The reader is trying to cook, but she can’t reach anything in the cabinets.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: fluff, implied smut
Word Count: ~515
Note: For all my short readers, we’ve been here. Tall readers you can still read this and laugh at our troubles with Sam. Lucky. If you like the fic, let me know with comments and reblogs and… likes. If you want to be put on a tag list, or have a request, shoot me a message!
“Seriously, Winchesters?” You groaned as you tried to reach the casserole dish on the top shelf. “If you two would just stay out of my kitchen, I could reach everything.” With a growl you took a chair and stood on it. You also grabbed a few more things to replace at lower levels later. “This is my kitchen, and I’ll be damned if Dean moves things around again.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that. He thinks the kitchen is his.” Sam chuckled from his leaning position in the doorway when you almost fell off your perch. “If you needed help, you could’ve just asked.”
You crossed your arms. “But I don’t want to have to ask. I want to be able to reach everything without assistance.” You squinted at him as his face twitched with a grin. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”
“But you’re cute.”
“Sam shut up.”
“What? You’re just adorable. And tiny.” His sweet smile finally shined through. No, Y/N. You’re mad at him.
“I am average height, Winchester. Average. Height! You’re just ridiculously tall!”
He stepped closer to you. Balanced as you were, you didn’t have anywhere to go. “I don’t think you are, Y/N. If you were, you wouldn’t need a whole chair to stand eye to eye with me.” He stepped close enough to prove his point. It worked out better than he thought. You bobbed up on your tiptoes to actually glare at his level. He laughed at your movements. The cute one that sounded like bells that only happened when he was really feeling carefree.
“Your cute laugh isn’t going to make me less angry, stop hugging me, put me down! Put me down!” Sam lifted you up and scooted the chair out of the way. He sat you on the counter and stood between your parted legs. “No. I’m not kissing you. I’m mad at you for-“ You were cut off with a kiss. He broke away for a second, then cut you off again, repeating as needed until you leaned forward to follow his retreating lips. Your hands roamed up to the nape of his neck where your fingers could curl in his hair.
Then a thought popped into your head. A memory.
You placed a finger on Sam’s lips and pushed him away. “Dean didn’t put those dishes that high, did he? He never uses these dishes, nor can he reach the back of the top shelf either.” He averted his gaze, dimples making an appearance. “Sam?” you asked, drawing out his name.
“A guy likes to feel needed.” He leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.
“You could’ve just asked,” you repeated at him.
“Can I ask for something else first?”
You nodded, humming in delight.
Sam nuzzled his nose to yours then whispered in your ear, “will you come with me to my room?”
“Only if you help me off the counter first.” You squealed as he lifted you up where you could wrap your legs around his hips.
Dinner preparations were on hold until further notice.
He had already changed. Where Bray had taken weeks to convert and years to strengthen, Elias was already hitting harder and leaving no room for mercy. I laughed openly as Elias tossed Luke to Bray to hit.
Luke and Erik. Now Bludgeon Brothers. They would pay for their betrayal. At fault or not in Bray’s loose hold, they would pay.
I remained sitting as Erik came flying over the ropes and rolled to my feet. He heaved himself to his feet, stumbling around until he realized where he was. My eyes caught his. He stepped back, no longer controlling his own steps. Three, then four steps later he was backed against the ring.
Right into the grasp of Elias.
Erik put up a minimal fight as the Drifter hauled him into the ring. He once again struggled as Elias tipped him back for his ‘Drift Away’, then moved no more.
One. Two. Three.
Bray and Elias took their moment in the ring, then Bray brought me a mic. Elias pushed my chair to one side as I stood. In the ring, Luke rolled out of the corner where he had been lying comatose and helped Erik to his feet. They stayed in the middle of the ring, glaring at us.
“My prodigals. You have been cleansed of your waywardness.” Bray chuckled next to me. “You are forgiven. When Raw has been wholly cleansed of doubt and discontent, I will return for you. Prepare yourselves, and Smackdown, for the return of the Wyatt Family, reformed.” I turned and found Bray and Elias each with an arm outstretched to lead me up the ramp. Bray side-eyed Elias, a possessive frown bubbling just under the surface.
I took both of their arms with a proud smile.
At the top of the ramp, I turned, giving one last look at our Smackdown family members, flanked by the oldest and newest Wyatt’s.
When it is revealed that the battle to take Y/N back from Bray is more complicated than expected, Elias makes a deal that may result in him joining the Wyatt family.
Pairing: None
Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence
Word Count: ~1300
Note: Tag lists and requests are open. Please leave me comments on what you like/dislike about the series. Without further ado, here’s part 5. Please don’t hate me.
The arena pulsed with light. Crimson. Deep blues. Blinding white. Then a single white light fell on the rocking chair set up at the bottom of the ramp.
The figure sitting in the chair was wearing a white robe trimmed in decaying silver. A low laugh sounded from under the hood as fireflies began to show up in the seats.
I laughed out loud at the gasp when Bray placed his hand on my shoulder. Standing, I joined him as he led the way up the stairs with his lamp, sitting on the ropes to ease my step into the ring.
I had arrived.
Bray circled around me, spinning in glee before blowing out the lantern. I gave him the mic from my sleeve, keeping my back to the ramp and stage so I could watch him be happy in a way he had not been in a long time. His cheeks almost squeezed his eyes shut with how wide he was smiling. Lifting the mic, Bray let a giggle escape past his lips. I felt my face twitch as I suppressed a grin.
“Sister Abigail has come.”
He motioned towards me as the arena erupted with a cacophony of noises. Cheers, boos, and the frantic yelling made my blood feel alive. I remained still, basking in the welcome.
“Everything is about to change,’ Bray continued. “Nothing in the WWE will be left untouched. Power incarnate stands before you. Dissenters will fall at our feet and shudder as she passes her judgment.” He laughed and again spun, facing each wall of adoring followers. “Too long has she waited in the darkness. Her light will shine over all of the world that I hold in my hand.”
I couldn’t help but smile now. Bray had always found a way to make his childish phrases sound so promising and dangerous.
I allowed myself to smile brighter as the music of Finn Balor played through the silver and blue lights. I could feel that he forewent summoning the dramatic smoke, though he brought something… someone else.
“Bray,” Finn growled. “Where is Y/N? If you ‘ave…”
“Y/N is no more.” My voice echoed through the space, summoning silence as they all waited for me to continue. My fingers played with the edges of my hood, then flicked to remove it. “There is only me.”
Turning, I beheld Finn Balor and Elias standing side by side. My vessel was indeed powerful if she could force these men to put aside their long feud. Bray had chosen well. I kept my eyes on Finn as he struggled to fight past Elias shouting for Y/N.
“Drifter,” I said. They stilled. Listening. “Elias. I have a proposition for you.” Bray appeared to my right. Right where he should be. “Bray has told me so much about you. I have watched from the ether and seen your skill in this squared circle. The skill with your guitar and your voice. It saddens me to hear you interrupted almost every week. To hear your skills ignored and passed over. To see how your talent in the ring is overshadowed by those with less.” I licked my lips. Elias had barely blinked since I began speaking. “What would you be willing to sacrifice to have people to walk with you? To have the respect you deserve as you cleanse city after city with your music? Come to the ring if you are willing to hear this proposition.” I stepped back, mirrored by Bray.
Elias stayed still for several seconds.
Impatience boiled inside my chest until I breathed it away. I had been lost in the ether for quite some time. A few seconds would be nothing to the years.
The Drifter took a step forward. Finn threw away the mic and grabbed at him, halting his choice.
