWBY a cautionary tale about the Curious Cat in a way that wasn't bitter or vengeful. The bee's having their special moment still would have happened, the team's fallout with the Curious Cat still would have gone down, and then we get to the scene with Neo's Jabber Walker clones and Ruby has her mental breakdown and identity crisis. I don't see Pyrrha blaming Ruby for what happened to the Paper Pleasers despite her immense sorrow for the loss of her only friends she had during her time in the Ever After. Her experiences with the Paper Pleasers would have been way different too because there's no way she'd be a gold-hearted tyrant like Jaune was painted out to be. I do see Ruby blaming herself and still running off anyway because she feels like a burden and a failure as a leader. I didn't enjoy the way Jaune was the center of focus when Ruby was very clearly in a dangerous state of mind and I'm positive Pyrrha would have picked up on it right away and address it to Ruby's team after the fact and not go off on her for not doing enough.

Team RWPY would go on the search for Ruby and still find her in Neo's torture dungeon, which would have been just as painful to watch, especially from Pyrrha's point of view. Ruby having to watch Pyrrha die in Vol.3 and now she had to witness Ruby "die" in Vol. 9 is kind of a trippy coincidence that fits so well. The only difference being Pyrrha immediately taking the initiative to find Ruby before the cat does and the final battle being way more epic. Jaune certainly gained a lot of battle experience throughout the series, but Pyrrha was always ahead of him in that respect and without a doubt would have sharpened her skills to perfection while she was on her own in the Ever After. Ruby emerges as a new version of herself, they defeat the Curious Cat, Neo ascends, and all of the girls finally get to go home together, hand in hand.

I can even go as far as to say this would have made Vol. 9 Beyond so much better too. Picture it, Team RWBY and Pyrrha leaving the portal and the first person to see them is Jaune. The potential for Arkos here is so strong it kills me inside! They'd have a raw moment between each other, there'd be lots of crying on Jaune and maybe even Pyrrha's part too, a long hug, and most definitely a romantic kiss that would have tied their relationship arc together in such a perfect way. It would have brought Pyrrha back and that's honestly all I want.

Of course, this is all just for shits and giggles, but I'd love to hear what y'all think or if you have something else to add! ^-^

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thebiggerbear · 8 months

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Only Ever Holding Onto You - Chapter 3

A/N: Hi all! I hope you all like this chapter. Personally, this is one of my favorites so far because I love Poppernak dearly but also I wanted to delve into the reader a bit more. This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: a ton of shit (literally)

Word Count: 7114

Please do not do any of the above. Thank you for your understanding.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch

You cursed quietly when you stepped in dog shit yet again. You took a deep breath to center yourself, knowing there was nothing you could do and that you would have a good hour or two of cleaning every single tread on the sole of your shoes when you got home to make sure all of the fecal matter was gone. For now, grass and a piece of cardboard that Poppernak hopefully had in the back of his car that could double as a floor mat would have to do. You opened your eyes and surged forward…right into another pile of dogshit.

“Motherfuck,” you hissed as you felt the familiar squishy feeling under your foot and the smell predictably wafted up to assault your nose. This place was a goddamn minefield!

You should have known, seeing the state the house was in as well as the makeshift garage. Not to mention the elderly age of the owners and the large lawn mower that clearly sat unused if the yards of rust covering it was anything to go by. This land hadn’t been worked in a long time; how could you expect that they would clean up dogshit where it remained hidden by grass that was long enough to wave with each passing breeze? Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Pops very carefully moving forward on his chosen pathway, obsessively checking the ground before he took a step. It just hit you that there could even be snakes in here and you could be walking through their damn living room. Son of a bitch.

“Hey Pepper Snaps, be careful! There could be snakes,” you called.

“I wasn’t thinking about that but now I am. Thanks, Y/N.”

You may have rolled your eyes and hoped he stepped in the next pile of dogshit instead of you.

“Did you find Goldie yet?” An old man shouted from behind you.

