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piratefishmama · 4 months

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I Wish | Part 2

Two sharp claps woke Eddie that following morning.

Followed by the whirring sound of some kind of motor, and then gradually, sunlight.

Sunlight travelled up his face until it hit his eyes directly, lighting up all the little veins behind his eyelids that nobody ever really wanted to see but no matter which way he shoved his head into the pillow, and he did try left and right…

He couldn’t dodge the sunlight.

“Wakey Wakey rockstar!” He was awake. Wide awake, sat up very straight very quickly and then everything felt very wrong when his world spun and— “awh shit Eddie, not again. Hold it! Don’t you dare, not until I—” chunks hit the floor about two seconds before a bucket would have been in place to catch it all. The shockingly red bucket held frozen in place where it’d failed to reach him. “Get there.”

Whoever that was sounded so disappointed.

Eddie had no idea why, but he felt like death. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and his head ached like he’d been hit by a brick wall, not him walking into one, no, one falling on him.

“Ngghhh” he groaned, before spitting what remained in his mouth out into the bucket, for what it was worth.

“What did you do last night, Eddie?” Eddie lifted his head up slowly, trying not to agitate his throbbing headache any more than it already was. With squinted eyes, he struggled to make out the person in front of him, but even when his focus returned, he couldn’t place exactly who the guy was, nor… where he was.

The room he was in was… large.

A huge open space with beige walls sparsely decorated by what looked like gaudy hotel art, he didn’t recognise the bedsheets either, softer than his usual ones, and when he finally found his eyes able to focus against the harsh direct light of the windows, with his hand shielding them a little, the large floor to ceiling windows of his room looked out across a city skyline.

“Who… who’re you?” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Mystery guy didn’t look too impressed.

“Are you kidding me? Who—who am I? That’s how bad it is? You’re so fucked up you’ve forgotten me this time? I swear to god every fucking time Eddie. Every single goddamn time it’s like this and you just—I keep falling for it!!” Every pitchy hike of that voice had Eddie wincing back “What excuse will it be this time Eddie? It was just ‘one last time?’ Or what about your greatest hit ‘everyone else was doing it’, or maybe you’ll just wave it away like it doesn’t even matter? What did you even take?!” Eddie just wanted to hide, he wanted to hide under the mystery covers, away from this loud person who seemed to know him but…

Eddie was still drawing a blank.

The last thing he remembered, the last thing he clearly remembered, was being in the trailer after coming home from the faire, he remembered… he remembered—

“Where’s… where’s Stephan?” He remembered the Genie.

“Stephan? Who the fuck is Stephan? Are you—motherfucker are you cheating on me?! Who the FUCK is Stepha—” the bedroom door opened, cutting off the mystery mans tirade before Eddie could think too deeply about the idea of cheating on someone he didn’t even know, and like straight out of some kind of sit com, in walked the man himself.

All that was missing was an audience cheer track.

“I’m Stephan, Louie. Please get out.” ‘Louie’ straightened up, face seemingly set into a permanent scowl, he’d have probably been attractive if Eddie’s first encounter with him wasn’t that.

“Steve? Where the hell have you been?! You let him get like thi—”

“Get out Louie, or I remove you.” Arms crossed over broad chest, frame tall, broad, his attire less like it was in the trailer, now he wore a simple white button down and a pair of black slacks. Imposing despite its simplicity. “And make no mistake I will remove you.” He added, tone just as firm as his stance, Louie faltered, resolve quickly crumbling under that impressive presence.

“Fine, but I’m done with this. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t support him like this, so… please have my things sent to my apartment in Chicago. I’m finished.” And out he went, without even so much as a backwards glance to the deeply confused man still in bed, door slammed behind him leaving him alone with ‘Steve’.

“…Stephan?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“What the fuck is going on?” The outfit melted away, replaced with a glittering twinkle of a stereotypical magical effect, by the peasant garb he’d worn in the trailer. It was him.

He was real.

Stephan, or… Steve. Steve was easier, he was going to use Steve. Steve offered him his best attempt at an apologetic smile, before approaching to sit on the edge of the bed. “World fame, big shot. You’re lucky I didn’t dump you mid-way through one of your gigs, or worse, last night. Sorry but this was the uh… lesser of many evils. You’re currently in LA staying at a hotel midway through a press tour to advertise your new album, and that… was Louie. Your boyfriend of… three months now? Underwear model, definitely too young for you, I never approved but hey, who listens to the Genie? Nobody, because you’re all too ‘metal’ to listen to the Genie.”

That was… so much information at once. The room still felt like it was spinning, Louie had left the bucket on the floor next to the throw up. Eddie kind of wanted to throw up again. He couldn’t even process the ‘boyfriend’ thing.

“Can… can I wish to feel better?” He was almost proud of himself for coming up with that one.

“Sure you can.”

“I wish I felt better.” A snap of Steve’s fingers, and all those aches, all those pains, the headache the nausea the spinning, it all just. Vanished. Kind of disorientating but, for less than a second, and he was fine. Clear as a whistle, never felt better than he did in that moment. “Holy shit…” Steve smiled. He was prettier than Louie when he smiled.

“You’re welcome. Listen Eddie… I’ve basically disguised myself as your bodyguard in this reality, I exist as a normal person in your life, your band know me, your friends know me, I will be there in all realities we walk through together in some way shape or form. But this one… this one is tricky.”

“Can I wish for the throw up to be gone cause it’s starting to smell.”

“Go ahead.”

“I wish the throw up was gone.” Another snap, both the vomit, and the bucket were gone “oooh bucket too, you overachiever” Steve snorted a little laugh, shaking his head, making his softly coifed bangs sway lightly. “Where were you when I needed to clean my room last month?”

“Please be serious, Eddie, only for a moment.” Eddie settled in the bed, hands in his lap, totally fixed on Steve. Then he noticed he had new tattoos on his hands and suddenly that was way more interesting. As were the tattoos up his arms, a whole sleeve, no. Both sleeves! He looked down at his chest, MORE tattoos, and— Steve grabbed the covers before he could lift them to check his lower half. “Eddie.” Oop. The tone was firm, not quite as intimidating as the one Steve had used on Louie, but… Eddie stilled.

“I’m listening big guy.”

“You wished for world fame, that your band were to become world famous. That does not happen in a blink of an eye, Eddie. Not even by magic. That happens with years of experience, of effort, it happens with dive bars, basement, and garage gigs, it happens with multiple awful record deals that limit and exploit you until you find something that works, it takes nearly breaking apart, it takes, and it takes, and it takes, but what it takes the most of… is time. Eddie. It takes time.” And wasn’t that sobering.

He looked at his hands again. Saw the weathered lines amidst the tattoos for the first time.

Steve didn’t stop him this time from looking beneath the covers, there were more tattoos, way more than he remembered having, but there were lines where lines shouldn’t be, scars where scars shouldn’t be, there were wrinkles in places he was too young to have wrinkles in. Weathered.

He looked weathered.

Steve could only be sympathetic about it, could only appear softened, like he knew this would be tough, but he couldn’t really do anything about it.

“…How much time, Steve?” His fingers gripped the covers tight, he could feel his heart in his throat, thumping away faster as anxiety skyrocketed. He was older. His wish was world fame he didn’t think about anything other than that. It wasn’t even supposed to work Steve was supposed to just be some crazy homeless person who walked in from the cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be real.

“About thirty years?” Eddie pinched himself again on autopilot. It hurt. Silently, he threw his covers off of himself, and stood, the room didn’t spin like it had been earlier and nothing hurt like before, Steve’s magic working like a charm. Still silent, he crossed the room to the bathroom, turned on the light, and found himself looking at… a stranger.

No. It was still him. But he was struck with the thought of why someone like Louie, youthful and handsome as he’d been even in his anger, would want something like him? Wrinkled skin, bags under his eyes, his body slimmer than it ever ought to be and his hair… still long and badly maintained, but now peppered with streaks of grey. “What…” his voice croaked, his hand lifting to rub at the loose skin of his cheeks. Gaunt. Weathered. “What happened to me?”

“Addiction mainly.” Steve was there, behind him in the doorway, close but not touching. Never touching. He held a robe in his hand.

“I don’t do—”

“Mmm… you didn’t… not at first. You smoked but… drugs were more a business venture to you than a vice, right?” Absently, Eddie nodded. He’d dealt his fair share of weed, so what? How had he gone from dealer to— “one of those record labels that didn’t fit. You see… it’s easy to keep a band relevant and making money, when they’re always making headlines, good or bad, it doesnt matter, getting publicly trashed makes some people more money than it loses. Coupled with heartbreak, encouragement, and easy access… impulse control was never your strong suit, was it?” He spoke like he knew him. Maybe he did, Steve had said a genie knew its master, right? “World fame has its dark side. There’s no gain without some form of suffering, Eddie, especially when the gain is as gigantic as world fame.”

“Can—can I go back?”

“Of course you can, you need only wish it. However… I don’t think you should though. Not yet. This is jarring, seeing yourself like this, it’s incredibly jarring, however… you asked for world fame and haven’t even experienced it. Just a small downside. Why don’t you live the day, think of it as an opportunity to experience what this is like, maybe it’ll help you achieve some goals in your own time.” Eddie’s eyes returned to his own reflection, taking it in…

He kind of looked like Wayne. There were worse people he could look like in his older years, especially since people had always claimed he looked like his father. But no... he looked like Wayne. He took some comfort in that.

“…Will it be safe?” Steve regarded him with silence for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to understand. “Nothing’s ever totally safe, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But as your bodyguard I’ll be as close as I can at all times. You don’t need to ask if you can wish it either, if you want to go home, just wish it, and it’ll be done, alright?” Steve stepped forwards into Eddie’s space, and carefully draped the robe over his bare shoulders as Eddie nodded his acknowledgement and pulled the robe tighter around himself, Steve’s hands still there, a pleasantly warm and grounding weight on his shoulders. “Now you should shower, and get yourself dressed. You have a few things to do today so I’ll be waiting outside to take you to your first thing once you’re ready.”

Eddie was almost scared to ask. “Which is?”

“Breakfast of course, but then you’re taping a talk show so chop chop!”

Two quick claps in succession and Steve was off, headed for the door to give him some privacy as if he hadn’t just seen Eddie completely nude, ignoring the sharp, “A what?!” That followed from the bathroom as he exited the suite.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #The Adventure begins!!

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the1975attheirverybest · 7 months

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Education

Lesson #7: Communication is KEY.

A/N: well; you asked for it. It’s here.

Warnings: smut. Also not entirely proof read cuz I wanted to post it today for y’all so…

———

“Amelia?” Matty called out to her from behind the door, resting his forehead against it. “Can I please come in?” He cooed.

He knocked this time, in case she hadn’t heard him, “Amelia, darlin, please let me in.” He listened carefully for a shuffling of feet, any signs of movement at all, but none came. Soon, he began to pace back and forth to alleviate the raging of his heart. “Amelia, please. Open the door- please, I need to know that you’re alright.”

The silence was unbearable. As he paced by the bathroom door, Matty went over the events of the night in his mind, combing through every detail as he remembered it, trying to identify the moment that things went wrong.

He’d spent the entire way to the party wondering if she was going to be there. She’d designed the art work for the album that they were about to celebrate, so he’d hoped that Jamie would’ve had the sense to invite her. It’d gotten difficult to get a hold of her after their last phone call. Which, embarrassingly, he’d been too drunk to remember the details of. He has a vague recollection of talking to her, touching himself, alone, in his hotel bed, listening to her moan on the other end of the phone and wishing that she were eighth there with him. But he doesn’t remember much else. The texts were sparse and far between after that night. She wouldn’t pick up whenever he tried to FaceTime her. He’d written it off as time zone issues. It wouldn’t be the first time that his friendships or relationships were affected by his itinerant lifestyle. As he’d learned the hard way, over the years, nothing beats being in the same room with people. No matter how good distant connection is.

He’d spotted her soon after arriving at the event; seen her standing with a group of people that she doesn’t really like. He knew she was too polite to excuse herself from the conversation, so he figured if he inserted himself into the group, he could help pull her away.

If he was being honest with himself, his escape to LA was anything but effective, he’d thought about her every night while he was there. Even when he met up with his hookup. He was ashamed that he’d close his eyes and think of Amelia every time that another woman touched him. Try to remember what she sounded like. How good she felt wrapped around him the last time that he’d fucked her. How good he felt being with her. It took everything in him not to call out her name in another woman’s bed.

So, of course he’d been eager to finally see her again. But was that so wrong? Is that what hurt her? Was he pushy when he asked her to go into the bathroom with him? Did she not want to? She did hesitate, briefly, but he thought it was just because it was an entirely new thing that she’d never done before. And that was the whole point of their arrangement. He was meant to make her feel safe to try things out and figure out what she liked. Gain confidence to do things with other people. How’d they get from that to here?

Matty slid against the bathroom door crumbling yo the floor. “I just want you to know I’m right here, okay? I’m gonna stay right here. I just- I don’t know how to- I don’t know what to do right now, but I’m still here. I haven’t left you. I’m not going to.”

He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to breathe, deeply, and collect himself. Patience has never been a virtue that he possessed, though. “Oh, fuck this.” He mumbled before standing back up and banging on the door. “Amelia, please! Open this fuckin door! At least make a sound so I know that you’re okay in there. I can’t be out here thinking that- that you’ve hit your head against something and need- need- fuck! open this fuckin door!” He banged on the door repeatedly, more aggressive this time, as his patience wore thin.

His hands hurt from knocking against the door and his chest felt tight with worry. He won’t take this anymore. “Right, that’s it, then. I’m getting something to unlock this door with.”

With a 4 minutes YouTube tutorial, a butter knife, and one of his credit cards, he finally managed to open the door without breaking it.

“Oh, Amelia…” his heart sunk when he saw her, sobbing on the bathroom floor, her whole, naked body shaking. The sight paralyzed him for what felt like an eternity. His worst fear had come true. In trying to protect her from the hurt of the potential ill-intentions and miscommunications of complete strangers, by offering to be the person that she could experiment on, or with, he’d somehow wound up hurting her himself. The worst part is that he had no idea what he’d done wrong.

This moment wasn’t about his self-pity and indulgent guilt, he’d feel his feelings later on. Right now, he needed to be there for her. He ran into the room to grab the first thing he could find — his own shirt— and brought it back to wrap her up in, carrying her in his arms. His heart pounded against his chest, terrified that he’d make a wrong move and fuck this up, even more, so he narrated every single step he took, waiting a moment to give her the chance to object.

“Gonna just put this on you, so you don’t catch a cold…alright?” She said nothing. “I- umm- wanna get off the floor?” Again, nothing. “Well- I’m going to pick you up now, okay? If you want me to stop, just- say…say something.” “Bringing you to bed now, unless- well, unless you want to be sat somewhere else.”