“Back off, Balor,” I said. “I will have an offer for you as well soon enough. Until then, bite your tongue. Elias has made his choice.” I held out my hand, encouraging Elias to continue forward.
They shared one last look. Balor’s face contorted in rage before he spun on his heel and left the stage. Elias stood slightly turned to hear the leader of the Balor Club walk away. When he was satisfied Balor would not come back, he made his way down the ramp and stood before the ring. His eyes searched my face, looking for any remnant of Y/N. When he found none, he joined us in the ring, motioning for me to continue.
“Join us,” I said simply. “Be the first to join this new generation of the Wyatt Family. The Eater of Worlds, Myself, and the Drifter, who would be adrift alone no longer. Who could stand against us? Like the power triumvirates of old, we can disintegrate this world to ash. Think back to Sparta, Athens, Thebes. Pompey, Crassus, and Julius Caesar. The rule of three has always been on this earth. Would you be wise enough to become one of those great men?” I held out my hand, offering Elias to take it.
Elias looked at my hand. Looked up at her face, my face. He bit his lip and turned to leave.
“Elias.”
He stopped, shoulders rippling with the clarity of her voice.
“One week. Come and see the power you could have, if only for one week.” I could feel Bray bristling behind me. “One pin in return for one week. Fight Bray.” I turned so they could see each other. “Meet Bray in this ring. Win, I never bring up this offer to you again. Lose… and join my family for one week. If at the end of that time you do not feel like your talents are being appreciated you can forgo the offer. But,” I stepped closer to him, “respect like this will be hard to give up.”
“Sister…” Bray’s voice whispered to me. My eyes flicked to his, blazing with hellfire. His temples rippled as he ground his teeth. I slowly faced Elias once more.
“Do we have a bargain?”
He nodded.
From my rocking chair, I watched the match. Bray was conflicted. I had not discussed adding family members so soon with him. He wavered between letting Elias win and following my leadership. Twice he had caught Elias to give him my kiss. Twice he had let Elias twist his way out. I knew his pride would win out in the end. As much as he wanted to keep the power between us for a little longer, he would not let himself be bested tonight.
Not that it should be difficult. Elias was distracted. He kept looking past Bray to me. But not looking at me. Looking for her.
Strength. Speed. Tricks. Both men used everything in their arsenal. Bray tipped back from the ropes, freezing Elias’s steps. Elias hesitantly kicked Bray into the ropes as Bray surged forward. It wouldn’t be long now.
I dug my nails into the wood of the armrests as Elias captured Bray for the Drift Away. His eyes caught mine again. I held his gaze, giving Elias pause enough for Bray to wriggle his way free and finally take Elias down to the mat. I was standing in the ring even before the end of the three count, helping Elias to his feet with the finishing bell.
“Abigail,” he said with a nod, squeezing my small hand in his.
“Elias.”
As soon as I felt Bray’s hand on my shoulder, the lights flickered around us and I took Elias with us out of the ring.
With each passing day, Elias grew stronger. Faster. In sync when teaming with Bray while I watched from my chair.
After a week of house shows, the drifter had embraced becoming Elias Wyatt.
While Finn is distracted fighting with Elias, Y/N has to deal with the sudden arrival of Bray.
Pairing: None
Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence, creepy Bray
Word Count: 760 (short, but intense)
Note: I hope I wasn’t too obvious leading up to the plot twist in this chapter. Elias’s song is based on The Civil War’s “The One That Got Away.” Please have mercy; poetry and songwriting is not my thing. Anyways and as always, please let me know how you’re liking this series, what you think is going to happen, or any other notes with likes, comments and reblogs. My tag lists (including the one for this series) are open and so are my requests. Now please enjoy this newest chapter!
With the single light on the ring, the crowd let up a mixture of boos and applause. Elias began his usual spiel, introducing himself and asking who wanted to walk with him. He was impressed by the swell of applause at his question.
“Now tonight I have a special song. It is dedicated not just to my opponent this week, but to my opponent last week as well.” He absently strummed his guitar, gathering his thoughts, then began.
“To the one known as Y/N and Finn
To the ones that follow them like sheep
I wish you were the ones
I wish you were the ones that’d go away
“I got caught up by the chase
And lost sight of ev’ry other thing
I wish you were the ones
I wish you were the ones that’d go away
“Oh, If I could go back in time when Y/N
Was just a name I would hear
In the stories of an Irish demon out of place
Oh, I wish I’d never ever seen your face
I wish you were the ones
Wish you were the ones that’d go away.”
You were able to hold Finn back so Elias could finish his song. But as soon as it ended, you gave a nod to the techie so they could que Finn’s music before Elias could collect his adoration. Finn did the intro of his entrance alone, then at the part where he would begin to walk down the ramp, you joined him. You kept your eyes on Elias, observing his reaction to every movement Finn made. From the floor, you joined the Balor Club in doing Finn’s entrance. That was never going to get old.
The bell rang and the match was called for one fall. Finn passed you his jacket to lay on the stairs while Elias ripped his shirt in half. You rolled your eyes at how dramatic they both were. The guys had just started to circle one another when the lights dimmed and flickered. They sprang back from one another and watched their own backs as Bray’s face stuttered onto the screen.
He didn’t say anything. Just cackled. Then his voice changed, heightened, and his face shimmered to include the burlap veil of Sister Abigail. Her laughter was just as eerie and sent chills down your spine. You jumped as Finn kneeled and placed his hand on your shoulder. Together you watched Bray’s face change back, then flicker out. Your heart was thundering in your chest long before the lights came on.
Finn and Elias shared a questioning look. Finn sighed. Elias shrugged before rushing forward to start the fight. Watching Elias fight up close revealed how much he didn’t hold back when he fought you. It pleased you how he regarded you as an equal in the ring. Neither of the men was underestimating the other. They exchanged hits and grumbled underhanded insults exemplary of the old rivalry between them. You found yourself flinching when either of them hit the canvas hard or took a painful-looking hit.
The lights flickered again.
You kept your eyes on Finn in the ring, assuming Bray would appear as close to him as possible.
That was a mistake.
Finn spun around in the ring looking for Bray in the dim illumination. Elias had backed off into a corner, leaving the two supernatural beings to take each other out. His eyes grew wide as he looked past Finn and past you on the floor. The hair bristled on the back of your neck.
“Balor!” He pointed behind you.
Finn spun around just in time to see Bray’s arms wrap around your throat and waist. Your scream was cut off as everything went black.
Finn stood frozen in shock. His eyes darted over the spot where you once stood as if you would reappear just as quickly.
The slight bounce of the canvas brought his attention back to Elias who was walking to the center of the ring.
Elias had his hands up in peace. “Pin me.”
“What?”
“Pin me and go after her. Or let me pin you. Don’t just stand there.” Elias lowered his hands and motioned for Finn to fight him.
Finn gave a shout, then used his boiling rage to attack Elias. The Drifter fell quickly and didn’t fight back as the ref counted to three.
They were both out of the ring like a shot. On the ground they froze, eyeing each other warily. With a nod, they ran up the ramp and backstage together to look for you.
The Winchesters and the reader go to London during the Whitechapel murders, also known as the Jack the Ripper murders, with the theory that the perpetrator is not human. They are correct, but when the killings don’t stop, the team has to retrace their steps and riddle out what stone they left unturned. Written for @kittenofdoomage and @saxxxology-main SPN History Challenge.
Pairing: Dean x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: Jack the Ripper violence (no more than what’s on SPN), case details (softened), references to smut, angst (self-doubt)
Word Count: ~3450
Note: Good heavens, this took forever to write. I had a lot of fun doing research and found a lot of tiny details to include for anybody who really knows their Ripperology. I used CaseBook for pretty much all of my research. I hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you did/not like. My tag lists and requests are open.