You turned around to see Lee Knutson, a man in his eighties, watching you from his porch along with his wife Marilyn, also in her eighties. Both of them owned this property and they had placed a call to the police reporting their dog Goldie as missing. They were frantic and because Helena PD loved to pass calls like this onto your department from time to time, here you were, looking for a dog in a place that could double as Jumanji to appease an old couple who loved their dog more than life itself. Hoyt had passed the call onto you with a smirk, saying “You’re an animal lover, right, Y/L/N? Why don’t you and Pop take this one?” Based on her passive aggressive comment, you knew she was still holding a grudge about your calling the Feds in on the Avuna Pharmaceutical case. You knew she had it in for you before that but now, you knew she was doing everything she could to make your life even more of a living hell as punishment. Especially when Beau publicly backed your play; that just made her burn even more.

Having no choice other than to send Pops alone, you found yourself entering the previously uncharted wild jungle of Helena, Montana, with him right behind you. You both were wading through shit and a yard that looked like it could double as an apocalyptic landscape because you’d had the audacity to try to do the right thing in a case where all parties were concerned. Something that from what you’d heard, Hoyt would have most likely done herself back in the day. You knew deep down though that her fury at you had more to do with Beau refusing to bust your ass than the Feds getting involved. You had decided that you would let it continue to be her problem and just do your job, like always. But damn if you had imagined it would get this bad. You supposed you should be grateful she hadn’t sent you and Pops into a dangerous situation where you might not escape unscathed, like exchanging fire with a perp, though the smell that smacked you in the face when you turned to face the old man had you almost wishing she had. You’d take anything else anyday over this crap.

“Not yet,” you yelled back. “But don’t worry, Mr. Knutson, we’re still looking!” You hoped you sounded more hopeful than you felt.

It really had been a shitty week, pun fucking intended.

The morning after the very weird night you’d had at The Boot Heel, Beau wasn’t in the office. Madge told you he had simply called out, claiming that he was taking a few vacation days, and that he knew the department had things handled. You thanked the woman and frowned at Beau’s closed door as you passed.

You had texted Beau the night before when you arrived home as he had asked you to, and he wished you a good night, letting you know he was safely home as well (he knew you too well). That had been the last time you heard from him which wouldn’t be that strange if he had shown up for work. You forced your worry back down and told yourself you were fretting over nothing, this spike in nerves you had was just a remnant from the previous evening. Your compass was most likely still recalibrating. Beau was fine, everyone and everything was fine, he had a right to take his well-earned vacation time especially since he never really took a day off — you were overreacting. But just to be safe, you texted Emily to check in. She got back to you within a few minutes, letting you know that she and her mom had a full day planned since they now had time to start painting their new home that they had moved into a few months back.

Carla had been ready to leave Montana after Avery’s death and Emily’s abduction scare but Beau thankfully had talked her into staying, for Emily’s sake, for his sake — all of their sakes. As soon as Carla sold the property she had shared with Avery, Beau helped her and their daughter move into a new home in a closer neighborhood that she was able to get a good deal on. You knew Beau had been relieved when Carla agreed to stay and you had as well, for him and for you. There was no way you wouldn’t try to follow him back down to Houston if he had gone, especially not when Hoyt might take his place where she could make your life miserable full-time and on the county’s dime. Just like she was already doing this week.

Emily promised to send you pictures of the finished product and you wished her luck, telling her to call you if they needed a hand once your shift was over. Em and Carla were fine; that just left Beau.

Before you could type up a text to check in with him, a quick meeting assembled that you had no idea had even been planned. Hoyt took charge and completely dismissed you, laying down the law for the next few days. She would be distributing calls and deciding who to dispatch. Which you found awful funny because that was bound to create issues with the system Beau already had in place. Madge looked slightly put out until Hoyt wrapped an arm around her shoulders and told her she would need the older woman’s help. You watched the entire scene unfold, arms crossed and leaning against the doorway, smirking and enjoying the show. It didn’t surprise you in the least when she approached you and Pops last with your assignments for the morning, a triumphant grin on her face.

“A couple of calls came in late last night that I’d like you two to follow up on.” She handed the sheet of paper to Pops who took it and scanned it quickly. “You don’t mind, do you, Y/L/N?”

Your smirk widened. She was clearly challenging you, practically daring you to say something. Beau had made it plain to her and the department often enough that you and Hoyt were equal in his eyes. Neither of you had authority over the other one. He told you later when it was just the two of you that he had done that out of respect for your career and experience thus far but also to give you a leg to stand on when it came to Hoyt. He understood that she worked hard in her position as undersheriff and he wasn’t trying to take that from her but he wanted you in the department working with him and he wasn’t going to demote you to make that happen. You were more than appreciative of his willingness to not only take you on and keep you with him but also to make sure you didn’t go backwards in pay or in your career. You found out later he had even taken a slight pay cut himself when he brought you on board, which you duly chastised him for later, not wanting him to sacrifice anymore than he already had. The response he gave you was a simple wink and his usual boyish smile.