She made no effort to protest or to stop him, so he took that as permission and proceeded, slowly, gently, as lightly as he could. His delicate touch and strong arms were a far cry from what was going through his mind. Matty held her in his arms as she wept into his bare chest. With every breath she took, every sniffle, and every tear drop that fell from her face onto his skin, his heart broke over and over again until he thought it couldn’t possible hurt any worse- and then it did.

When he felt her finally go still, her trembling breath calm and even, he looked down, and saw that she was asleep. Should he be relieved that, at least, she wasn’t crying anymore? Or should he focus on thr fact that, whatever he’d done had caused her to cry her eyes out, literally, to the point where she could no longer keep them open? He didn’t have it in him to move her or disrupt the first moment of peace that she’d had all night. So as his body went numb underneath her weight, he replayed their night in his mind, yet again, silent tears running down his face.

***

It was 3 am when Matty awoke from a dreamless sleep. Amelia was now fully wearing his shirt, all buttoned up, and clinging to his body, her legs intertwined in his, her cheek against his stomach, as she slept. The lights were turned out all the way, so she must’ve woken up at some point and walked around the hotel suite. When he stretched out his arm to feel around for his phone, he felt a water bottle on the nightstand. At least she’d had some water. That’s a good sign. Or was he desperate for anything to convince him that she was alright? Did he not deserve to feel relieved yet? Would he ever? He felt weak looking down at her. He wanted to kiss her forehead, to take her pain away, but he had this unshakable feeling that he’d break her, hurt her, cause her harm, if he ever touched her again.

In the morning, his body felt cold without Amelia pressed up against him. He had one text on his phone. It hurt his eyes to read it before they’d blink away the sleep. Mia ❤️: had to leave for a work thing. I’m okay. Thank you.

This was the worst news that he could’ve woken up to. He slammed his head harshly against the pillow, a loud cry tore through his chest.

***

“Matty?” Adam stood in the doorway, smiling, as he watched Matty sprawled out on the floor, arranging his son’s toys in some sort of circle, mumbling to the kid as if they were engaged in a serious conversation. “It’s been a while, what’re you two up to?” Adam walked over to them.”

“We’re creating toy rankings” Matty said matter-of-factly. “You know, like the Premier League tables?”

Adam giggled, Shaking his head. “Okay; I know the baby can’t be THAT entertaining and I’m his dad. So, who or what are you hiding out here from? And why couldn’t you do it at your own house?”

Matty glanced at Adam briefly before returning his attention to the army of toys. “Not hiding.”

“It’s Amelia, isn’t it?” Adam sighed loudly, joining Matty on the floor and instantly taking his son into his lap. “What’ve you done this time?”

Matty ceased his fiddling, cocking his head in shame. “I- erm…I- maybe didn’t pay attention when I should have.” Saying it out loud began to help piece together the situation in his head. “She- was trying to let me know that- that she wasn’t alright. I completely missed it.”

“Don’t sound much like you.” Despite Adam’s concern, he put on a cheerful demeanor to keep his boy happy. The contrast between his face and his words gave the conversation an eerie feel. Marty found it mildly distressing, if fatherly and admirable.

“I know. I fucked things up. Badly.”

“Well, have you apologized to her?”

“I- I want to. I just….can’t look her in the eye. And…..well, if that’s how I feel - Can’t imagine how she must feel.”

Adam said nothing for a long moment. When he spoke again, Matty hadn’t expected him to still be on that train of thought. “Let me ask you this: do you and Amelia ever just….hang out?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, not for sex. Just- for the sake of hanging out.”

Matty rolled his eyes, insulted by the implications of the question. “Of course we do. All the fuckin time. We went to see a film not too long ago, and, she came to see the set when we were working on the designs for tour. She stayed at mine one night cuz she was too drunk to go home…..” Matty paused, catching his breath, “do you need the dates and times as well? The fuck is ‘do you hang out?’ What kind of question is that!”

“Matty,” Adam looked him straight in the eyes, noting that, by his defensiveness, Adam must’ve hit upon a sore subject. “this all happened before the two of you started….well, fucking. Have you spent any time together as friends since then?”

Matty’s lips instantly parted, he was about to respond with “of course we have! What a ridiculous thing to ask!!” But, as he thought about it, he realized that Adam was right. He and Amelia were no longer really friends. His expression shifted from offended to embarrassed.

“It’s not like you’re incapable of maintaining the friendship.” Adam consoled him. “You’ve slept with friends of yours and kept them as friends before. So, why won’t you do it with Amelia?”

“I-I don’t know. It’s not on purpose. The time has just not been right recently. It’s just the way things have been going. I’ve just been busy. You know this. Band stuff.”

“So you have time to fuck her, but you don’t have time to hang out with her?”

Matty winced unable to bare hearing that about himself. “Well, not when you put it like that….She came to me and asked for this! We made an agreement- it’s not like that! You’re making me sound like a fuckin creep.”

“Go.” Adam nodded towards the door. “Go on, go apologize to her. I gotta get this little man ready for bedtime, anyway. Uncle Matty’s gotta go.”

***

Amelia was stunned when she answered the door, “Matty, what are you-“

“May I come in?” He spoke too quickly, nerves taking over him.

It was late. Plus, Matty never came over unannounced. So, with some confusion and concern, she let him in.

“What’s all this?” She pointed to the bags in his hands.

“We’ll get to that in a minute.” He waved her question away, his eyes scanning the apartment that he’s been to countless times before, with new found novelty. Anything to avoid eye contact. “Wanted to- erm…” he stuttered, still looking around. “how- how’re you feeling? You know, af-after the other night?” Matty stumbled over his words. He’d imagined this conversation going differently in his head. He’d even practiced his words on the way over here. But now that he was standing in front of her, certainty and practiced delicacy had left him. He was terrified. “You left before we could talk…”

Amelia led the way to the kitchen, with Matty trailing sheepishly behind her. She helped him set down the bags l in the kitchen while she considered his question. The answer was too complicated. She shrugged. “I’m okay….I think? I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m feeling. One minute I’m fine, and the next….” She was surprised to feel herself get so emotional so quickly.

All Matty could think was. you did this. You hurt her. You’re the reason she feels this way. He wanted to pick up one of her kitchen knives off the counter and pierce it through his own heart.

“Let- let’s sit down somewhere? Is that alright?”

Amelia’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t like him to be so uncertain. “Sure.”

In the living room, the sat on opposite ends of the same couch, Matty nervously fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. “So- I think….I think I know how you’re feeling and why it happened. Would you like to hear it?” He looked up at her, briefly.

She smiled nervously. “Sure- I mean, any ideas would be better than no ideas.”

“I think, well, I think we pushed you too far in the bathroom. I was a bit more aggressive than normal.” Matty’s voice got caught in his throat, so he paused, collecting himself. He was determined not to make this about himself and his feelings. He mustn’t speak unless he’s sure that he can control his tone.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I guess? The- umm, hair pulling, and the whole bending over thing…you being demanding. We’d never done any of that before.”

Matty nodded, “go-go on. It’s good. It’s good to hear you say these things.”

“Not sure what else to say.” She shrugged. “I mean, I liked it. All of it. It was just…a shock. Like, too many new things at the same time, you know?”

“Mhm…keep- keep going.” Matty was positively trembling.

“Ummm….I don’t know. That’s it I guess? It was just overwhelming for a moment. But for some reason it made things better. Like- when you told me to fade away from you and bend over? At first- I panicked-“

“Can I ask why?” His eyes shot up, meeting hers.

“Oh, gosh. This is embarrassing.” She mumbled under her breath. “Cuz- cuz I couldn’t see you. I like seeing your face. I like being able to tell that you were happy with me. That I was doing what you wanted me to do.” Her face turning read, she smiled. “But- the panic, it made the orgasm even better. I didn’t hate it, necessarily….it was just…a lot.”

Matty was tongue tied, his thoughts spiraling. He couldn’t find a beginning or an end to anchor himself to.

“Matty? Are you with me?” Amelia attempted to meet his gaze. “Honestly, I mean it! It didn’t hurt or feel unpleasant. I just-“

“Yeah, well, we’ve talked about this happening in theory.” Matty finally regained his footing. “Remember when I told you to read some shit about ‘subspace’ ? I think…..the excitement, the pain, the pleasure, the anxiety- perfect storm. A cocktail of Adrenalin and endorphins to push you over the edge.”

“Oh.”

“Would explain the sudden inability to speak…the overly emotional state, the….eagerness to do more.” Matty listed all the indications that he recalled her showing.

“Can I ask….Is that- umm….would it also happen to be why everything felt so…strong? Like lights and noises and stuff?”

Matty’s heart ached in his chest. He was sure that kitchen knife stab would be easier to take than this. “Fuck me…..yes, yes it would explain that as well.” He closed his eyes, willing the tears to stay where they are. “Anyway, so, I think, all of that, then throwing that new restrained position on you…demanding that you get me off…it may have been a mistake.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Not ‘may.’ It was a mistake. Definitely. It was my mistake. And I’m- I’m sorry.”

Amelia didn’t know how to feel about this new revelation. She was glad to have an explanation for how her body and her mind had felt, not to feel so helpless over her emotions, but she had no idea what to make of any of it.

“It gets worse.” Matty confessed. “Once you’d safe-worded, i- I should’ve done more. Been better. Taken better care of you.”

“Oh. No…matty you did good. I felt okay. I mean, not really, I was feeling entirely disconnected from my body, but-“

“Yeah that’d be the subspace psychology…”

“Like afterwards. I felt okay waking up the next morning. Just….confused and embarrassed.”

Matty laughed. “So…not okay.”

She smiled at him, “it’s really not that bad, looking back on it now…”

“I was scared. I owed you better. But I was scared that I’d hurt you. I suppose I- didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d missed all the signs. Let it get to a point where you had to tap out. And we hadn’t umm….we hadn’t made a real plan for what happens if you do tap out. I mean, we have our aftercare routine for afterwards….but, I should’ve anticipated that we’d both be in a completely different headspace if we stopped suddenly.” He shrugged. “I got lazy on you.”

“Matty-“

“I did! It’s true. I got complacent. Comfortable. Things were going so well that I didn’t think anything bad could ever happen between us. So- so I was less prepared!!! Even though im always on you about always being prepared. And speaking up. Fuck- what a hypocrite.”

“Matty, don’t say that!”

“I’ve failed you. And I’m so, so, sorry, Amelia.” Matty finally burst into tears. But it didn’t feel enough. He wanted to get on his knees and beg, bow down to her and tell her how much she didn’t deserve his negligence. How much he wishes it were the other way around.

Allowing himself a moment of release, Matty quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and jumped to his feet. “Anyway, erm….the bags in the kitchen. I- I brought some things that we could- I mean, if you’d allow me- and I completely understand if you’d rather not- to make it up to you….take care of you the way that I should have that night. I’ve bought some things. So we could see what you might like to have on hand for emergencies like that. That is….uhhh- if, of course, you’d ever let me touch you again.”

Amelia smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that very much.”

***

“Okay, and then…once you’re calm, well, I guess I’d wanna check for injuries or something.” Matty was running down a new checklist he’d created to ensure that not a single detail is ever lost on him again. “But, since, I’m days later now, and we didn’t use anything that could hurt you….I’ve drawn you a bath, so, if you’d go in there, and- You enjoy that while I get you some food and water.”

“You’d leave me?” Amelia’s voice sounded needier than she’d intended. “By myself?”

Matty was stumped. It was a good thing they were running this rehearsal. “I- erm…had assumed that you’d want some space.”

She shook her head passionately. “No, no! Not at all. All I wanted, that whole night, was you.”

Matty stood there, blinking rapidly, staring at her face. “Okay, then. I’ll sit by the bathtub? Keep you company…”

She stepped forward, hesitantly, decreasing the space between them. “Please get into the bath? With me?” Matty could tell, by the blushing in her face, that this wasn’t easy for her either. “Want you to hold me, please?”

Matty nodded, silently, and began to undress.

***

“Here, you can uhhh…you can have this to wear.”

Amelia looked down at his extended arm and the t shirt that he was offering, chuckling heartily. It was that old ragged brown t shirt that was not so oversized when he’d first bought it. “You love that horrific thing. It’s like your favorite, for some reason.”

“Yes, and you hate it, but it is my favorite, so….now, it’s yours. You know, to wear on days like that. For- I don’t know. Comfort? Not to be so presumptuous as-“

“Shut up and hand it over before I set it on fire or something.”

***

In bed, Matty wrapped his strong, thick arms around her, squeezing her tight, breathing in her hair. She held onto his bicep, her hand tiny in comparison, stroking his arm, up and down, running her fingers over his tattoos. This, she thought to herself, must be the safest place on earth.

With considerable effort, Amelia wiggled within Matty’s tight grip, turning around so she was face to face with him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulling herself closer to kiss him. For the first time ever, Matty was stiff to her touch, his lips passive. It wasn’t long before he pulled away, slightly.

“Amelia- what….we shouldn’t.” He whispered despite them being completely alone.

“Matty, please?”

“I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You’re not going to.”

“It’d be wrong. To- to take advantage. You’re vulnerable right now, and-“

“So are you.” She placed a kiss to his cheek, smiling faintly as she watched his face grow red.

“It’s my job to protect you- we agreed, I’d be a safe trial. I-“

“Please, I need you. I didn’t get to make you feel good last time. Please? Don’t want you to get into the habit of treating me like glass, I’d hate that.”

When he said nothing in return, she kissed him again, and this time, he kissed her back, his arms easing their grip on her, hands lowering to grab her bum. She moaned softly, smiling against his lips.

Matty hovered over her, now naked, body dipping his head to leave gentle kisses all over her.

“Stunning, you are.” He kissed the space between her breasts; her eyes fluttered shut. “Perfect.” He kissed her a little lower this time. “Gorgeous.” He was halfway to her belly button. Her hands naturally moved to hold his curls between them, her breathing quick and shallow, more desperate the closer that he got to her core.

“So good for me,” he mumbled against her skin, his breath raising goosebumps all over her, which did not go unnoticed by Matty.

He grinned, reveling in his power over her body. “Gonna make you feel so good, darlin,’ I promise.”

“Oh, Matty…” she whined, “please do.” Her neck strained against the pillow; her entire body jolting when she felt Matty’s mouth, suddenly, at her clit. “Fuckkk! Yeah….”

Matty growled, smiling to himself. He forbade his other senses from feeling anything but her. His eyes shut, his ears focused only on her melodious sounds. A zealous worshipper, every breath he drew was all her, taking breaks only to kiss and nib the insides of her thighs, his armpinning her down, firmly, as she writhed and shook. Not even her reflexive pulls at his hair could deter him. He was determined to give all of himself to her.