Thank you, Kitten and Saxxy for this challenge!
29 September 1888
Dutfield’s Yard, Whitechapel, Victorian London
With the setting of the sun, the lamplighters began their work. Each new flame illuminated the cobble streets busy with hansom cabs rushing people home and last-minute business deals in shacks set up along the street. Mothers gathered their skirts in their hands against the puddles of condensed London mist. They pulled their shawls tighter and held their children closer as the two imposing men walking behind you came down the way.
Dean continued arguing with Sam. “Of course this is our kind of case.” He dropped his voice. “Throats and abdomens slashed, and the second girl had an organ removed.”
“We’ve seen just as much from attacks that were by humans,” Sam whispered back. “There were nine days between the killings of this ‘Whitechapel Murderer,’ why wait so long between days?”
You pulled the Winchesters into a dark corner not lit by a lamp. “Perhaps the killer keeps getting locked up for another crime. Or comes into town on short business. Human or not, whatever is doing this is a monster. Which is what we hunt, right? It may be just a drop in the bucket, but if… when we find this thing it will be one less killer on the streets.”
Sam sighed. “You may be right. But we’ve been patrolling the streets for three days now.”
It made your feet ache to hear the patrolling mentioned. From dusk to just after dawn the three of you had hunted the killer of the two prostitutes. Reading about it in the Central News Agency paper didn’t seem so extraordinary except for the accompanying letter from a ‘Jack-the-Ripper.’ You kept a clipped copy in your notebook, reading it as the brothers continued to debate. It read:
“Dear Boss
“I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they won’t fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shan’t quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can’t use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the lady’s ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn’t you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.
Yours truly, Jack the Ripper”
With a little more digging, a trip to the newspaper agency who received the letter (who obviously did not wait for more of his work), and a visit to a friend in Scotland Yard, you and Dean talked Sam into taking the case. But there was too much ground to cover, and neither of the guys wanted to split up and let you patrol on your own. You shook your head to push away that heated argument and rejoined the present conversation.
“Fine. If this is a monster, then what kind? We can’t keep wandering around blind.” Sam crossed his arms and looked down at you and Dean. Dean growled and furrowed his brow as he thought. You tapped Dean’s shoulder as your mind came up with a hypothesis.
“What about a shape-shifter? You guys remember that case we did a while back, and the shifter took Dean’s form? The victims were sliced nearly to ribbons with various blades. These victims have similar cuts, but more focused. More technical.”
Sam shook his head in agreement. “And that would fit with your copper friend’s eyewitness accounts. They gave conflicting descriptions between the men with Mary Anne Nichols and Annie Chapman.”
“Fantastic,” Dean said, “so we have something to look for now.”
“And I think we should split up.” You waved away the instant dissention. “Just in two groups. One brother off on his own. The other with me.”
“I claim dibs!” Dean wrapped his arm around your shoulder. Sam chuckled and came up with the plan for that night. You and Dean would continue to hunt in Dutfeild’s Yard south of Commercial Street; he would do the same in the north part of the Yard between Whitechapel High Street and Commercial Street. With that in place, you went your separate ways, setting up to meet up in the middle after a few hours.
The streets were dark by then. Yet they were full of life, even at midnight. Business continued as usual despite the setting of the sun. The dim lamplight was hardly enough to keep away the gloom; if anything, it gave every corner and figure a flickering shadow like a personal ghost. You were confused. Nobody seemed to be bothered that two young women had been brutally murdered just a few blocks away. You questioned as much to a gaggle of women sitting on someone’s front stoop while Dean hovered a little way away.
“That ‘appens every day, dearie. Between the Irish, and the Russians, and those of us already here, there was bound to be some chap to go mad on a few tarts.” The woman nodded and sucked on a pipe. Her companions continued to chitter as you walked away.
“It’s incredible,” you muttered to Dean. He nodded in silence, then lightly grabbed your forearm to pull you into a dark corner. “What are you doing?”
“Instead of hunting this thing, do you think we could lure it to us?” Dean pushed back your shawl and ran his fingers across your exposed collarbone. “Do you want to pretend to be a local lovely lady? You’d only need one customer.” He winked, making you giggle.
“Honey, you couldn’t afford me Mr. ‘I robbed the last victim we encountered to afford dinner.’”
Dean whistled and leaned close to your ear. “That may be, but he also paid for the room where I made you scream last night.” Dean’s green eyes glowed with the memory also playing in your mind. He grinned as you shuffled your feet to clench your thighs together. Dean stepped away from you as Sam’s shadow came around the corner. You covered up just as the rest of him followed.
“You guys get anything yet?”
“Would have if you hadn’t interrupted,” Dean grumbled under his breath. You punched him in the shoulder and was about to comment when a figure caught your eye.
The black suit the man was wearing was overly nice for the area. He had a middle-aged woman on his left arm, also dressed in all black. From your position across the street, you could see the splash of color from a rose and green sprig posy. She was smiling and laughing, pulling the man towards a dark side street and playing with the lace on her crepe hat. The man fiddled with something in his right pocket; it flashed silver as he pulled it out and hid it in his sleeve. Could be money.
The way his eyes reflected the light of the lamp they passed under changed your mind.
“Guys, I think we should move.” You didn’t wait for their reply as the figures slipped into the darkness. The roll of cart wheels coming your way sounded distant, but you kept your eyes on the side street across the way.
“Y/N!” Dean’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back before the horse and cart could run you over.
“Watch where you’re goin’!” The driver cursed in another language and spurred his horse forward.
“What were you thinking, Y/N?” Dean kept a vice-like grip on your wrist while Sam looked around.
“I think I saw him, our shifter. His eyes reflected before he went into that side street with a woman.”
Sam looked where you pointed and took the lead. Dean fell in behind you and kept his hand on the silver blade in his jacket. Sam’s hand didn’t enter his jacket till he has half enveloped in the shadow of the alley. You slipped on your silver-studded brass knuckles and followed him into the dim.
The three of you kept close to the wall and approached the standing figure also huddled close to the wall. Broken glass cracked under your boot. Silver glowing eyes honed in on you. You tightened your grip on your weapon as he slightly turned to let you see the state of his new victim. The figure let the woman sink to the ground, a deep gash already present in her throat. The figure tipped his hat, then sprinted down the alley.
“Sammy…”
“I got him.” Sam dashed after him while you and Dean circled around to the next street over to cut him off. You stood on opposite sides of the exit, making a mini-gauntlet for the shifter to run through. You balanced on the balls of your feet, ready to pounce, as the sound of running got closer and closer. Large hands blocked your blows and Dean’s flashing knife.
“Stop. Dean, Y/N, it’s me!” Sam stepped into the light panting and irritated. “I lost him. He may be hiding in some dark corner though, so come on.” Dean followed him and you followed Dean. The lamps were fewer and farther between, clustering the most around corners. Sam led you back to the place where he lost sight of the shifter. The alley split into three: back the way to the murder scene, down the street to yours and Dean’s gauntlet, and south. Moving southward, the group began to find chunks of sloughed flesh.
“He’s shifting.” Dean switched places with Sam; you stayed to the rear keeping an eye out against becoming the hunted. The trail led you southwest, then slightly north to another busy intersection. Sam nudged your shoulder. He helped you up onto a crate.