So Hoyt and the department knew where you stood, something the blonde was testing right now because Beau wasn’t here. The department didn’t give a crap if she took advantage and lorded it over you as long as it wasn’t them, and she expected you to either fold or go running to tell Beau or something along those lines. She clearly didn’t know you at all if she expected any type of reaction she was trying to get out of you. Your grin matched hers. “Not at all.”

Her blue eyes narrowed but then you could see the triumph in her smile, thinking she had won some imaginary victory over you. “Great.” You pushed the urge to roll your eyes deep down, knowing that if anything happened with the department over the next few days, the responsibility was on her alone, officially. Unofficially, you’d keep an eye out during Beau’s absence and not let everything turn to complete shit.

Your smile grew so much that your cheeks started to hurt.

Hoyt began to say something else but before she could get a word out, your phone started ringing. You pulled it out of your pocket and the name on the screen sent your heart into overdrive. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” You didn’t wait for Hoyt to respond or Pops, but one quick glance confirmed she had seen the screen as well. The glare she was currently gracing you with was the glare to end all glares. You ignored it and stepped away as planned, hearing her snap at Pops to make sure you didn’t stay on the phone too long and to get out the door, before storming away.

This time, you did roll your eyes, and you picked up the call.

“Beau?”

“Mornin’.” He sounded okay though his voice seemed a little more gravelly than usual. You attributed it to the early hour.

“Morning. You okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just taking a few days.”

“Long overdue,” you agreed.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

You glanced around and lowered your voice. “You really are okay, though? You’d tell me if something was wrong… Right? Like you coughing twice or asking me to take the pineapple slices off the pizza to indicate you’re being held against your will.”

He let out a laugh and that made you feel lighter than you had a moment ago. “I’m good, Y/N, I promise. Pineapple on pizza? How in the hell is that a pizza topping? I still don’t get it.”

“You would if you would ever try it when I order it.”

“I will never eat that crap. Who puts fruit on pizza anyway? Besides you?”

“A lot of the population in fact. That’s why it’s so popular,” you teased him.

“I’ve lost all hope for society.”

You finished taking a sip of your coffee. “Really? You’ve been working this job now for two decades and a yellow and very delicious fruit put on pizza is what finally did it for you?”

“Fruit doesn’t go on pizza, Y/N. I’m not having this debate with you again. Not this early,” he groaned.

“The trick is to get it without the sauce. That’s how I order it. It’s only weird tasting when the sauce is added into the mix.”

“If there’s no sauce, then how is it pizza?”

You snorted. “Pizza is all about the cheese.”

“And the sauce. Without sauce, it’s just bread and cheese.”

“Which incidentally are two of the most important ingredients for pizza.”

You smiled in victory when an exasperated sigh came down the line. “Okay, you win. So how do I get out of this conversation that’s happening against my will? Do I sneeze twice or ask for extra cheese?”

“Ha ha. You called me, remember that.” In your peripherals, you noticed Pops signaling to you and pointing to his watch. You nodded and held a finger up. Yes, you knew Hoyt couldn’t wait for you to go out on your crappy call list for the morning, and add more to it during the day most likely. Her pettiness could wait a few more minutes. Guaranteed, this was going to be the best part of your day and you weren’t giving it up that easily. “So, what are your plans for today? Have any or are you just taking it easy for the day?”

“Actually, I’m gonna head over to Carla’s and help her and Em out for the day.”

A small smile settled onto your face. “Em will be really happy to see you.” And both she and Carla would be happy to have the extra practiced hand no doubt. You almost wished you could join them, to help Emily prank her father by rolling paint all over his clothes if for nothing else.