“Sorry, erm…” he smiled, shyly. “Condom.”

She felt his sudden absence sorely, whining out and calling for him to hurry back.

“I know, I know. Sorry, love.”

She heard him wince and shuffle onto the bed and knew that he was back.

“You ready for me?”

“Mhm, please, please, I need you.”

Matty had to restrain himself from instantly pulling her into his arms to ravage his insatiable lust for her, reminding himself that he wanted this to be gentle, soft, precise, slow.

She felt the slow pressure and opened her eyes to watch him throw his head back in pleasure, a long and drawn out moan leaving his lips.

“Fuuuuckkk mee- Amelia. So, fffuckin good. So tight.”

Matty’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he began to thrust into her, soon finding his rhythm. Once he’d given himself a moment to adjust, his finger was back on her clit, gently stroking it the way he knows she needed.

“Ohhh my god, Matty…” she whimpered.

“I know, my love. I’ve got you.” He leaned forward, taking her hands in his and intertwining their fingers together. He laid on top of her, his chest pressed into hers with the full weight of his body.

“You feel s-so good.” He cried out, the overwhelming pleasure bringing tears to her eyes.

Matty kissing and sucking at the skin underneath her ear put her over the edge. She gasped, incoherently repeating “I- I’m gonna- cum…but it’s - it’s too much.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, darlin. Let go, it’s gonna feel g- oh my god- good.”

He felt both her hands squeeze his tightly and knew that she wouldn’t hold on much longer.

With a loud cry of his name, she gasped sweetly into his ear, and he felt her clench and gush around him, trembling as she came undone.

Matty himself couldn’t hold on for much either, her squeezing him tightly through her orgasm, sent his own waves of pleasure on the heels of hers, his head falling to her shoulder, he moaned softly, his eyelashes tickling her skin.

Matty thought he’d heard her whisper “I love you” into his ear as the rush of excitement flooded his mind.

***

Neither of them had the heart to be the one to pull away first, so they remained in that intermingled state, basking in the afterglow of that release, nothing but the hot air, and their rapid breathing mellowing out, in the room around them.

Amelia swallowed harshly, her mouth feeling dry even as her body glistened with hers and Matty’s sweat.

“I love you.” She said more clearly this time.

He couldn’t have mistaken her words this time. And if he had any doubt at all, the feeling of her heart beating furiously against his, after it had just calmed down, was unmistakable.

Matty remained perfectly still, his mind blank. It was it racing so quickly that it was impossible to hold onto any thought? He couldn’t tell the difference.

“Matty? I love you.” Amelia spoke again, helpless to stop herself. Now that it was spilling out of her, it was as if the floodgates had opened. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him….

#matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy smut #matty healy fluff #matty healy angst #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x oc #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader

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danibee33 · 5 months

Text

More Simon “Ghost” Riley brain rot because I’ve been in a car for 8 hours 🙃

But this time, make it undercover!Ghost🩶

(inspired by “Billie Bossa Nova” by Billie Eilish - reader goes by callsign: “Hela”)

+++++

•thinking about Ghost being absolutely livid that he’s the one chosen to attend the event- some ritzy, wildly overpriced and stupidly exclusive, art exhibition.

•”You’re the only one that they wouldn’t know- they can’t recognize a face they’ve never seen. We’ve already talked about it-“ Price pinches at the bridge of his nose, sitting behind his desk, sitting in the same exact position he was in an hour ago, trying to convince his lieutenant that it truly was a last resort.

•Ghost huffs out a rumbling sigh, only just barely fighting back the urge to roll his eyes- the military bearing far too engrained in him to disrespect a superior officer. But really, he knows it’s because he respects John too much as a friend.

•and he’s just about close the door behind him when he hears the older man’s voice again, “Hela will be your second.”

•sure, he could try to argue like he so badly wants to, but judging by how far he made it with this, he wouldn’t be getting the answer he wanted either way.

•it’s not that the 141’s newest lieutenant was incompetent or incapable, no, you were far from either of those things.

•you were smart, a great leader, and even better in a team than he could ever dream of being. you had only made them better-

•but you were a fucking pain in his ass, with your annoying and, at times overbearing, sunshine fucking personality. Your habit of wanting to learn things about him and the others just to see them perk up a bit, though you’ve yet to figure out what makes Ghost not look like a walking rain cloud-

•and it had taken them months to figure out how the hell you got such a dark and foreboding callsign such as Hela, Norse fucking goddess of death- it didn’t make any sense, there was no way, right? No way someone so sweet and chipper could be that brutal.

•boy, how wrong they were.

•you were downright certifiable on mission, merciless on the battlefield, with your laughter trickling through the radios after a particularly challenging kill- there was something wrong with you, but he guesses that’s why you fit in so well with the rest of them.

•they were all a little fucked up in the head. You had to be, to do what needs to be done, to do all the terrible things no one in their right mind could do.

+++

•when the night arrives, Ghost is left staring at his own reflection, and it physically pains him to leave the comfort of his balaclava laying on the bathroom counter- even though he knew Price had made sure to limit his exposure to only the bare minimum, it didn’t make it easier.

•”You’ll meet Hela inside the venue, she’s in a black, floor length dress, red purse, hair up.” He nods at his captain’s words, committing the details to memory as he slides into the back seat of the blacked out SUV.

•the ride blurs by, he doesn’t pay attention to anything going on outside, preferring to focus on the parameters of the mission; it would be mostly recon, some light pick-pocketing, a little slight of hand, a cellphone full of intel procured-

•he certainly doesn’t dwell on how excited you were to had been to go undercover, or how you had talked fucking relentlessly about the dress you picked for your “007 moment”, as you so lovingly to referred to the mission- and to his surprise, Johnny had apparently helped you pick it out.

•and there’s no reason whatsoever for that fact to have made him want to wring the Scot’s neck.

•Ghost steps out the car at the curb, straightening and buttoning the fitted, black tuxedo jacket- the grimace on his scarred lips doing a well enough job of carving a path through the sparse crowd.

• “C’mon, LT- ye could try ta’look like ye spent an obscene amount o’money ta be here.” Johnny playfully drawls through the ear piece, “and lemme tell you-“ he pauses to give a quiet whistle for effect, and this time Ghost doesn’t stop his eyes from rolling back, “Hela is lookin’ real bonnie, aren’t ye, lil’ LT?”

•”Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Ghost grunts back, eyeing the upper windows of the surrounding buildings before waltzing through the grandiose entrance-

• “Hm, I thought it was nice.. thank you, Soap.” You say, and he swears he can hear the smile in your sultry tone. The one that you just love to use on comms.

•Johnny gives a low chuckle, “Ye’re very welcome, ma’am.”

•Christ fucking alive. Ghost is in hell, he’s sure of it.

•but then, he sees you. And at first, he’s not entirely sure he’s even looking at the right person- because, of course he’s seen you in civilian clothes, even some more form fitted PT gear; and he’s always had a hard time dragging his eyes away from you even then. Right now, though?

•right now, he’s ardently staring at your profile, studying the lines of your face under the soft glow of the museum lighting- the way your glossy pink lips are parted just slightly as you look up at the painting in front of you, your fingers daintily clasped around a flute of champagne, a deep red leather clutch in your other hand.

•something compels him to blend back into the crowd, silently moving to take you in from all angles, his eyes roaming and lingering all the same-

•and it’s at that moment he realizes Price severely understated your “black, floor length dress”. Yes, it was all those things, but fuck.. a warning would’ve been nice-

•he also decides then that he will wring Johnny’s neck- because if he helped you pick this? well that means he’s already seen too much. And Ghost couldn’t have that-

•the dress you chose is fitted like a second skin, high neck and long sleeves, entirely modest and yet.. it manages to leave so, so little to the imagination with the way it hugs every single curve- but it’s the back that causes an awful flicker of arousal to make his cock twitch.

•the back is completely, and gloriously, exposed- from the petite span of your shoulders, all the way down to the godforsken pair of dimples that decorate the lowest curve of your spine before the fabric meets together again right above the delicious swell of your ass-

•it takes everything in him to stay on track, to keep aware of his surroundings as he makes his way to your other side. It’s only then that you finally turn towards him, certainly having felt the weight of his gaze. But by the time you crane your neck to search the crowd, he’s already out of sight.

+++

•you scan over the strange and unfamiliar faces, unable to shake that feeling of being watched- it was probably just nerves, you knew Ghost would be with you on this, which means you’re well aware that he would be maskless tonight.

•and you really should not be so excited- this was still a mission, you shouldn’t be thinking about him.. shouldn’t be imagining what hides beneath the balaclavas-

•you’re so lost in the thought you can’t help to but gasp when you hear the familiar, brassy voice in your ear, “Spotted the target.”

•you barely stifle another gasp when you feel the sweltering heat of his palm suddenly pressed against your lower back- and you don’t know why the touch sends a rush of chills down your spine. Maybe it’s just knowing you’re finally about to see the ever enigmatic man’s face, or it could just be how comfortable he seems putting his hand on you like that.

•but when you try to turn, he holds you in place, the hand that was at the small of your back, moving to the gently hold the nape of your neck,

• “Wait..” He whispers, an odd mixture of authority and desperation in his tone.

• “Why?” You ask just as quietly, your eyes fixed ahead, but the beautiful art is lost on you now, too consumed by his proximity- by the standoffish brute of a man who had only looked at you like a nuisance for months. It’s ridiculous, what you should really be asking is why you care so much-

•but you don’t think you would know the answer to that, not for sure anyway; maybe it was that you craved his approval- you had earned it from literally everyone else by this point, but his had alluded you. And you couldn’t fucking stand it.

• “Ghost?” You try to pry a little further, his callsign coming out a bit breathier than you meant for it to, but the way his thumb is rubbing back and forth, back and forth, so softly, so slowly.. it’s enough to drive you crazy.

• “Target’s directly to your left- cellphone in his right jacket pocket.” Without warning he removes his hand and brushes past you, taking with him the chance to see any of his features apart from the head of wavy, honey blonde hair that’s been messily swept back.

•and it’s the purposely careless movement that causes you to stumble, your crystal flute knocking right against the sturdy chest of the man that had just approached the painting,

• “Oh! Oh, my god- I am so-“, you slip the device from his pocket almost too easily, “so, sorry, sir.”

•it’s easy to distract him, flashing a bright, slightly nervous smile- bat your pretty lashes up at him, maybe let your hand linger a bit too long on his bicep..

• “‘M sorry, sweetheart-“ Ghost is back, and you have to force yourself not to immediately focus on his presence, instead noticing how he efficiently leans around you to slip the bugged phone into the target’s pocket.

•and again, it’s unsettling how natural it feels for him to snake a muscular arm around your waist, and god, the way he settles his big hand possessively over your lower stomach has your knees weak and an uncomfortable pressure building between your legs.

• “Just saw an old friend, and he wants to meet you, love.” He says it like it was the most normal night in the world, holding you like you could’ve been a couple- but, he’s just playing his part, right?

•after another round of apologies, Ghost promptly leads you away, your hand held firmly in his as he weaves through and around the small groups of people who couldn’t care less about you.

“Riley- hang on.” You hiss just as he turns a corner, finally far enough way to give the all clear to Price and Soap without concern of being overheard, but he’s still just ahead of you, his face still just out of view.

•you struggle to keep up with his monstrous strides in your outrageous heels, “That excited to get away from me, huh?”

•no, you don’t mean for it to sound so bitter, it was suppose to be a joke, but maybe it’s a little more honest than you care to dive into right now. But, it does finally get his attention, his feet coming to such an abrupt halt that you stumble right into the thick, solid mass of his back.

•he opens a door, quickly turning to walk you backwards into the dark room- slamming the heavy wood shut as soon as you’re both inside.

•with effortless speed, he pulls your earpieces out, shoving them him in his pocket, “what. the. fuck, Ghost? What are you doing?!”

• “Fucking hell, do you ever shut up?”

•you scoff into the darkness, his giant silhouette still looming over you- and with your curiosity too quickly turned to rage, you shove him backwards,

• “What’s your problem with me?” You have to stop yourself from shouting, you know you’re away from the party, but there could still be staff close by, “Well?! What did I do tonight except everything I was suppose to? Please, tell me what I did wrong, because I am so fuckin-“

•the last thing you expect is to feel his hands grasp either side of your face, and it’s completely unfathomable what happens after-

•Ghost’s lips collide with yours in a rough, hungry kiss, one that leaves you to stunned to do anything but let your body do what you’ve fantasized about one too many times.

•but too soon, he pulls away, out of breath and still gripping your face, “No, sweet girl, no. You’ve been perfect tonight, and you look..”

•you reel at his praise, your lungs seizing at the sound of the pet name on his tongue- internally cursing the lack of light for depriving you of getting to see his expression.

•Because you so desperately wanted to know what the actual fuck was going on and why it was happening right now.

• “-so bloody beautiful.. you’re fucking stunning, y’know that?”

•he kisses you again before you can even attempt to think of an answer, but this time you’re ready, turning your head to deepen the gesture into something dangerously close to sinful. Heated and passionate, you cling to him, letting your purse drop to the floor so you could wrap your arms around his neck.

•his hands wander, needy, yet so languid, you feel him trace the lines of your back, every touch delicately ravenous. And the fire you feel spread through your entire body at the simple skin to skin contact threatens your already very thinly tethered control-

•you take a step, then another, your hands now splayed out over his broad chest- pushing him until you both feel his back make contact with the door, his lips moving lower now, hands pulling you closer.

•the old light fixture crackles to life when you flip the switch, effectively freezing you both in this moment- crossing boundaries that could never be uncrossed, seeing each other in a way that couldn’t be forgotten.

•and you don’t know exactly why you keep your eyes clamped shut, even when you feel him lean back just slightly, though his nose still grazes across your cheekbone, and his fingertips are still dug into the flesh of your hips.

•your breath stutters when he presses a single kiss to your lips, the taste of champagne mixing with a hint of tobacco and peppermint, it was an odd combination, but you find yourself craving it already- what a terrible drug he is.

•without pulling away, he speaks against your lips, and you can feel the smile on his, hear the timbre in his voice, “It’s all right, love.. you can look. I know you want to..”

++++

>>>> {Part II}

PLS DONT HATE ME. I never meant for it to be this long, so I’m splitting it into two parts 😬 (unless I shouldn’t??)

#bee writes #call of duty #cod fandom #simon ghost riley #reader #I think about ghost in a tux waaay too often #cod fanfic #cod #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #john price #simon riley x reader #part one

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sloanesallow · 22 days

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ocean wave blues

Sloane has never seen the ocean. Sebastian helps to rectify that. (art by puri.dew) 1k words (originally posted Dec. 2023)

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Sebastian glances over his shoulder at Sloane to see if she is still following him. He understands her trepidation—the last time she visited Feldcroft, she didn’t exactly receive a warm welcome, not from Solomon or Rookwood’s goons. This time, Sebastian is determined to make her experience memorable, in a far more positive way.