“I see him,” you said. The same suit, though now stretched across slightly broader shoulders, moved its way through the crowd. The shifter looked like any other Londoner, except he was wearing the same posy as the woman before. A keepsake. A taunting. “Oh no,” you murmured, “he’s already found another woman.” You watched as he drew a flask from his vest pocket and passed it to the woman. She was already unsteady on her feet. The shifter pulled her closer to him, keeping her upright and guiding her away from the bustle. Again, you caught the silver glimmer of his eyes as he passed under a street lamp.
Your blood ran cold as he caught your eye. He paused to match your gaze. Then smiled.
He faded away with the woman down a passage.
You tugged on both Winchester’s arms and began the fight with the one o’clock business of Aldgate Street.
“It’s so nice of you to share a bit of warmth with me. It’s a bit crisp for September id’it?”
The shifter hummed in agreement. His fingers fiddled with the handle of the blade in his pocket. He had told himself tonight would be his last slashing. Enough to put a stop to the thundering in his veins that could only be silenced by blood. Then those men, and the woman with them, interrupted him. His fingers twitched, making the woman at his side giggle.
“Cold, dearie? We’ll get you warmed up soon enough.”
“Yes, soon enough. All will be well… soon enough.”
With each shoulder that Bumped into your smaller frame, your heart sank further and further into your stomach. Each hindered step was another second for the shifter use his knife. By the time you reached Church Passage, all hope of saving the woman was gone. The three of you ran shoulder to shoulder, preventing any doubling back.
The shifter was huddled over the body on the ground. Carving. He withdrew his knife from the woman’s cheeks and sat back on his heels with a contented sigh. He was just reaching his blade for her ears when Dean’s hurrying boots echoed through the passage. The shifter leapt to his feet and ran down the alley before Dean could reach him. Sam followed, but you stayed behind with the woman.
Her eyes looked so scared. They held you for what could have been two minutes or ten.
You jumped as a hand landed heavy on your shoulder. Dean backed off as you lifted your brass knuckles toward his face. “Hey, it’s just me. We got ‘im. Sam’s already calling us a cab so we’re gone before the patrol comes by.” He helped you to your feet, leading the way out and not seeing how you looked back at the woman you failed to save.
You pushed that aside and followed Dean off into the night, believing that was the end of the case.
November 10, 1888
London
The first thing you heard upon returning to London from a salt-and-burn was the crying of a newspaper boy. You called him over and paid him in exchange for the paper. He gave you a curt nod then continued with announcing the top story.
“Another Whitechapel Murder! Another terrible crime! Read it here, sir. Woman cut to pieces; body found yesterday morning! Excitement in Whitechapel!”
You quickly scanned the details as Sam and Dean looked over your shoulder. “During the early hours of yesterday morning,” you read out loud, “another murder of a most revolting and fiendish character took place in Spitalfields. This is the seventh which has occurred in this immediate neighborhood, and the character of the mutilations leaves very little doubt that the murderer in this instance is the same person who has committed the previous ones, with which the public are fully acquainted.” You handed it off to Sam to continue reading while you helped Dean carry the bags into the boarding house.
“I thought we got him,” Dean growled.
“We did. In an empty apartment and burned the body in the fireplace.” Sam sat at the small table. “I’m sure this isn’t the same killer.” He ran his finger over the line of text, mumbling to himself. “They’re saying the heart was missing.”
“So, what? Now we’ve got a werewolf?” Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame while you sat next to Sam.
“I guess so.” You sighed. “I suggest we get some rest, then take a trip to the Yard before going out tonight.”
“Agreed,” the brothers said in unison.
That night, with the patrol information from your friend at Scotland Yard, the three of you began the hunt closer to the river-side of Whitechapel. It was surprisingly less busy when compared to the last hunt. Sailors had drunk and bedded much earlier than the rest of London, eager to enjoy a little rest and friendly company indoors after sailing. One bar, in particular, was still bright with life, though the revelers were beginning to thin as pairs began to form and break away.
The woman who had latched onto him for the evening was feeling up his arm again. He downed the last of his drink, then roughly gripped her hand in his.
“Easy, darlin’. No need to get rough… unless that’s how you like it. Come on! You said you were goin’ ta show me a good time.”
The shudders of change echoed at the base of his spine. He eased his grip on her hand and let her lead him out of the bar and into the night. He didn’t trust his voice not to betray him. Did his crewmate feel this rush every time? Or did it begin to fade a little with each act as it was with him? Even if this wench gave him only a spark of joy, it would be enough. Better than the drifting life he was living now.
“Hey!” Dean grunted as a man bumped his way out of the bar, pulled along by a giggling woman.
“Sorry ‘bout that sir,” she said.
They ducked around the corner, but Dean caught Sam’s arm before they disappeared completely. They communicated silently with each other, then with you. The three of you followed the couple into the alley. You stuck close to the walls. Weapons out in the darkness and raised at the ready. Ahead the footsteps of the couple stopped. You stopped. You could hear a sound akin to stone scraping, then a muffled cry followed by harsh growling.
“No! Stop!” you called out. Without another second’s hesitation, you surged forward, aware of the Winchesters on either side.
The gloom parted to reveal the woman huddled and crying on the cobbles. The werewolf was clawing at the bricks over her head as his face contorted in pain and transformation. He turned towards you with bright yellow eyes and sharp teeth as they slid down from his gums. With a roar, he gave one last claw to the bricks then leapt away further down the alley. Sam and Dean rushed after him.
You hurried to help the woman to her feet. She was babbling in incoherent thoughts and fears of getting eaten. When she dipped into the half-coherent thoughts of the claws and teeth, you patted her shoulder. “Yes, I saw the same strange knives. Such a cruel man to scare the wits out of a woman who’s had a bit to drink. Wherever did he come up with such a mask? Could scare the pale right off a ghost with that.” You tutted away her questions and palmed her a small piece. “Don’t worry. Go back to the bar and have another drink to calm your nerves. My husband and brother will make sure he doesn’t scare anyone else with that costume.” You had barely finished before she was off like a shot with the coin for a drink. You hated lying, but monsters should stay in nightmares.
The alley was silent. Thinking about it, it shouldn’t have.
You dropped to the ground and flattened your back against the wall as a gunshot echoed off the brick.
“Dean? Sam?” you called. They didn’t answer. You pulled your gun as a shuffling made its way towards you. Your eyes accustomed to the night could see a huddled figure stumbling towards you. The werewolf clawed at his shoulder and growled at you.
“Is it too much to ask to let us have some blood every once in a while?” He fell to his knees, but was back on his feet soon and shifting into the balls of his feet. “Let ‘Jack’ have a tart every once in a while.”
“Which one of you was Jack?” You stepped forward. You forced your breath to be even so your aim would be true. “You or the shifter?”
“We were employed on the same ship, helping each other through the changes due to us by nature. When he didn’t come back and I heard that the killings had stopped… I knew I could fill the vacancy.” He tried to ease closer to you but stopped with a growl as you pulled out your gun. He sniffed the air and shuddered back with the scent of silver. “Even if ya’ do kill me, dearie, there will always be ‘nother child of Eve to feast on God’s precious mud creations.” He grinned, showing his were-sharp teeth. “Jack the Ripper will always be hungry.”
“And there will always be those mud creations that will hunt and kill every monster on this earth until you are gone.” The werewolf slipped back into his human form as you stopped him from speaking again. You lowered your smoking gun and jumped as a hand landed on your shoulder.
“Hey, it’s me.” Dean steadied himself on the wall, where Sam joined him. Dean waved away your checking for any cuts or bites. “Just some bruising. How ‘bout you?”
“The usual. Dirty. Tired. Did you hear what he said?”
“About how Jack will always be hungry?” Sam asked. “Yes.”
