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Promises Part 5: A Simple Answer

Aebli Leave a comment
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Y/N responds to Theoric’s question as the battle with the Fire Giants draws closer.

Characters: Reader (Y/N), Loki, Theoric, Frigga

Warnings: magic/sorcery, upcoming battle violence

Word Count: 1960

Note: It is getting heavy now. Please let me know what you think is going to happen next with a comment or reblog, or just like it. That works too. Constructive feedback is always welcome. And my requests are open, so don’t hesitate to send me an idea. Once this series ends I’m going to need them…

Part 1: Under the Stars        Part 2: Intimidation        Part 3: Faltering 

Part 4: A Simple Question 

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Theoric pulled out a golden band set with a ruby and pearls.

“Y/N of Asgard, will you give me the great honor of being my wife?”

Time slowed. You watched as Theoric slid the ring onto your finger before turning your hand over to kiss your palm. The world came back into focus with a pop as Theoric continued.

“You do not have to choose now. But wear this as you consider my request.”

“She does not have to consider it.” Loki shouldered his way between you and Theoric. Theoric stood, infringing on Loki’s space and coming eye to eye with him. Loki growled, staring him down.

You touched Loki’s arm, gasping as he cringed from your touch. “Loki, why are you acting like this?” He spun to face you, his features contorted in rage underlined with fear. “Why are you afraid of my answer?”

“Because I know this whole tryst is so unlike you,” Loki spat. If eyes were daggers, Loki’s side glance would have cut Theoric down in a second.

“Who says it is unlike me?” Something was wrong, you could feel it like fire under your stomach. “I look forward to my time with Theoric. But Loki, I am fearful of only one thing.” The flame jumped to your heart, spewing the words like lava from a mountain. “I am beginning to resent time I am around you. It has been growing in me like a weed I cannot kill. What happened to us? We used to know each other’s thoughts before they could even be spoken. Now when I am around, you are brooding and filled with ideas of conspiracy. You fight me at every step. I do not know you anymore.”

Loki stepped back from you, mouth agape as he drank in air. You braced yourself on a shelf across from him. The words hurt you as much as they seemed to hurt him, but you didn’t stop. You reached out for Theoric, who took your hand and steadied you.

You kept your eyes on Loki as you spoke. “I graciously accept your proposal, Theoric.” He pulled your hand up to his face and kiss your knuckles above his ring. Loki stormed off in a flutter of leather and shimmering armor deeper into the library.

“Come,” Theoric hummed, pulling you back to him. “We must tell our parents and the court.”

“Yes, Darling.” You let him lead you out of the library, heart still thundering from the confrontation. You ran your tongue across the roof of your mouth. You had never called Theoric ‘darling’ before, and it tasted bitter.

Hours after the announcement you stood in a circle with Frigga and a few other court sorceresses. Each had a piece of parchment with a phrase on it to repeat over and over till the test was done. Inside the circle was a dark, round table with a piece of the Bifrost under a miniature of the palace. The Fire Giants weren’t going to slow their attack just because you were engaged.

“Shall we begin?” Frigga asked. Everyone nodded and looked to you.

You placed your arms at your sides and opened your palms to the table. You started chanting your phrase. The ink glowed on the parchment, golden, then red. The glow spread to the other sheets as each member took up the mantra. Your voices grew as the light shimmered off the paper towards the shard of Bifrost. It spun, faster and faster as everyone spoke louder and hurried. Soon there was an orb stretching up from the flake, crawling up an invisible ball toward the peak. Your voices thundered as one as the strands touched, turning the orb blue. The voices stopped and echoed through the space. The orb spun and glittered.

You sighed and smiled at Frigga, who smiled back.

With a zing, the orb burst, sending everyone flying back from the circle to the floor.

The room tilted as you pulled yourself into a sitting position. “Is everyone alright?” you asked, noting how hoarse you sounded. A chorus of “yes” sounded off as everyone shakily got back to their feet.

“Y/N, what happened?” Frigga steadied herself on the table. The Bifrost sherd was dark as coal. The miniature wasn’t even a pile of dust.

