I’ve been re-reading Curse Workers by Holly Black, and I realized that Kaz Brekker from Six of Crows reminds me a lot of Cassel Sharpe. I bet they’d be con artist frenemies, and their girlfriends would be bros. Lila would try to recruit Inej into the Russian mafia for sure.
Prompt: The reader’s nosy (and quite rude) relatives are coming over for an unexpected family dinner. Long story short, they expect the reader to have a boyfriend, which the reader most definitely does not have. Luckily, they do have a best friend by the name of Peter Parker. One small favor wouldn’t be too much to ask, right?
The reader doesn’t know Peter is Spider-Man in this imagine. Also, I’m sorry if there are any grammatical errors. My usual beta reader wasn’t available and I really wanted to get this imagine posted. Enjoy!
“You’re my boyfriend now.”
“I-I’m sorry, what?” Peter stammered back through the phone.
This was not how you planned this day to go.
“It’s a long story. Nosy relatives coming over for dinner, may have lied and said I had a boyfriend just to get them to shut up, don’t actually have a boyfriend, typical family stuff, you know?” you tried to explain.
There was a slight pause as Peter digested all of the information you just threw at him.
“Okay, so basically, you broke under pressure and lied about have a boyfriend, and now you need me to be your boyfriend to protect you from your nosy relatives?” repeated Peter.
You rolled your eyes, perfectly aware that Peter couldn’t see them through the phone call, but positive that he felt the frustration anyway, “I didn’t break under pressure, I just… improvised.”
“Oh yeah, totally,” said Peter, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “So do you need me to be your boyfriend or not?”
summary : peter’s always been a little bit in love with you, it just took a difficult night and warm, ever comforting words for him to come to the realization. intelligent he may be, but he’s a clueless teenage boy before anything else.
word count : 2.5k
It was eleven o’clock at night and, as per usual, you were neglecting the sleep you desperately needed in order to finish up the notes on your assigned reading novel that were due in just a few short hours. You were never one to finish tasks, especially menial ones such as homework, in a timely fashion. This was just the tip of the iceberg. You briefly took off your glasses, rubbing your tired eyes that were now struggling to focus on the words in front of you properly. When you slipped them back over your nose, glancing up toward your bedroom window that lead out to the fire escape, you saw the familiar face of your best friend peering in through the glass in a way that was only slightly creepy.
Peter knocked rapidly on the glass, waving at you in the typical, hyperactive way that he always had about him. You jumped off your bed, reaching out to shut your bedroom door before walking over to the bay window and unlocking it. A rush of cold winter air nipped at your face the minute it swung open and Peter Parker shoved himself through. Visits from him in this particular manner were common, especially after a day’s work of fighting crime throughout various parts of New York, but not usually this late- and never without a text to alert you first.
“You must be freezing,” you shivered, closing the window quickly. “How long were you out there?” Making yourself comfortable on your bed once again, you propped open your book, ready to force him into helping you study. He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew his sweatshirt closer to his body, sliding to the floor beside your bed and leaning his head against the soft duvet. His curls were sticking up in every direction when he pulled his hood away, his cheeks and the tip of his nose a brilliant shade of red, but not from the bitter chill that was sweeping mercilessly over Queens.
You heard a distinct sniff, then another, then another. His breathing, already shallow from the frantic climbing he had done to reach your fire escape, became even more labored. He pulled his knees to his chest to hide his face. He felt you press yourself against him, your arms around his shoulders and across his chest before he could pull away in embarrassment. Your glasses creaked when they pushed too far into his shoulder. Neither of you moved. You clung to him and he sat there, silently shaking and leaning into your embrace as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Hey, hey, shh, shh, Peter, you’re okay,” you whispered, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you, I promise. You’ve gotta breathe, though, okay?” He was always ashamed of his sensitivity, but he couldn’t help it. He was a sensitive boy and he cried easily and had an awful lot of anxiety sometimes. Today was one of those days, with good reason. He nodded stiffly, maneuvering himself to hug you back, face pressed into your shoulder this time.
“It’s… the anniversary,” he said, his voice broken. “One year.” Hollow. “One year since- since Ben. One year tomorrow.”
He pulled away, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt. There were traces of tears still making their way down his cheeks, sliding across his nose and down to his lips. He tried to rub them away, too, but you caught his wrist in your hand.
“You’re not wrong or less of a dude for crying, Peter.” The way you looked at him, so lovely and caring and worried, made his heart cry out for the safety of your embrace again. “Were you at the cemetery?” You matched his stance and rested the side of your cheek on your knee, still carefully studying his face.
“Yeah,” he exhaled, placing his chin in his palm. “I’m gonna go again in the morning with May. Gonna miss school. I- I probably should’ve, um, stayed with her tonight but I…” he trailed off, “I needed you.” He said it as he said most things to you, with his soft tone of voice and his hesitance that made him, him. He never really noticed until now.
“What are best friends for, right?”
“Yeah. Best friends.”
Ignoring the odd way those two words slipped out of his mouth, you said, “I’m sorry, Peter. I know you loved Uncle Ben so much. I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this. You and May don’t deserve this.” You reached out to him, your hand gripping his without an ounce of doubt. You had small hands and he didn’t but he felt a thousand times better when yours found his. “I’m always here for you. Do you wanna talk about it?”
Surprisingly, he shook his head adamantly. “No, no.” He squeezed your hand. “I kind of, um, just wanna go to bed. Crying like a little baby really tires a guy out, you know?” He gave a weak laugh, a tiny grin, and you smiled right back at him before pulling him to his feet. “Can I use the bathroom?” He needed to wash the sticky feeling of dry tears off his face, rub the sadness out of his eyes. He wanted to be strong for May when he got back in the morning.
“Of course, just be quiet. Mom and dad are asleep.” You padded across your rug and opened your door a crack, holding it in a specific way so that it wouldn’t creak when you let Peter through. He gave you a grateful squeeze of the hand again before disappearing into the bathroom.
He splashed water on his face, staring up at his reflection, at the water dripping off his eyelashes and the curling ends of the hair that was plastered to his forehead. He rubbed at his face and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to cry anymore. You had sufficiently comforted him for the night. Peter could breathe again.
Peter quietly walked back down the hallway and into your bedroom, watching for a second as you pulled spare blankets down from a shelf in your closet and arranged them on your bay window. You had cleared your bed of your school supplies and had left the covers open for Peter to crawl into without a second though. Which he did. Your covers smelled quite lovely, actually. It was the scent of your perfume that you wore often enough for him to recognize the scent, and he wanted to fall asleep under the inviting covers that were laid out for him. Then, he saw you sit atop your window, about to lie down.
“Wait, why are you doing that?” He got out of bed and took your hand for the third time that night, growing accustomed to the feeling of it. He pulled you over to your bed. “You’re not sleeping on a stupid window. That’s ridiculous. I’ll take the window.” He spun you around and ignored the protestant noise you made, gripping your shoulders and sitting you down on the bed.
“I’m not letting you take the window, either!” You argued, yanking him back down on the bed. He huffed, glaring at you in a teasing manner. “C’mon, just take the bed. You need it more than I do.” His glare dropped to his lap, an idea rolling around in his head. “What?”
“Y/N, how about we just both take the bed?” He said finally, lifting his eyes back to yours. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, why he didn’t just take the floor like he probably should have, but the words were out there in the world and there wasn’t a way to take them back now. You bit your lip, then shrugged, scooting over.