“Yeah, it’ll be good to see her, too. I didn’t get much sleep last night so I spent a lot of time thinking. About work, about life and…everything, and that’s why I took a few days off. I’m gonna try to convince Em to go camping with me over the weekend. I want to spend some time with my daughter before she graduates and goes off to college.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got some time before that happens,” you murmured soothingly. You knew this was something he worried about, he’d told you often enough. He felt like he was losing time with Emily, that the window he had was closing more and more with each passing day. That feeling only ramped up after Em had been taken hostage. You couldn’t blame him; for the first few months after, you’d hugged Emily a little longer and a little tighter whenever you saw her, something she endlessly rolled her eyes at but kindly allowed you to do each time.

“Not much.”

You bit your lip, choosing to ignore Pops who appeared in front of you, frantically gesturing behind him. Rolling your eyes, you turned to the side, lowering your voice further. “I think it’s a great idea. I’m glad you’re doing this, taking some time for yourself and to spend with Em. To hell with everyone and everything else these next few days, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled.

“And if anyone calls you from the department, I will personally run over their cell phone with my car. Twice.”

“About that…”

“Beau,” you growled in warning, walking away from Pops who was dogging your every step.

“That’s why I’m calling you. I’m not taking any calls from work for the next few days, especially if I get Em to go camping with me. I don’t want any interruptions and I trust that you and Hoyt will have a handle on things while I’m gone.”

You pressed your lips together, hating to lie to your best friend, but it was important for him to take this time. He never willingly took time off and you knew he needed this time with Em, even before he said anything. And for him to have come to this decision so suddenly, you knew he meant it. There was never a single second that Beau hadn’t made himself accessible, day or night, for anyone in the department. So for him to go radio silent intentionally for any period of time, he meant business. “Understood,” you agreed.

“But, Y/N, saying that…I do want you to call me if anything pops up that you think I should know about.”

And there it was, the caveat. “I’m not calling you, Arlen. Like you said, we’ve got this.”

“I mean it. I’m only available to you, Y/N, no one else. I trust your judgment and I know you’ll filter out most of the white noise. But also, if you need anything…you call me.”

“I appreciate that but we’ll be okay,” you reassured, quickly stepping into an empty interrogation room and shutting the door on Pops. You managed to wedge a chair underneath the knob before he could try it, smirking in satisfaction when the door failed to give way and he started knocking instead while calling your name. “And listen, I don’t want to intrude on family time but if you do need a hand with the painting, I can always drop by later, repaint everything you did, take my pineapple pizza I’ll definitely be ordering for a job well done, and go.”

“Hey! I know how to paint!”

“Yeah, you also told me you knew how to cook, too.”

“I can grill,” Beau snapped.

You heard the chair beginning to budge and you pressed all of your weight against the door, trying to prevent Pops from opening it. “Uh huh. I think the charred left corner of your deck would beg to differ.”

“Wow. That was one time and everybody was okay. When are you gonna let that go?”

“Whenever you allow me to call in some hot Helena firefighters next time to put out the fire and let me watch rather than making me extinguish the flames myself with a fire extinguisher I luckily had in my car that day. I was cheated out of muscles and sweat and big, big fire hoses that get everything wet….all that water pressure—”

“Ah, ah, alright, alright. Stop. Bad images in my head. Never coming out now thanks to you.”

You couldn’t help but snicker. “You deserve it. Now, seriously, go enjoy your time with your daughter and leave the department to us. If you need help later or if you just need anything, give me a call.” Pops was pushing against you and you were ashamed to admit you were losing the battle. Your feet were sliding against the floor as the door struggled to open, the chair having been lost some moments ago.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll let you go so you can get to work. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” you struggled to get out. “Have fun. Give Em a hug from me.”

“Copy that. And Y/N?”

Pops finally pushed into the room and you had no choice but to abandon your post or be flat up against the wall. “Yeah?”

“Be careful out there.”

Pops was hunched over catching his breath, glaring up at you and pointing to his watch, mouthing “Hoyt”. You smiled sweetly down at him. “You know me. Always am.”

You hadn’t heard from Beau later that day but it was just as well. You had had the day from hell just as you’d expected. You settled down on your couch in the comfiest clothes you could find and binged Real Housewives of Dallas. You normally couldn’t stand these types of reality shows, but this one had grown on you and always provided the perfect distraction. That and Floribama Shore. Beau had been present for at least the first two episodes of the latter to which he stared over at you in disbelief, promptly got up to grab a beer, and told you that he didn’t know you. And you replied back that you didn’t mind as long as he was willing to bring a perfect stranger a beer from your kitchen.