“I’m not sure.” You pulled out your notes and the Ars Notoria from under the table. “We did everything like it said. Nobody is wearing anything enchanted, correct?” You sighed as everyone nodded. “Maybe I have the pronunciation wrong.” You frowned at the sherd. “And I had hoped it would not drain the Bifrost.”

“That is why we perform small tests first, Lady Y/N,” one of the women said with a small smile. The rest nodded and made short comments in agreement.

Frigga gave your shoulder a pat. “No one has read that text in a thousand years. That you were able to make something at all is a wonder. I have full confidence that you will work it out. Come, let us all rest. It is late.”

You stayed behind in the hall as they left. The spell was so vexing in front of you that you missed Theoric walking in.

He leaned down next to you, “do you see a solution yet?”

You jumped with a squeak of fright. In a second you had your fingers clasped around his throat and a dagger pricking at his stomach. He stayed unmoving as you took a moment to register it was him.

“Theoric!” You pulled your hands back. “Please do not frighten me like that.”

“I will try to remember that, and that you are armed.”

You slipped the dagger back into its sheath with a grimace. “Sorry.”

Theoric rubbed his hands up and down your arms before kissing your forehead. You breathed him in, letting his presence relax you till he spoke again.

“Consider the hall beneath the court.”

“Why?” you asked, still not looking at him, choosing instead to sink further into his chest.

“It is empty, and would have enough room to house the contraption you are planning to construct to amplify the spell.”

Your “contraption” was a spinning ring that would contain the spell while also sending the power to the top tower to create a dome. You had to admit he was right. The empty hall was vast, and was windowless, making it perfectly secure.

“Does that answer the problem you had?”

You stepped back from him with a smile. “No, but it is a valid point, Theoric. You will make a great leader one day.”

“If I do, it will be because you have taught me how to defend my ideas through practice and example.”

“You flatter me,” you said, blushing.

“Anything for you, ljós af hjarta mínu, light of my heart.” He kissed your cheek and walked away, leaving you to study the texts once more.

The burning in your stomach flared up again. You could have sworn Theoric couldn’t read the Ars Notoria, much less speak the language of it. The flame died away as you pushed the phrase to the back of your mind.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” Your mother wiped away a tear caught in her eyelash.

You spun again, loving the way the skirt flared and made the colors dance. You were to wear Theoric’s family colors, and he yours, to show the two families coming together. Your hair was left flowing with its natural form, and your mother had securely pinned the silver bridal crown and ringed it with fresh flowers. This was all practice of course, but you felt breathless.

You were going to be a married woman.

The mirror caught your reflection as you stood before it. You felt blissful, but the fire in your stomach was growing stronger, crimping your brow in pain.

“All you alright? What’s wrong?” Your mother came up behind you and felt your forehead.

You shooed her away. “Nothing. My stomach has been uneasy since Theoric proposed. Pre-wedding nerves, that is all.”

She frowned at you. “Are you sure? You and Theoric have not…?”

“No,” you sputtered. “Even if I was not waiting till I was wed, with everything going on with the Fire Giants… we have not had time to even think of that.” Against your will, Loki’s comment on how Theoric looked like a hungry snake invaded your mind. The pain in your stomach intensified, nearly doubling you over. Why did you feel guilty? You had come to love Theoric. He was not the aloof boy you met years ago. Focusing on why you loved Theoric helped ease the pain.

“Y/N, that looks more serious than ‘nerves.’”

“I know.” You removed the pins and your crown, sitting it on the table by the mirror. “I’m going to see Eir this evening. She’ll be able to use the soul forge and see what is wrong with me.”

Your mother untied the stays in your dress, muttering something about medicinal advancement too late. But your mind wandered elsewhere.

“Mother?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you and Father choose Theoric over Loki all those years ago?”

Your mother sighed and helped you step out of the dress. She thought for a moment while handing your usual courtly garb to you. “To be quite honest, we thought Odin would not approve. We were simple courtiers, and we started looking too soon. We thought time would bring you two together. Your tutelage under Frigga erased those early complications. For a brief moment, we considered bringing it up. Then Theoric came back, and you two fell in love.” She turned you to face her, resting her hands on your cheeks. “We had nothing against Loki. We simply wanted the best for you while not overreaching our status. We did not want to see your heart broken.” She dropped her hands to take hold of yours. “But you seem… apprehensive. Do you want more time to think on this arrangement?”