“It is big enough for the two of us.” You turned away from him, turning off your lamp and getting under the covers. You heard Peter slide in next to you, but your back was toward him until he poked you sharply. “What’s wrong, Peter?”
“Can you- um, well-”
You flipped over on your side, just barely making out his face in the darkness of your room. “Do you want me to cuddle you?” Though you said in a teasing sort of tone, you were silently quite pleased when he mumbled a reluctant yes. You moved closer, one arm going around his waist and the other underneath him. Your head was on his chest, listening to the resilient beating of his heart. He placed his chin atop your head. He focused on the sound of your steady breaths until you were sleeping peacefully beside him.
He was so grateful for you- the person who stood by his side throughout anything and everything. You, so strong and beautiful and brave and comforting in his times of distress. You, who never seemed to waver in your loyalty to him. You, the very picture of loveliness and a girl who he’d very much like to-
His eyes flew open, and he almost jumped away from you. He didn’t want to risk you awakening, though, so he stayed put, freaking out internally rather than externally the way he was prone to doing. He had been thinking of kissing you. That was what he was going to say. Kiss. The thought had come so simply to his brain it was like he already thought the same thing for years. Maybe he had. It wasn’t like he was blind. You were a stunning girl, even if you didn’t think so yourself, you were his best friend, you were practically perfect and Peter would be an idiot to not adore you the way that he did.
Adore, adore, adore. Oh, boy. Peter glanced down at you, sleeping in his arms, and confirmed what he had so stupidly never noticed before. His infinitesimal, brief affection for Liz Allen had absolutely nothing on his all encompassing love for you.
Peter bid you goodbye that morning at six thirty sharp, before either of your parents had woken up for work. Before he slipped out your window and into the cracks early morning sunlight, he had pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. It was only the briefest touch of his lips to your face, but you had held your face, right in that spot, for practically the entire day. Ned had questioned why, but you brushed him off with an answer of exhaustion.
The day after that, Peter returned to school, dragging Ned off to the side as soon as he stepped off the train platform. He had waited for the other boy purposely, seeking advice.
“I have a huge, gigantic, terrible awful problem right now, Ned!” He exclaimed as soon as he saw him, throwing his hands up in the air. “I need help.”
“Psychiatric help,” Michelle supplied, appearing out of nowhere as she usually did before walking down the path to school.
Ned shrugged. “She’s not wrong.”
Peter, frantic, seized Ned’s shoulders and shook him. “This is not a roast Peter session! This a cry for help! Help me, Ned Leeds!”
“Am I your only hope?” Peter wanted to scream.
“This isn’t the time for Star Wars puns, either!” Not waiting for Ned to quip back that every time was Star Wars time, Peter said, loudly, “I’m in love with Y/N and I don’t know what to do!” He ran his hands in his hair, wanting to pull it out. “I just- I just realized the other night! Everything just kind of, like, clicked and I’ve been so stupid. I should’ve realized it before, but of course I didn’t and now I have no idea what to do!”
“Wait, dude, you seriously have never noticed this before? Are you kidding me? Peter, you’re supposed to be the genius of the school. I feel let down.” Ned shook his head solemnly. “Dude, everyone knows you love her. Even Flash. That’s why he picks on her all the time. He likes pissing you off and nothing gets under your skin more than someone messing with Y/N. She’s the first one you told about being Spider-Man, you go to her for all your problems, you practically pee yourself racing to be her partner for almost everything- not science because science is our subject, but still. I figured you knew you loved her and just didn’t wanna talk about it because she’s out of your league.”
“Hey! I am not-” He stopped. “So what if I am? That’s not even the point. The point is that I love her. Me realizing it was inevitable, even if it took me like eighty years to get there. Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta tell her, right?”
“You totally should,” Ned encouraged. “She’s definitely in love with you, too.”
Hopefully, Peter grinned. “You really think so?”
“The reassurance you give me is suffocating, Ned. Stop before I die.”
That day in gym class, Ned and Peter went off to the side to pretend they were doing stretches while you sat with Michelle and conversed about literature for the first half of the period. Your conversation, however, soon led off into other directions.
“Hey, MJ, have you ever… I don’t know, been in love?”
Michelle raised her eyebrows. “Only with crushing the patriarchy. Why? Have you?” The intuitive girl already knew your answer, of course, but she was invested in you and Peter’s love story and was desperate to hear the truth from your own lips.
You played with the hem of your shirt, thinking. Peter and Ned casually inched closer, having been listening to the conversation for quite sometime now. They were unapologetically nosy. “I think I am.”
“With who?” Peter clasped his hands together, silently pleading with the universe to grant him this one wish. I promise, universe, I’ll never ask for anything ever again in my whole life if you just let this girl love me back I swear I’ll be the best Spider-Man there ever was and I’ll protect New York until I’m eighty five just please oh my god please-
The gasp he let out was involuntary, but you didn’t hear him. He turned to Ned, his expression of shock, as well as elation, mirroring Peter’s own. Suddenly, Ned stood, shouting for the entire gym class to hear, “Y/N! Peter loves you too!” You looked up, Michelle’s happy and knowing smirk going unnoticed by you because the only thing you could focus on was Peter and what Ned had just declared.
The gym fell silent, every student turning to stare at you and Peter. You were frozen in shock up until the bell rang and everyone filed out quickly, leaving you and Peter alone.
“Did he mean it?” You asked, your sneakers squeaking against the floor as you closed the distance between you and Peter, your head tilted to meet his.
“It’s the truest thing anyone has ever said.” His lips met yours, and the slant of his mouth against your own was a feeling you could definitely come to adore more than you already did after just one kiss.
Every time he gloats over you, you just want to punch him in the face to shut him up. With your fist or maybe with your mouth. You still aren’t quite sure which one to use yet. Possibly both.
pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: comedy, slight angst, fluff type: enemies to lovers / police au word count: 10,542 words warnings: a bunch of sexual innuendos author’s note: happy birthday to my mean ho, pablo, fellow yoongi appreciator, and the bestest friend in the entire universe @zephyoongist (i have a longer note for you at the bottom!)
Lieutenant Min Yoongi
had stationed himself at his desk for three hours already, starting from when
he came in at six a.m. sharp, and practically inhaled the coffee he had bought
from the quaint hole in the wall cafe near his apartment. Despite already
downing the largest cup he could order from the shop, he no longer felt the
effects of the extra shots of expresso and was forced to drink the watered-down
version offered at his workplace. With more caffeine than actual rivulets of
carmine running through his veins, Yoongi practically fuels his sleep deprived
body with lethal doses of the stale and caustic coffee provided at the Bangtan
The crisp sheets of
paper from the latest case file he is examining are spread out across his desk
in somewhat of a disarray, the original order he had put it in four hours ago
now long gone, as he continuously rifles around for certain tidbits of
information that can piece the solution together. Picking up what is now his
third cup of coffee, he mumbles a variation of curses under his breath when he
sees that he had been using the case’s manila folder as a coaster, glaring
disdainfully at the blatant brown ring staining the front of the file. He is
beginning to lose feeling in his backside, and his mind toys with the thought
of taking a nap in one of the cots set up in the backroom. Yet, he cannot take
his eyes away from the evidence laid out in front of him; the solution is right
there—he can feel it beneath his fingertips as he trails them across the ridged
papers and the dark ink.
Three rapid knocks are
heard against the glass of his office door, and Yoongi looks up to see
Hoseok—his second-in-command sergeant and long-time police partner—enter the
room, nervously biting his lower lip. A deeper crease forms between his
furrowed eyebrows as Yoongi takes one glance at the worried and tense
expression adorning Hoseok’s ordinarily cheery face. He finally speaks up, his
voice cracking slightly from disuse. “What is it, Hoseok?”