It’s November, and while it hasn’t snowed in the hamlet yet, the weather is decidedly cold. Sloane is bundled up, layers upon layers wrapped around her lithe frame in an almost comical way. She stumbles on the steep, uneven path and he’s quick to catch her, keeping a firm grasp on her arms until she finds her balance again.

They continue on, Sebastian slipping his hand down to hold hers for perhaps a little longer than necessary. He decides it’s only to ensure she doesn’t trip again, and not because he likes the feel of her palm against his.

“Will you please tell me where we’re going?” she asks again, looking around at the sparse surroundings in an attempt to determine their precise location.

He smirks, shaking his head. “Not a fan of surprises?”

“Not particularly.”

“You’ll be able to hear it soon,” he replies, somewhat cryptically.

Sloane’s perplexed expression lingers for another few paces before she stops to listen, a smile gradually pulling at her lips. “Is that…?”

“The ocean?” Sebastian nods, watching as she listens to the not so distant rush of water. “When you mentioned having never seen the shore up close, I knew we had to rectify that immediately.”

Her smile stretches into a full blown grin and he ignores the way his heart flutters at the sight. Her fingers flex around his hand and he quickly but carefully ushers them down the rest of the overgrown path until it turns into sand. Sebastian keeps his focus on Sloane as she takes in the view, ocean waves gently crashing against the shore. Her eyes widen in awe, almost sparkling as she takes in a deep breath, the salt air flowing through her hair.

It’s a dazzling sight—not just the sunset on the horizon painting the sky with hues of orange and gold—but Sloane’s wonder-filled reaction too. Sebastian can’t help but feel a little prideful for being part of the reason for her happiness. She lets go of his hand and takes a tentative step forward, her boots sinking slightly into the wet sand.

At first she bends down, brushing her fingers against the cool ground before picking up a handful and letting the grains sift back to the ground. A quiet laugh escapes her lips, a sound so pure and filled with delight, causing warmth to spread through Sebastian’s chest. He watches her, completely captivated by her childlike amazement. He’s seen this view countless times before, but it’s as if he’s seeing it for the first time, the atmosphere amplified by her presence.

Sloane stands up again, turning to look at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. “This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me,” she says and he hopes it is hyperbolic, wanting to tell her that she deserves the world. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

He shrugs, but his attempt to play coy is overshadowed by his pleased expression. “Anything to see you smile.”

A blush turns her already flushed cheeks a darker shade of pink as she bashfully glances away. Before he can tease her any further, she’s reaching down again, this time to yank off her boots, almost toppling over again as she tugs her stockings down. It’s his turn to blush and he averts his gaze before he sees more skin than what is considered proper.

The next thing Sebastian hears is her giggling, prompting him to snap his gaze back to her, watching as she rushes towards the ocean with her skirt gathered up above her knees. He reaches out to stop her but she’s too quick.

“Sloane, wait!” he yells after her. “It’s freezing!”

As soon as she meets the water she shrieks, the sound dissolving into more laughter as the waves crash around her bare skin. There’s a bright smile on her face as she looks back at him, “come on!”

Damn. Sebastian curses, momentarily breathless. She’s a vision, something he’ll never forget as long as he lives. Her smile is so alluring that she could ask him to jump off the seaside cliff and he’d be diving into the ocean without a second thought. He quickly shucks his own boots, tossing them into the sand with his socks before securing the hem of his trousers above his knees.

Sloane’s laughter continues as he runs after her, his own surprised yelp echoing across the beach as the chilly water rushes over his bare feet. It’s a kind of happiness Sebastian hasn’t afforded himself in quite some time, the realization nearly sends him reeling. He’s only known Sloane for a few months and yet she’s managed to turn his world on its axis, not that he’d have it any other way.

Eventually, they stand still in the surf, ankle-deep in the freezing water and grinning at each other like the foolish teenagers they are as the sun sets beyond the horizon. But Sebastian keeps his gaze fixed on her, even as she becomes distracted by plucking seashells from the sand to place in her pocket. Sloane is beautiful—breathtaking—stormy eyes reflecting the rising moon, hair dancing in the cool breeze.

“I’ve never felt so alive,” she says, her voice barely a whisper that is carried away by the wind.

Sebastian doesn’t trust himself to speak, too afraid he’ll say something stupid and ruin the moment. He’s never felt this way before, this intense connection, this overwhelming attraction. Sloane is more than a pretty face, more than a passing fancy he can blame on boyish hormones. No, whatever he is feeling is more tangible, more…real.

Terrifying, but thrilling at the same time.

He finally finds his voice, wondering if there’s a way they could stay here forever. “Me too.”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x f!mc #fanfic #hufflepuff oc #this is probably my favorite one-shot I ever wrote for them

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a-god-in-crime-alley · 3 months

Text

So I’mma do a quick rant on Tim and the whole “forever 17” thing people are always going on about.

Disclaimer: some of this is based on my own experience with how I changed as I got older and comments from people that I went months and years without seeing.

I’m AFAB so it’s not quite the same. But I’ve never been one to remember a skin care routine and have relied on good genetics and good hygiene to make this point.

When doing some calculations for another post (you’ve probably seen that post I reblogged about the batkids ages) it hit me WHY it doesn’t look like Tim has aged.

Sure it might just be a style choice because DC wants to keep a chokehold on their Teen audience with Tim. (Even though Damian is RIGHT THERE!!! DC stop making Damian look like Tim for the love of GOD!)

A lot of people don’t actually CHANGE that much from ages 16-24 as long as they are keeping to the same exercise routines and diets. With the exception of Tim’s Brucequest, he kept to a fairly stable routine for Years!

The reason most people change so much early on is because they drop off their usual exercise (gym class) and repetitive diet (school or packed lunch). So you see people’s weight fluctuating (this can have an effect of visible face shape) hair either thinning or thickening and skin either clearing or getting more acne.

Add this to Tim probably having pretty good genetics (his mom looked like she was maybe pushing 30 when she died but was probably closer to mid 40s. Both Janet and Jack were around 10 years older than Bruce, who would have been mid 30s at the time.)

Tim not showing any signs of facial hair can also be down to genetics. Some cis men just NEVER get more than a single chin hair, maybe a max of 5 sparsely scattered along their chin. Those guys usually just pluck them out. They never actually have to shave. Though I think we Have seen Tim shaving again one point. Can’t remember when.

Either way, it makes sense for Tim not to actually look his age in any more than muscle mass. He’s noticeably built compared to how he was when Damian was introduced. (When the artists are going for a more realistic art style.)

Then considering his most recent dimensional adventure to save Bruce after the shit with Failsafe, you see just how much older he looks next to his mother (from that universe) and she didn’t seem that surprised with how he looked. Meaning her version of him is probably around the same age, and anyone who read that issue can see she looked pretty young.

Add all this to the fact it’s Canon that Jason is 23! He’s only at most 3 years older than Tim but is probably closer to 2 years older. (With Jason being 15 going on 16 when he died. And Tim was 12-13 by the 6 month mark after Jason died and Tim became Robin.)

So in conclusion, DC needs to stop acting like Tim’s still a Teenager and acknowledge that he’s a lot closer to 21 (hell, if we go by proper calculations he SHOULD BE 21).

What I’m saying is give us Tim going out for drinks with his older brothers. Have him show up at Jason’s after something bad happens and ask if he’s still up for that drink (in reference to that one time Jason offered to get a 16 year old Tim into a bar.)

Give us Funny Drunk Tim shenanigans to balance out that Dick is a miserable drunk! Have Jason get stuck babysitting both of them because he’s the only one that can actually hold his alcohol. Have the Girls be watching and laughing from across the bar because they unintentionally had their Girls Night and the same place the guys had their Boys Night.

Please DC, I am Begging you!

#tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #Batfam #Tim isn’t 17 and I will die on this hill #neither are any of the Core Four #Connor isn’t even SUPPOSED to look like he’s aging because he was artificially aged in the cloning pod #Connor looks like a young 20 something and he’s supposed too!!!!#Literally all three of the others are Metas with powers than make aging moot!#Bart has super speed and such has super Healing #Cassie is a Demigoddess!!!!

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sleepingdeath-light · 7 months

Text

the concubine ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (kinktober entry)

word count ; 1036

content ; sexually explicit content, oral (male receiving), implied dom/sub dynamic, referenced praise/worship kink, implied size kink, getting caught/semi public sex

fandom ; marvel cinematic universe / thor films

pairing ; king!loki odinson x non binary afab reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

The role of the concubine was to serve their prince without question or hesitation, to give mind and body in equal measure the second it is asked of them, and to make themselves available at a moment's notice if they are called upon. These traits of willingness, obedience, and sensuality were ones that you'd embodied perfectly for centuries as you loyally served the royal family of Asgard in the only way you could — servicing and pleasuring their youngest prince more times than you could ever hope to count over the millennia you'd known each other; earning you the title of his favourite servant, which he’d often make known whenever such things were discussed amidst the drunken whispers and seedy gossiping of royal feasts.

This favouritism was precisely why you had been the first one called upon when your dear prince had been crowned as the reigning monarch in his brother's absence (well, in truth it was more accurately described as exile but nobody wished to utter such filthy words about dear Thor). Summoned to the throne room by messenger — whose arrival had caused quite the uproar amongst your fellow private servants, which was only made worse by her insistence on you being the only one to come with her — and escorted by a dozen or so guards to meet with your new king. Though, of course, meet was more of a polite euphemism for what you’d been called upon to do, as you fully intended to help him celebrate in ways only a concubine could: with you on your knees, pleasuring him eagerly wherever and however he wished.

So that is exactly what you did.

—————

The coldness of the throne room floor seeped up through your sheer robe and chilled the skin of your calves as you knelt on it, with the only reprieve being the distracting feeling of his large slender hands in your hair and his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. He was big, to put it bluntly: long, and thick, and intimidating enough that most would choke before even wrapping their lips around the pinkish tip — a cock befitting of a god such as himself if ever there was such a thing. As pretty as a dick could be, yet so imposing that you couldn’t help but want to worship it whenever you laid eyes upon it.

And worship you did: reaching up with one hand to gently, tenderly, massage his balls whilst the other grasped at one of the strong, leather clad, thighs on either side of your head just to try and keep yourself steady and upright; running the flat of your tongue along the velvety length of his shaft, circling the pointed tip along the swollen head before taking it between your lips and lightly sucking on it — repeating the process over and over again, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth each time as you readjusted to his size; taking him to the hilt every couple of seconds, not stopping until you could feel the leaking tip hit the back of your throat, then starting to bob your head and hollow your cheeks whilst humming softly around his cock — watching through your eyelashes as he bit down on his lower lip, furrowed his brow and let his head fall back against the ancient golden headrest behind him. He truly was a work of art; more than worthy of being called a god, and you earnestly told him as much whenever you pulled away for a sparse few moments to catch your breath.

Whispering about how 'large' and 'handsome' his cock was, repeating how 'honoured' you were to be permitted to pleasure him, and calling him 'my king', 'my lord' and 'my god' in between high pitched gasps when you felt the familiar tingling of his magic starting to worm its way between your thighs. Savouring the flavour of him as small pearls of precum slipped from his slit, eagerly swallowing all he had to give even as your legs started to sting and grow numb. Basking in every sound he made because of you — every moan and groan that he tried to muffle by biting down on his glove clad hand, every grunt that punctuated his hips bucking up into your mouth, every low whisper of praise ('just like that,') or command ('keep on going, pet,', 'don't stop until I tell you to,') that he gave to you, and that you followed without the slightest hint of hesitation in your mind or demeanour.

How very well trained.

And, too distracted by the smell of his musk and the heaviness of his length on your tongue as you took him to the hilt once again, you didn’t manage to hear the sound of footsteps approaching the throne room from behind you in time to save your, and more importantly your king’s, dignity. And Loki, completely caught up in the hot tense feeling of his approaching climax and swirling thoughts of what he’d do to you next, didn’t even realise that anyone else was near enough to catch you until it was too late. His superior senses dulled by hazy pleasure until those footsteps came to an abrupt halt and his eyes snapped open to see one of his many guards, mouth agape in shock and frozen in place as he processed exactly what he’d walked in on.

Thankfully all it took was your king yelling at him to ‘get out!’ and scolding him for not seeing that he was clearly ‘busy’ for the unfortunate young man to scurry off with his tail between his legs. Though the mood was very much so ruined after that.

You’d have to continue this somewhere more private later, your king had to do some damage control…

#sleepingdeath #non binary reader smut #afab reader smut #smut #smut fic #minors dni #minors fuck off #minors dont touch #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki x reader #loki smut #loki odinson smut #loki laufeyson smut #marvel x reader #marvel smut

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sketchy-scribs-n-doods · 5 months

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i'm a little sad at how sparse steddyhands and stizzy art and writing is on here now after the finale (thankfully, i am still digging through the couple thousand fics up on ao3 so i'm not totally bereft)

because during the airing of the season there was new stuff in the tags every day, sometimes even every few hours, but i think the finale really punched all of us in the face

there's lots of good stuff from before s2 to go digging through of course, and ao3 and twitter still have some new art and fic and memes if you go looking for it, but the difference from before and now seems a bit stark

don't misunderstand me, this isn't me being defeatist, just being a bit melancholy (and mad at the s2 finale tbh lol) about it. shout out to the regulars i see in the tags still making stuff and posting jokes, ya'll are doing the most and i wish you all the passion and motivation and time to create in the world <3

#obviously in this day and age ppl seem to drop fandom right away after the media in question is done so it's not totally unexpected #but the stark difference between so much new art being shared during airing vs the sudden quiet after the finale was. damn.#the izzy tag and regular fandom tags are still pretty active but i have a very specific love lol and it is #stizzy #steddyhands #gentlehands #even the ed and izzy tags are a little more active tho that's mostly because of the meta and angst enjoyers (mood)#anyway as soon as i'm done with finals and have some free time during the break i am going to draw so much old man yaoi #and maybe finally do more of and share my steddyhands mermaid au lol #also one more thing #if i'm sad about how much less steddyhands and stizzy stuff is happening #i am sending so many thoughts and prayers ™ to the frenchie and izzy and lucius and izzy shippers bc goddamn #they also got fucked over this season #we all thought we were winning and then suddenly we all got smacked in the face about it adfgfkj

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moodymisty · 6 months

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hello❤️‍🔥I hope everything is fine with you in life✨Congratulations on the beginning of October🥰 Lion El'Jonson/reader-aristocrat Let everything revolve around the official ceremonial portrait (well, you know those huge full-length paintings when women are sitting on a high-backed chair in a ball gown, and a man is standing a little behind with his hand on his wife's shoulder and they are holding hands) Lion in the days before the Heresy was very skeptical about the idea of making such a portrait, but in the end the reader persuaded him. Cute moment Then skip all the way to Heresy. There is confusion everywhere, war. The reader is either on Caliban or Terra. Lion sent them there, thinking that she would be safe. And so he looks either at the portrait itself or at a small picture and feels anxious and longing for quiet days. And skip up to 41k. Lion woke up after so many years, everything changed around. But he still has this little reproduction and he looks at it when it gets hard. Lion is transported to pleasant memories where everything was fine. He does not know what has become of the reader and the original portrait🥺 Hope for a happy ending or an open dramatic ending - the choice depends entirely on you how to complete it🌹

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Hey! Sorry this took so long, it took me a hot minute to get it going but once I did I really like how it came out. I hope you enjoy, and it's close enough to what you wanted :3

Summary: Azrael asks a newly awoken Lion about a Chapter relic with a curious history.

