hot pavement

What the Batfamily members smell like

Bruce: Sweat, leather, expensive cologne, that dry scent that tells you he’s carrying money in his pockets, scotch, envelopes. he likes to wear the best colognes because he has an image to keep, but when it’s just him he smells the way a father would smell. the batmobile smells like him so when he was dead his kids would sit in the car and just breathe it in so they’d never forget what he smelled like 

Dick: Fresh linen, fancy soaps Alfred bought for him, cereal, green apples, new car smell, hair gel, cheap wine, aftershave. he smells like one of those guys who wears ten different colognes to impress women, though in Dick’s case most of the time it’s just the way he naturally smells and it’s intoxicating 

Barbara: Lemons, cotton, honeysuckle, that familiar smell all computers seem to have, glossy magazines. she just smells really comforting and familiar, like that feeling you get when you hug your mom 

Jason: Cigarettes, sweat, gunpowder, leather jackets, the familiar alleys of Gotham City, freshly baked bread, buttery popcorn, dusty old books, cheap cologne. he’s got a very musky scent, but there are so many different aromas going on at the same time that he smells like an odd mix of all of them 

Cass: Jasmine shampoo, pine trees, the occasional faint scent of blood, the rubbery smell of bandages, cut flowers, scented candles, hot chocolate. she doesn’t wear perfume so she smells very natural 

Tim: Coffee grounds, printer ink, new book smell, the earthy scent of rain on hot pavement, sharpies. he smells very homey. he doesn’t usually wear cologne, but he smells just as appealing as Dick does without even trying. when you hug him you just want to stay in his arms and inhale his comforting scent as long as you can 

Stephanie: Cinnamon, strawberry shampoo, sugary perfume, coca-cola lip smackers, maple syrup, a warm sea breeze. she sprays on ten different perfumes at a time, so when people smell her they’re captivated by how many different aromas are going on at once. when you smell her it’s so inviting it just makes you want to be around her forever 

Damian: Batcow’s stables, butterscotch candies, the steel blade of his katana, paint from his artwork, pastel crayons, the earthy aroma of freshly dug soil. he always smells like Alfred’s garden, like dirt and green leaves and fresh vegetables. there’s always the slightest whiff of gingerbread too 

TOP eras as i see them with synesthetia

self-titled era: shaking hands. old keyboards. friends that talk behind your back. the feeling you get after staying up too late. being sleepy all day but suddenly feeling awake at night. recovery. reaching the end of a tunnel. slowly lifting your head. realizing you can make a better life for yourself. drawing on your skin. burning old photos. abandoned theme parks. art shows. swimming pools.

RAB era: baseball fields. skinned knees. falling down after running really fast. collapsing at the end of a sports match. rained out events. resting in the shade on a hot day. shaved heads. summertime. the last few weeks of school. only leaving your house if you feel that that day is going to be important. sudden bursts of inspiration. finding creativity you never knew before. worrying about everything. the lump in your throat after you’re trying not to cry. things building up. unspoken words. dogs. hiking. cleats. 

Vessel: sudden fellowship with others. finally reaching out to your friends. the cold rush of air on your face when a door opens. raising your arms towards the sky. finally getting counseling. screaming, but not knowing why. night terrors. pine trees. a feeling of being lost. lonely in a room of people. soda. carbonated water. pink and yellow and red and gray. smiling over sadness. anxiety. butterflies in your stomach. the smile you get when you begin to realize everything will be alright. 

Blurryface: realizing that your friends have helped you, but now is the part of the battle you must fight on your own. blasting music in the car. summer days. hot pavement. empty rooms. moving houses. shouting just to hear an echo. late nights driving. nightmares. graffiti. sirens. doing bad things, but desperately wishing you could do good. doing good but can’t stop thinking about bad things. fighting against the darkness that no one else can see. cracks in the ceiling. basements. spaces where you don’t feel quite real. falling into bed after a long day. the final great battle before the end of the war.

If you ever think your 12 year old self was an idiot just remember this: 

one time when I was in seventh grade I decided to walk home from the community center without wearing any shoes. But it was like 98 degrees outside, so obviously the pavement was hot as balls, but I stubbornly continued to walk home barefoot. Long story short I got second degree burns from the pavement and painful blisters on every part of my feet. When I had to explain to my parents why the hell I walked home barefoot I told them that my shoes were hurting my feet. I ended up going to go see doctors, and I wore inserts in my shoes for three years. My parents even considered surgery to fix my feet so that they wouldn’t hurt. 

I never had the courage to tell them that the reason why I walked barefoot that one day was not because my feet hurt, but because, being an avid fan of Avatar: The Last Airbender, I had wanted fucking callouses on my feet like Toph

comfort:

buttery yellow summer sunrises, soft baby blankets, creaky swing sets, old teddy bears, apple trees, bright blue paddle pools, baby powder, rain on hot pavement, the sound of spoke beads, rosy hot summer sunsets, fevers and popsicles, glowing night lights, an air conditioned grocery store on a hot summer day, the scent of spilled bubble solution, rainbow water balloons, barefoot on a trampoline, farm roads, 2001 newspaper articles, little golden books, classic care bears cartoons

A list of my greatest fears in no particular order: Loss of composure. Death by exposure. The collective myth of closure. I’d call it progress but I still haven’t learned to regress any slower. The truth is, I’m not good or enough or getting any better at being good enough. How can you own your own thoughts when somebody else has already thought them? No reason to keep trying, but I do anyway. I struggle anyway. Wake up anyway. Too stubborn to try things a different way. I glued all my shoes to the floor of my childhood room and now I’m too afraid to brave the hot pavement barefoot.

The wind plays the angel trumpets and our feet slap on the hot pavement. It was July that time and baby’s breath was still stuck in our hair. Even far away we heard the waves toppling over one another to caress the sand. We hold seashells to our ear like telephones, waiting for the sea to speak.

“I can taste the honeysuckle and lime, the olives and the granada. The rubies dangle from my mouth and slide down my throat with passion.”