“Organized Crime sent
their sergeant here to work on that case with you.” Hoseok gestures towards the
opened file. “Apparently, it’s connected to a string of gang induced murders
they’ve been tracking, and—”
“Oh, fuck, no.” Yoongi
interrupts, rubbing his temples as he closes his eyes. “Please don’t tell me
“Guess I’m stuck with
you again. I’d say it’s a pleasure to work with you again, but it really isn’t,
so let’s just cut the crap and get straight to it, pretty boy.”
Y/N’s curious, clumsy, and has a knack for asking the wrong questions at the wrong time. Bucky’s a hot-headed prick with a dark past and communication issues. Both are paired for training, and neither party is all too thrilled.
Word count: 1200
“This is the training room.”
You nod even though you’re barely processing anything you’re being told.
Three days ago you’d woken up in an abandoned warehouse, with no idea where you were or how you’d gotten there. There were significant gaps in your memory and a you were in lot of pain. Then someone in a red metal suit had entered your field of vision, frowning, and you’d passed out, wondering if it was all some kind of dream. When you’d come to for the second time, you were in the infirmary and this man, (Steve?), started saying something about a group of enhanced individuals and you being one of them. It took all your willpower to not pass out again.
“We don’t know what your abilities are, but given your enhancements, people are going to come after you. It’s important that you learn to defend yourself.”
You’re still not sure what ‘abilities’ he’s talking about, or what he means by 'enhancements’.
“Training is usually carried out by Natasha or Wanda,” Steve’s speaking again, barely taking notice of you staring at him with eyes wider than plates. “But since they’re away on a mission, we’ll have to find someone else to train you.”
You nod your head, still trying to understand everything. The names are meaningless to you, and you’re not too keen on getting trained by anyone, especially not if they all have the same stressed out demeanor that Steve seems to radiate. There’s a dull headache beginning to throb at the back of your skull, and honestly, you just need to close your eyes for a bit.
“We should go speak to Fury.”
As if you know who that is. You just nod and follow after him as he hurries along.
Everything about Director Nick Fury is unnerving, from the immaculate state of his office to the way his eye seems to be looking right through you. You swallow hard as he addresses Steve, keeping his eye trained on you the entire time.
“And we don’t know what her abilities are?”
You grit your teeth, still uncomfortable with all the talk of your abilities and your supposed enhancement. You can barely remember your own name.
Nick sighs and seems to be in deep thought. After a moment, he turns his body to you. “Can you shoot a gun?”
You look at him incredulously. A gun, you? You could barely hold a kitchen knife without fumbling with it. To hold, no, to shoot a gun? If this was any other situation, you might have laughed. Instead, you shake your head. “No, sir.”
He turns back to Steve. “Well, she’s going to have to learn. Barnes is the best sniper we’ve got. He’ll train her.”
Steve winces, and for a moment he looks like he’s about to say something else, but Fury turns his attention to the screen in front of him, clearly dismissing the two of you.
Steve leads you through the maze-like halls of the compound, until finally, you’re standing in front of large double doors. He pauses and looks to you with a sigh. He seems beat down, dark circles and pallid face. You almost sympathize, but then realize you probably look much the same.
“Bucky’s a good guy, Y/N. Just remember that.”
You’re not sure what he means, or why that’s even relevant, but you don’t have time to think as Steve pushes open the doors and strides inside before coming to a stop in a living-room of sorts, where two people are seated on the couch. Neither of them seem too happy to be in the other’s presence.
Upon seeing Steve, both of them stand, and the one to the right smiles brightly. He’s the first person you’ve seen that looks relaxed at the compound, wearing sweats and a t-shirt and an expression of genuine interest on his face.
“Captain,” he greets, but it’s more out of mock respect than a soldier-like salute, and even Steve’s eyes crinkle. You can tell their friendship goes a long way. His brown eyes glance at you. His smile doesn’t waver, and it’s so contagious that you can’t hold back the smile that makes its way onto your lips.
If this is Barnes, then maybe training won’t be as bad as it sounds.
Your spare a glance at the person to his left, dressed in the same relaxing attire but looking nowhere near as calm. Every part of this man’s body language screams stress, from head to toe. Upon seeing you, his scowl deepens, and you drop your smile.
“Buck, you’re taking this round of training.”
The guy to the left grins and turns to you. “And I’m guessing she’s the one who needs training?”
Steve nods and you feel your erratic heartbeat slow down significantly. The warning that Steve had given you earlier disappears to the back of your head; the guy seems so chill and laidback, it’s a breather. You smile back, until–
“Oh man, good luck.”
The confusion must show on your face, because the guy turns to Mr. Scowls-A-Lot and claps him on the back. “Meet our resident Grinch, Bucky Barnes.”
Your heart drops to your stomach and Bucky glares at you, fingers curled into a fist. You want to ask him what put him in such a bad mood, but you’re not sure you’ll stay alive long enough to hear the answer.
“Can I talk to you for a moment, Steve?” Bucky’s jaw clenches and his face is slowly turning red. Even Steve, who seems to be in charge here, grimaces. With a sigh, he follows Bucky to the other corner of the room. You plop down onto the sofa.
“I’d say don’t worry but, I’d definitely worry.” You turn to the first guy, and he holds out his hand. “I’m Sam.”
“Y/N,” you shake it, then gesture to the duo in the corner, having a pretty heated conversation. “Is he always this…”
“Grumpy? Only on a good day.” When he sees your face pale even more, Sam laughs. “I’m just kidding. He takes some warming up to, but he’s not a bad guy.”
He repeats exactly what Steve had said, and for whatever reason, the words aren’t reassuring in the least. Bucky and Steve’s conversation seems to have escalated to loud whispers now, and you catch certain phrases here and there, “I don’t know… Nobody seems to… Can’t be trusted.”
The last one hits you hard, and you want to be angry, but Bucky’s right. You barely remember anything about yourself and you have supposed abilities that you’re pretty much in the dark about; even you can’t trust yourself.
The clock on the wall shows the time to be just past two in the morning, and just as the second hand makes its way around the face for the second time, Bucky walks up to you, fists clenched and breathing heavily through his nose.
“Meet me in the training room tomorrow morning. Six a.m. sharp.” He’s less than thrilled about the whole ordeal, and you can only match his level of discomfort.
As he storms out of the room, you throw your head back onto the couch and groan.
A/N: I obviously took some liberties with the storyline, but I tried keeping it as true as possible to the canon history. No beta used this time around, so excuse my mistakes.
Summary: It started with a blind date. A date you had skipped out on, but fate had led you right to the man you stood up. Steve Rogers, a man small in stature but big in heart. A chance meeting set everything in motion, but decades later when he is unfrozen, he has been told you have died. But when a mission to retrieve Hydra plans turned up some interesting information, Steve’s left to wonder whether you are still alive. Or is this all just false hope?
Prompt: “Just give me a chance!” He called after you, eyes desperate and body tense. You shook your head, “why should I?” It seemed simple, but it was the question that would decided everything. “Because. I’ll prove to you i’m not all that bad.”
A/N: So I wasn’t gonna upload anything again, but I thought I should and I just finished 13 Reasons Why. Though I won’t be writing for it since i don’t really want to normalize it or romanticize it because it means a lot to me, I did really like Zach. Who Ross Butler plays and I re-watched Riverdale and kind of fell in love with Reggie, so i’d thought I’d finally make a imagine about him! I hope you enjoy!