You pulled away from her as you thought. Did you? The rift between you and Loki was not what you wanted. A happy and equal marriage was something most young women strove for, but at what cost to you? You spun Theoric’s ring on your finger. Just feeling it against your skin felt like an answer.

“No. I love Theoric.”

That night, Theoric stood in front of the wall and mumbled the words. He was tired of this mirage, he wanted to finally show his true self. The door had barely manifested before he was rushing through it.

Loki peeked from his spot around the corner and followed him. For a split second, he hesitated to touch the door but took a deep breath before bursting through. He called out a quick confining spell, preventing the hall in front of Theoric from expanding anymore. Loki slid to a halt as Theoric’s low, rumbling laugh echoed back to him.

“To be honest, your highness, I am surprised it took you this long to follow me. Have you found your evidence to convict me?”

The papers in Loki’s chest pocket seemed to burn him. He stole them from your desk. A necessary risk of getting caught to see Theoric’s translations of darker spells.

“And what is your plan now, second prince? You save the day and the lady comes back to you?” Theoric laughed again. Loki was beginning to resent it. “I hope you realize that she is truly lost. She has no more room for you.” Theoric began to walk towards Loki.

“Only because you have trapped her. Your plans will not be able to hold her.”

Theoric stopped and grimaced. “You know nothing of my plans,” he growled. He pulled a dagger and launched himself at Loki, aiming for his throat.

Part 6: What About Her? 

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Consequences Part 4: Rabbit Punch

Aebli Leave a comment
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Uriel and Raphael make sure that Dean pays for his insubordination… with Sam’s bout.

Characters: Reader (Y/N), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Uriel, Raphael, Cas, Virgil

Warnings: Boxing Violence, gun mention, blood mention, hospitalization

Word Count:  3200 (Sorry. Worth it.)

Note: Sorry this got out a little later than usual. If you can believe it, even this isn’t the climax to everything. Let me know how you like it by commenting, reblogging, and liking my fic. I hope you guys enjoy it!

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Dean was buttoning up his shirt when Sam burst in.

“Jeez, Sam, can’t you…”

“Uriel’s goons are coming down the hallway.”

Dean and Bobby shared a glance. “Bobby, take Sam and get to the ring; don’t let him out of your sight. They won’t hurt him before, they might try afterward. Sam, watch Bobby’s back while he watches yours and get out of here. They don’t need to see you warning me.”

Sam nodded and waited for Bobby by the door, keeping an eye on the hall.

Bobby clapped Dean on the shoulder, “Be careful, boy. Get out to the crowd if you can.” He and Sam left.

Dean finished his tie. He wasn’t going to rush. Maybe a little. He grabbed his hat and coat and almost made it to the arena entrance before they caught up to him, one running up behind him and two blocking his path.

“Come on, Winchester,” the back one said, poking something hard into Dean’s spine.

“I hope that’s a gun you’re packing back there,” Dean grumbled.

“No,” one of the front guys said pulling out his own pistol, “he’s just happy to see you.”

From her seat on the second row, Y/N twiddled her thumbs and bounced her knee waiting for Dean. He’d won, like what was agreed. Dean wondered on their way over if Cole was going to fight for real to go to the finals himself.

“You’re making me nervous, Y/N,” Cas chuckled.

“Oops. Why isn’t he back yet?”

“It takes a while to shift into civilian clothes. There’s a lot of cleaning to get the ring stench off.”

She sighed. “I’ll appreciate it… when he gets here.” She didn’t stop twiddling and bouncing.

Uriel pulled Dean into Raphael’s office, pistol whipping him to the floor. “You’re done breaking contract, Winchester.”

Dean rubbed his jaw and stood to his feet. “You said the win was mine, that Cole would take a dive. If anyone’s broken their word, it’s you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Dean,” Raphael growled from his desk, “you have been nothing but disrespectful. Uriel told me what happened this morning. Yes, you took your win fair and square, but you can’t leave the ring without paying your dues. Since Cole didn’t finish taking it out of your hide, our visitor is going to take it out of Sam’s.”