Relationships: Lion El'Jonson/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader's fate is vague but given the amount of time passed largely spoken about as if dead, Typical 40kness, Far less fluffy than perhaps you wanted but I got carried away with the angst

Word Count: 1196

"Father,"

Azrael looks towards the man he calls his pater, who only spares him a sparse glance. They stand side by side, and while the Primarch in all of his glory dwarfs the Chapter Master, Azrael still feels more on equal terms that he thought he would- in the presence of their Primarch.

The Lion however still finds himself unfamiliar with the Chapter Master, and it has proven difficult for the two to navigate around each other. It has been many years since The Lion drew breath of his own accord; Much has changed since then. The Dark Angels have grown more suspicious, secretive; The Fallen have grown in number. The Necrons, the Tyranids, his father being nothing more than a rotting corpse splayed across his golden throne in a mimicry of what once was.

He stares at the 'relic'- as Azrael had called it when they'd first approached- ahead of him, and it serves as a beacon to a place he can no longer go.

He knows this isn't the original.

The original was put in a gold frame with a delicate filigree, this one is in one of the distinctive Dark Angel green. To match the surroundings, or perhaps the actual art was removed from it's old frame and into this one. Damage, perhaps. The canvas is torn, yellowed with age and the signature of the artist who'd captured this moment in time is unreadable. He can barely see your face, with how much the paint has fallen away.

He can barely see his own as well. Perhaps it's all for the best.

"Who is she?"

The Chapter Master holds his winged helmet in his hands, a rare moment of him not being fully armored. He glances towards the portrait with a stoic curiosity and continues speaking.

"We, know vaguely of her mention in texts from the Heresy, but nothing else. Not even her name." The Librarium is quiet. Only he, Azrael, and a few others occupy the monumental space. The painting is surrounded by other relics of the chapter; Statues, weaponry from warriors of old, scripts and written texts.

"We've never known. Years of searching lead us nowhere, so we had given up our attempts. It was thought to be knowledge lost to time." He hesitates. "Lost to the Heresy."

The Astartes faces trouble with identifying the expression on his Primarch's face, as they both stand paces away from the tattered relic. When he accepts that it's unreadable, he casts his eyes back towards the old painting.

Azrael can tell from what paint is left on the canvas that you're clearly smiling.

Even thousands of years later the warmth of that smile is still palpable; Multiple Dark Angels have found an odd, abit unfamiliar solace in it. It's not uncommon for the Captains and Commanders of the chapter to ponder it in the rare moments they need a form of clarity. It seems to help, and none of them have ever found why.

The dress you wear in the portrait matches the green they cast their armor in, though the paint has lost it's vibrancy over the years. It still matches The Lion's armor however, as he stands behind you the chair you're seated in. You're on a small platform, to make it easier to fit the Primarch who is massively taller into the same frame. His hand rests firmly on your shoulder, and your much daintier, unarmored hand softly grasps two of his fingers.

It's peaceful. It makes the Chapter Master think as to what life was like before the Heresy took it all away. It makes him wonder how a clearly baseline human could have had such a bond with a god; A Primarch.

Meanwhile, it makes The Lion think back to when it was first being painted- the original one- before he'd lost so many of his brothers.

"Smile for once, Lion."

He doesn't, but he does look down on you with a familiar glare. His face barely changes orientation, but you can still so clearly see his desire to scold you. Tucking a single bit of hair behind your ear, you make sure to keep the same position you'd started in. The artist has already requested once you do so, as to avoid any errors in the painting.

Still as you possibly can be, you try not to hurt your cheeks from holding back a smile.

"Roboute was actually right about you having such a sour moue all the time."

Again, he doesn't say a word. His hand stays heavy on your shoulder however, as he stays remarkably still. He can't feel your gentle grasp through his armor, though he can glance down towards it and his nerves attempt to simulate the feeling; a dull accuracy from the memories of previous times.

He thinks this is all pointless. But it's clearly pleasing you, so for once he'll begrudgingly allow it.

After towing you all the way to Terra, to tear you from everything you knew to surround you with thousands of fresh Astartes all hungry for battle, looking to you for orders you aren't yet trained to give. He supposes he can gift you this rare platitude. Perhaps it will serve as a memory to this time that can be looked back upon in the future. To remember how hard they fought to make the galaxy free of the scourge that fills it.

The painter gestures to his serf to gather another color for him, and the young man quickly scurries off to go retrieve it. Meanwhile the artist continues, working in a fashion far more slowly and inferior to the current technology of the time.

The Lion considers it a waste, though unlike him you come from a planet with an emphasis on the arts; Same as Fulgrim and Roboute. There's something in this you value, and while he doesn't consider himself as soft as some of his brothers, the love he has for you prevents him from squandering your joy.

Sanguinius will surely find this all hilarious.

Azrael glances upward again towards his Primarch. He thinks he hears him mumble something, but The Lion is silent by the time he realizes something might've been said.

The Primarch could taste your name on his lips, but speaking it would only make it worse. He silenced himself before it was spoken aloud for the first time in thousands of years.

He knows that after his 'demise', after he was put in the dreamless sleep deep within The Rock, you briefly issued orders alongside his old council. That's all the Chapter's records have left, after so many centuries.

Not a single one of those texts even mentions your name, let alone your fate. You're a ghost of his own mind. Your memory is but a relic in a Librarium locked away for untold years.

Part of him is glad he acquiesced to your silly, human desire. Another part is hateful, because now he has a memory he can do nothing with but feel the way it aches.

He never answers Azrael. And so the Astartes files the question away in his mind, discontent but accepting to never ask it again.

#Lion El'Jonson x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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ereardon · 1 year

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Friends Don't || Chapter 2

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid]

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, mention of doctors/illness/crashes, illusion to death, blood

WC: 2.1K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“Got everything you need, Sunny?”

You turned around. Bob was standing in the doorway to your room, wearing a pair of blue striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt that hung off his lean frame. You smiled and nodded. “Think I’m good for the night at least.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you crossed your bare legs and looked around the room. It was a mess. You were waiting on the rest of your stuff to get shipped from your Brooklyn apartment where you had been living for the last eight months, so all you had were the two suitcases that you’d taken on the plane, now spread out on the ground, their contents spilled across the hardwood floors.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said quietly.

Bob tipped his head. “Don’t have to thank me, darlin’. It’s your house now, too.”

It was a sweet little two bedroom house, only a fifteen minute drive from the beach. But it was sparsely decorated. Your room had just a bed and a dresser, no art, no rugs, no lamps. “What are your thoughts on letting me redecorate, in that case?”

He laughed. “What, you don’t like my style?”

“Bachelor chic? You’re about one step above a 20-something guy in Bushwick who has his mattress on the floor so that he’s closer to the Earth but the reality is that he has fifty dollars in his bank account so when he asks you on a date he takes you to his sweaty roof in July and plays shitty guitar music and tries to mansplain to you the difference between IPA and other beers.”

Bob raised an eyebrow. “Tell me you haven’t actually met guys like that.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve met every single kind of guy you could ever imagine.”

“Well, if my options are Brooklyn douche or you redecorate, by all means Sunny, do whatever you’d like with the place. I’ll leave my credit card on the kitchen table.”

You stood up and crossed the room. “No way. It’s on me. I want to do this for you. Make a nice house so one day you can have some lucky girl over and she won’t get the immediate ick when she sees that you still have gray sheets and brown towels.”

“What’s wrong with gray sheets?”

You shook your head. “Trust me, Bobby.”

“Sure, honey,” he whispered. You took one step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Bob immediately folded you into an embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered. “Thank God you’re home safe.”

“Were you worried about me, Sunny?” he asked quietly, his low voice rumbling.

“I worry about you every fucking day,” you murmured into his chest. “When you’re flying and I don’t know where you are. When you’re on the ground somewhere far from wherever I am. All I can think about is the next time we’re going to talk. The next time I'll know for a fact that you’re safe. And then that call comes and I’m elated. But it has to end sometime, right? So when it ends, the second you hang up, I’m back to being worried about you.”

Bob pulled away, his hands folded into yours. “You worry too much, Reid. I’m always gonna be here for you. Always have been.”

How could he forget? There was a reason you were scared all the time. You had almost lost him to the skies once.

You were living in San Francisco and Bob was stationed out of Lemoore. It was the closest the two of you had ever lived since you graduated, four years prior.

That’s when you got the call.

“Reid Coleman?”

You sat up straight at your desk chair, looking out the window over Market Street. If you really craned your neck, you could see the Ferry Building. “This is.”

“I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Robert Floyd has been in an accident. You were listed as his emergency contact.”

“Oh my God,” you whispered, heart plummeting in your abdomen. “Is he OK?”

“He’s sustained injuries, ma’am,” the person on the other end of the line said.

You didn’t even register that the phone had fallen from your grasp until you heard it drop to the floor at your feet. You were out the door in a second, practically barreling down to the lobby of the building, fingers shaking as you tried to search for rental cars nearby.

The three-and-a-half hour drive went by in an instant, and it was the longest car ride you had ever been on. Every single second all you could think of was the fact that Bob could have died out there.

And that the last thing you might have said to him was that you hated him.

By the time you arrived on base it was dark. You barreled through the hospital doors, panting as you made your way to the nurses station. “Robert Floyd?” you asked, panicked.

“And you are?”

“His emergency contact.”

The nurse nodded. “Follow me.”

You trailed after her down the hallway, the clacking of your high heels on the linoleum floor the only noise in the sterile hallway.

She stopped in front of the door. “He’s intubated,” she warned you. “So he can’t speak.”

You nodded and she opened the door. But you weren’t ready for what you saw. Bobby, lying there on the bed, with a thick clear tube sticking out of his throat and mouth, taped to his lips, the whirring sound of the machines as they kept him alive. The way he practically blended into the white linens of the bed he looked so pale and fragile.

You collapsed onto a chair next to his bed, taking his hand, the one that didn’t have an IV in it, into yours, letting your salty tears fall onto his cold skin.

“Bobby,” you whispered, voice thick with tears and pain. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please, Bobby, come back to me.”

He stayed in a coma for three days. You spent nearly every waking moment at his bedside, watching him with bated breath, waiting for some semblance of life to overtake him because the boy lying there in that hospital bed was not your best friend. He was a stranger. He didn't look or feel at all like the boy you had come to love over the last seven years.

And then, on the third day, you heard a familiar voice.

“Sunny?”

It was dry and scratchy. That morning the doctors had taken out the intubation and said he was awake, and you had rushed over from the hotel. There were tears in your eyes as you bolted through the doorway to where Bob was sitting up in bed, his glasses settled on his nose, a slow pinkness coming back to his rounded cheeks.

You bent in half over the edge of the bed, sobs wracking your body, silent tears streaming down your face. Bob reached out one hand, softly patting your hair. “Honey, don’t cry.”

You pulled away, looking up into his familiar blue eyes. He had looked so small before, and that had terrified you. He looked like himself again. Like the Bobby who had picked you up and carried you halfway across campus when you accidentally stepped on a rusted nail and had to go to the ER. He looked like the Bobby who had dared you to go into the caves in Vietnam even though you were terrified of small spaces. He looked like the Bobby that you loved with every cell in your body.

He looked like your Bobby again.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

“Never going to lose me, darlin’,” he murmured back.

You sniffled, gripping his hand.

Bob’s eyes widened after a moment. Then, “Wait. Where’s Denver?”

You raised your eyes to him, unable to say it but knowing that they could convey what had happened without words, and watched as your best friend fell apart right in front of you.

***

“OK Floyd, spill.”

“Spill what?” Bob asked, tossing down a hand of cards. Payback laid his cards down. Two pair. He grabbed the pile of chips in the middle of the table and slid them closer, stacking them up with his own poker chips.

“About Reid, Floyd,” Phoenix said, exasperated. “These two boneheads,” she pointed at Hangman and Rooster, “want to know if she’s fair game.”

“Hey!” Coyote pouted. “So do I.”

Bob shook his head as Fanboy dealt a new round of cards. “She’s not my girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So we can ask her out,” Hangman was practically salivating. “Cause she’s hot as fuck.”

Bob raised his head and glared at the blond. Hangman put his hands up in a defensive maneuver.

“Woah, chill Floyd.”

“She already turned you down, Bagman,” Phoenix chimed in.

“She didn’t turn down Rooster,” Payback pointed out. “Or should I call him Chicken Man.”

All eyes turned to Bradley, who took a sip of his beer. Then, “Never said I was gonna ask her out.”

Bob sighed, trading in three cards from the five card draw. “Sunny is an adult,” he said. “She can do whatever she wants. So Rooster, if you want to ask her out, you’re free to. It’s up to her if she says yes or not.”

Bradley nodded, tossing out one card, waiting for Fanboy to deal him a replacement. “Maybe I will.”

Bob pursed his lips, grabbing for his beer glass, taking a chug and then slamming it down. He didn’t realize how forceful he was until the glass shattered on impact in his hand, sending beer rushing over the table and down the sides. Everyone jumped up in a panic.

“Shit, baby on board, what the fuck?” Hangman called as he rushed to grab a roll of paper towels.

“I’m sorry,” Bob shook his head. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Come here,” Phoenix said, grabbing his arm and tugging him into the kitchen. She held his hand over the sink, pulling out a small splinter of glass from his palm, running the bloody hand under water. She doused it in soap and he winced at the sting.

“Thanks,” Bob said as Phoenix wrapped his hand in a clean dish towel in Hangman’s kitchen.

She looked up at him, knowingly. “You can say no to them, you know.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Phoenix sighed. “Yes you do. Reid. You don’t want those idiots to touch her.”

Bob grimaced. “She’s a big girl. If she wants to go out with them, she can.”

“Just admit it,” Phoenix said. “She is more than just your best friend.”