Requests are back open!
Pairing: Reader x Reggie
(yes, i know the gif is from 13 Reasons Why, but he’s shown more in that show.)
“Just give me a chance!” Stoping, you ran your hand through your hair, sighing. This was the fifth time that week that he’d asked you out and the fifth time you’d refused.
Turning, you let your eyes run over his form. Reggie Mantle. Captain of the football team, well-rounded popular guy, known for his jockiness and of course a player. You don’t know what you did to gain his interest, you were nothing special. You were invisible to everyone else, and previously for him, except for Jughead who was your only friend.
But recently for some reason it seemed you’d caught the eye of the jock and he was to take you out on a “date”. You reclined immediately, after everything he’d done to Jughead (and sometimes you, indirectly) and then the stories you’d heard of him, you were hesitant. Reasonably so, you thought, and plus Juggie would kill you if he found out.
“Why?” You asked, staring at him expectantly. He looked off, as if to think of a reason, but you cut him to it; “so you can tell all your friends about how good I was? Or maybe… be added to your playbook?” You’d heard about it, and even though it’d been removed and destroyed, whose to stop them from making another?
His eyes widened; “no!” He shouted a little too loud, shaking his hands and taking a step toward you. You rolled your eyes, eyebrow raised as he finally walk close enough that you could smell his cologne. “Oh? Well then, why should I believe you?”
“Please, Y/N, you have to believe me.” He begged and you only shook your head.
“After everything, why should I?”
He paused, trying to think of something before staring at you desperately. “One chance.”
“One date. One chance to prove to you I mean this.” He held up one finger, staring at you. Looking around the empty halls and holding the straps of your backpack tightly, you bit your lip… “Fine. One chance, that’s it.” You couldn’t help but let a small smile slip as he suddenly cheered, jumping up in excitement and pumping his fist to the sky.
“Pops?” He asked immediately, you nodded; “meet me at six. Sharp.” He nodded and with a shake and a laugh, you walked off, exiting the school.
Surprisingly, you were nervous. Your heart pumped against your chest and you leg unwillingly bounced up and down. You weren’t sure if it was because you were nervous this was all a joke… or…
Looking at your watch, it read six fifty fifty. Looking back you looked at the door of the diner, biting at your lips. No one entered and you were left staring at nothing for two minutes until sighing and looking at your phone. This was stupid, you told yourself, to believe this was anything more than just a play.
You didn’t know why you were getting so nervous.
Suddenly the bell ringed, and your back straightened, turning you saw Reggie run in, his hair unkept and a nice shirt on. Different from the regular varsity jacket he always had on. You couldn’t help but smile brightly as he quickly caught sight of you and ran over, sitting in front of you. You smiled nervously as he grinned openly at you.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized; “I got here as fast as I could.”
Confused evident in your gaze, you took a quick glance at your watch to see it said seven. Giggling, you looked back up at him. “you’re actually on time.” It was sweet to see him so nervous when he had nothing to be nervous about.
Pop’s himself came around and you ordered a strawberry smoothie and him a coke. You guys talked about all and anything, and honestly, you were surprised at how much you two got along. And how sweet he was. He seemed genuine and you felt gitty inside as you laughed at everything and anything he said.
Looking at the watch you saw it read ten and with shock, you shook your head. “I should be getting home. School tomorrow.” You explained and moved to stand up, you turned to your bag reaching for money but heard Reggie shuffle and turning you saw money laid out on top of the table, enough for the both of you.
“It’s a date right? My treat.” He smiled at you, and you found yourself mesmerized. Who knew playboy Reggie could make you feel this way.
He grinned, and stepping next to you he offered yo his arm, making you giggle. “Shall we go?”
The next morning, you walked into school with a skip in your step. Unbelievably giddy. Though when you walked through the doors that morning and saw the instant interest in you, you faltered. What if… Everyones eyes pierced you and you felt your heart break, so…
No one ever payed this much attention to you… so there’d only be one explanation. Trying to blink by the tears, you tried to miss the way guys stared at you lustfully and girls glared at you in disgust. You’d really thought. The tears came before you could stop them and you sprinted off, not wanting to be faced with this.
Though on your run to the bathroom, you bumped into someone. With shock you looked up only to see Reggie who had a concerned look on his face. You faltered, trying to run past him but he grabbed your upper arm, calling your name.
“What!” You snapped, red faced and teary eyed up at him as he leaned down concerned.
“What happened?” He immediately asked; “are you okay?”
“You tell me!” You yelled, gaining the attention of the crowds. “Didn’t you already tell everyone about how much of a slut i am!” you sobbed.
Reggie faltered himself, his grip loosening in shock; “no. Y/N, where’d you hear that?”
“No where, just everyones staring at me…”
“Please, you have to believe me. I prom-”
“Hey, Reg! I heard you were dating Y/N…” You heard a distant voice and looking up you saw Archie next to you, a grin slowly falling off his face as his hand fell on Reggie’s shoulder. He looked at you with concern as the silence became loud and clear.
“I- umm, yeah.” Reggie answered, staring back at you in concern.
“Well… I just wanted to say congratulations, Y/N’s amazing… and it’s not very often you’re serious.” Archie awkwardly commented, before running off. The hallways began to move again and you were left with Reggie but instead of crying, you’d stopped and were staring confused up at him.
“Serious?” You asked hesitantly.
Reggie shrugged, seemingly nervous. “Well yeah.”
“Oh… Oh, i’m so sorry!” You realized your mistake and with sudden confidence you leaned up and pressed a kiss against his lips. It was quick and short but he grabbed you around the waist, before you regrettable pulled away. He grinned back down at you, all previous concern gone.
warnings: Language, Sex mention (a lot), light smut (like this gets kind of heavy, but I do not write actual smut so)
word count: 2057
It had started out harmless.
Just a harmless game of truth or dare, but then again, nothing involving these rowdy teenagers was innocent.
Scott had gotten cocky, as he did on occasion, and called the group together. He claimed that you were going to have some ‘team bonding.’ You had laughed and asked him what that meant, but he would not tell you, instead forcing you into the room where everyone was gathered.
When everyone gathered in the living area, you sat on the couch next to Warren. This led to the group letting out various wolf whistles because they all knew that you and the angel were dating.
Scott then announced that you would be playing a few games of truth or dare. You had rolled your eyes and muttered, “Yeah, ‘team bonding.” It was a sarcastic, quiet mutter, and you thought no one had heard you, but Scott, from your other side, pushed you off the couch. You landed on the ground with a huff and looked up at your boyfriend who was laughing at your current predicament.
You turned and slapped him on the knee, but the action only caused him to laugh even harder.
“I’m sorry, baby. You’re just too cute,” Warren made out through gasps and chuckles. You frowned and crossed your arms like a child, and Warren reached down. He grasped you by your arms and pulled you up to your feet. He then proceeded to pull you into his lap, seeing as Kurt had taken your spot on the couch.
Warren wrapped one of his wings as well as an arm around you and squeezed your body close to his. You snuggled closer to him, laying your head underneath his chin and wrapping your arms around his neck. The Archangel dropped a small kiss to your forehead and the rest of the group groaned at your public display of affection.
Seconds later, Scott was trying to explain to Kurt what the game was as the smol blueberry cutie had no idea what truth or dare was.
You laughed and got off of Warren’s alp to grab a drink from the kitchen, questioning if anyone else wanted anything. Peter had called out that he wanted a soda and a Twinkie, and you chuckled telling him that you’d only get the soda.