“You’ve been reading too many train novels, sweetheart, with a dramatic closing line like that.” Dean grinned and took the hit to his shoulder. He pulled you close by your waist and let you rest your head on his shoulder while Sam left with a chuckle to call a hansom cab.
Your “date” has come up with Elias. Finn is still anxious that Bray is going to try something, so he stays ringside and proves to be a helpful friend. But the night does not end in any way that you could have foreseen.
Pairing: None really… a little Elias x Reader (flirt fighting)
Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence, use of steel chair and kendo stick
Word Count: ~1750
Note: Each chapter is getting more fun to write. Thank you guys for all of the sweet notes you’ve been leaving on the other parts. I hope you continue to enjoy this series as it moves forward (or lovingly hate it as drama gets a shot of angst.) Please continue to reblog, like, and comment your reactions to this. If you’ve got theories of what will happen next or things that don’t feel right, let me know. My tag lists are open, as well as my requests [I’m going to keep writing for other fandoms while putting this series out.] Here’s the next part for your pleasure!
From the darkness of the Gorilla, you heard Elias sang about the city hosting Raw. He didn’t mention you. It made your skin vibrate with the thought of irritating him enough to incite a song dedicated to you. But maybe you were getting ahead of yourself.
Finn popped his collar next to you, giving you a nod as your music started. Even from the stage, you could feel Elias’s irritation from the interruption. Swallowing a giggle, you let your face settle into a sly grin against his frown. He gave a shout and stomped off to hand his guitar out of the ring as Finn’s music swell up through yours. Finn stepped out to the deafening cheers of the Balor Club. If you didn’t need the focus so much, you would have smiled as big as your face would have let you. Finn motioned to the ring and stepped in time with you down the ramp.
You heard Corey as you and Finn walked by the announce table. “Finn must not trust Elias, or possibly even Bray who’s been quiet for a few weeks now, to not corrupt this ‘no disqualification’ fight tonight. Y/N might want to keep an eye out for the guitar, too.” Finn grinned at you at the comment. In the ring, you lifted your arms with his entrance with a bright smile that threatened to send your cheeks into spasms, unable to hold it back any longer. Finn took your jacket and rolled out. He waved off your warning face. He wouldn’t interfere unless absolutely necessary. Seeing him ready to spring at the drop of a hat helped keep your heart from thundering out of your chest. It had been a long time since you had gotten to fight with your best friend nearby.
The bell rang and you met Elias in the center of the ring.
“Hello,” he rumbled with a slight nod.
“Hi.” Again, you could feel your cheeks twitch with a smile you didn’t want to show.
Elias held out his hand for a handshake. Your gut told you to slap it away or to use it against him, but a small voice in your head told you to take it as a sign of sportsmanship. A split second after the shake, you bounced away from one another, taking turns stalking and waiting for the other to make the first move.
He moved first, forcing you into a battle of strength that you quickly lost. He forced you back into his corner, taking until the four count to move out of your space. He grinned at the ref, already sure that this would be an easy fight. Your sidekick into his stomach was sure to change his mind quickly. You followed up with a series of kicks. Elias stumbled back, coming to sit on the bottom rope in the opposite corner.
“Huh,” he said.
You smirked at him. Screw hiding your smiling. You were going to enjoy this match and not worry about what faces you made.
Elias was already to his feet and rushing towards you when you moved out of the corner. Elias misread your jump and felt the full effect of a sling-blade, making you laugh. He growled and smiled at you, shoving off your first attempt to pin him. He rolled you to your back and trapped your shoulders under his large hands.
“This is not going to be your night, sweetheart. I promise.”
You kicked your way at two. “We’ll see about that.”
“Not here for a month yet and you’re already using cliché quotes at me? I just lost the last sliver of respect for you.”
You shut him up with more kicks and a few punches. “I don’t need your respect. I’ve done just fine without it.” Even so, you winked at him as he staggered to his feet. You shouldn’t have. The half-blindness, even for just the split second, was enough to block out the oncoming left hook. You rolled out of the ring to take a breather.
Finn was by your side in an instant. “You a’right?”
“Yeah. I know, I know. Less flirting, more fighting. Any tips you can’t hold back any longer?”
Finn smiled. “This is a no disqualifications match, right?” You nodded and let understanding wash over you as he lifted up the ring curtain to reveal the storage of chairs and kendo sticks. He nodded in agreement as you pulled out a chair. His eyes widened, and you turned just in time to avoid Elias’s oncoming shoulder, sending the musician falling back as you attacked that shoulder with the chair. Finn stepped away after giving your back one last encouraging pat.
You gave Elias a few more strikes from the chair, sending him reeling towards the sound booth. It didn’t register that you didn’t have the upper hand until the guitar came rushing towards your face. You dropped the chair and hit the deck, rolling back to your feet a short distance away.
“Hey! Hang on a second.” You kept your hands up until he lowered the instrument/weapon, having lost the element of surprise, and then reached under the ring. Elias caught the kendo stick you threw to him. “Don’t mess up another one of your guitars. They are beautiful and don’t deserve to be smashed. Please.” You waited until Elias gave the guitar back to a techie before rolling into the ring.
Elias brought the kendo stick with him, swinging it around like a baseball bat. With a stutter of frustration, you realized you had left the steel chair on the floor. Elias saw the thought pass across your face and smiled. He chased you to the ropes. The tip of the kendo stick kept you off balance as he dug it into your chest, pinning you against the ropes.
“Finn, no!” You knocked the stick out of the way as Finn rolled into the ring. Elias swung at him, but you stepped between them, taking the shot to your back. You grit your teeth against screaming and weakly pushed Finn away. “I’ve got this. Trust me. That was the deal. I take care of Elias, you watch for Bray.” You waited until your best friend was on the floor again before turning back to your opponent.
The turn was just in time to see the stick coming your way, but not enough to avoid it.
You crumbled to your knees with the strike, then arched as Elias hit you again. You could hear Finn growl.
Elias tossed the weapon away. He picked you up by your hair and then power-bombed you. Your vision flickered when you hit the canvas. The following three-count sounded in the back of your mind as if hearing it through a canyon or an underwater cave.
Finn rolled into the ring, but Elias ducked out on another side. He smirked and winked at you as Finn helped you to your feet. Once you were steady, Finn went to the ropes and shouted at Elias, “I’m gunna kick yer arse!” Finn’s fuming wasn’t enough to keep Elias from sending you one last little wave, then hastily exiting up the ramp. You joined him at the ropes, whispering that you were fine though rubbing the back of your head.
The lights flickered out. When they came back, Bray Wyatt’s face was on the jumbo screen smirking down at you and Finn. Irritated, you turned away and went for some mics. No way was this going to be a one-sided conversation.
“Hello, Finn. Have you rested enough for your mortal form to survive the toil of Raw?” Bray giggled as you rejoined Finn and handed him a mic. “And Y/N, I had hoped our introductions would be in person, but fate did not allow such circumstances.”
“Good grief,” you mumbled under your breath, “he’s even more annoying than I thought.”
“Whot do ya want, Bray?” Finn’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to keep his calm.
“I have some advice, from a god to a demon. And to the one who befriends them.”
“All lack of respect due,” you growled, “we don’t really want it.” The Balor Club cheered in agreement; Finn grinned and nudged your arm in solidarity.
“Go back ta yer backwoods, Bray. Find some other wrestl’r ta play with. This man, and demon, Balor Club is done with the mind games.”
Bray leaned forward in his chair, a laugh rumbling through the sound system. “But that is what I have come to warn you about, Finn Balor. Your power in the Balor Club relies on your ability to keep them entertained. To protect their fickle minds from being stolen by the next best thing. Keep your power close, old friend. It can be taken in the blink of an eye. You are not out of the woods yet.” Bray let out another eerie laugh that was cut off by the flickering of the screen.