Uriel had the gun pinned to Dean’s ribs before he could launch forward. “You want me to pay? Then let Cole finish it out back. Sam stopped being part of the deal…ugh.” Uriel jabbed the muzzle further into Dean’s side.

“Just shuddup and watch. We’ve even got a perfect seat for you.” He shoved Dean towards a bar stool set up by the window. Dean looked down over the crowd and into the ring. Bobby was double checking Sam’s gloves. Dean took a split second to find Y/N and Cas, letting out a relieved breath to see her safe. Uriel forced Dean to sit down, then laughed, “enjoy the fight.”

The final people rushed to their seats as the announcer stepped into the ring.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our stadium’s trumpeter will play our National Anthem.”

Everyone in the stadium stood. Dean shot a look at Uriel as he stood too, but he didn’t turn his attention to the flag. He was too busy boring a hole into Castiel’s head, hoping that somehow he could get his attention.

As the Anthem finished with applause and whistles, Castiel looked up towards the office, growling to see Uriel backlit, and hovering over Dean’s shoulder in the window. He caught Bobby’s eye and directed him towards Dean, then turned to Y/N. “I don’t know how much of this you know, but Dean’s not going to sit with us.” He nodded up to the office, making Y/N gasp. Cas barely caught her in time to help her into her seat as her knees buckled. “They won’t kill him, he’s got to attend finals. They can still make money off him, but be ready to run just in case.”

The announcer spoke into the mic, “the officials appointed by the State Athletic Commission are: the attending physician attending at the ringside, Dr. J.D. Houston, the timer at the bell, Bill Stapleton, counting after knockdown, Bill Doty, the judges, Mike McAddams, and Captain A.R. Dowdy, and the referee, Balthazar Smith. The contestants: 10 rounds at 158 from Kansas, wearing white trunks with a black tracer, and weighing 183, Sam Winchester, the defending Cruiserweight Champion. And his opponent,” the announcer pulled a card out of his pocket and began to read, “from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing 182 and one-half, and wearing black and red trunks, Virgil Akins. Referee Balthazar Smith will now give the contestants their instructions.”

Balthazar stepped to the middle and ushered Sam and Virgil forward. He looked anxiously between them. He laid out the rules like he always did, but somehow the words “I want a clean fight” meant more. “Now go to your opposite corners, and at the bell come out fighting.”

The bell rang and the radio reporter in front of Y/N and Cas launched into action. “This is the opening round, and this is the chance of the spectators, as well as the fighters, to study style. This is a brilliant audience on hand, half of Chicago must be crowded into the space, and the other half listening at home. Movie stars, politicians, and of course the fans all squeezed into the hall here. They’re all watching Virgil Akins use his unique jumping-jack style. Referee Smith cautions him for a kidney punch Akins lands on “Law Breaker” Winchester. He shows no fear of Winchester; in fact, he’s bullying him around the ring to say ‘I’m the boss in here.’ They are matched nearly pound for pound, and looking like one of the greatest fights this ring as ever seen.”

Sam was taller than Akins, giving the smaller man plenty of space to hit him. Y/N couldn’t help but see how the smaller man used it. She could feel Cas’s nervousness, and she could see Dean watching them from the office.

“Akins landing punches like he’s the boss and he knows it. Winchester biding his time, learning his opponent. Beautiful long left by Akin. But he’s doing the most damage while in Winchester’s clinches. Winchester digging for the body, trying to lower that guard as he towers over Akins who carries his gloves high. Protects his chin well. Glancing right off the cheekbone of Sam Winchester. There might be blood early, folks.”

Dean tensed as Sam staggered back, stunned. He kept the smile to himself as his brother then dove back in. Every second he was watching Sam, he was hyper aware of the firearm in his back.

“Winchester digging with light left jabs. Akins using an up and down elevator style, now each pushing leather gloves into each other’s faces in the clinch. Beautiful right and a left hook, making Winchester coming back on his heels then; that was a stiff punch. Those thumps are the punches in close that Winchester had a great deal of trouble smothering. A champion, Winchester, but up against a very unorthodox boxer. And that’s the bell ending the first round.”