Bob’s blue eyes bore into hers. “Sunny is, and always will be, the love of my life. I’m just not hers.”

***

You looked through the sliding glass door to where Bob was carefully peeling an orange at the kitchen table, his eyes glued on the TV hanging over the mantle.

“Ms. Coleman, have you found a new physician in the San Diego area? If not, I can recommend one to you. But it’s imperative that you go in for new scans immediately.”

You sighed. “I’m working on it.”

“Ms. Coleman.” The voice on the other end of the line was hard. “This is no joking matter.”

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” you hissed.

“I’m going to email you a list of five physicians in the area.”

“They’re going to say exactly what you said,” you whispered.

“You need to get a second opinion. And either way, you need a local physician now that you’ve relocated.”

“Fine,” you said. “Send me the names.”

“Ms. Coleman?”

“Yeah?”

“Please make an appointment.”

You clicked off the phone and slid open the door. Bob had moved to the couch, one arm slung over the low back.

“Everything OK?” he asked.

You nodded, walking around the edge of the couch and settling into the spot next to him. Without even thinking, you leaned into Bob’s side, letting his arm fall around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

“Sunny?” he asked softly. He read you like an open book. He could practically see the anxiety and tension radiating off of your skin.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, looking up at him with a small smile before resting your head against his thigh, lifting your feet onto the other end of the couch, lying down so that Bob’s hand was now firmly pressed against the dip in your side where your ribcage ended.

You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar smell, letting yourself relax, feeling your heart rate slow.

“Everything is going to be fine,” you murmured.

Tag list: (or turn on notifications for my library @ereardonlibrary)

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#bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun x oc

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imagines-all-day-everyday · 1 year

Text

A Hunting Trip (Part 4)

pairing: dean winchester x reader x damon salvatore

synopsis: a crash course in self defence - *yn* finally tells dean and sam what's been going on in mystic falls. dean takes it upon himself to make sure she can keep herself safe.

warnings: fluff, angst, swearing

notes: i love this chappy so much, am so happy to be back writing x

Series Masterlist

"Just this one here."

Dean followed *yn*'s index finger to guide the impala into the driveway.

*yn* still couldn't believe that John had given Dean his car.

"Oh great, here come the million and one questions." Dean grumbled.

The rumbling engine must have alerted Sam, because he was already hurrying down the porch steps towards them. The two hopped out of the impala just as Sam reached the car.

"Where the hell have you been?" He threw his hands up in the air before perching them on his hips. His gaze firm as he glanced between the two, much like a stern mother.

"Why don't you just calm down and hold your questions till we get inside detective." Dean responded. Definitely not the right thing to say.

"Calm down?" Sam looked at him in disbelief. "I thought something had happened, you weren't answering your cell and *yn* was being all cryptic on the phone."

"Well we're here now and in one piece." Dean gestured between him and *yn*. "Although slightly traumatised."

"I'm going to explain everything, come on." *yn* patted Sam's shoulder in apology before moving past the boys to scale the porch staircase.

Sam shot Dean one last unimpressed look which Dean pretended to not see as they followed after *yn*.

"So this is your place huh?" Dean asked her as she slid her key into the front door.

"Yep, home sweet home."

The house was unexpectedly sparse. A single couch and small television occupied the living room. There was no art or pictures on the walls. Dean could see a film of dust coating the small coffee table that stood at the entrance.

It was like no one lived here.

She poked her head out of the door, scanning the quiet suburban street once more. Dean turned to look at her at the sound of the soft click of the lock sliding into place.

"I really doubt that lock's going to do much good if one of your friends wants to get in."

"Vamps can't enter a home unless they're invited in by the owner." She shot back as she placed her keys on the entry table.

"Smart ass." She grumbled under her breath as she shrugged off her jacket.

"I don't need super vamp hearing to hear you, you know." Dean remarked as his eyes slid over every inch of the house.

"I'm sorry, did you just say vampires?"

"Oh you have so much to catch up on Sammy." Dean patted his shoulder as the brothers followed *yn* down the hallway and into the kitchen.

"Take a seat, you guys want something to drink?" *yn* gestured to the dining table.

"We're fine thanks."

Sam's brows had started to do that twitchy thing they did when he was anxious.

Dean turned to look at his brother incredulously. "Speak for yourself." He turned to *yn*. "I'll take anything that even slightly resembles alcohol."

She nodded knowingly, "that I can definitely do."

Dean's eyes fell on the open fridge door as *yn* disappeared behind it.

For the first time since they'd stepped foot in this place, there was evidence that someone lived here. Photos stuck under tacky mystic fall magnets were strewn haphazardly over the door's surface. He could make out photos of her and Elena in cheer uniforms and a few others with people that he had recognised around town. One of her and Damon laughing was front and centre.

None of her dad, or him and Sam, or anyone from her childhood for that matter.

"Will this do?"

Dean quickly averted his gaze as *yn* popped her head around, two bottles of beer on show.

"That'll do perfectly." A grin appeared on her face as she shut the door with her foot and came over to sit with the pair at the table.

Dean thanked her with a nod as she slid the bottle over to him. Sam looked like he was about to combust as he watched the pair take a sip from their drinks.

The silence stretched on. For the first time a look of uneasiness crossed *yn*'s features as she placed the bottle down onto the oak.

"I don't really know where to start."

The admission seemed to soften Sam's urgency. As she sat in front of them and fiddled with her fingers, it was like they were suddenly back in a hotel room, waiting for their dads to finish a hunt. Like they were trying to pretend that they were normal, even for a few hours.

"The beginning seems like a good place." His words were gentle as he studied the girl in front of him.

She bit her lip and glanced at the clock on the wall opposite her.

"Take your time, we want to know everything." Dean was the one who spoke this time, and even he had taken himself by surprise at how calm he sounded.

What was more surprising was that *yn* didn't shoot back with a sarcastic remark or roll her eyes. Instead, a grateful look flashed across her features as she nodded.

"Ok."

So, the beginning was where she started. She told them everything, from the day that her dad died to when they'd shown up. About how it was a regular job and he'd been taken by a nasty spirit and the next thing she knew, she was being moved from home to home.

She told them about vampires and werewolves and witches and dopplegangers. About humanity switches and sunlight and stakes. She told them about the Founder's Council, about the Salvatores. She told them about Katherine and the tomb vampires. She told them about Klaus, about his obsession with making an army of hybrids. She told them about the original family and the coffins, about Stefan's fixation on getting revenge on Klaus.

She did decide to leave some details out, mainly about Damon's less... morally ok decisions and the people that her friends had killed along the way. But she did tell them about her friends, about her new family, about Alaric and Sheriff Forbes, about the bonds that they had all created during this time. About the fact that she was going to a real high school now, with real teachers and real prospects of college.

The whole time their eyes did not leave her. They nodded, smiled, grimaced (a lot) and asked questions occasionally. But there was not one moment where they were not one hundred percent focussed on her. And as she talked, *yn* realised just how desperate she was to tell someone outside her mystic falls circle about what was happening. Someone from her past. Someone who could understand and sympathise with just how messed up her life had been.

As she talked, it was like she could visualise the bonds of their relationship slowly begin to repair after so many years of disuse.

"And, I think that pretty much brings it up to today."

She could feel the brothers' eyes on her as she brought the bottle to her lips and finished the remnants of the liquor in one foul gulp.

"I uh-" She watched as Sam cleared his throat, his eyes darting to look at Dean before turning to her.

"I think I'll take that beer now."

A soft smile presented itself on her lips. The chair scraped against the floor. The sound bounced off the bare walls.

"It's a lot to process."

Dean watched as *yn* disappeared behind the fridge door once more.

"If it hadn't happened to me I wouldn't have believed it." Dean's eyes never left the photos plastered in front of him as he spoke.

"So what, he literally just locked eyes with you and like... mind controlled you or some crap?"

"It's called compulsion, and yes that's what they do." *yn* corrected Sam as she made her way back to the table.

"Right sorry, he compelled you to just do whatever he wanted?"

"Pretty much yeah."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Dean shrugged. "And if you ingest that herb you were taking about- varvin?" He continued.

"Vervain. And here." Sam raised a brow but still muttered a thank you as he took the beer and a bottle of water from her outstretched palm.

Upon closer inspection he noted the strange herb swirling around in the bottle, making the water slightly discoloured.

"It doesn't taste bad." *yn* commented when she noticed the sceptical look on his features.

"Bottoms up Sammy." Dean clapped him on the shoulder as Sam unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to his lips.

"And this really works?" He asked once he'd taken a large gulp of the liquid.

"You don't have to ingest it. You can wear it in something like a necklace and that will protect you too." She raised her wrist to reveal a bracelet dangling from her wrist.

"Me personally, I like to do both because if they yank it off you, you're screwed. Best to cover all your bases. You can incorporate into all sorts of weapons too, the stuff's a nightmare for them."

Her eyes darted between the brothers and raised a brow when she noted the looks on their features.

"What?"

"Nothing it's just uh-" Sam cleared his throat and glanced at Dean out of his peripheral. "I'm a bit confused as to why you're telling us all of this stuff. Given a lot of your friends are..."

"Vampires? You can say it." *yn* mused as she twisted the cap off her second beer. "And yes, they are my friends. But so are you. And unfortunately most vampires aren't as nice. I want you guys to be protected."

"You might want to consider getting better friends if that's what you consider friendly." Dean muttered under his breath.

"Given I'm in a generous mood, I'll choose to ignore that." Her answer made the side of Dean's lips twitch up into a smirk.

"Lucky me."

The pair locked eyes as *yn* brought the glass to her lips. He was taunting her, dangling his words in front of her like bait on a hook. Begging her to take a bite.

Her instincts were screaming at her, the words literally falling off the edge of her tongue. But the knowledge that she had to convince them to leave town was what prevented them from falling off the precipice.

"So you guys going to tell me why John's left you to fend for yourselves or what?"

"Oh come on." She continued when she saw them exchange looks. "Given I've just trauma dumped on you guys I think it's only fair you both tell me what you've been up to."

"We'd been hunting together for a few years and then he went on a trip." Dean spoke after a few moments. "And he didn't come back."

Trust Dean to include all the important details.

"That was when Dean came to get me from Stanford and-"

"Woah wait Stanford, as in Stanford University?" *yn* cut him off, her eyes growing wide.

"Uh yeah, I was studying law there."

"Sam that's amazing oh my god." *yn* breathed out, a grin spreading across her lips as she studied him.

"Thanks, I guess." Sam ducked his head down as a smile spread across his lips, unable to hide himself as her excited energy seeped into him.

"Don't be so fucking modest you dork." She laughed, "we always knew you were the nerd of the group."

She didn't miss the way Dean's small smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he studied his brother.

"John must have been really proud."

She instantly knew that she had hit a nerve when Sam's smile faltered, anger flashing across his features briefly before he regained his composure.

"Something like that."

Tension pulsated through the room as Dean pursed his lips at Sam's words. *yn* could almost see the wall go up between them.

Jesus what had she missed while she was gone?

"Anyway." Sam cleared his throat. "We went looking for him, to the town we knew he was working a job."

"No dad but there was a job. Spirit, nasty bitch too." Dean remarked, shaking his head and taking a deep drink of his beer at the memory.

"Dean dropped me back home and when I got there-" Sam looked down, a lump in his throat as he felt a rush of heat, like those flames were still licking at him, burning him from the inside.

"Jess, Sam's girlfriend, she was uh- well- she died just like our mum did."

A pregnant pause filled the room. *yn* blinked rapidly as she tried to process the information.

"Like, the exact way-"

The boys nodded solemnly.

"Fuck." She exhaled as she studied Sam. She fought the urge to reach over and take his hand.

"Jesus Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Thanks *yn*." A sad smile flitted across his features. He was unable to hide the anguish in his eyes. She knew he blamed himself for his girlfriends death. He was a Winchester, they were masters of self flagellation.

"Ever since then we've been trying to find dad."

"So what, he just took off without a word and you haven't heard from him since?" *yn* found it hard to believe that he would leave his sons without an explanation. Then again, it was John Winchester, he wasn't ever exactly going to win father of the year award.

"I've spoken to him, he gave me coordinates of another job." Dean answered her.

"That was it? No explanation of where he is?"

"That was it." No matter how good his poker face was, even Dean couldn't conceal the resentment on his face from her.

"We think he's got a lead on the thing that killed mum and that he doesn't want us involved." Sam explained.

"Right." *yn* nodded. "All the more reason for you to keep trying to find him then."

Dean's lips twitched, "trying to shake us already huh?"

"You are a pain in the ass..." She teased, "But it's not like that. I'd love for you to stay.. but you can't. It's not safe."

The mood visibly shifted. Dean's jaw tightened at her words, the veins in his hand protruding as he gripped the beer bottle. She could feel him shutting down already. So instead, she leant forward in her chair and locked eyes with Sam, praying that she could at least get through to him.

"Look, it won't take Klaus long to find out you're hunters. He probably already knows. And you two could be the best hunters in the entire fucking world, you still wouldn't have a chance against an original vampire."

She shifted her imploring gaze to Dean, swallowing the lump in her throat when he refused to meet her gaze.

"I've already lost my dad, I'm not losing you two." She twisted her fingers around each other as she tried to keep her voice steady and calm.

"You need to go and find your dad."

"Well that's ironic." Dean chuckled humourlessly.

*yn* frowned at his words. "What are you talking about?"

"He led us right to you."

"He's been leaving us clues - coordinates." Sam clarified when he saw her confusion.

"In his journal and stuff. There was a whole section on Mystic Falls, about all the mysterious animal attacks and missing persons."

"You think he knew?" Her question illicited a shrug.

"He knew something supernatural was going on. Hard to say if he suspected vampires."

She nodded, her mind was now racing even faster than it already had been. Not only did she have to worry about Klaus, but she also had to worry about word getting out in the hunter community about what was going on here.

"You have his journal?"

Sam nodded. "I'll go get it."

All she could do now was see what sort of information John had collected, what was available for hunters to find that would lead them to the town.

Dean wordlessly fished out his keys and handed them to Sam. His green eyes locked with hers as he did so, and *yn* swore he could read her mind in that moment.

She pushed the chair back, letting it scrape loudly on the wood. She could feel Dean's eyes still on her as she disappeared from view to pull open the storage cupboard under the staircase that led up to the second floor.

The shoe box was in plain sight. She reached up on her tippy toes and plucked it from the top shelf. Stepping out from underneath the stairs allowed her to examine it in the natural light.

It was tattered from age, the nike logo faded and discoloured. A layer of dust encased it. It was heavier than she remembered.

She placed it down gently onto the dining room table. Dean looked at her quizzically as she pulled off the lid. Particles of dust launched at her face, almost as if they were angry for being disturbed after so long.