When the lights came back up, you could see how white Finn’s knuckles were against the black paint on the mic. You shared a look, then went backstage, both deep in silent thought.
Charlie caught up with you and stepped in front of Finn. “Finn, Bray has seemingly been unable to move on from his obsession with the Demon King. What are your thoughts on his ‘advice?’” She held out her mic.
Finn took a deep breath and sighed. “Charlie, Bray can give all the advice he likes. But it doesn’ mean a ting. Tha Balor Club is not easily swayed by ‘nex big tings,’ he’s too shifty to know reliability when he sees it. My pow’r is just fine, and will be if Bray ever stomachs up enough to show his face in the ring again.”
“What are you going to do about Elias? You seemed pretty angry with his actions tonight as well.”
“Elias will get his due. I’m sure he’s already talkin’ ta Kurt to set the match.”
“We’ll be ready,” you said. Charlie moved the mic so you could be heard. You looked at Finn and said, “you were there for my match, I’ll be there for yours. I know you can handle Elias on your own, but with what Bray said, I’m not leaving your side open for some Wyatt mischief. We’ll be ready, Charlie.”
Charlie was left standing in the hallway as you and Finn left to come up with a plan… if there was anything that could be planned.
Neville loses control in a battle of wits against Enzo, making you leave the arena angry. Who will break down to make amends first?
Pairing: Neville x Y/N (Reader)
Warnings/Promises: Annoying Enzo, angst, SMUT, masturbation with SO watching, orgasm denial, mention of oral (male receiving)
Word Count: 2100
Note: I miss Neville and I’d been trying to come up with his fic for a while when a gif came to my attention. Please let me know if you liked my first Neville story and if you would like to be included on a tag list for further fics (for Neville or anybody else.) I really appreciate feedback in comments, reblogs, and likes! Please enjoy!
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, my king.”
Neville let a rare smile slip past his walls before covering it again with his usual determination. Together you walked out to his music and down to the ring. Finally, he was King of the Cruiserweights again. Once again, he wore the purple belt around his waist. You couldn’t help but notice the pride that had returned to his step as he collected microphones for the both of you.
“Good evening, peasants,” you began. You smiled as the Raw crowd cheered, speckled with a few boos. “Your king once again has his crown.” The cheers came back louder. You turned to watch Neville as he basked in the revelry.
“About time you lot acknowledged true leadership. I hope that for your sake that your blind adoration for that blustering baffoon will be replaced quickly. By your returned king.” Neville took a breath to continue with his speech when he was interrupted by music. You both bristled as if hearing nail on a chalkboard.
Enzo walked out onto the stage, drinking in whatever the audience shouted at him like it was unanimous praise. He did his silly dance, then seemed to notice you and Neville for the first time.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is something going on here?”
You turned to Neville and exchanged what your fans had titled the “Agreement to Murder” face.
“Yes, Enzo. Now go away.”
He thought for a moment. “Nah, this looks like a party about to happen. And I want in.” He walked down to the ring with a smug grin. You attempted to move to keep him out of the ring. But Neville stepped in front of you. “You guys havin’ a celebration up in here? I didn’t hear anything about invitations.”
“That’s because we don’t invite rabble.” Daggers or lasers, if you had the abilities to produce either Enzo would have never been able to roll into the ring.
“Good thing I’m not rabble, then, sweetheart.”
Neville growled and shifted his weight to his toes. You placed your hand on his shoulder and stepped between him and the intruder.
“I must disagree, but no matter. I have several more names for you, maggot. Now if you’ll excuse us, your Cruiserweight King was speaking.”
“Now, baby, don’t be like that.” He moved to take your hand or to touch your shoulder. You didn’t let him get close enough to find out before you leapt at him, ready to kick him out of the ring yourself. Neville’s strong arms wrapped your waist and pulled you against his chest. If you weren’t so irate yourself, you would have felt how hard his heart was beating.
Enzo scurried back a few steps and furrowed his brow. “You need to keep a leash on your lady.”
“Not even mithril could hold her.”
“What the hell is mithril?”
You wretched yourself out of Neville’s grasp. “Why are you here, Enzo? You have lost the title, and you will never have it again. Not through trickery, and definitely not through skill. You never had that.” Spitting that out calmed your nerves. The audience crowed and clapped in agreement, overpowering any sounds of dissenters.
“I do have skill. Even if all ya’ll appreciate is my ability to talk, it’s a skill. A good one. I’ve talked myself into a fight with your Keebler King there for that championship before.”
You saw what he was playing at. “Don’t lose control,” you whispered to Neville. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him.”
Enzo saw the discourse and continued pushing buttons. “And when I win, I might just take both your queens. I’m sure Y/N would look good hanging on my arm and the belt around my waist.”
“Neville, don’t…”
“Or vise-versa, I’m not too picky.”
The death grip you had on Neville’s forearm failed as he pushed past you and sucker punched Enzo to the floor. Despite your pleas for him to stop, Neville continued to kick and stomp Enzo into the canvas with glee. When he stopped, breathing heavily, he grinned at you. Any other day you would have been ready to fall to jump into his arms, but instead, all you felt was… disappointment. If Enzo was looking for another pressure point to hold over Neville, he just found it.
You walked past his incredulous face and made your way up the ramp.
“Do not turn your back on your King!” Neville bellowed.
You walked a few more steps, then twirled around to face him. “Watch. I’m gonna do it again.” You heard Neville sputter as you turned around. You had to show him that the world now knew the chink in his armor. Overhead, your own music started to play through the speakers. You started to sway your hips a little more than usual and walked through the gorilla to extra whistles and hoots.
You took a taxi to the house you and Neville were renting, not wanting to deal with the awkward ride home with him.
You were curled up with your worn copy of Oresteia when he came through the door.
“This night will not end with us mad at one another.”
“Mad?” You dropped your book on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen. Neville’s boots followed you. “Why would I be mad? Neville, I’m boarder line furious! I warned you against letting Enzo in. Now he knows what to say to make you lose control. He’s going to use that in the title match. That maggot might win the championship again because you can’t let your ego take a hit now and then.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Fine, then I won’t say anything.”
“No, gah. You say I have the ego. Mine is nothing compared to… Y/N. Don’t start this.”
“I didn’t. You did the second you let that worm into the ring tonight. I could have kept him out. The news about the match would have come from Kurt like normal, and we wouldn’t be having this argument. Now I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t.” His voice was low and dangerous. You looked him right in the eyes and turned to walk away. His hands gripped your arms and held them tight enough to probably leave bruises. He turned you to face him. “Talk to me!”
You let your voice soften. “You are losing control again.” You watched as his eyes changed from blazing to broken. “We both seem to be.” He released your arms and slid his hands down into yours.
With a sigh, his shoulders dropped as if suddenly bearing a great weight. “He threatened you.”
You placed your hand on his cheek and lifted his face to look into yours. “He could never take me away from you, I am a prize that would fight back. He does not have the skill to beat me in a fair fight.”
“Fair is not in his nature.”
“If he were to attack me, and use such low means to best me, I know you would be right there in an instant.”
“If he even looks in your direction I will rip his throat out.”
His persistent ferocity made you smile. “I have no doubt. But let me out-talk him to death first.”
“Deal.” Neville chuckled. “We make quite the team. Riling each other up. Calming one another down. Everyone thinks I’m the dangerous one, but you’re the one that makes me that way.”