Fake Service Dogs

I’m BEYOND pissed
This is what happened at REI tonight with a fake service dog (REI’s near me only allow service animals). I went in with Kasida to get her some boots for the hot pavement. I was putting one on her to make sure it fit after I measured her paw. My back was facing the main aisle and I hear Kasida start to whine. I heard a commotion behind me and stood up. There was a dog lunging at Kasida and if I hadn’t have stood up I would have gotten attacked. Kasida freaked out and backed up and got caught on a basket. It took me 15 minutes to get her unhooked from it. My mom yelled at the guy and asked if it was a service dog and he smirked and nodded his head. I AM ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS. First your pet was going to attack my dog. Second of all its illegal to fake a service dog. Third of all Kasida is a seizure alert dog. My seizures tend to be violent and can become life threatening. Your stupid dog could have made her miss an alert, and if she had and I had a seizure, I’d potentialy be in the hospital or worse. DO NOT FAKE SERVICE ANIMALS. DO NOT HARRASS SERVICE ANIMALS. DO NOT INTERACT WITH THEM.
Sorry for the rant

i. a slytherin girl with her mind and heart made up just as impenetrably as her bulletproof walk. badass, confident and easy to trust. head high, thoughts sorted and a smile full of life. she teaches you to not take shit from anyone of anything. she teaches you that when someone is out of your life, they’re out and that’s it. you don’t need them if they don’t need you. adjusts herself easily and she knows the right things to say to the right people. ambitious and forward-going. she only has her heart put out for a few people, but she lets them know it, deeply. she thinks she’s the night sky, but she’s the sun. and what the heck, she’s all the stars too. she teaches you how to let go easily and the simple fact that life goes on.


ii. another slytherin girl with eyes of tender frozen, yet green and warm flashlights. you’ll remember her teasing jokes and determined, strong-willed mind. she teaches you how to close the curtains of your emotions and just keep pushing when you need to. she’s funny without even trying or feeling the need to try. she says she’s cold and unsympathetic, but funnily enough she’s too busy caring about her friends than the rest of the world that she doesn’t even know. she belongs to the stars and you know she can’t stay. she needs to go catch the rest of her constellations.


iii. a boy with the sun in his soul. you’ll remember his authentic facial expressions long after you last saw him. he will teach you how to not take life too seriously and it will last like permanent reminder. his contagious laugh stays in your head, especially during extraneous gloom. extroverted, adorkable, a rush of pure energy and the sweetest feathery tornado you’ll meet. he’s a watercolor filter over liveliness and the smile that lights up the entire room. you’ll never forget the impression he made on you.


iv. he’s the combination of soft clouds and unbreakable winds. he’s not meant to stay and you know it from the start, but you will have a tough time accepting it. he’s mysteriousness and filled with moon rays. you’ll never quite understand him and maybe that’s what makes him so interesting. he is the winter making you feel warm. a layer of peace and tranquility spreading wherever he goes. he’s the original reminder that everything will be okay. he touches your soul in small mesmerizing ways, even one time in a romantic way. gives more than he takes and understands without even asking.


v. a summery girl you never understood and maybe that’s how it was meant to be. eyes like deep almond and hair like sand waves. you’ll never know if she liked you or not, but you really tried to get her to. she’s smart in ferocious streams of calmness. she’s gentle laughs on the beach with her best friend and ice cream cones in the middle of july. she teaches you maturity without you or her even knowing. she might not be the most memorable to you, but when you think about her you always regret not being her friend. and she’s probably the moon and the sun at the same time.


vi. a hufflepuff boy who is a blend of the sun and the wind. easy to talk to, always there to talk to you. loves his girl unconditionally and without any second guesses. he never just gets to know you, he gets to know the real you. goofy like a childhood memory and naturally happy without a doubt. a bit flaky, a bit messy but everyone knows that’s his charm. you know from the very first time you meet him that his heart will remain in the right place forever.


vii. she’s the glue that holds your girl clique together and everyone knows it. she doesn’t look at you, she inhales you and tries to understand every bit of you. quirky and smart in a delicate way. when you think of her you think of golden, people laughing in a high-quality restaurant, champagne popping and the hot sun on the pavement during a dreamlike vacation. she just doesn’t make sure that she understands her friends, but that her friends understand each other. when you think of her, you know she’ll stay in your life forever, because she wouldn’t let anything other than that happen.


viii. she’s the sweet smirk on a tiresome afternoon. she’s kindness blooming everywhere she goes. she nods her head in sincere empathy when someone is pouring out their thoughts. she is the rain on a sunny sunday. you’ll remember her patience, understanding, her support and her smile. greeting you with open arms and a floppy cute wave. and when things can’t get worse, she’s there reminding you that they won’t. she’s the tiny spark, you would never dare to forget.

—  tina jaxén // people from school i can’t help but miss

lunchables, dirt-caked sneakers, hot pavement, back to school commercials, animal cracker boxes, the smell of woodchips after rain, popsicle stained tongues, sidewalk chalk, scraped knees, “summer 2005” on a tie-dye bouncy ball, ant traps, rooftop fireworks, bug spray odor, windowsill crickets, chlorine-and-ice-cream-cold, sleepy rainbows, a barbie diary full of stories

anonymous asked:

"hey, woah don't pass out on me here" platonic shance?

Lance groans and curls tighter into himself. He can feel the sun beating down on him, warming his already overheated skin, but it can’t touch the chill that’s freezing him from the inside out. His marrow is ice in his bones and he can’t stop trembling. The mild spring breeze feels like a blizzard wind from goddamn Antarctica.

He’s sitting on a bench outside his lecture hall, bent over at the waist with his forehead touching his knees, clutching his backpack to his chest like that might stop the world from rocking and spinning around him. He’d already thrown up in the trash bin outside his classroom after bolting out with no warning and had since decided that there was no coming back to this place. Ever. Some girl had seen him puking his guts up and took pity on him – and feeling a stranger touch his back and ask if he was okay, if he needed help or if she needed to call someone for him while he was disoriented and vulnerable and in pain had not exactly been a welcomed turn of events.