When you arrived back in the room, you tossed the can of soda to Peter who quickly grabbed it and popped the lid. You sauntered back to Warren who held out his arms childishly, wanting you to come and sit on his lap once again.
“C’mere baby,” He seductively spoke, the words causing your cheeks to enflame and turn a bright shade of pink.
You walked back over to your cherubic boyfriend and when you got close enough, he reached out and grasped your hips. He yanked you down into his lap and wrapped his wings around you once more. He knew that you absolutely adored his feathered wings, which he had recently gotten back thanks to Hank’s intelligence. You stroked the pristine, white feathers in your hands, and Warren attempted to contain a small moan, but was unable. He groaned out and tossed his head back, causing the rest of the group to holler and laugh at him. Warren blushed, but was not ashamed; his wings were sensitive and when you stroked them, he was unable to hold back his pleasure.
When the game finally started, it had been innocent. Small, easy questions like ‘who do you like?’ or ‘how old were you when you had your first kiss?’ Simple dares like: ‘go jump in the pool’ and ‘go scare Charles and Erik downstairs.’
Then it got dirty.
Scott had asked Jubilee when she lost her virginity.
Jean dared Peter and Kurt to kiss.
You had chuckled and hoped that no one thought to ask you anything bad.
Then Peter spotted you.
It had coincidentally been his turn and he asked you to pick truth or dare, and you had bravely picked dare. That had been a mistake on your part.
Peter rubbed his hands together, a plan forming in his head.
“Stand up,” The silver haired speedster commanded, so you did. He then told Warren to do the exact same thing.
You furrowed your eyebrows and looked to Peter, “What are you doing Peter?”
Peter laughed and then replied, “You and loverboy are going to play my favorite game: Ten Minutes in Heaven.”
Warren chuckled with his arms still wrapped around your waist, “Peter, it’s Seven Minutes in Heaven, dumbass.”
Peter rolled his eyes at the wing-adorned boy, “Yeah, I know that. I just don’t think you can get anything done in that time. I mean, you’re not me.” Peter boasted, which caused you to lean farther into your boyfriend with a smirk. You had been dating for a few years, and you knew exactly what he could do with seven minutes.
Warren smirked and his wings tightened around your frame, “Oh, I think seven minutes is enough time to get her crumbling beneath me.”
Your eyes widened at his blunt remark, the rest of the room letting out cat hollers and whistles. Warren only continued to smirk before rolling his lips into your back. You coughed and sputtered when you felt his obviously hard erection on your back. Warren held you tighter to him and repeated the action which led to Peter yelling at the two of you to get started in the room rather than in front of him.
You laughed nervously and stared up at Warren. You marveled at the tattoos on the sides of his face and the side of his scalp. You grew aroused when you thought about how the tattoos followed down his sides and onto his muscular stomach. Having the pleasure to trace those tattoos with the tips of your fingers and your tongue one night was the best thing you had ever experienced. Well, it was not really your pleasure, more like Warren’s. He had groaned and arched his back when you lightly traced the lines close to the hem of his sweat pants. Beads of sweat rolled of his forehead as you played with the strings that kept his pants from falling off. Warren continued to groan until you used your fingers to pull the sweat pants off.
By the time you came back from the memory, Warren was dragging you in the direction of his room. You followed behind him, almost melting in your own arousal.
When you reached his room, the door was immediately shut behind you and Warren reached behind you to lock it. Before you could do anything, Warren had you pressed against the door, his lips finding your neck and latching on. He used his plump lips to scour for your sweet spot, and when he did, you let out another moan and tossed your head back against the wooden door. The archangel smirked against your neck and sucked on the spot harder, no doubt leaving a dark purple mark for you to cover later.
Warren let his lips still for a moment before he spoke, “What do you think, baby? Think I can get you crumbling beneath me in seven minutes?”
You nodded your head frantically before responding, “Fuck yeah, you can. You just might need some more time after for a few extra rounds.”
Warren smirked again and began walking backwards, his wings expanding to their full fifteen foot length. You practically melted at the sight of his wings, and Warren knew it. He knew you had a fucking wing kink and used it to his advantage. The angel knew that the thing you loved most about him (Well, this was debatable) was his large, white wings. Warren smirked and puffed out his feathers and let you watch them for a few moments, before he extended his muscular arms as well. He nodded his head once before he flexed his biceps, the action causing you to whimper under your breath.
Warren chuckled and motioned for you to step forward, “Then we better get started, babygirl.”
You moved forward, attaching your lips to his. Warren responded with enthusiasm, tilting his head to the side so he could dominate. He slipped one hand up to your neck, tilting your own head to the side. He ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of your bottom lip. Granting him access to your mouth, he slipped his tongue into your mouth and rolled his hips up into yours. You groaned and Warren pulled his mouth away for a split second to whisper, “Jump.”
So you did.
You jumped into the air, trusting Warren to catch you. When he did, his arms were underneath your ass, supporting your weight.
The blonde angel walked backwards towards his bed. He let you fall first, so that he could lay on top of you. He reconnected his lips to your neck, allowing you to arch your back into his chest. You dropped your hands to run down his hard chest and you played with the hem of his shirt. Warren got the message and leaned back away from your body so that he could pull the shirt over his muscular body. It seemed to go in slow motion as you watched the shirt leave his body.
God, you had the hottest boyfriend.
From his muscular biceps, his chiseled six-pack, and his sharp v-line; you melted under him.
Warren let you watch him for a few moments before he reached down and pulled your shirt over your own body. This led to him marveling your body just as you did to him.
“I’m so lucky,” Warren whispered, his eyes deep and dark with lust as they scanned over the bare skin.
You pulled his lips back down onto yours by grabbing him by the back of his neck. He let one of his hands drop and roam around your body. You let out a few moans as he did so, and you raised a hand to pull on his gorgeous blonde locks. This caused Warren to let out one of his own moans, and you smiled at you achievement.
As for Warren’s wings, they were transferring between extending to their full length and curling around your body. At one point, you raised your other arm to stroke his sweet spot. Because his wings were sensitive as he just got them back, he had a sweet spot; it was just above his right shoulder blade. When you stroked it with your fingers, Warren collapsed above you. He kept his weight from crushing you, but his wings shuddered and his head threw back. He moaned out again and you let yourself arch into him.
Warren took your lifted back to his advantage, so he reached behind you to grab ahold of the clasps of your bra. With one flick of his fingers, he unclasped it from your chest. He quickly pulled the straps from your arms and let the material fall. He chucked the useless bra away from you, his movements becoming frantic and rushed as he grew more aroused.
When Warren finally let his hands fall to the hem of your pants, there was an interruption.
Knocking was heard on the door, and a voice shouted out, “Hey, your time is up!”
The both of you ignored his voice and continued your actions.
Minutes later, Peter knocked again, “Hey guys? Can you even hear me over your fucking?” Warren laughed against your skin and pulled his head up from your stomach, where he was layering kisses along the soft skin.
The angel spoke next, diverting Peter from opening the door, “Hey Peter? Can you please fuck off? We’re going to stay in here to finish some important business!”
You moaned beneath Warren as he reattached his lips to your stomach.
Peter was heard shuffling outside the door and his voice rang out one last time, “Okay fine, but if you guys fuck again, can you keep it down? I didn’t get any sleep last time you fuckers went at it!”
Warren ignored the comment and finally let his lips graze the hem of your pants. Then in one swift motion, he pulled the pants off of you and smirked, “Let’s see what I can do with unlimited time then.”