"I saw you looking at my photos on the fridge." She spoke as she pushed the box towards Dean.

"You think I don't have photos of my dad, of you."

She watched as Dean brought the box closer to himself and peered inside.

"I didn't want to have to explain who any of you were to people who asked."

It also pained her to look at them.

He pulled out a stack of old photographs as she sat down once more. Her eyes never left his face, trying to gage his reaction as he sifted through the grainy faces.

A genuine smile spread across his lips as he chuckled. His mood did a 180. "Holy hell, I forgot how dorky you and Sammy were."

He flipped the photo around and sure enough there was a photo of a young Sam Winchester and *yn* Kitson.*yn* felt her cheeks flush as she snatched the photo from his hand for a closer examination.

Sure enough, there stood her and Sam, cheesy grins on their faces, dressed in matching Star Wars costumes. Sam as Luke Skywalker and *yn* as Han Solo. It was clear that the costumes had been made with whatever was available, her dad's belt nearly dwarfed her entire midsection and the pants were rolled up to her ankles so she wouldn't trip.

Despite her horror, she couldn't help but let out a giggle. "Christ, letting me go out like that has got to be considered some form of child abuse."

Dean chuckled as she placed the photo back down onto the table. "I remember you literally begging me to borrow my vest for that stupid costume."

"You should have said no, you would have been doing me a favour."

"And miss out on the opportunity to reminisce on your dorkiness years later? Hell no."

She shook her head, unable to wipe the smile off her face as Dean continued to sift through the photos.

"Oh my god."

"What?!" She was up and out of her chair, rounding the table to get a look at the photo that had made Dean's eyes bulge.

"Oh my god." She echoed as she slid into the chair beside him and peered over his shoulder.

"That is criminal." She gasped.

"What's criminal?"

The two twisted around in their seats to see Sam standing in the doorway. They glanced at each other before bursting into laughter.

"What? Show me!" Sam demanded as he stormed forward.

"Hey!" Dean protested as Sam reached over and plucked the photo from his hand. "I wasn't finishing admiring that."

*yn* covered her mouth, trying to suppress her laughter as she watched Sam study the picture.

"Oh my god." His face grimaced in disgust. "Burn this please."

"No, you look cute!" She protested.

"Cute is not the word I would use." Sam grumbled as he came to sit opposite them.

"Yeah sorry *yn*, gotta agree with Sammy on this one." Dean grinned as he reached over and grabbed it back from Sam.

"Dorky, loser, nerd, comes to mind though."

*yn* couldn't stifle her laughter any further as she looked at the photo once more.

It was a probably 10 year old Sam Winchester, his fringe even thicker and curlier then it was now, his two front teeth missing as he grinned wildly. He was holding some sort of science project in his small hands.

"Not much has changed in the dorky department."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean. "What like you wouldn't have some embarrassing pictures in here?"

"Me? Pfft please, I never went through an awkward phase."

This time it was *yn*'s turn to roll her eyes.

"Yeah right."

"I was too busy with all the cheerleaders to go through one."

Spurred on by his words, she leant forward and flicked through the photos. A very young Dean Winchester, hair plastered up into an obnoxious quiff and gleaming with hair gel, wearing a leather jacket far too big for him, was beaming back at her. Her lips curled into a devilish grin as she plucked the photo from obscurity.

"You may not have gone through a dorky phase Winchester, but you definitely went through one just as embarrassing." She held it up triumphantly, dodging Dean's grasp as she held it out for Sam to take.

Sam let out a bark of triumphant laughter as he studied the photo, clutching his chest as he threw his head back in a dramatic fashion.

"Oh c'mon, I'm sure it's not even bad."

"Hm, I'd call using what looks like a whole tub of hair gel to style your hair pretty bad."

*yn* snickered at Sam's words.

"Give me that." Dean grumbled, snatching the photo from Sam's hand.

"Dude this is not even that bad." He protested, although *yn* didn't miss the way the apples of his cheeks turned a slight pink.

"Wasn't this his James Dean phase?" *yn* queried. Sam let out a howl of laughter.

"Oh my god how could I forget about the James Dean phase." Sam could barely get his words out as he laughed. "He'd pretend that lollypop sticks were cigarettes."

Dean's cheeks turned pinker. She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost being the key word.

"And remember that little walk he'd do."

"Hey, the man's a legend alright." Dean protested as they both burst into a fit of giggles.

"He's the definition of cool. Style. Class."

*yn*'s brows raised at Dean's words, biting her lip to stop the giggles escaping as he glared at her.

"I still think it's embarrassing." Sam remarked.

The brothers continued to bicker as *yn* resumed flicking through the photos. Her fingers stilled when her dad's smiling face suddenly stared back at her.

She was wrapped in his burly arms, her pudgy fingers clasping his neck. Pink bow in her wispy hair. A toothless smile and bright eyes aimed at him. She would have been no more than 2.

Grief hit her like an unexpected tidal wave.

She blinked as she felt hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The pad of her pointer finger brushed over his sun worn features. The werewolf inflicted scar on his left temple.

Dean's eyes involuntarily darted to her. He went to turn his attention back to Sam when he noted the tightness of her features. The veins in her hand were revealed from her grip on the photo. He recognised the emotion on her face instantly. One that he was all too familiar with.

"So where's your aunt?"

Her eyes met his, widened from the surprise of being snapped out of their focus. They softened almost instantly, and for a moment there was a look of gratefulness on her face. Like she understood what he had done. In a blink her face morphed into one of unreadability. It happened so quickly Dean almost doubted he'd even seen it at all.

"My aunt?"

Dean frowned at her question. "The one you said you lived with? Is she at work or something?"

"Oh. Right."

Her eyes darted between the two brothers. She may be good at hiding her emotions, but Dean was better at seeing through it.

"*yn*."

"She uh, she's... well, she's dead."

"Dead?" Dean balked. "What do you mean dead?"

"Like... the tomb vampires got out and she died of an 'animal attack' sort of dead." Guilt was written all over her features as she spoke.

Two bewildered expressions stared back at her.

"It's ok.. really! It wasn't that sad, it was a while ago and to be honest she was kind of the worst so-"

"I'm not worried about you being sad, I'm worried about who the hell has been looking after you all this time."

Annoyance flashed across her features, "I don't need anyone to look after me."

"Who lives here?"

"Me."

"I mean, who else lives here?"

"No one."

"No one? So you live here all by yourself?"

"Yes, that's what I meant when I said I live here."

Dean and Sam exchanged bewildered glances.

"I'm at Elena's most of the time, I pretty much live with her."

Now it all made sense. The dust. The lack of furniture. Why it felt like no one really lived here. Because no one did.

"So you don't have a guardian? Any sort of parental figure?"

*yn* bristled at his questions. She was starting to become quite irritated.

"Ric is my guardian technically, Elena and Jeremy's too."

"Ric? As in the former vampire hunter we saw drinking with your vampire boyfriend last night? Yeah, sounds like a great role model."

"Dean." Sam warned.

"What? I'm merely stating the facts."

"I thought we were passed the whole judging, making assumptions, just being an asshole in general thing."

She held his gaze. Her eyes glowering with annoyance. She radiated stubbornness. It made Dean falter.

"I'm only asking because I care about you."

Her resolve wavered, a crack in her mask appeared that allowed Dean a glimpse. He saw a flicker of sadness.

"You have a funny way of showing it."

The shrill voice of Taylor Swift rung out through the room, preventing Dean from a response. She really had to change that ringtone.

*yn* avoided Dean's intense gaze as she fished her phone out of her pocket and glanced down at the caller ID.

"Excuse me." Was all she muttered before pushing out of her chair.

She didn't answer until she was upstairs with the door shut. "What do you want?"

"Well hello to you too." She could hear Damon's amused smirk through the phone.

"This better be good, you're interrupting precious bonding time." She grumbled as she flopped onto her bed.

"Things going that well with dumb and dumber huh?"

She huffed at his question. "All I'm going to say is I hope it went better for you with Ric's doctor friend than it is for me right now."

"Yeah funny you mention that, I'm just leaving his flat now."

She frowned, "Why?"

"To check if there was a bunny on the stove." As he spoke she picked up her childhood toy and sat it onto her chest. Buffy the plush pink horse stared back at her unblinkingly.

"That bad huh?"

"She vervained me when I accused her of killing her ex boyfriend, then the little psycho blood jacked me."

"She what?" *yn* sat upright. Buffy tumbled down the side of the bed. "Are you ok?"

"Fine, just a little miffed. Although, somewhat pleased I got to say 'I told you so' to Ric. Just as I predicted. Diagnosed psycho case."

"Great, just what we need."

"Yep, add it to our list of never ending problems." Damon drawled, "I was actually calling to see how it was going on your end with your second favourite set of brothers."

In that moment a memory surfaced. She snatched it before it could disappear once more. As he spoke she swapped the phone to her other ear and hastily leant over to pull open her bedside table draw.

"I think I'm making progress." She rifled through the stacks of paper and trinkets. She froze as her fingers found its target.

"Well that's something."

She pulled it out, hidden deep in the drawers depths. She plucked it out like a prize. A treasure amongst trash.

"Keep me updated, yeah?" She could faintly hear Damon's question on the end of the line.

"Will do." *yn* heard herself mumble as she twisted back onto her back and stared up at the photo.

"I gotta go. Talk to you later." And with that she snapped her phone shut and tossed it onto the bed beside her.

She held the paper up in her hand, stretching it above her head so the ceiling framed it. A photograph. A special one, kept apart from the others in the box in the room below her.

Luke Kitson, *yn* Kitson, Sam, Dean and John Winchester all beam back at her. The only photo of the five of them together. A perfectly dysfunctional family.

She smiled softly, letting the pads of her fingers glide over the young faces. Frozen permanently in time. None of them held a clue as to their fates. Where they would be in 8 years time. She wished she could somehow transport herself into that photograph and stay there forever.

Her anger towards Dean fizzled. Like it always did. She traced his grainy features with her fingernail.

She knew then that she had to do whatever it took to keep them safe. Even if it meant biting her tongue and quelling her anger. If it meant stretching the truth so they felt safe enough to leave her here and go on their way.

She let out a shaky breath as she pressed the photo into her chest, clutching it like she still did with Buffy when she couldn't sleep.

"I promise I'll keep them safe dad."

Sam turned to look at Dean once they heard a door shut above them.

"Oh don't give me that look Sammy."

"What look?"

"The little disappointed puppy look you've managed to master."

"You could have been a bit nicer."

"Oh come on!" Dean threw his hands up in the air. "The girl's living in a house all by herself in a town full of vamps, you expect me to be happy about this crap?"

"No, and I'm not happy about it either, but acting like this isn't exactly going to help things."

Dean muttered under his breath, leaning forward to press his elbows into his thighs so he could run his hands over his stubble.

"What the hell are we supposed to do?"

There was a static pause as Sam studied him before answering. "I think we should do what she says."

"You want us to leave?" Dean blinked dumbfounded.

"Look, if what she says is true, we stand no chance defeating these.. original vampires or whatever they're called. It'd be a suicide mission." Sam answered him, lowering his voice as he spoke.

"If we find dad we can get his help to come back and stop this."

Dean shook his head. "So what, we're supposed to just leave her here? With these-" He cut himself off, his eyes darting to the stairs before looking back at Sam. "These monsters?"

"I don't think we have a choice Dean."

"She could come with us."

"And what? Sit in a hotel room while we go work jobs? C'mon. You know that would never happen. It's pretty clear she wants to stay."

Dean frowned, rubbing his stubble stressfully as he racked his brain for another solution. There was a part of him that wanted to grab her and throw her in the back of the impala and drive away with her. But he knew he could never do that. He could never take away her freedom, her choice. Besides, she'd probably scratch his eyes out if he even tried.

"The longer we stay here the harder it's going to be to find dad."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he looked up at Sam through his long lashes. "Is this about finding dad to help *yn*, or to get to him before he kills whatever killed mum and Jess?"

Sam flinched at Jess' name. His lips thinned into a firm line.

"We have a chance to kill the son of a bitch Dean. I'm not losing that. Not for anyone."

There was his answer. Dean sat up in his chair and leant back, his forehead creased as he studied his brother.

This wasn't the Sammy that he knew. The doe eyed, puppy like Sam Winchester who wanted to help everyone and anyone. No, this was a Sam Winchester who had a hard shell casing beginning to form around him. One that was driven by revenge and bitterness. One that was much too like John and Dean Winchester.

But despite all that, Dean knew his brother was right. They had no choice. If they stayed, they might all end up dead. At least this gave them time to reconvene and plan.

"Fine." Dean relented. "We go find dad, kill the son of a bitch, but then we are getting our asses back here and getting *yn* out."

"Deal." Sam nodded.

"But we ain't leaving until I give her at least some basic training. Who knows when she even last held a damn shotgun."

The staircase creaked before Sam could reply. The two sat up, trying to look as natural as possible as *yn* wondered back into the kitchen.

"Sorry about that, it was Elena." She spoke, waving her phone in the air before sliding it into her pocket. She seemed to return to the room in a much better mood than when she had left it.

"Everything ok?" Sam asked her, a smile on his features.

*yn* glanced at him before looking over at Dean. A strangely friendly smile was also on his lips.

"Yeah, just friend drama." She answered as she slid into her chair.

Each party seemed to be in a much friendlier mood, but the other could not quite work out why.

Her eyes landed on a photo amongst the pile, a genuine grin spread across her lips as she pulled it towards her.

Bobby Singer stared back at her, a rare smile on his face. A five year old *yn* Kitson sat beaming on his lap.

"Do you guys still see Bobby?"

Fondness washed over her at the memory of the grumpy older man. He'd always had a soft spot for her, and her for him.

"Yeah of course." Dean nodded.

"Hey, when this business is done with our dad why don't we swing through here and pick you up and we can all take a road trip to see him?"

*yn* looked up from the photo in surprise. Her eyes flickered to Sam who was nodding encouragingly.

"That sounds like a great idea." He agreed.

She glanced between them, trying to decipher what they were trying to say. "Does this mean you're leaving?"

"Yeah, well we talked about it and we think you're right. It's probably safer for everyone if we go." Sam was the one to answer her.

Her lips parted in surprise. Dean could tell that she had not thought it would be that easy. She turned to look at him and he could tell that she was reading him, trying to find the hidden motive behind their unexpected decision.

He did his best to keep smiling. If she could read him, she did not let on, a smile instead spreading across her lips. One that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"There is just one condition though." Dean finally spoke up.

"What's that?"

"Self defence training." *yn*'s brows shot up to her hairline.

"Self defence training?" She echoed. An amused smirk spread across her lips when he nodded.

"What? Don't think I can handle myself Winchester?"