What had been even more unwelcome was the fact that he actually needed her help. He’d been in no shape to turn her away and, frankly, the sudden bout of illness had been terrifying, so he’d heard himself giving her a number and then she was talking on the phone, saying things like, “I’m calling for Lance. He’s not feeling too well right now” and “Yeah, he’s been vomiting and he’s running a pretty high fever…” and finally “Okay, I’ll tell him. No problem.”

The girl – Lance hadn’t even been able to see straight enough to discern whether he’d seen her around before or not – had taken him to the bench and told him that his friend was on the way to get him, and would he be okay without her? He must have said yes, because she left after that.

It feels like he’s been sitting here forever. There’s an awful throbbing ache behind his eyes, pulsing in his temples, and his throat is burning so badly that his eyes water every time he swallows. There’s no strength in his limbs – his arms tremble as they clutch his backpack and he’s almost surprised he’s still upright at all – and he aches all over and his head’s spinning like a top and he’s just so fucking cold. He can’t wait to be in bed.

The breeze picks up again and an unbidden whimper leaves his mouth. He must look pathetic like this, all slumped over on a campus bench and hugging his backpack, shivering uncontrollably and now whining. He’s nineteen years old; he should be able to get his ass home on his own. But he really feels like hell and honestly isn’t sure he’d be able to stand right now anyway.

The minutes run together and it feels like a long time before he hears heavy footsteps approach him.

“Lance?”

Shiro’s voice sounds slightly alarmed. Lance doesn’t lift his head until he feels one hand on his back and another come up to cradle his forehead. He looks up woozily and sees Shiro’s face blurring in and out of focus. Lance can tell that he’s frowning.

“That’s quite a fever you got there, buddy,” he says. “Think you can make it to the car?”

“Yeah.” Lance nods blearily. “I’m okay.”

Shiro hums uncertainly and slings Lance’s backpack over his shoulder before wrapping both hands around Lance’s bicep and slowly rising to his feet. Black dots cloud Lance’s vision and he staggers a bit until Shiro steadies him by wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Whoa, don’t pass out on me here,” the older man says. Lance can almost see his concerned, fatherly expression. “How in the world did you even make it into class today?”

“Like I always do,” Lance slurs, desperately ignoring the way his head feels so light, how the ground tilts under his feet. “Didn’t feel too bad ‘til I got here.”

“You should’ve gone home before it got this bad.” Shiro sounds worried. “I don’t like getting calls from strangers telling me you need me to come pick you up because you’re too sick to get home by yourself.”

“M’sorry.” His voice comes out breathy and quiet as whatever strength he has left drains quickly from the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. Heat prickles down his back, behind his eyes, tingles in his hands, and an encroaching blackness spreads across his vision. He can feel the blood draining from his face completely, leaving his head cold and clammy and far too light.

God, he really needs to sit down.

“Lance!”

Shiro’s voice sounds much farther away than it had a few seconds ago.

Lance is breathing hard, gasping for air in an attempt to clear away the dizziness in his head. It takes a worrying amount of time, but the black dots eventually begin to clear away, and when he can see again he finds that he’s sitting on the hot pavement with his head between his knees and Shiro’s firm hands on his shoulder and the back of his neck.

After a few minutes of sweating and panting, Lance lifts his aching head. Shiro is right there, staring at him with eyes blown wide and more fear than Lance has ever seen from him. “Lance? Can you hear me?” he shouts, voice raw. “Answer me!”

“Sorry,” Lance says dizzily. “I’m… I don’t feel good.”

Shiro’s face softens in sympathy. “I know, buddy, I know. We’re gonna get you home, don’t worry. Do you think you can eat a little bit before we try standing up again?”

Lance nods, even though he isn’t sure. A granola bar is put into his hand and he nibbles at it halfheartedly while Shiro rubs a hand across his back.

He can’t even make it to the car. He gets dizzy again immediately upon standing and Shiro has to carry him and buckle him in the passenger seat like some little kid. Thankfully, by then, he’s not even coherent enough to be embarrassed about it. He just wants to be in bed.

sunlit baby blue bedroom, picking dandelions, running through sprinklers in wet grass, fluttering white butterflies, lemonade stands, chlorine scented skin, sidewalk chalk scrawlings on the front steps, a barbie jeep in a sunny backyard, watermelon lip smackers, plastic butterfly hair clips, blockbuster dvds, capri sun and fruit snacks, air conditioner humming, barefoot on hot pavement, skip it, america online, nickelodeon’s day of play, bouncy balls in the driveway, a rumble of thunder in the sky

Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x reader (eventually)

Warnings: Language, violence, explosions, mean aliens, pie

A/N: I have no idea what come over me, or why I’m suddenly delving into the Marvel franchise headfirst. All I know, is this is pretty long, but then again, I did write it. I have no self-control, I swear. Enjoy!


Bucky.

“Barnes!” you gasp, lying flat on the ground where you’ve been thrown by the explosion of a nearby car. You’re really getting sick of being knocked around all the time, tossed through the air by some kind of freaking alien or asshole in a suit.