You stroked his face. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Life would be so lackluster otherwise.” You trailed your finger across his cheekbones and then booped him on the nose. You giggled at his annoyed face. “You don’t want me any other way either.”
“No, you’re right.” Neville’s eyes gleamed. He walked you back till he had you pinned against a door. “As a matter of fact, I want my dangerous queen upstairs in five minutes.” His voice sent a thrilling chill through your body and a pleasant tightness blossomed in your chest, making it hard to breath. He released you and walked away. The air suddenly felt colder without him, crisp against the flush of your skin.
You took the few minutes to strip off your clothes and leave them on the kitchen table, then rushed up the stairs on silent feet. You knocked on the bedroom door and entered when he answered.
His face lit up as he surveyed your form. A blush crept into your cheeks as the rest of your body continued to flush under his gaze. Neville took one step towards you, then moved back to sit in a chair set up facing the end of the bed. He shed his shirt, then slumped down like a bored ruler on a throne.
“Sit.”
You sat across from him. Your fingers twitched, waiting to do whatever he told you.
“Spread.”
Your knees parted to bare your all to him. Pride swelled in your chest as Neville shifted in his seat.
“Begin.”
With a swallowed grin you ran your hands up the insides of your thighs. At the last second, you bypassed your sex and brought your hands to your breasts. Your nipples pebbled under your touch. Neville growled as your head lolled back with the pressure you used to knead your breasts. You brought your gaze back to watch him as you let one hand travel down to your heat. A sigh escaped your lips with that first touch. You worked deeper, eventually using your thumb to help along the impending storm. Static filled your ears as the first lightning bolts started to touch down except you heard Neville’s command.
“Stop.”
Your body shuddered and contorted on the bed as your orgasm tried to finish rising to the surface. It faded away into the steady pulse of arousal as you caught your breath.
“Neville, why are you teasing me?”
“I’m working on my self-control, per the advice from my queen. And if I have to control myself, then so do you. So iron sharpens iron.”
“I bet you feel like iron now.” You licked our lips as Neville stroked his length through his pants.
“Sweet words will get you nowhere. Keep going.”
It could have been just two more denials, it could have been twenty. Each “stop” had Neville seeing you fight to keep from sinking back into the sheets. He liked to see your face, no matter what sensations were ruling your movements. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.
“Please, Neville…”
“Who, Y/N?”
“Please, my king, let me come?”
“Why should I?” Neville had shed his pants at some point and was sitting in his briefs. He watched you with a smug grin as you licked your lips at the sight of the damp spot.
“Because my pleasure brings you pleasure. I take you so well, you always say so.” Another shudder of denied arousal swept through you, making you keen. “Please, Neville. Fuck me!”
“As my queen commands.”
He was on you in a second, slotting between your legs perfectly. With a cry, your head fell back into the sheets as Neville teased his head at your entrance. You could only make displeased sounds as he refused to fill you, instead, flicking your aching clit. The air filled with your combined moans as Neville finally began to ease his way into you. You let out a contented sigh as he sheathed himself completely.
Neville’s fingers laced with yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head. He started slow, grinding his hips and grunting with the feel of you. Then he warmed up, bringing you both close to release.
“Can I come, my king?”
“Yes, my queen.”
Neville twisted his hips in just the right way to find the spot that sent you tumbling. He chased his own release before letting out a guttural shout and stilling. Once he was done, he fell to one side and pulled you into his chest.
You were almost asleep when Neville snickered.
“What?”
“Seeing you all sexed up is making me hard again.”
“Sleep first. If you’re good, you’ll have a very good morning.”
He was not good, but he made sure you had a good morning regardless. You also took your revenge. Neville sat with his back in the pillows, moaning each time you had him stop, then shouting as you took him into your mouth.
With a week of sharpening each other’s iron, 205 rolled around to find you two standing just outside of the gorilla once again. You gave Neville’s hand a tight squeeze as his music started.
The Raw roster plots the demise of the Smackdown roster…
Every possible butt space was squeezed into the back room, including a comfortable lounge chair you had turned backward so you could peek at the group over the back. Everyone was gathered trying to come up with some sort of retaliation for the siege. Kurt had shot down last week’s idea, but you were hoping the anxiety of a possible attack would have the Smackdown roster on edge enough to make mistakes.
“Oh come on! It would be so much fun.” Your feet dangled over the seat from your kneeling position on the chair. “Finn could teleport us in, I’m sure of it.” A few of the superstars seemed to like that idea, but your teammate, the Architect and Kingslayer, was not convinced.
“I dunno, Y/N. We’re kind underpowered with so many of us out sick.” Dean nodded with what Seth had said.
You wiggled your feet in frustration, continuing as the plan in your head got you excited. “We don’t have to be the strongest, just the smartest. They showed force with the siege, we can show that we will out-wit them at every turn, and outpower them. Like you and Dean almost did before you got outnumbered.”
“I think you should listen to your teammates,” Elias said. He stopped lazily strumming his guitar. “We can’t go to Smackdown with another half-baked plan that Kurt will shoot down.”
“It’s not half-baked. Finn teleports us in, including one of our techies. We get them into the Smackdown group to play our entrances at various times to make the blue team believe we are about to interfere, but we never do. That’s out front. Backstage, we take people out one by one so their roster is depleted, but in a way that no one notices till the end of the show when half their main event is missing. We fill in the void so the fans don’t get jipped a match. Then we drag out everyone we beat up and pile them in the ring for the fans, and Shane, to see.”
Elias leaned back to look at your feet which were wiggling nearly a mile a minute by the time you got done describing your plan. Dean growled at him. “What? Her feet… she’s like an excited puppy. Hound of Justice indeed.”
Your face flushed and you slouched behind the back of the chair as the room chuckled.
“A smart puppy of justice,” Kurt said, walking in out of the shadow of the hallway. “That might actually work.”
“I’m good with it if I can get my hands on Baron,” Miz said.
“And I want Natalya,” Alexa added. Around the room, superstars claimed dibbs on people to attack.
“Fine. Fine.” Kurt got the room to calm down. “Beat up who you want, but don’t get seen till the end. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” everyone chorused.
“Then I look forward to watching Smackdown this week.”
Miz invites you to Miz TV for an interview about your entrance last week. He asks harmless questions, until Elias shows up. Things take an unexpected turn when words and fists begin to fly.
Pairing: None (yet)
Warnings/Promises: Bantering, flirting, fluff (?), wrestling violence
Word Count: 1300
Note: Here’s part two! Again, I’m putting my own spin on things. Next week is going to get interesting, so stay tuned. For specific notes I’m hoping for, am I getting Miz, Elias, and Finn’s voices right? Please let me know what you think so far with comments, likes, and reblogs. Let me know if you would like to be added to any of my tag lists, including the one for this series. Now enjoy!
Miz and Curtis Axel made their way to the ring, basking in the pop Miz always received. Love or hate him, Miz was good at his job; you couldn’t deny it. Curtis double checked the placement of the chairs as Miz spoke through the motions of the opening of the show.
“While Sheamus and Ceasaro are on Shield Patrol, I am here tonight to talk to the person that has the WWE universe buzzing with questions. She mysteriously appeared last week out of nowhere, completely unknown, right? Perhaps. We’ll answer that in just a minute. Now give a warm welcome to my quest this evening, Y/N Y/L/N.”
You entered to the same music as before. Miz and Curtis gave you a firm handshake upon your entrance into the ring. Miz motioned to a chair and mic before the men took their positions.
“Y/N, thank you for coming. I have to say, your arrival here at Raw was… unexpected to say the least. Any opening comments on that?”
“Thank you for having me, Miz. And Curtis.” You took a deep breath. “I came to help out a friend. I said as much last week.”