Perched on the table, your legs swinging underneath you shared a bored look with Uncle Dean as he paced the room. Your Dad had his arms folded, but hadn’t given up yet. You knew Mick would come, he’d never turn his nose up at a meeting with the Winchesters- you could only dream.
“That’s it I’m waiting in the car-” Uncle Dean declared, readying himself to leave. Only, Dad stopped him. “Wait, come on-”
“No. Okay I didn’t sign up for this reporting for duty crap!”
“Just wait.” You sighed, not bothering to deal with any conflict. “Sorry I’m late.” Mick’s voice made Uncle Dean turn round, shooting him a frown. “My report ran over. Everything’s been a bit hectic till uh…well,” he glanced down at the blood stain “Well. Best not to dwell.” “Must be so hard for you.” You rolled your eyes.
“Okay, enough. What’s the deal?” Dad silenced the argument before i escalated any further.
“Case in Wisconsin. Looked like an animal attack. The girl’s in the hospital, but her brother lost his heart. We recon it’s a werewolf.” “That left a survivor?” You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it got scared before it could finish the job?” Uncle Dean suggested. Mick shook his head doubtfully “Perhaps but it usually takes more than just a fright to put a werewolf off it’s meal.” “The hell do you know that?” Uncle Dean scoffed. “I studied them at Kendrick’s.” “Kendrick’s?” Dad echoed.
“It’s where British Hunters train. Kinda like Hogwarts.” You explained. “Cool.” “Not cool.” You countered.
“The case sounds easy enough.” Uncle Dean shrugged, ignoring any more points to be made. “Then you won’t mind if I tag a long?” Mick tilted his head, aware he’d get some serious reactions out of that statement. You snorted, “Nice one, mate.”
“Mick, hunting isn’t really what you’re suited for…” Dad was trying to be a little more nicer about it than you had been. “There was a reason Mum never taught you.” You smirked- no doubt offending him in the process.
“I’m a fast learner.” He remarked “Our team were thinkers. We need to be ready for whatever happens next.
“One moment.” Uncle Dean threw his head back, gesturing for you and Dad to have a “talk” about it. When you were outside he rolled his eyes “No way this is happening.” “Dean, these people have some serious knowledge.” “I have that same knowledge, though!” You protested. “Y/N’s right. Besides, you can’t learn this crap in a book. You put on a flannel, you pick up a gun and you go out there and you get good fast or you get dead faster.” “He might come in handy.” “What if he get’s himself killed?” “I heard that.” Mick appeared at his side, making Uncle Dean back away a little from him: “Good.”
Unfortunately, Mick was in the back of the Impala next to you so you sat on one side, staring at your phone screen. To add to the excitement, Mick had one of his stupid podcasts playing. Sure, you liked interesting facts, but this was just torture. “Had to listen to one of his podcasts?” Uncle Dean frowned at his brother. Mick paused it, not wanting to miss anything. “It’s educational. Besides, I’ve been wanting to listen to this one.” Dad sighed. “And there I was beginning to think you weren’t so bad.” You rolled your eyes, getting a smile from your Uncle.
After they continued to argue over hunting, you took a headphone out and decided to see if it was worth getting into. “I’d take a handful of silver bullets any day over that crap!” “That crap, meant that the last werewolf seen in England was in the 20s.” Mick sassed. You mimicked Mr K’s posh accent “The last serious werewolf case in the United Kingdom was in 1923. I can’t believe you listen to him.” “Thank you for that, Ketch.” Mick rolled his eyes. “Any time, Davis.” You sassed.
“Were they all evil?” Dad asked, going back to the werewolves. “I’m sorry?” “Well not all werewolves are. We had a friend who was bitten, but he learnt to control it. Alongside lots of others.” “Werewolf’s are natural born killers. Monster’s don’t just stop becoming monsters.” “Mick-” You wanted to stop him, but he kept going. “They live to kill!” “Not everything’s in black and white you know.” You sighed.
Mick might have ignored you. Or perhaps he didn’t care: “Turn here.”
After flicking through endless lore books on all sorts of mythology, Dad, Uncle Dean and Mick arrived back from the hospital. They’d gone for more information, but it felt like they’d gone for a holiday at the speed they were taking things. They got in and began to explain what had happened. “She wasn’t bitten?” You were surprised to hear that “You sure?” “Positive.” Mick didn’t look at you when he spoke. “So now what?” “Well. You remember Jody?” Dad turned in his seat a little to face you. “The Sheriff Hunter?” “That’s her. She has two uh…adopted daughters. One of them, Claire Novak, is here working on the case. She’s gotta be about your age actually.” “Novak?” You repeated it, you could have sworn you’d heard that name somewhere before. “Isn’t that…Cas’ vessel’s name?” “Yeah…” Uncle Dean nodded “How did you know that?” “He told me.” You shrugged.
Not that you’d admit it, you were excited to meet another Hunter your age. You just hoped she wasn’t a jerk…but, if Jody brought her up how bad could she be?
You sat down next to Dad on the sofa, Dean sitting the other side of you. Opposite was who must have been Claire. She had long blonde hair and the sort of eyes that changed from blue to green. She wore a jacket like yours, only it was green. She had the Hunter look for sure. Her head tilted and eyes furrowed in your direction “Who are you?” She asked.
“Y/N.” You answered, not sure what else to say. “Claire, this is my daughter.” Dad explained. Her eyes widened and she smiled a little “Daughter?” “Sup.” You nodded. “Your accent…British, right?” “Which one?” You rolled your eyes. “There’s more than one?” “Yeah-lots.” “Oh…sorry.” You smiled “That’s cool.”
“You hunt?” She asked, obviously curious. “Duh.” You smirked, making her smile.
“Beers all round.” Mick appeared, placing beers down on the table. “Who are you?” Claire was now even more confused. “Mick Davis. British Men Of Letters.” Mick took her hand, shaking hers and his at the same time. “Long story.” Dean sighed. “Long story.” You agreed.
You and Claire both reached for a beer when Dad and Uncle Dean stopped you. “No.” They both said, dragging the bottles away from your grasp. You both shared a look before sitting back.
“Either way. That alibi…massive lie.” Claire continued. “Hayden’s Mom said the same thing.” Dad nodded. “Where was she?” “Local dive bar. Eating trash…anyway she was on a date. But the guy was a total douche-bag. Motorcycle, weird-ass hair, snarky…grabby.” “Grabby?” Uncle Dean echoed, he did not like the sound of that. “I’m a big girl,” Claire assured him “I handled it.”
“Better call it a night.” Mick rose, having barely been seated for a minute. “It’s 5:30.” You frowned. “My reports due in at six sharp. Nice meeting you.”
You watched him go, becoming more and more suspicious but it was too ealy to say anything. “So…” Claire spoke up “Your foreign exchange student it totally lame.” “Which one?” Uncle Dean joked. You hit his side, making him almost drop his beer. “Ow!”
“Anyway,” Dad cleared his throat “Why aren’t you with Jody?” “She’s busy with Sheriff stuff. Said to call if anything came up.” ‘Sheriff stuff’ sounded incredibly vague to you.
You watched in fascination as Claire dressed herself up to look twice her age. “Why do you keep staring at me?” “How?” You asked in amazement. “It’s so I pass as FBI. Why what do you usually do?” “Wait in the car…” You admitted, realising how pathetic that sounded. “That sucks.” She chuckled “Come here, I’ll show you.”