Keep reading

Do I cross your mind from time to time
Can you even love me
with your eyes closed so tight?
Yes blood is thicker
But water is deeper
And fruit rots in the sun

Hot pavement burns
My always bare feet
You’re forgetting me more
Day by day
Sharp pebbles feed girls
With sharp tongues

Fruit is fruit
Blood is blood
Water is an agent of the sea
Leaves behind salt
When it washes away
A river between you and me

Lanterns at midnight
Miles away
You still love me at five in the morning
But when the sun comes up
You see my face
And how heaven took back the stars in my eyes

—  Love sick, truly
i.
girl reconciles with the commotion of emotions that bubble up like hot tar on Texas pavement. she acknowledges that her presence is few and far between, but that does not stop the hell that rages inside her psyche that force feeds her the promise of anterograde amnesia in the minds of those she thought she cared for.
ii.
my back/ aches/ but the dirt/ caked/ onto my knees/ keeps my body/ anchored./ and you take/ the moon/ for granted,/ but I keep her/ in my prayers/ and in my/ dreams.
iii.
You could rake your nails up and down the side of a brick wall until your fingers are red. Red, like the way they look after you tear into cherries. Red, like the way your teeth look after you vomit both the cherries and their pits. Red, like the way you look at the world. Red and angry; red and waning.
iv.
The problem is, you broke your own heart and now you gotta keep it. Sorry, no refunds on damaged goods.
v.
Insecurity is a bitch, ain’t it? You should meet her sister.
—  VICE VERSA // k.m.

the children’s season falls like love: slowly, stealthily, devious and sticky-sweet like ice cream running down kids’ fingers, like painted colors running down a sunset canvas. there is nowhere to go without sun, without the sound of hot feet slapping on pavement like God is applauding this freedom, this flying-bird falling-sunshine laughing-wind freedom that tastes like honey and looks like the way the sun shines off his hair, the way the sweat rolls off her skin, the way the hearts beat in their chests like youth, passion, red-hot life right off the shelf.

shorts and tank tops and chuck taylors and ponytails swinging like pendulums, glowing like halos, all golden thread and chestnut string; sleek bared chests and swimtrunks and smiles like streetlights (they only come on at night, when the moon is drinking whiskey and the girls are out in full-swing). sweet sweat rolling like ichor and words dripping from full lips like ambrosia. this is how you know the young gods are alive: electricity is in the air in anticipation of all the storms, skin turns to bronze and smiles turn to ivory, the city comes alive deep in the streets where no one thinks to look. the world gets brighter - then the world gets darker.

her mother always told her summer was her season: long legs like effortless, a chest like godless, a laugh like goddess, sweet beauty on top of sour sly cyanide. love pooling in the fingertips of one hand and poison pooling in the fingertips of the other. her teeth are white like sinless but in the right light they glow with the blood of all the hearts she’s popped like balloons and when she walks down the street time stops. sound stops. the light stops. everything stops.

his father always told him summer would be his season: sex drive like a v8 engine, fingers like gold-laced leaves (beautiful but shaking), dimples like craters deep down in his skin. hair falling past his eyes like stay away. his eyes are wide and quiet like the sky, but in the summer the skies light up like the bright flaring pain of beauty and maybe his eyes seem a little more like universes, a little more alive, a little more there, or maybe it’s his imagination. sometimes, when the eye in the sky sets and he’s left on his own at the old cornerstore on 44th street, he wonders why his bones are made of the earth instead of the stars. why he doesn’t bleed jack daniel’s and laugh smoke. why the others are young immortals and he is just young.

immortality is made, not born. the stars whisper to him even though he is deaf to the heavenly:

yours is coming. when your feet no longer touch the ground, do not cry for relief; we will not hear you. and if we do, we will not answer.

- i. the melting season // part one of “seasons” // abby

Dog!Dean Days

Paring: Dog!Dean x PlusSize!Reader

Warnings: swearing (felt like it gave some flavor

Request: Could you write a plus size reader x dog!dean and like dean gets turnedinto a large dog by a witch and Y/N and dean like each other and it’s fluffywhile he’s a dog but someone like is mean about Y/N’s weight and dean like growls or bites? Fluff pls.

 A/N: I actually really like this and for the person that requested this, please tell me if I did good or not with this. I’m kind of nervous and can totally rewrite it, if you want! BTW this is my first ever one shot where one of the characters get turns into a animal. OH! and feel free to send in requests, you guys always have the greatest ideas!!

           You wake to the sound of loud barking echoing through the halls of the bunker. Pushing yourself up from your bed the soft blankets fall off your chest and land in your lap as you hold your dying head in hands. Your head pounded against your skull from last night’s celebratory round of drinks with the boys. The three of you had successfully finished a hunt, killing a witch that was murdering any woman who came in contact with her cheating husband. At first, you understood where  she was coming from, there may or not have been a time where you had to burn a scumbag boyfriend’s clothes, but killing anyone who had breasts that he ever met was never on your list of revenge.

           Barking still filled the bunker and you cover your ears with your cold hands, trying anything to stop your head from hurting even more. Suddenly your shut eyes snap open when realization hits you. You don’t have a dog. The barking stops almost as quickly and you glance up staring at the half opened door to your bedroom. Only to see it be pushed open by an invisible stranger, soft sounds like paws clicking against the floor of your room enters and it soon started to feel like the first five minutes to every horror movie you had ever seen.

           Your hand moves behind you careful to only inch slowly underneath your pillow for the knife you kept hidden under there. You grip the hilt of the blade as a mess of dark fur jumps up onto the bed and what you see next makes you want to blush from embarrassment. It was just a dog. A big, shaggy, adorable dog and one that was now making itself comfortable at the foot of your bed.

“Sam! Dean!” You cry out warily and push the rest of the blankets off of you and stand up. The cold air hits your bare legs, the plaid boxers and Zeppelin t-shirt not doing much to keep you warm and you wrap your arms around yourself. The dog lifts its head to look at you, worry almost seeming to flash in its dark bead like eyes. Sam soon comes rushing in; himself also dressed in his standard night ware, panic masking his disheveled and tired expression.

“Y/N, what—“ He stops when his eyes trail over to where the dog now laid nonchalantly.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Sam?” You ask him, your hand gesturing towards the dog that had now started to chew on the comforter.

“What? It’s not mine!” He reacts defensively,

“Well, it’s certainly not mine! You’re the one always going on and on about wanting a dog!”

“Dean would kill me if I even brought the smell of a dog inside the Impala, why would I get one?”

           You were at a loss for words, it was true. Dean Winchester was not a dog fan especially when it came to his baby, the Impala.