While you were indulging in your comfort show, Em had sent you pictures of the painted rooms as promised. It looked good and you liked the colors she and Carla had picked out. You broke into hysterics when one picture had Beau posing in front of a perfectly painted wall with a smug smirk and holding his arms out proudly. Beau was so lucky you didn’t have the password to the department’s website; you would have uploaded the picture so fast it would have made Poppernak’s head spin. Another picture showed a great selfie of all of the family. You liked that one, all genuine smiles and plenty of paint all over every single one of them (Em obviously had taken your suggestion and started a paint fight, you were so proud), Emily posing in the middle between her parents. It was nice to see them enjoying themselves, especially after the year they’d had.

You knew it hadn’t been easy for Carla to choose to stay in the same area she and her daughter had experienced so much trauma in; she had told you as much. It was important to her to keep what family she had left together, that’s why she initially wanted to move back to Houston. But when Beau had convinced her to stay, she did it to keep Emily’s family together though it cost her quite a bit personally. You did everything you could to help, leaning into the friendship you used to have with her back in Texas. Not to mention Carla and Cassie had also formed their own sort of friendship thanks to the mutual links of Beau, you, and Emily. There were quite a few times Denise had mentioned to you that she and Cassie had stopped in for tea when Carla was still trying to sell the old property. You all provided as much support as you could, to let her and Emily (and Beau by extension) know that they weren’t alone here.

Your phone chimed with the arrival of a new picture. This one had you bowled over with laughter for the next two minutes. Emily had taken a selfie of her and Beau making horrified faces at the camera, an open box of Hawaiian pizza next to them, the pineapple clear as day on top of the cheese (sans the sauce as you had ordered). Emily had added in text: “Thanks for the pizza…I guess?” You rolled your eyes, smiling, and texted her back that it was pizza and if she could get her dad to eat a piece, she absolutely had to record a video and send it to you. She sent a winky emoji back with a thumbs up when a new message came in from Beau.

You shrugged and quickly typed out a reply.

You snickered at the emojis he sent in response. Beau didn’t usually do emojis, that had to be Em’s influence, and you sure were getting a kick out of it.

Satisfied that you had more than made your point about pineapple on pizza being superior, you snuggled down into your pillows and started another episode of Real Housewives. Seeing location shots of Dallas intercut with the episode caused a little pang inside your chest. Perhaps that’s part of the reason you tolerated such a dramatic show. You had only been to Dallas once or twice but still, the images reminded you of home and it provided a tiny salve for your heart, something you needed after such a rough day. Smiling when you were flooded with happy memories, you slowly closed your eyes and you were out like a light before Leanne and Brandi could start fighting for the umpteenth time over who betrayed who while Stephanie watched from the background looking torn.

And the rest of the week had been just as rough. You had come to refer to it as Hell Week between you and Poppernak. Hoyt made sure to give you the worst calls she could pull from the list each morning, either giving them to you directly or giving them to Pops knowing you would join him so he had backup. And you were pretty sure she had Madge dispatching any bullshit calls to you both during the day. Truthfully, it was starting to wear on you a little but you refused to show any trace of it to Hoyt or anyone in the department. That’s exactly what she wanted and you’d die first before giving that spiteful little blonde one goddamn inch.

Poppernak had even mentioned something one afternoon as you rode about an hour outside of town for a new case. It wasn’t his norm to make comments on the ongoing conflict between you and Hoyt, choosing to cruise in neutral territory instead, but that’s how much of a fucked up week it had been.

“Man, what did you do to piss off Hoyt this time?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “I was born, I guess.”

He chuckled nervously and shook his head, turning his gaze back onto the road. “Or something.”

“Or something,” you echoed.

You hadn’t heard from Beau in a couple of days except for a single text message to let you know that he had convinced Emily to go camping after all. He asked if everything was going okay and you assured him that all was well. It was a lie of course but you refused to tell him the truth. You were a big girl and you could take care of yourself. Besides, you chose to meet Hoyt’s petty bullshit with indifference.

And now you here were, schlepping through three foot long grass like you were on a fucking safari, looking for some old couple’s runaway dog and finding every conceivable pile of dog shit for you to plow through. Pops was whistling and calling out for the dog in his area and you were pretty sure he hadn’t moved any further since you warned him about potential snakes. Normally, you would have rolled your eyes and planned to tease him later about his apprehension, but in this situation, you couldn’t help but think that he was the smart one. You kept surging forward blindly, hence the crap all over your shoes.