“How is the Balor Club leader?”
You smiled. “He’s good. Always has been. But now he’s actually gotten eight hours or so of sleep at night. He’ll be back to kicking ass in no time.”
Miz encouraged the cheers and applause. “That is all and good, Y/N. But You also said that you had an agreement with Kurt Angle to… ‘beat up a few’ of Finn’s rivals. Who all is included on your vendetta agenda?” He grinned from under his sunglasses, smugly waiting.
Miz invites you to Miz TV for an interview about your entrance last week. He asks harmless questions, until Elias shows up. Things take an unexpected turn when words and fists begin to fly.
Pairing: None (yet)
Warnings/Promises: Bantering, flirting, fluff (?), wrestling violence
Word Count: 1300
Note: Here’s part two! Again, I’m putting my own spin on things. Next week is going to get interesting, so stay tuned. For specific notes I’m hoping for, am I getting Miz, Elias, and Finn’s voices right? Please let me know what you think so far with comments, likes, and reblogs. Let me know if you would like to be added to any of my tag lists, including the one for this series. Now enjoy!
Miz and Curtis Axel made their way to the ring, basking in the pop Miz always received. Love or hate him, Miz was good at his job; you couldn’t deny it. Curtis double checked the placement of the chairs as Miz spoke through the motions of the opening of the show.
“While Sheamus and Ceasaro are on Shield Patrol, I am here tonight to talk to the person that has the WWE universe buzzing with questions. She mysteriously appeared last week out of nowhere, completely unknown, right? Perhaps. We’ll answer that in just a minute. Now give a warm welcome to my quest this evening, Y/N Y/L/N.”
You entered to the same music as before. Miz and Curtis gave you a firm handshake upon your entrance into the ring. Miz motioned to a chair and mic before the men took their positions.
“Y/N, thank you for coming. I have to say, your arrival here at Raw was… unexpected to say the least. Any opening comments on that?”
“Thank you for having me, Miz. And Curtis.” You took a deep breath. “I came to help out a friend. I said as much last week.”
“How is the Balor Club leader?”
You smiled. “He’s good. Always has been. But now he’s actually gotten eight hours or so of sleep at night. He’ll be back to kicking ass in no time.”
Miz encouraged the cheers and applause. “That is all and good, Y/N. But You also said that you had an agreement with Kurt Angle to… ‘beat up a few’ of Finn’s rivals. Who all is included on your vendetta agenda?” He grinned from under his sunglasses, smugly waiting.
“Well, I’m going to play it by ear. Week to week. Nothing crazy hopefully unless someone really has a problem with me being here.”
“Fair enough. How long have you known Finn?”
Origin story time. “I’m actually from the states, but when I was young we moved to Ireland for my dad’s job. I met Finn then and we bonded over our childhood obsession with wrestling. We were each other’s first pins in training.” You paused with a smile as the audience gave a cute reaction. “I moved back to the states shortly before he left for Japan, and we met back up here when he signed with WWE. I’ve been doing my own thing and supporting Finn as he’s done his.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple as that.”
“Hard questions aside, Y/N, what kind of music do you like?” Miz waited while you laughed through the confusion. “Seriously. What do you and Finn listen too when you guys work out, or when you’re by yourself? Broadly, or as detailed as you like.”
“Oh. Hmm.” You bit your lip. “I dunno, Miz. This might be the harder question. My music choices are all over the place. It really depends on what mood I’m in. Reading takes calmer music… unless I need it epic. Daily life takes something else, and working out is as enthusiastic and encouraging and loud as I can stand it. I can tweet out specific bands later once I’ve had more time if you’d like.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you, Y/N.” Without missing a beat Miz continued. “What are your thoughts on Elias’s music? He’s shown that he’s got quite the range of styles.”
It should have been obvious this was coming. You fiddled with the mic as you tried to find the most PG version of your opinion to share. “Elias’s music?” You chuckled. “He’s got skill on the guitar, anyone can hear that. But as for his singing… some of his notes aren’t, shall we say, always on key.” The audience oohed as Miz reeled back. “But I might be flattered to receive one of his insult compositions. He’s pretty clever, I’ll—”
The strumming of a guitar cut you off. Miz stood and smugly clapped along with the crowd while you gripped your mic tightly. At the same time, you couldn’t keep a smile off your face. This could be fun. You made your way to the opposite of the ring as Elias stood on the apron. He took the mic from Miz.
“You got somethin’ to say to my face, Y/N?”
“I knew you were tone deaf, Elias, but I’m pretty sure you heard me.” A giggle escaped from you as even Miz looked back at you, incredulous. Curtis took a few steps away from you as Elias stepped through the ropes.
“Oh really?
“Yes. Why? You got a problem with some honest feedback?”
“I do when it comes from someone who doesn’t have an ounce of knowledge about talent or wrestling,” Elias smirked as your head tilted in confusion. What was he driving at?
“I have to have some talent, even if it’s just a bit of strategy since I beat you last week.”
“Anyone can come in half-way through a match and use the timing to their advantage.”
You stepped towards the center of the ring; Elias matched your steps. “Awe. Is your ego bruised? Do you go through this same crisis every time you lose a match?”
“Are you always this argumentive? Strategy or timing, you couldn’t replicate the results if you tried.”
There’s the finish line. “I couldn’t? Oh sweetie, I could pin you anytime anyplace. But I’ll always remember you as my first on Raw.” You winked at him. His cheeks twitched to suppress a smile. His eyes followed your tongue as it darted out to wet your lips. “Anytime. Anyplace. Like here and now… if you’re feeling up to it. Or do you have some drifting to do?”
“Actually, I have some wrestling to do. I’ve got a match tonight already, but if you want to use your angle with Kurt, my schedule is open next week.”
“Woah, woah, woah!” Miz stepped between you. “Make matches on your own time. This is my show and…”
“Shut up, Miz!” “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready!”
You and Elias shared a confused look while Miz blustered. “The nerve of you two. I’m the Intercontinental Champion! When my hand goes up your mouth…”
You swung and landed a fist directly to Miz’s jaw. Elias kicked Curtis in the chest before he could get to you guys. He watched you walk by and eyed your form as you left the ring.
“I’ll see you next week, Elias.”
“It’s a date.”
Later, you ran into Finn backstage. He was sweaty from his fight teamed up with Apollo Crews and Titus against Elias and his former friends Gallows and Anderson.
“Whot was that?” he asked, diving right into your interview.
“That was fun. I’ve got a match next week. And I got to be a part of my favorite ending of Miz TV. It’s been a good night.”
Finn squinted at you. “Fun?”
“Yes fun. That wasn’t all I’ve done tonight; I’ve still been sleuthing like we discussed. But I haven’t seen Bray all night. Not backstage, no interference in your match. And nobody I’ve talked too knows where he’s gone too when not sending messages from his rocking chair.” You sighed. “Either he doesn’t see you as a threat anymore, or he’s planning something. I don’t know which is worse.”
“Agreed. Please, be careful. He’s shifty. And stop flirtin’ with Elias.”
“I wasn’t flirting!” You shuffled under Finn’s knowing gaze. “Not much anyways. What’s the phrase? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“But not too close.”
You stepped closer to Finn and poked him in the chest. “I’ll get as close as I want, Finn Balor. I can win my own battles, thank you very much.”
Finn glared at you, then let it slip back into this toothy grin. “You are insufferable. Like an annoying little sister.”
“Admit it, you wouldn’t want it any other way.” You giggled as Finn nodded in defeat, then followed him down the hallway.
Our Deepest Desires 