They sat in their opposite corners. Sam showed Bobby his mouth. It wasn’t gushing yet, but Bobby and Cas knew it could become a problem. Cas explained how it could possibly even choke him around the mouth guard if it got too bad.

Y/N watched Virgil sit in his corner and noticed him glance up to the office behind Sam. Virgil shrugged at something his coach said and stood up, sending up a quick prayer as the next bell rang.

“Akins relaxed in his corner, whether it’s phycological warfare or not, we don’t know. But he’s acting like this is just another outing. He doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s crossed himself as the gong sounds and comes out ready for round two. Winchester has suffered some cuts inside his mouth. He keeps circling clockwise around Akins’s best punch and his stiffest hand. The one that does the most damage is the left as Winchester staggers back again. Winchester is angry now, nearly puffing smoke like a bull ready to charge. Winchester, maneuvering to land his combination punches, steps back but Akins moves in swiftly. Gives him no chance to take a step.

“Come on, Sam,” Dean mumbled. “I know we’ve worked on this.”

Uriel chuckled behind him.

“Winchester bends down in the same kind of a bob as Akins. But Winchester is mostly fighting standing up while Akins bobs up and down as a very difficult target. Akins is a natural middleweight, but he’s gained some heavy muscle to fight at the cruiserweight level. Winchester reaches out and lands on Akins’s face, snapping his head back! The crowd cheers for Winchester!

“Akins grins through his mouth guard, clearly enjoying himself. Winchester disinclined to fight too much in the clinches. Referee Smith keeps cautioning against the whipping punch over Winchester’s shoulder. A blow to the neck is a strong reason for disqualification and for being disbarred from boxing altogether. Winchester has very little success blocking that. Both men are now trying to out-feint each other. Winchester keeps reaching down for Akins, who backs away out of reach of the taller boxer. Akins uppercuts, but misses him by a mile. And that bell is round two.

Y/N kept her focus on Virgil. Something about him seemed off. She watched him as he shot a look towards Balthazar, who nodded back.

“Cas, something’s wrong.”

The bell rang over her worries, preventing her from sending any kind of warning to Sam.

“And here we go, round three, still at the start of this match but it’s been hot. Winchester has held his own against the bouncing Akins, and Akins is not being kept down due to the height difference. Akins is out maneuvering him at every turn. Of course, what he has is a good punch in either hand and a lot of strength in those clinches. Akins really pounds Winchester with that left hook; you can see Winchester’s back jarring from the blow.”

Y/N turned with a shout into Cas’s shoulder as Sam was knocked into the ropes. She peaked out and whispered, “come on Sam. Hold him off.”

“Winchester still in the fight, but a little feeble with that right, shoulder hurt. Akins paying no attention to Winchester’s cut mouth or shoulder pains. He has his man really studied. Akins swings in with a right lead just as Winchester was feigning with his shoulder. Winchester steadies himself on Akins’s shoulders, rolling them into the ropes. The ref separates them, but no rest. As soon as Winchester steps back to ready himself, boom, Akins moves right in on him. Winchester needs a little bit of a moment to prepare an attack, and that’s when Akins takes the moment, breaking his opponent’s flow. Winchester over stretches his stance, cinching Akins’s arms where he can, but Akin reaches up to beat him around the head. He almost hits the ref that time. Akin seems to back just out of punching range, then Boom, shoot in.”

Dean laughed as Sam’s glove made contact with Virgil’s waist, sending him jerking upwards from the force. “This guy is definably yours.”

“What makes you say that, Winchester?”

“All cheap shots and no gut. Sound familiar, Uriel?”

Uriel replied with a low growl and tightened his grip on the pistol.

Y/N was not listening to the reporter anymore but heard it all as background noise.

“Akins is remarkably hitting powerfully with each hand, favoring neither the right or left. Winchester sets himself to move around and hit with a hard right only. Now he’s moving in retreat. He hasn’t had a hard shot at Akins’s head other than one or two times so far, and it looks like Akins is going to keep it that way. And of course, Akins is not cut up or marked in any way. He keeps back just enough to make Winchester overreach, then leaps in, giving him a little pat in the ribs. Getting in the closing minutes now of the round. There’s a champion in that ring, only time will tell which man it is. Winchester still pounding away, right down to the last second. His face is bleeding, and he looks groggy already, but he’s still rapping away at the body. Oh! And down goes Referee Balthazar Smith!”