You had made it a few more feet when suddenly a dark head popped up not that far from your position, startling you and making you gasp. Your eyes went wide when you realized what you were looking at. Was that a…wolf? A goddamn wolf?

Poppernak called out the name of the dog, and the wolf’s head snapped in his direction. You were stunned, but you still had enough presence of mind to call over to your partner albeit calmly so as not to startle the animal in front of you. “Pops! Shhh.”

“What was that, Y/N? I didn’t catch that. You see something?” He yelled back, making you grind your teeth together.

You carefully raised a hand in his direction to get his attention. “I need you to be quiet,” you carefully enunciated as you watched the wolf staring you down. “There is a wolf in front of me.”

“I’m sorry, did you say a wolf?” Poppernak cried out in a mix of disbelief and alarm. You bit your lip to keep from screaming out at him to shut his trap like you desperately wanted to. The more loud sounds that were made seemed to agitate the wolf and you were right in its sights. If you somehow survived this, you were going to give Pops a serious talking to. If you told him to shut it out in the field while working with him, he needed to shut his damn mouth, no questions asked, case closed.

“Pops, stop making so much noise. You’re pissing it off,” you said as calmly as possible.

“What do you want me to do?” Pops chose to loudly whisper instead. “Should I call Animal Control?”

The wolf bared its teeth at you and growled. Great.

“Don’t think that’s gonna help.”

You watched as the animal tensed and coiled in a backwards motion, almost as if it was getting into an attack position. Your instincts warred with one another; you wanted to reach for your gun to protect yourself but you also didn’t want to make any movements that might pose more of a threat. From the continued growling and its yellow-eyed laser focus on you, it was obvious you were already considered one.

“Y/N,” Poppernak stage whispered to you. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered back. “They didn’t cover wolves in training at the academy.”

“I don’t know, either.”

“You’re from around here, Pops. How the hell do you not know what to do?”

“Hey, they didn’t cover this in training here, either. That’s why we have Animal Control.”

“Pops!”

“Okay, okay. Whatever you do, don’t look it in the eyes. I think I remember my grandpa telling me if you do that with a bear, they’ll take it as a challenge and it’ll make them want to attack.”

The wolf growled at you and coiled back further, making you let out a nervous breath. “It’s a little late for that, Pepper Snaps.”

“Hang on, Y/N. I’m coming.”

“No! Stay where you are!” You yelled out in shock, wincing when you realized your mistake.

You saw more teeth and heard another growl. You decided the hell with it, and slowly moved to grab your gun. This thing was going to attack you, that was obvious, and while you’d rather it just turn and run in the opposite direction, you had to defend yourself. At that very inopportune moment, your phone vibrated in your pocket and your head snapped up, gasping when you noticed the animal ready itself to spring at you. This was it; you were done for. One of your last thoughts was that you hoped your being mauled by one of the apex predators of Montana finally lit a fire under Beau to prompt him to action and he ripped Hoyt a new one for sending you and Pops out into the fucking wilderness with no backup or protection.

“Goldie!” The old man called out from the porch. “Here, girl!” He’d obviously given up trusting that you and Poppernak would find his dog. Based on the wolf in front of you, you had a feeling you knew where the missing pet had gone.

Almost as if it heard that thought and it had reached its limit on irritation, the animal growled and sprung forward at you, making you surge backwards and cry out as you fell promptly on your ass, right into several piles of dogshit you had somehow missed before. You held an arm up in front of your face as a last defense and closed your eyes, anticipating the feeling of those sharp teeth you had seen and the ensuing pain.

“Y/N!” Poppernak shouted. You could hear him running towards you. “I’m coming!”

Much to your surprise, the pain didn’t come. The impact didn’t even happen. Your eyes snapped open in time to see a tail whooshing past you. In shock, you watched as the wolf broke into a run towards the house.

“Pops! It’s heading towards the house!” You managed to get out. “The Knutsons!”

“Oh shit!” Had this been any other time, you would have laughed in surprise at Pops’ cursing; he never cursed. But this wasn’t any other time. “Mr. Knutson, get in the house! Get Mrs. Knutson and get inside! NOW!”