“Well, where did it come from then?” Sam then almost looks like a light bulb went off in his head and grabs a quarter off of your dresser, walking slowly over towards the dog. It was a solid five seconds before you realized he was testing if the mutt was actually a shapeshifter. You blamed not thinking of this sooner on your grogginess. He stands up reluctantly, after brushing the silver coin against the fur of the dog.

“Well, it’s not a shifter.” You sat down next to the dog as Sam speaks and you pet the mysterious mutt for the first time.

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

“Hey, Sam have you seen Dean?” You call out as you walk into the kitchen, seeing Sam feed a piece of bacon to the dog.

“Actually I haven’t. S’pose he’s still in his room?” He replies as the dog finishes off the bacon from Sam’s fingertips.

“Doesn’t sound like him,” You respond in passing and Sam gets up from his seat.

“Nothing has been sounding like him since the mark.” The reminder hits you hard. The Mark of Cain, the bane of your existence. Never did you wish something hadn’t ever been thought of. It was not more what it did to Dean but what it made him think of himself after. That he was some kind of monster. That he didn’t deserve to be saved. But how you knew he was wrong. He was the only man you’d ever known to be more deserving then to be helped, to be saved.

“Y/N?” Sam asks knocking you out of your thoughts, you reply with a quick huh before sitting on the same chair Sam was previously in. “I said I was going to go check on him.”

“Oh, okay. Tell him to get his sweet ass here before I kick it, will ya?”

“Sure thing,” He laughs out his response, leaving you alone with the furry mutt and you roughly pet him (something Sam found out). You put your hands under the dogs face, pulling it gently to look at you and say,

“Your gonna love Dean, don’t worry he can be a little rough around the edges at first but he’s a good guy under all that.” You pet him on the top of his head and say, “I promise,” for extra effect. Your eyes wander to the plate of bacon next to you and you’re almost tempted to grab a bite of one but quickly push the thought away. You had not been happy with how you look recently, more specially your weight and have been trying to stick to the strict diet Sam gave you, but one can only eat rabbit food for so long. And you felt like you weren’t even losing any weight, all this dieting did was remind you why you were doing it. You look over to the happy dog and pat him softly on the head, and it nuzzles its nose in the palm of your hand. Almost making you forget about your worries.

           It wasn’t long till you heard Sam, clumsily run into the kitchen, his hand clutching what you assumed to be one of Dean’s jackets.

“Hey, what’s wr—“ You ask but are cut off as you stand to be on the same level as the worried Winchester, even though he’s a good foot taller.

“I don’t think we killed the witch.” He blurts out,

“Yeah right, I stabbed that bitch myself.”

“Well, that must not have killed her. Look!” Sam’s hand goes flying into the side pocket of Dean’s jacket, pulling out an old hex bag.

“Shit.” You breathe out,

“And I think I know where that dog came from.” You look at him, your mind still caught in knots in how the witch wasn’t dead, “this is some kind of changing hex. I think it might’ve, you know changed Dean into…”

“Wait.” You stop him, “you’re saying this witch turned him into a dog?” Suddenly a loud bark comes from behind you and both Sam and you turn to look at the animal wagging its tail.

“Uh, I’d take that as a yes.” Sam says and you can’t help but burst into loud laughter causing the dog—Dean, to bare his teeth.

********

Two days. Two days and Dean was still a dog, and you and Sam still were not any closer to finding the witch. You both had sat uncomfortably surrounded by books, anything to find how to reverse the spell and Dean was not making it easy. With his constant barking and growling and it was more than once you or Sam had remind him you guys couldn’t actually understand him. But it wasn’t all bad; in fact you almost liked Dean better this way especially when he would sleep at the edge of your bed butterflies would dance inside your stomach, but you still missed the old Dean. The one where you could stare into his bright green eyes all day, the whole situation was just really confusing.

           After the third time, Dean had barked loud and continually Sam slammed his book shut causing you to jump back in response.

“Dean, would you just shut up?” He yells towards Dean and he gave a couple mocking barks in response. Sam turns his head towards you, his eyes pleading and you give a large sigh before slapping your hands on the table and pulling yourself up.

“Hey boy!” You say to Dean, over exaggerating the dog talk, “How about we go for a walk?” You could almost swear you saw Dean’s infamous bitch face but was soon overshadowed by the wagging of his brown tail.

********

           The hot sun cascades in brilliant yellow rays as you walk Dean down the grey sidewalk, passing shop by shop and you were quickly regretting ever taking him. Every time a relatively attractive woman would pass by, Dean would tug on the leash you had on him and watch the girls saunter away. And every time you felt your heart sink and the strong urge to whack his nose with a rolled up newspaper. Suddenly, you feel another tug from Dean and you were two steps away from yelling at him to quit it when you looked up to see the local bar. Everything clicking into place, you refrain from saying anything but instead kneel down so you’re eye level with best friend.

“Sorry Dean-o,” you tell him, looking at his dark eyes only making you miss his bright green ones more, “sign says no dogs aloud.”

           Dean’s head looks past your shoulder to see the white sheet of paper the said in bright red letters, “NO DOGS” and his face falls. All of a sudden, soft shade blocks the sun from your face and you look up to see three girls, all in tight tank tops to over accentuate their breasts standing above you.

“If you would kindly move your fat ass that would be great,” the tallest of the three said, looking judging towards you. You stand up, leaving Dean to sit on the hot pavement and stare at the three.

“Excuse me?” You ask them, generously giving the girl a chance to change what she said before you’d knock out her perfect teeth.

“I told you to get you ugly, fat ass out of the way. Your blocking everyone with your huge love handles.” She says again and her words hit you, hard and it takes you longer to respond. Her friends looked smug at your silence.

“I’m sorry, did she hurt your feelings?” The only brunette of the three girls ask, patronizingly slow but when she doesn’t think her words hit home she adds, “Is giganticor gonna cry?” You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks and that’s when Dean jumps to his paws and growls angrily towards them, baring his teeth and snapping wildly.