The Hospital was pretty big with endless corridors and hallways, but you found your way to the right room. Last night Hayden, who was in the hospital before, had died.” “Any idea what happened to her?” “The autopsy isn’t till tomorrow…it’s hard to tell. Perhaps a heart attack.” “At her age?” You asked, well aware she was probably similar age to you. “Well…yeah that’s what’s weird. Also, when we first found her she had gashes all along her arms. Now…” The Doctor pulled back the sheets to reveal her bare arms. There was no sign of any sort of wounds.
“Excuse me.” The Doctor left the room, leaving you all to ponder over the case. “What the hell?” Claire started off with the same words that had been running through your mind since you’d arrived. “What if she…turned?” Dad suggested. “I guess that would explain how she healed…but then how did she die? And you said she wasn’t bitten.” You pointed at Mick who stuttered for words. “Not that I saw.”
“None of this is making any sense.” Uncle Dean shook his head.
“But if she did turn then that means the werewolf wanted her turned.” Mick suggested. “So it’d have to be friends…family…” “Someone from the bar.” Claire finished.
“Okay, Sam, you and Claire go talk to the girl she was supposed to be crashing with. Me and Mick’ll hit the bar. Y/N, pick a side.” You rolled your eyes and followed on after your Dad.
Claire grabbed her headphones from the back of the car before putting her hand on the door handle. “Okay, so you wait here.” She ordered your Dad, making you chuckle. “What?” “You really think she’s gonna want to talk to some old skeezer…or us.” “She’s got a point, Dad.”You patted his shoulder before spelling aloud “B r b.”
After getting the information you needed from her friend you headed back out, only you paused in the doorway. “You coming?” Claire raised an eyebrow, turning round. “I will be. Just need to uh…make a phone call.” You said, heading round the back. “Okay.”
You hovered over the caller ID before pressing “call”. It rang for quite some time, reaching the point where you almost didn’t think they were going to pick up. “Y/N? What’re you doing?” He answered. “You called me yesterday,” You began “Why do you keep calling me?” “I can’t say it to your face..your Dad might overhear me and then that’ll just spark even more questions.” “So what if he does hear you? All you do is say dumb stuff.” You sighed. “I’m sorry. I should never have intruded on your family.” He sighed. “You keep saying that. In every damn voice mail you’ve left.” You snapped. “I’m fed up. Just say it to me. It’s ridiculous! We see each other every other bloody day and you ignore me. But the moment you’re not near me you call up to say sorry for everything!” “You’re right…I’m not as brave as you.” “I swear to God the next time you call me I’m going find you and throw your phone off a cliff. Stop it. Stop leaving voicemails I never listen to and stop apologising. I don’t care anymore.” “Y/N…” “Mick. Grow up.”
You hung up. Fed up of Mick calling you. So what if he had things to say? If they were that important he’d say them to your face. He’d left those messages a few months back…he kept apologising and you’d had enough. When you turned the corner you were greeted with the sight of Claire walking off in a huff from your Dad. Oh boy. “What did you say?” You asked, looking impressed he’d managed to piss her off that quickly. “Jody thinks she’s looking at colleges.” Dad sighed. “And?” You shrugged, earning a shocked look. “And?!” “Yeah. If she wants to hunt she wants to hunt. She’s not stupid.” “I know. It’s just not as simple as that.” “It should be.” You sighed.
You were about to add to your point when you noticed he wasn’t fully convinced, but froze when a cry of pain erupted from the nearby woodlands. After worriedly glancing at your Dad, the pair of you leapt into action.
You raced down towards the noise, fiddling with the inside of your jacket t grab your knife from the pocket. Only, when you reached the incident there was no obvious threat. “Claire!” Dad shouted, kneeling down beside her and clutching her close to him. She was still just coming out from an unconscious state, her eyes blinking into reality. You knelt down in front of her and examined her for wounds. Your eyes landed on her shoulder. The army-green jacket had a rip where the rims of the tear where dyed crimson. Blood was pouring from the scratch…no…bite
“Dad…” You managed, trying not to make it anymore painful for her. Dad glanced down to where you were looking and his face fell. “Oh God…”
“How long do I have?” Claire’s shaken voice filled the tense air.
“Sometimes it takes a full moon and sometimes it just takes time.” Dad
“Can I help?” Mick asked.
“Stay out!” Uncle Dean snapped.
“I understand you’re angry-”
Dad didn’t let him finish “Listen. You killed a kid. We’re not angry we’re
Mick turned his helpless eyes to you and you glared back “Don’t look at me
I’m not helping you.” You spat, drawing your attention back to Claire. You sat
down next to her and peeled the bandage back a little, examining her wound like
you could help.
It had worsened considerably more since you’d last seen it. Now a deep
red with swelling purples surrounding the teeth marks. You stuck it back over,
patting her back gently.
“Listen to me,” Uncle Dean knelt down in front of her and clasped hold of her
hand. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you can live with this.”
He assured her.
Claire shook her head, “No…not me.”
“All you have to do is lock yourself up a couple nights a month. Other than
that you’ll be just you.” He carried on, ignoring her protests.
“Dean listen to me!” She cried, making him stop “I can barely keep it
together on a good day. I don’t want to hurt Jody…or Alex…I’d rather
You watched her eyes glisten with tears as she spoke, her hands shaking
a little. You understood her completely, if you ever reached that a point in
your life you know which route you’d take.
“Mick…there’s an experiment…it
says here one out of nine subjects were cured.” Dad read over your shoulder.
“That experiment was on mice. It doesn’t work.” Mick sighed, but when he saw
Uncle Dean’s stern glare he explained “We experimented with the blood of
“You can reverse the early stages in rodents.” You piped up “Not humans.”
“How do you know?” Uncle Dean snapped, angry you were so against the idea.
“Because we tested on a human once.” Mick answered for you.
“And?” Dad pushed, his eyebrows raising expectantly.
“She died in agony.” You whispered, not looking anyone on the eye.
Claire hadn’t given up, it
seemed: “Second time lucky?”
“No.” Uncle Dean stated “You don’t get a vote in this.”
“It’s my life.” Claire protested “I get all the votes.”
“Sam…Y/N…wanna back me up here?”
“It’s her life.” Dad agreed.
“Don’t, Claire.” You sided with Uncle Dean, not wanting Claire to die the same
way the last one did.
She glared at you “Why should you get a say and not me?”
“Because I’ve seen what happens.” You argued, trying not to shout at her.
“That was one time.” She scoffed.
“Please.” You were out of reasons “You can’t.”
“Okay….what do we need?” Uncle Dean changed his tune, having decided.
You stared at him in shock, feeling very much in a corner. Mick
hesitated “Uh…blood from the werewolf that bit her.”
“Okay, me and Sam’ll go. Y/N, you stay here and make sure he doesn’t kill
again.” Uncle Dean pointed at Mick.
You nodded reluctantly, you couldn’t believe they were actually going along
with this. When the door closed you slumped back in the chair, lost for words
and to tired to say anything if you knew what to say.
After a few minutes of silence Claire spoke up- “Why are you so against
“Like I said, I’ve seen it happen. It didn’t end well. Not for anyone.” You
sighed, sharing a worried glance with Mick. Then, you got angry. “Why did
you tell them. If you’d have kept your stupid mouth shut none of this would
have happened!” You shouted at him.
“I-I didn’t mean…”
“Shut up! I’m fed up with you and your-” Your rant was broken by Claire hissing
of pain, she stumbled over some furniture as she tried to turn in the mirror to
see her bite-mark.
You held your tongue, forcing yourself into silence so she didn’t feel anymore
stressed. “This is your fault.” You murmured before helping Claire.