"Just want to make sure you haven't gotten rusty that's all." He shrugged. There was a glimmer in his eye as they studied each other.

"Well we wouldn't want that, would we?"

A twig snapped underneath Dean's boot. A raven cawed in the distance.

"You sure no one's around?"

The two brothers stepped into the clearing that *yn* had directed them towards.

"Yeah, Ric, Elena and I come here all the time to train." *yn* answered from behind them. A loud thump made them swivel around.

"What the hell is that?"

The two brothers looked down at the duffle bag *yn* dumped down at their feet.

"Things I defend myself with."

They watched as she bent down. The teeth of the zipper parting echoed through the woods, bouncing off the old trees.

"What are we looking at right now?" Dean queried, his brows raised as he watched her pull out a shot gun.

"Well this one is loaded with wooden bullets, excruciating and a pain in the ass to dig out." She chucked it onto the grass.

"This one shoots mini daggers." Another thud.

"This is a vervain grenade."

Thud.

"Oh and this crossbow is pretty handy too."

Thud.

"And I think that's all I've got at the moment, Ric has some more back home."

She glanced up expectantly when she got no response. Their jaws were slack as they stared at the weapons laid out in front of them.

"You made these?" It was Sam who finally broke the silence.

"Yeah, I mean Ric thought of most of 'em but I helped... fine tune the final products I guess you could say." She picked up the shotgun, popping it open with ease and glanced down into the chamber.

Sam raised a brow and looked over at Dean. He didn't need to verbalise his thoughts. It was written all over his face. "What was that about her not being able to hold a shotgun?"

Dean shot him a glare before clearing his throat, "well that's all very impressive but sometimes we don't get the opportunity to grab weapons."

*yn* eyed him sceptically as he took a few steps back to move into the centre of the clearing.

"What about your hand to hand?"

She tried to hide her smirk as she placed the shot gun on the ground. She rose to her feet and dusted her hands off on her jean shorts.

He didn't need to know that Ric had been training her and Elena for months. Or that she never stopped training, even after her dad died.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and dumped it onto the ground, leaving him in a grey t-shirt. It was loose, except for around his biceps that bulged as he tensed. Her eyes darted to his hands, watching them curl into fists. His rings gleamed back at her.

She swallowed and forced herself to move her eyes back to his face. The last thing Dean Winchester needed to see was her checking him out.

She stepped forward so she was only a few metres from him.

"You know vampires have super speed and strength right? I don't think this sort of training is going to be much use."

"Just humour me." He answered her, a small smirk twisting up onto his lips. There was that gleam in his eye again. Challenging her. Provoking her.

"I wanna see what you're made of Kit."

Kit.

It felt like eons since someone had called her that.

"Hurry up Kit!"

"Put your back into it Kit."

"That's my little Kit."

"I love you Kit."

The nickname unlocked so many memories from her past. It didn't even feel like the nickname belonged to her. Like it was someone she'd known in her past life.

It felt so foreign to her ears that her brain took a moment to process it.

"C'mon Kit, what are you waiting for?"

Dean's voice brought her back down to earth. This time, the nickname nestled into her ear and made itself home again. It sparked something in her. A determined look settled onto her features.

Dean's eyes sparked when he saw her face morph. He held back his grin as the pair began to circle each other. They danced around each other, both of them holding their breath to see who would make the first move.

The snap of a twig was all it took. *yn*'s eyes must have shifted for no more than a few seconds. But it was all the time Dean needed to lunge forward and take her by surprise.

She stepped back and moved to curl her knuckles into a fist but he was already on her. Calloused hands gripped her forearms and twisted her around. She grunted as a knee pressed into the backs of her legs causing them to involuntarily buckle.

He used his bodyweight to push her down onto her stomach, twisting her arms and pinning them to her back in one fluid movement. She squirmed under his firm grip but she knew it was pointless. She was trapped, like a fish in a net. A fly in a spiders web.

She let out a grunt of frustration as she tried once more to writhe out of his strong grip. She could almost feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckled. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as a rush of warm air puffed onto the shell of her ear.

"Just as I thought, rusty." His voice was deep and amused. She gritted her teeth as he released her from his grip, chuckling to himself as he watched her get up onto her feet. Her breath was slightly ragged as she locked eyes with him, her jaw clenched.

Her ringtone blared through the woods. She tore her eyes from Dean and hurried to her bag. Damon's name illuminated the Caller ID. Her finger hovered over the accept button. She stole a glance at Dean who was already studying her intently. She flipped her phone shut.

"You don't need to get that?"

"Not important." She answered as she flicked it to silent and shoved it into the depths of her bag.

She rose to her full height and marched back into the centre of the clearing.

"Again."

After an hour, her body was aching and bruised. It was screaming at her to give up. And she might have done, if Dean hadn't just lunged at her for what must have been the 12th time and finally left his stomach exposed.

She stepped forward and punched him square between his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. She jumped on the opportunity instantly, kicking his feet out from underneath him. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, she pushed him to the ground and straddled his torso. A wild grin spread across her lips as she pinned his arms above his head.

Victory was hers. Finally. There was a triumphant look in her eye as his body stilled underneath hers, admitting defeat.

A smirk appeared on his lips as his hands settled on her thighs. His chuckle sounded like gravel. He winced as she intentionally pushed down onto the area of his stomach where a bruise was already starting to form.

"Well played Kit."

The praise affected her more than it should have.

She felt her cheeks flush as the pair locked eyes. The pad of Dean's thumb brushed against her skin. It left goosebumps in its wake.

"I'm spent." Sam groaned from behind them.

She finally broke eye contact, ducking her head down as Dean's hands flew from her thighs.

"Can we have a break now?" She asked as she rolled off him and glanced over at Sam.

"Please." Sam agreed as he collapsed against a tree. He seemed oblivious to the interaction that had just occurred.

"Great." *yn* rose to her feet and began to stretch her aching limbs. She could hear Dean getting onto his feet behind her.

"These weapons really work?" Dean spoke after a few moments of silence stretched through the clearing.

He had her crossbow in his hand. "Yeah, they've been useful before."

"And this one shoots stakes?" He brought it up to rest on his shoulder.

"Yeah, that ones a personal favourite of Ric's." *yn* answered as he watched him settle on a tree as a target. One eye closed as his finger rested on the trigger. Then he pulled.

There was a whoosh as a blurry figure snaked past her. The stake never found its target. It was stopped by a hand. A gaudy ring waved back at her. As did a smirking Damon.

"Uh oh, vampire not staked."

She blinked and he was gone. Firm hands gripped her shoulders before the stake had even hit the ground. A hard body pressed against her.

The band of the gaudy ring that was staring back at her only seconds ago was now pressing into her throat. Her face was guided to the side, exposing her skin. Fangs lightly scraped the side of her neck.

"Pretty girl gets killed instead." He murmured, his lips only millimetres from her skin. His fangs brushed her as he spoke.

Her face flushed and her heart pounded against her ribcage. This was so not the reaction she should be having to this encounter. She was certain Damon could hear the way her pulse was pounding. All she could do was hope that he assumed it was out of fear.

"You guys gotta work on your hunting skills."

*yn* knew how it looked, how Damon intended for it to look in front of Dean and Sam. But what they didn't see was how gently he had shifted her neck. How he had just brushed his thumb along the curve of her skull, almost in a way to communicate that he wasn't going to hurt her.

Dean's face had hardened as he aimed the crossbow at Damon.

"Alright ease up cowboy." Damon raised his hands in mock surrender but didn't make an attempt to move from behind *yn*. His makeshift shield.

"I'm just trying to make this training exercise as realistic as possible."

"Dean it's ok." *yn* reassured him. "This is just Damon's sick idea of a joke." She sneered.

Dean's eyes darted between Damon and *yn* for a few moments before he reluctantly lowered the crossbow. She could see Damon's smirk widen.

"You think my humour is sick? Why thank you."

She rolled her eyes and shoved him off her.

"You're an idiot."

He grinned at her as his fangs slid back into his gums and the veins under his eyes shrunk.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him before he could open his mouth again to spew out another taunt.

"You weren't answering your cell."

It was an accusation, not an explanation.

"I turned it off." His eyes narrowed at her answer.

"I need to talk to you." He glanced over at Dean and Sam, "in private." She rolled her eyes once more but nodded.

"And remember boys, special vamp hearing if you wanted to have a little gossip session about me while I'm gone." He turned and shot them an obnoxious wink.

She didn't wait for a response from Sam or Dean before she grabbed Damon's arm and dragged him off into the woods.

"Oh come on *yn*, why so grumpy." He teased. She gritted her teeth and finally came to a stop once they were out of ear shot of the boys.

"You rocking up with your fangs out isn't exactly going to help me convince them that they should leave me here, is it?"

This time it was Damon's turn to roll his eyes. "Alright I'm sorry, I was just having a little fun."

She sighed and folded her arms in front of her chest. "How's it going with them anyway?"

"Good actually, they've agreed to leave town."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Huh." Damon nodded, his lips pursed, "probably good timing actually."

"And why's that?"

"Well... I sort of had a run in with Klaus."

"What? What happened?" All annoyance directed towards Damon flew out the window.

"He got the coffins back."

"Shit." She cursed under her breath. "So we're all screwed then?"

"Well... I did manage to hide one before he got there."

She blinked in disbelief. "The locked one?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' as he nodded. "Let's just say he wasn't too pleased with me."

"So we still have leverage." She breathed out, "that's good. Although he's probably going to be twice as murderous now."

"Oh, I think he's going to have bigger things to worry about for a while."

Her eyes narrowed at his words, "and why's that?"

A smirk twisted up onto Damon's lips as he leant into his jacket pocket. She took a step back, her eyes widening at the object.

A white ash dagger stared back at her.

"Is that...?"

"You bet it is."

"Damon what the hell did you do?"

He shrugged. "I thought it was time for a brotherly reunion."

"So you're telling me we've now got two original vampires running around Mystic Falls?"

"Elijah hates Klaus. Wants him dead."

"We thought that the last time and look what happened."

Damon huffed. "This is different, Klaus broke his promise and stuffed him into a wooden box. The dudes pissed. And if Elijah's pissed, it means we have a chance to get him to work with us to finally put a stop to Klaus's little tirade."

*yn* sighed and folded her arms in front of her chest. "You better be right about this."

"When am I ever wrong."

She shook her head, a ghost of a smile spreading across her lips as she looked away. Her eyes involuntarily dragged back into the direction of Sam and Dean.

"You want to get back to your training Kit?"

The nickname falling from his lips made her jerk her head back at him.

"That is what they call you, isn't it?"

"Were you spying on me?" She hissed.

"I had to find you from the sound of your voices. I didn't have a choice but to listen in." He shrugged innocently. If looks could kill, he'd be very much dead right now.

"I did arrive in time to see you tackle hero hair 2.0 to the ground."

"Are you done?"

"It was kind of hot."

She felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"Alright now I'm done." He grinned. "I'll leave you to it, gotta go tell the baby brother my genius plan."

She watched him take a few steps before he suddenly turned back around to face her. All traces of humour had left his face. She jutted her chin up to look at him as he marched towards her.

"Don't put your phone on silent again." A breath caught in her throat as he raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. His gaze had softened as he studied every inch of her face.

"I hate worrying that something's happened to you."

In a blink he was gone.

"Fuck." She murmured under her breath.

*yn* spent the time it took reaching the clearing to collect herself and push thoughts of Damon to the back of her mind. By the time she reached the boys, she was the perfect picture of calm and normalcy.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah." She nodded, "friend drama."

Dean nodded. She knew that he didn't believe her.

"So-" She cleared her throat. "Do you guys want to keep training?"

"It's getting kind of late actually, we should probably get going soon." Sam answered her.

She felt her heart plummet to the ground. She knew that they had to go, but she wasn't ready for it. They'd just got here. They were just starting to reconnect, to mend those bonds that had eroded over the years.

Even though she was practically limping from their training session, it had been some of the most fun she'd had in a long time. Giggling as Sam and Dean bickered, or trying to contain her laughter when she'd accidentally kneed Sam in the groin. It felt so natural. So familial. Almost like her dad was about to pop out and call them in for dinner like he used to all those years ago.

Surely it wouldn't hurt if they stayed just a little while longer. Like Damon had said, Klaus was distracted.

"Why don't you guys stay the night?" She suggested, glancing between them hopefully.

"We could grab some dinner and then you can head out in the morning."

The boys exchanged dubious glances.

"C'mon you can sleep at mine, I'm sure you must be sick of motel beds."

That seemed to be what tipped them over the edge.

"Alright that sounds good, thank you." Dean spoke, shooting her a tight lipped smile.

A grin spread across her lips, "great! Let's get something from the grill. I think it's burger deal night." She spoke enthusiastically as she picked up her duffel bag.

"Ooh! I call shotgun!" And with that she hurried off towards the impala, leaving the boys trailing after her.

"We're not playing any Taylor Swift." Dean called out to her as she neared the car.

She rolled her eyes, "I know you don't actually hate her."

"Oh really? And how do you know that?"

The car lock clicked.

"Because no one actually hates Taylor Swift. It's impossible."

Dean muttered something under his breath as the three of them piled into the impala. Sam's knees were practically up to his face as he forced himself into the back. Dean slid the key into the ignition.

"Do you still have that ACDC tape your dad used to play all the time?"

Dean's fingers froze in place. He turned to look at her.

"You still listen to ACDC?"

"Yeah. Of course I do. Why do you think I chose the name Young?"

Dean thought he might pass out as realisation hit him. "Like as in Angus Young...."

"Yeah..." She looked at him puzzled. "Do you guys still not use those sort of fake names?" She glanced over her shoulder at Sam.

"Yeah we do it's just..." Dean trailed off, bringing her attention back to him.

"Anyway-" He cleared his throat, "I have it, it's already in."

His answer made her smile grow wider. "Well what are you waiting for Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief before twisting the key in the ignition, letting the impala rumble to life. He pressed a button and the beginning of Back in Black started to blare through the speakers.

Sam internally groaned.

"Now that's what I'm talking about." She leant back in her seat and kicked her feet up onto the dash as Dean pulled out onto the road.

Sam's brow raised when Dean didn't say a word. If that had been him, he'd have been told to get out and walk.

Dean grinned and began to tap his fingers along the leather of the wheel, his head bobbing in time.

"Back in black, I hit the sack - come on Winchester!" She exclaimed when she didn't hear Dean's voice, hitting his chest playfully.

Sam blinked in disbelief as Dean began to join in, the pair of them shouting at the top of their lungs. Dean cranked the music louder.

"Oh my god." Sam mumbled to himself.

"There's two of them."

I really love this part - don't worry though there's gonna be soooo much drama coming up hehehe <333 As always, feedback would be super super appreciated and you can give it back HERE!

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