“Would you take control of your dog?!” One of them freaks but that almost seems to spure Dean on and he barks even louder, causing at least two to shriek in girlish yelps. You grab on your leash pulling him back to try and stop him.

“Dean!” You yell over him and his angered fit suddenly stops as his head lifts up to look at you. You mouth, its okay before pulling him away and leaving the frightened trio. When you’re a safe distance away you kneel back down to look at him.

“What the hell was that for, Dean?!” His eyes flash with concern and a soft cry comes from the back of his throat and your voice lowers from angry.

           “Hey, that was nice what you did back there, but I can take it. I’m a big girl; I tie my own shoes and everything. I don’t need you looking out for me.” He places a brown paw on your bended knee and smile warmly to him knowing what Dean would probably be saying right now. Suddenly, of what the three bitches were saying comes rushing back to you and your heart sinks a little bit more. It was more that they said those things in front of Dean, the man you had been madly in love with for a year and a half. As you stand up, you can’t help but mutter under your breath, “it’s not like they didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

           You were so caught up in the mess of thoughts you missed the sad look of adorable dog that was Dean Winchester.

*********

           You wake the next day, but not to the soft press of fur between your skin and comfortable blankets but instead to strong arms and the strong smell of old dog. You open your eyes to find Dean’s arms wrapped firmly around you, his body pressed behind you as his face lay in the crook of your neck. He was back! He was normal!…..He was practically spooning you. The thought hits you and you have to refrain from gasping. Suddenly you hear the sound of your phone buzz harshly against the top of your nightstand. You reach for it careful not to stir Dean from his slumber.

1 message. Shown against the screen and you clicked it open. Sam sent you text, short and sweet. Found the witch last night when you were walking Dean, was hiding in some abandoned apartment, is he normal?

You smile and quickly reply with a yes but before you could hit send Dean shifted against you, you could feel his lips move along the back of your neck when he spoke.

“You’re beautiful, okay? You got that?”

           You place the phone back on the nightstand and turn yourself around so you were facing him. His eyes were filled with sincerity and you unwillingly smile towards him.

“I got it.” You respond he smiles back, even though you didn’t believe a word he was saying you knew that he at least believed it. And that made all the difference. The man of your dreams believed you were beautiful.

“Good. I was worried I was gonna have to go into some long chick flick speech to convince you. You just need to not worry what those bitches said, I think your beautiful and you should too.”

           His words made tears well up in your eyes and you quickly try to laugh it away.

“So, I guess being a dog made you quite the insightful one.” You joke and he smiles, pushing away a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, insightful and full, I had no clue how much a dog can actually eat. I was seriously always hungry!” You both laugh at his comment, letting the morning wash over you. Your phone buzzing with worried texts from Sam, since you never really got back to replying, but to be honest you couldn’t hear him over yours and Dean’s laughter.

Catching Up to You

Summary: Charlie tries to hide from Negan and his men

Pairings: Daryl xOC / Negan x OC

Warnings: Non-con/violence

Author’s note: You’re not suppose to love Negan (in this story), and this chapter may prove it

Chapter Two

——

Kicking In Doors

My breathing grew heavier as Negan sauntered in, saying things I couldn’t make out, then he turned to Rick. I knew for sure that was the Negan I had known; a man I hoped to have never seen again. As soon as he was away from my eyesight, I pulled Isaac inside, shut and locked the door; kneeling down to eye level with my son, I held his arms gently, “I want you to go upstairs ‘n go in your room with Judith. Lock the door, okay?”

Isaac nodded obediently, “Is the bad man gonna hurt us?”

I shook my head, “No. I’ll hurt him first.”

My little boy smiled and hugged me; I held him close, kissing his cheek, “Go, try to be as quiet as you can. Don’t open the door.”

Isaac left my embrace, hurrying up the stairs. As I stood, I felt my hands shaking and my stomach churning; I hurried to the kitchen sink as bile shot up my throat. Vomiting in the sink, my entire body began shaking uncontrollably; I rinsed the sink with my shaking hands and tried to rinse my mouth.

I managed to clean up and head to the front window; there I saw a gang of men splitting up and heading to houses, and two men were headed up my porch. I rushed away, still shaking and feeling more bile churn, and got the handgun hidden under the coffee table. Daryl had left it for me, having told me that sometimes my knife wouldn’t come in handy, and at this moment he was right.

I heard the heavy footfalls of men just outside the door. One jiggled the knob, my heart shot into my throat once more; I held the gun in both hands like Daryl taught me, noticing how heavy it felt in them. The door handle jiggled more, forcibly; my hands began to shake even more violently. Then, after a few seconds of silence, the door was kicked open, and I fired a shot through it, splintering the wood and causing the door to fly back and shut. The men yelled, my ears began to ring, and I placed the gun down; the door was kicked open again and the two large men rushed in, grabbing me and forcing me to the floor.

“Where’s the gun, bitch?” A heavy set man set his knee hard on my back.

“Get the fuck off!” I screamed at him; my cheek was crushed into the hardwood floor, the side of my cheek were bruising hard against my teeth.

“Where’s the fucking gun?” He pronounced each word slowly, close to my face.

“Get the fuck off,” I mimicked his tone, “and you’ll get it, asshole.”

“Negan’s comin’,” the other man said in a huff, “he can turn this out of control bitch straight.”

The man removed his knee, and I immediately got to my knees and vomited. The men made grunts of disgust, but the one who had his knee to my back grabbed the gun that had been lying beside me. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up; the man near the door was black with a large smile on his face and the other man too was smiling, he was overweight, bald and pink as a pig.

“Why the hell are you smiling?” I snapped, struggling to stand.

“Negan’s here,” the pink man snickered.

That’s when I heard him, stomping up the porch. My knees felt weak, I gripped the wooden kitchen chair, managing to sit before I got sick again.

“What in the fuck is that smell?” Negan demanded in his gruff tone.

I turned my head, praying he would just see the mess and go. But as he stepped in, he made it apparent he wasn’t leaving. The room grew silent, then he chuckled, “Which one of you assholes puked?”