You went into a panic when you saw Lee make eye contact with the animal and instead of grabbing his wife and fleeing into the house as Pops instructed, a huge smile broke out onto his face and he held his arms out. “Goldie!”

The wolf increased its speed and you pulled your gun, jumping to your feet and running as fast as you could, Poppernak not too far behind you, both of you thinking the same thing: Lee was old and his eyesight might not be the best. He probably believed he saw his dog running towards him and being overwhelmed with relief, he didn’t think anything of it. He probably hadn’t even heard Pops’ yells too well, either, but even if he had, he’d probably think the deputy was mistaken. He was seeing his dog returning home to him. There was no way you were going to match the speed of the animal, it was going to beat you to the Knutsons, but you were determined to try. You just hoped you got there in time enough that the injuries wouldn’t be too bad.

You heard the wolf bark as it jumped onto the porch, right at the old man. “Get back, sir!” Poppernak yelled next to you. Your lungs and legs were burning, but you pushed yourself to pick up speed and gave it all you had, making leaps over little objects that littered the portion of the yard you were in to give yourself more momentum.

But to your surprise, the wolf stopped right before colliding with Lee, and instead raised up on its hind legs, placing its paws on his chest. “Shit,” you panted out and pumped your arms to help you move even faster. The wolf’s tongue was hanging out in between barks and you were close enough now to hear it let out a few cries, too. But thankfully, it didn’t attack Lee, or Marilyn when she got up and hurried over, the smile on her face mirroring her husband’s. It also didn’t bite Lee as he petted its huge head.

“Goldie! Where have you been? We’ve been so worried about you!” The wolf barked in the man’s face, making him laugh.

You and Poppernak came to a halt right in front of the house and began to raise your guns to porch level and stopped, thinking the older couple was still confused. “Mr. Knutson, be very careful,” the deputy warned. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”

Both Lee and Marilyn glanced down at you in confusion. “What do you mean?” The former asked.

“Mrs. Knutson, carefully step away, slowly,” you added. You were still working out in your head how you were going to get Lee safely out of the way and how you could scare the wolf off so you wouldn’t have to shoot it. Poppernak could then call Animal Control and get them out here so the Knutsons would be safe. Catching a whiff of yourself, realizing it was actually wolf shit you had been trekking through this entire time, you even entertained the thought of looking into getting someone out here to clean up the property for them.

Marilyn’s brows furrowed. “Why? You found our Goldie!”

“Ma’am, that’s not Goldie,” Pops calmly stated, both of your eyes still centered on the large animal who growled in your direction.

“Yes, it is!” Lee insisted.

“Sir,” you began. “I’m afraid it’s not.” You really didn’t desire to tell these people that their beloved dog was gone, most likely killed by the predator in front of them, but that was something you could worry about after everyone was safe.

“It is too Goldie! Watch!” Lee glanced down at the animal, forcing it to make eye contact. “Goldie, sit!”

And to both yours and Poppernak’s shock, the wolf jumped down and did just that, looking as docile as any well-trained pet.

“Good girl,” Lee praised. “Now, lay down.” The wolf again did as the old man instructed, wagging its tail.

You and your partner exchanged a mystified look; had the Knutsons been feeding a wolf this whole time? And now it was following their commands? How was this even possible? Just when you thought you’d seen everything.

Lee began to laugh. “Oh, I see. You think she’s a wolf from the wild, right?”

You failed to see the humor and swiftly nodded, still keeping your eye on the animal. “She’s not?” Poppernak asked in disbelief.

“Oh my Lord, no. Goldie here is a hybrid. We’ve had her since she was a pup. Got her from a breeder. So you can relax now and put those guns away. You’re making her nervous.”

Poppernak slowly placed his back in his holster but you simply lowered yours. The wolf may now be watching you in keen interest, tongue lolling out of its mouth and panting heavily, but you still remembered how aggressive it looked back in the yard when you came across it. You weren’t blindly trusting what the old man was telling you; you needed proof first.

“Mr. Knutson, when I asked you what your dog looked like, you told me it had black fur and yellow—”

“Eyes,” Lee finished for you. “That’s why we call her Goldie. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

One glance at the wolf confirmed the rich gold staring back at you.