“It burns!” She managed through her deep breaths. The three of you
watched as her wounds began to heal- she was beginning to turn.
“Claire, we need to tie you up so you don’t hurt anyone and so we don’t have to
hurt you, okay?” You said calmly.
She ignored you and reached for the
gun, Mick grabbed it in the nick of time and held it out in front of
himself. “Please, you don’t understand.” Claire hissed through the
pain “It’s happening. Give it to me!”
You froze. You didn’t know what to do anymore. Death by a bullet would be less
painful than what was to come…but what if she was right? What if it did work? “Then you do it!” She begged. Her desperate eyes then fell on
your gun in your pocket “Or you! If you want me dead so bad!”
“That’s not what I want…Mick put the gun down.” You ordered him.
“I know a man that would shoot you right now without second thought. Every
instinct I have tells me to do the same…but my instincts haven’t been so
grand of lately…” You listened curiously as Mick explained “So sit down.
I’m not gonna shoot you.”
You offered your hand as she stumbled towards the sofa, helping her sit down.
She didn’t let go.
“With any luck, when you wake up this will all be over.” Mick trid to
reassure her as he put everything together ready to restrain her.
“If I wake up.” Claire corrected.
A loud crash tore your attention away from her as a man with a skull
mask opened up the doors. “Stay back!” Mick shouted. He attempted to shoot the
man with his pistol, but the man was much quicker. He dodged and slammed his
fist into Mick’s head, making him unconscious. You and Claire shared a worried
look, she smashed a vase onto his head, but it didn’t seem to phase him. You
reached for your gun yet realised halfway that this must be a werewolf. Bullets
meant nothing and you were out of silver. That hesitation was your mistake, a
heavy object smashed into the side of your head and you were out cold.
“Claire!” A familiar shout dragged you into reality. “…Y/N!”
You felt two strong arms haul you up off the floor, forcing you to look into
their eyes. “Dad..” You groaned, feeling the dried blood on the side of your
“What happened?” He asked, running a thumb over your wound. You winced but
didn’t complain as he made sure you were okay “The wolf…I think he took her.”
“Three versus one and you couldn’t stop him!” Uncle Dean shouted. He wasn’t
just angry at Mick but you as well. “Dean, come on. That’s not fair.”
You ignored your Uncle. “We need to find her.” You tried to
ignore the pain on the side of your head as you dragged yourself up, not
accepting the help from your Dad.
“I put a tracker in her pocket.” Mick said.
“You planted a bug on her?!” Dad shouted in disbelief, making you flinch a
“You can kill me after we find Claire.”
Ready for a fight, you charged into the building. Dad went straight for
the werewolf, tackling him to the floor. You followed Uncle Dean to where
Claire was tied up, only as he reached for the rope you grabbed onto his jacket
and tugged him back. “She’s turned!” You warned over the timpani of clatters.
She growled, her sharp teeth and bright eyes revealing how there was no more
Despite her reins she broke free and lunged at the pair of you. Immediately,
Uncle Dean stepped out in front of you and threw her against the cabinets
behind. “Sorry, kid.” He apologised.
A blur appeared in your peripheral vision and you ducked just in time,
parrying to the left before kicking the wolf away from you. You then leapt over
to where a gun, fully loaded with silver bullets, was lying. You reached for it
in a panic, cocking it and aiming. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
The shot rang out, followed by the wolf collapsing in front of you. You
watched as it fell to the floor, the needle still sticking out of it’s neck.
You handed Mick his gun back without bothering to look at him. He took it
before kneeling down next to the werewolf, taking out the needle to extract the
“Move.” You warned him, watching as Claire began to waken.
He side-stepped away, joining your Dad and Uncle. “Is that thing ready?” Uncle
“Ready.” Mick handed it to him, stepping away once more.
Just as she fully regained consciousness she lunged at Dad, who blocked,
allowing Uncle Dean to inject the blood.
She hunched over in agony before staring upwards, her eyes somehow even more
yellow than before. Somewhere between a scream and a growl erupted from her
throat before she collapsed.
You couldn’t bare this any longer. Minutes, that felt more like years,
of watching as Claire shook and cried out and shifted and screamed. You tore
your eyes away.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
“I need some air.” Uncle Dean mumbled then left the room.
You held your head in your hands, not wanting to watch any longer.
Her cries grew louder as she adjusted her position in a constant cycle.
She growled and hissed and cried. She whined and groaned and jolted. She
twisted and shouted and…
She fell still.
You glanced up, Dad managed a quiet “Claire?” before raising his voice
Uncle Dean walked back in, he noticed your pale face, your Dad’s blank
stare and the silence. His eyes fell on Claire’s still body and his heart sank.
A small murmur made you properly look up. You watched in amazement as
her sharp claws retracted and her body stirred. Claire’s eyes, her eyes, opened slowly. “You guys look like crap.”
The drive back to the Bunker was silent on your part. You half listened
as the brothers upfront bickered about nonsense and lightly argued over
small-talk. You didn’t wear headphones.
Your eyes followed the scenery outside back and forth along the roadside, but
your mind was elsewhere.
You barely noticed that you’d made it home until the slam of Uncle
Dean’s door dragged you back to reality. “You coming, kid?” He asked, raising
‘no’ you wanted to say, thinking about curling up into a ball and falling
asleep there and then just to prove a point: “…Yeah.”
the prompt: I wanted to request a fluffy Sanha scenario where you’re a theatre actress playing the lead in a musical and he works backstage and the actor playing your love interest drops out so he has to fill in last minute.
author note: i don’t write abt sanha much but when i do it’s always a pleasure. also this took forever to finish for some reason so sorry for the wait.
The Odyssey is a strange, adventurous tale of a grown man trying to get home after fighting in a war. He’s on that long journey home, and it’s filled with traps and pitfalls. He’s cursed to wander. He’s always getting carried out to sea, always having close calls. Huge chunks of boulders rock his boat. He angers people he shouldn’t. There’s troublemakers in his crew. Treachery. His men are turned into pigs and then are turned back into younger, more handsome men. He’s always trying to rescue somebody. He’s a travelin’ man, but he’s making a lot of stops.
He’s stranded on a desert island. He finds deserted caves, and he hides in them. He meets giants that say, “I’ll eat you last.” And he escapes from giants. He’s trying to get back home, but he’s tossed and turned by the winds. Restless winds, chilly winds, unfriendly winds. He travels far, and then he gets blown back.
He’s always being warned of things to come. Touching things he’s told not to. There’s two roads to take, and they’re both bad. Both hazardous. On one you could drown and on the other you could starve. He goes into the narrow straits with foaming whirlpools that swallow him. Meets six-headed monsters with sharp fangs. Thunderbolts strike at him. Overhanging branches that he makes a leap to reach for to save himself from a raging river. Goddesses and gods protect him, but some others want to kill him. He changes identities. He’s exhausted. He falls asleep, and he’s woken up by the sound of laughter. He tells his story to strangers. He’s been gone twenty years. He was carried off somewhere and left there. Drugs have been dropped into his wine. It’s been a hard road to travel.
In a lot of ways, some of these same things have happened to you. You too have had drugs dropped into your wine. You too have shared a bed with the wrong woman. You too have been spellbound by magical voices, sweet voices with strange melodies. You too have come so far and have been so far blown back. And you’ve had close calls as well. You have angered people you should not have. And you too have rambled this country all around. And you’ve also felt that ill wind, the one that blows you no good. And that’s still not all of it.
Bob Dylan, excerpted from his Nobel Acceptance Lecture