“Wasn’t us,” the man near the door said coolly. “It was that bitch.”

I could feel his eyes on me, burning a hole in my back. I shut my eyes, shaking even more; my entire body again felt like it was out of control. My mind and body couldn’t handle being near Negan again, I said a silent pray to myself, “Please go away, please go away.”

“Hey!” Someone shouted outside, “Get back here!”

Negan turned from me, stomping out the door, along with the men. I shakily turned my head and saw the entry empty, my stomach settled with my nerves and I stood up, walking slowly towards the broken and open door frame. I saw two men, no bigger than Rick, kneeling on a man in a dirty gray sweat shirt and pants. Negan stood over the man, his barbed wired baseball bat near the man’s head; I peeked out the door, holding my breath.

“Oh, Daryl,” Negan said in an amused tone as he leaned down with his bat. “What am I gonna do with you?”

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t react. My body wouldn’t allow it.

Daryl grunted on the ground turning his head on the hot pavement, facing me. We locked eyes, mine filling with tears, but Daryl shook his head; a signal. He began to blink quickly, each in rapid secession; I took a breath and watched his movements. His nods and blinks: .. .—-. – / — -.- ; meaning: I’m OK.

I wiped my eyes, wishing I had told Daryl the truth about Negan. He knew about Negan, he just didn’t know his real name.

I tried to code back before I heard Judith cries coming from upstairs. Moving quick, I ran from the front of the door and up the stairs. I heard Negan call out something and the heavy men rush back into the house. I was nearly out of breath once I got to the top of the stairs, but got some wind back when I saw Isaac at the end of the hall, by his bedroom door; Judith’s wails were getting louder.

“In! In!” I called to him; Isaac rushed back into the room; I followed, closing and locking the door. “Under the bed,” I ordered him, then I went to the bed, where Judith was sitting up and crying.

The men were at the top of the stairs before I could comfort Judith and get her quiet. She cried against my chest, I bounced her and cooed to her, “Hush, hush, honey, it’s okay.”

One of them twisted the handle harshly, calling out to me, “We ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said this in a teasing tone; I knew he was lying. “Come on out with your baby, darlin’.”

I didn’t answer, I only rocked Judith, who was now settled and whining softly. Kissing the top of her head, I leaned against the far end of the wall, looking down at the floor, under the child size bed Isaac was hiding under. My heart was racing, my breathing heavy; the men used their fist to knock at the door, yelling for me to open it up.

The yells and banging brought me back to the moment I left Negan.

The relationship I had with Negan was really just sex. Sex every moment we could get. Yes, he took me out on a date, but within a week I let him into my shitty twin bed and fucked him.

And I cannot lie, I loved every moment of it.

Negan is a god when it comes to sex, but I definitely wanted more. We had been seeing each other for six months when I asked him, “What are we?”

We were sitting in his pick-up truck outside my shitty apartment complex; his hand was creeping up my exposed thigh, up the skirt of my dress. It wasn’t going to be the first time we fooled around and fucked in his truck. This time, I wasn’t in the mood; my parole had just ended and I was ready to get my hands on more now that I never had to watch what I do.

“What are we?” He squinted at me, his hand froze on the inside of my thigh.

“Yeah,” I swallowed, “are we together?”

“Shit, yeah,” he laughed, his hand continued, “don’t think about it.”

When he moved in to attack my neck; I felt as if he said this to shut me up. I shut my eyes momentarily, trying to let it go, but I couldn’t. Even his mind blowing necking and kisses couldn’t push the thought away.

“It’s just, you never invite me over except sometimes…” he continued on kissing, pulling me closer, “'N we barely make it to the living room…”

Negan paused and pulled back a bit, “So?”

I looked down at him, “So…I was thinkin’, why don’t we move in together or somethin’?”

He cocked a brow, “My wife wouldn’t like that.”

If he had punched me in the gut, the pain would’ve hurt less. It was as if he shattered my world. Everything about our relationship seemed to make sense.

He tried to kiss me again, to which I pushed him away. I couldn’t speak, I only wanted to look at him, to see if he was joking. I hoped he was joking.

“Your wife?” I muttered, “Are you kidding?”

He furrowed his brow, “No. What’s the problem?”

I shoved him completely away, snapping, “You have a fucking wife! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Negan laughed. Tears started to build as he laughed so freely.

He then smiled at me, but he frowned once he saw I wasn’t laughing, “I thought you knew!”

I felt my lip quiver as I pulled open the passenger door and climbed out. I ran to my apartment, cursing angrily that the door was lock; I heard Negan calling my name as I shoved the key in and closed the door behind me. He began banging on my door as soon as I locked it and I ran to my room; I didn’t have a lock on that door, but I didn’t think it would be a problem.

Outside the plywood doors, everyone could hear Negan cursing and calling my name; “Charlotte, open the fucking door! Now!”

One of my neighbors, a man who lived right next door had come out and told Negan to go away. Then it got quiet. I grew fearful, and walked out of my room, through the tiny kitchen and to the front door. I looked through the peephole and saw my neighbor holding his jaw and struggling to stand, but Negan was nowhere in sight.

I believed it was safe to go out, so I opened my door and helped my neighbor; “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why–”

The man waved me off, “It’s okay. Just help me inside.”

Living in a complex with other former criminals meant no one would call the police unless they absolutely had to. Unless either one of us were on fire or being hacked to pieces out in front where everyone could see, none of us called the police. So I knew that this man would go back into his home and keep quiet.

The man went inside his apartment, thanking me before I retreated back to mine, believing that Negan had given up. I was stupid to think he would give up so easily; as soon as I got to my apartment, the door shut loudly behind me. There was Negan, an angry, dark look upon his face; his pupils were dilated, making his entire irises look black.

I jumped and took off, running to my bedroom, shutting the door, and then to my bathroom. He called my name in a loud roar, “Charlotte! Don’t fuckin’ make me come after you!”