“But when we asked you the breed, you said it was a mutt, half King Shepherd. Not to mention it was about to attack Y/L/N here.” You gave a subtle nod of appreciation to your partner at that last little mention. Both of you were trying to desperately make sense of this odd situation. Especially since you asked for a photo of Goldie and you were told you didn’t need one since she had to be lost on the property somewhere, possibly hurt or dying. It wasn’t like her not to come home by nightfall; her being missing for two days straight, she was in trouble. Their urgency overrode your attempts to get a visual of the animal you were looking for. You’d even tried to persuade them to supply you with a photo anyway but Lee had been adamant, which is exactly why you and Pops had been making your way through the endless yard.

“That’s her dog half. And a hybrid is a mutt,” Lee mused, smiling down at his pet. “I know she’s big and scary looking but I assure you she’s harmless. You probably just scared her is all. She doesn’t care for trespassers and she’s a little wary of visitors.” Marilyn nodded along with him.

You looked over at Pops who gave you a shrug, unsure of how to proceed. You let out a heavy breath and slipped your gun back into your holster, your gaze landing back on the wolf who laid her head down on her paws, almost as if she was trying to look innocent of the accusation that had just been made against her. Your eyes lifted to her owner when a thought hit you.

“You got her from a breeder, you say? Surely you’ll have papers for her then.”

Lee scratched at his head. “We do, somewhere. It’d take us forever to find it but, hey! You ask the sheriff or Miss Hoyt. They know Goldie, they know she’s legal.”

Your jaw tensed at the mention of the undersheriff. You knew she was saving the worst calls for you to go out on and you had accepted this week was pure hell that you would get through no matter what, but this…this was just plain vindictiveness at its best. Now the smirk she’d given you when giving you this call made sense, along with her insisting Animal Control wasn’t needed when you mentioned it and the Knutsons were a lovely old couple that just needed a little hand holding since they didn’t have anyone else, their kids and grandkids having long ago moved out of state.

“Y/L/N, the dog is probably somewhere in the yard and they don’t even know it. It would mean a lot to them if we respond to let them know we’re taking it seriously. Just go out there, look around, whistle a few times, and if the dog doesn’t come running, then tell them we’ll put flyers up. Open and shut case, trust me.”

You weren’t a violent person by any means. You could certainly hold your own in a fight but that wasn’t the way you preferred to resolve things. But if Hoyt were here in front of you right this second, you would have decked her.

You glared over at Poppernak who was gaping over at you. He seemed just as surprised as you so that made you feel slightly better. At least the whole department hadn’t been in on this. You gave Lee a curt nod and turned to head back to the car, more than done for the day, when you heard a loud gasp from behind you.

“Oh, honey.” You spun around, thinking the worst only to find Marilyn holding a hand over her mouth, her gaze intent on you, while Lee appeared to be struggling to hold in a laugh. You knew it before she even said it. “You are just covered in…in…”

“Dog shit,” Lee finished for his wife and burst out into laughter. Goldie began barking excitedly, almost as if she was trying to laugh along with her owner. She ignored the glare you sent her way and kept on barking. You glanced down and you were indeed covered in the excrement. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Pops hold a closed fist up to his mouth, making a sound that suspiciously sounded like a chuckle and taking a step away from you. You scowled over at him, daring him to join in the laughter. The chuckle morphed into a sudden cough mixed in with a throat clearing, his expression turning sheepish.

Marilyn didn’t laugh, though. “I have some baby wipes,” she offered.

“Thank you,” you grumbled, not able to inject any gratitude into your voice just then. You hoped you didn’t sound too rude. Baby wipes were certainly better than nothing.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Marilyn hurried inside the house and you couldn’t help but continue to glare at the dog who watched you intently, tongue hanging out, not a care in the world, and a gleam in her golden eyes that confirmed for you that she found your predicament just as entertaining as her owner did. You shot her a ferocious glare as you worked to get your jacket off carefully with Poppernak’s help. Seeing the excrement now caked underneath your fingernails, you left out an irritated huff. Hell week indeed.

A/N: This was the image I had in my head of Goldie btw (black fur, yellowish eyes):

This is a full on wolf but definitely the look could fit the hybrid I think, depending on genetics and the dog breed of course.

Please let me know what you think. 👉👈

#beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x y/n #beau x reader #beau x female reader #beau x you #beau x y/n #beau arlen #big sky fanfiction

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