The bathroom door had no lock either, so I placed my entire back against the door, trying to barricade it. I could hear him kick my bedroom door open, and then he let out a loud sigh, “Baby, really?” His tone was softer this time.

His tone of voice made me cry; tears clouded my vision, and my body began to hiccup with sobs. Perhaps I had overreacted, but I was glad I had, because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen this side of Negan come out until it was too late. I felt stupid for not seeing the signs earlier on, I knew he wouldn’t ever be mine and it hurt me.

It hurt me even more that he continued on as if it was normal to have a wife and girlfriend. But seeing him so angry replaced my hurt with fear.

He placed his hand hard on the door, causing me to jump, “Open the door, Charlie.”

I sobbed and shook my head, “N-n-no!”

“Baby,” he cooed, “c'mon, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I never told you about Lucille, but I thought you knew.”

I found anger bubbling up at his careless reply, “Fuck you, Negan!”

Then it was silent.

I held my breath as I waited and listened. I wasn’t going to move an inch until I felt it was safe. But, within a few seconds, Negan began to bang his fist repeatedly against the door, yelling things I couldn’t make out over the blood rushing through my ears and heart. My body jolted as the door rocked under his strength; I continued to push myself against it, hoping he’d just give up.

But he didn’t.

He began kicking the door, causing my body to jerk forward. I still pushed, anchoring myself until one hard kick broke the door and threw my body forward, causing me to hit my face against the body of the tub. I whimpered audibly, trying to get up and back to the door, but ultimately, I was too slow and Negan was already coming in. Before I could make another move, he grabbed me by the strap of my dress, pulling me up to my feet, as if I was a kitten being looked at by the fur of its neck.

“See what you did?” He spoke angrily, grabbing my arm and pulling me out the bathroom. “If you fuckin’ listen to me, shit like this wouldn’t happen!”

He threw me on my bed; it creaked loudly under my weight, “Get out,” I managed to say. My face hurt, it felt as if someone took a shovel and scooped a chunk out the side of my face.

Negan grabbed the back of my hair, yanking my head back so I was looking up at him, “You don’t run shit around here, you hear me? I do!”

I snarled, “Fuck you.”

He gripped my hair harder, “You love to piss me off, don’t ya?”

I didn’t answer, my entire head was engulfed in pain, yet I defied him. It was a reflex; in prison, you had to assert your dominance, you couldn’t let anyone intimidate you. No matter what, I wouldn’t give in; not even for Negan, who I thought I loved, and who loved me.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” He yanked my hair again.

I winced but kept my tears in, “No, I’m not. Never was and never will be!”

He picked me up easily and tossed me further onto my shitty bed, climbing on top of me, his hands gripped my neck, and mine grabbed at them. He added pressure but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I believed that he was trying to scare me.

“What did I fucking say?” He stared down at me; the lust was more than apparent in his eyes; I could feel his erection against my stomach.

“Screw you,” I tilted my head back and spat at him.

Negan gripped my neck tighter, “Is this what you fucking want?” He let one hand go and yanked at the skirt of my black dress, pulling it up, “You want me to fuck you?”

I held my tongue; as much as I didn’t want him, I did want him. I wanted Negan so bad, but my entire head was all fucked up. One moment I hated him and the next, I was dying for him and his touch.

He pulled my panties down, and I squeezed my hands to his arm around my neck, trying to remove it, and in one swift move, he hand both of my wrists above my head. I whimpered and turned my head, burying my face into my arm. Negan had wrestled his button and zipper down and pulled his dick from the confines of his boxers.

“If you’re gonna do this, get a condom,” I muttered, my face still turned away.

Negan grabbed my chin, forcing me to gaze into his eyes, his dick was just at the threshold of my opening, “Look at me,” he ignored what I had said, “look at me baby.”

I stared him down with hate, trying to show him how much I was angry with him; he pushed into me and sighed, moaning my name, “You’re mine, Charlie.”

Nothing seemed to phase Negan.

I kept silent as he fucked me, his hand still holding my wrists down above my head. Tears rolled down the sides of my eyes as he continued; his lips left sloppy kisses against my neck, causing more tears. I had been so eager for love that I thought this was it, but I knew down deeply that this wasn’t what I deserved. Even as a criminal, I deserved something better than Negan.

He continued to thrust, his free hand pulling my leg up to his hip, his mouth still kissing my skin. I loved the feeling, though I hated the man. I moaned softly, wanting more, to which he chuckled darkly, “There’s my girl.”

Negan gave one hard thrust after I came and relaxed against the bedsheets, grunting and finishing inside me. I didn’t say a word as he kissed at my jaw, his teeth nipping at my skin before he kissed up to my lips, continuing on deeply.

“I love you too, Charlie,” he said after rolling off of me.

My lip trembled; I rolled over onto my side, not speaking a word. Negan too rolled over, his fingers moving up and down my arm, his lips pressed against the bare skin of my shoulders and back.

“I’m sorry,” he added, “I’ll get ya your own apartment close to me,” he kissed the back of my neck. “We can see each other all the time.”

I stared out the window, seeing the sun began to set. I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t say a word without breaking down and crying, and I didn’t want to show any more of my weakness in front of Negan.

“You’re the only other one I’m fucking,” he said softly.

I shut my eyes and tried to sleep, pretending Negan wasn’t there, but it was hard with his hard body dipping into my tiny bed.

“I gotta go,” he said after a few minutes of silence. The bed dipped and creaked as he got up; I heard his zipper and then heard him sigh. “Tomorrow, baby, I’ll fix everything.”

I swallowed, my voice cracked as I finally spoke, “Goodbye, Negan.”

He let out a small chuckle, “Goodnight, Charlotte.”

The banging on the door outside Isaac’s room had stopped; Judith was quiet too, suckling her thumb and resting against me. Isaac popped his head from under the bed, “I c'n come out?”

I shook my head, ready to tell him no when the door burst open. There was Negan and that bloody, barbed wire bat I heard so much about.

—–

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