The audience and judges leapt to their feet as Balthazar went over the ropes and apron. Everyone’s view of the boxers was obscured by the person in front of them, and the front row people were craning to see Balthazar. Virgil took the moment of distraction to hit Sam in the back of the neck, then upper-cutting him to explain the fall.

Sam fell to the canvas with a thud. The counting ref swooped in and made it to ten and could have made it to thirty before Sam even groaned, but there was too much pandemonium to get him off the canvas. There’s was a deliriously happy crowd circling Virgil’s corner, already celebrating the win.

Bobby jumped into the ring and pushed everybody back as the announcer lifted Virgil’s arm high. The crowd’s cheers died down as the doctor followed him in, cracking Sam’s eyes open. The doctor shook his head and motioned for the cot to haul Sam to the hospital.

“Well that was some fighting, wasn’t it Dean?” Raphael said, relaxed in his office chair.

Dean was fuming. He stood, even as Uriel pressed the pistol to his temple. “You won’t shoot me. All those witnesses down there? And how are you going to explain why the semi-finalist is dead, no matter which way you throw it?”

Raphael nodded and motioned for Uriel to lower his gun. Uriel sneered and twisted it. “Uriel. Put it away,” Raphael commanded. When it was out of sight, Raphael poured himself another shot of bourbon. “Even with what’s unfortunately happened to Sam, you are still owed a congratulation. You’re going to the Amateur Finals, well done.”

“What’s your play, Raphael?”

“Michael Mulligan. Smart kid. Young in the face, I admit. But he’s got a fighting wisdom about him. Beat our darkest prodigal to meet you.”

“Do you ‘not own’ this one too?” Dean mocked.

Uriel piped up, “you are correct. Not even the heat knows we control that canvas, and we are going to keep it that way.”

Raphael down the last of his drink then walked to tower over Dean. “You are going to lose one last time, then retire. Make it look good and you can leave with a shred of dignity.” His voice dropped, sending an uneasy shiver down Dean’s spine. “You will throw it, Dean, or I will personally pay a visit to Sam and your girl to prove my point.” He grinned. “Now go see your brother, I think he’ll want to be seeing you.” Raphael turned away like nothing happened. Uriel stepped out of the way begrudgingly.

Dean was off like a shot.

Y/N considered her stomach to be a strong one, but when she finally caught up with Sam at the hospital, she almost fainted dead away.

“How is he?” Dean croaked, catching her as she swayed on her feet.

“Dean, you’re alright.” She embraced him, shivering against him. She met his gaze, holding his face in her hands. “He’s really beaten up, Dean. The doctor hasn’t said how bad yet.” Y/N felt her heart shudder in her chest as he closed his eyes in defeat.

“This is all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.” Y/N surprised herself with how strong her voices sounded but kept going. “It’s not your fault. Or Sam’s fault, or anyone who is held under your bosses’ thumb. They are the ones deciding who lives and who dies. You have fought against their power and they are doing everything they can to crush you. They are afraid of you, Dean. You can’t stop now.”

“Y/N,” Dean choked, “they’ve threatened to come after you next if I don’t do what they say. I can’t keep doing this if you are at risk. I thought Sam would be able to hold his own, but they stooped lower than I ever thought possible. I can’t let them take a jab at you.”

Dean moved to walk away, but Y/N grabbed his vest.

“Don’t you walk away from me, Winchester. You need all the friends you can get right now.” She poked him in the chest, flicking it into his nose when he looked down at her. “Do you think they’ll leave me alone because you broke up with me? They may be a lot of things, but they are not stupid. I am safest with you, and Castiel, and Bobby, and Sam.” Y/N sighed and wrapped his arms around her before wrapping her arms around his waist. “You are strong with a support system. Sam knew what he was walking into, and you need people to watch your back. Don’t push us away.”

Dean chuffed and squeezed her closer. “How did you learn me so good, so quick?”

Y/N laughed into Dean’s chest. “Cas ratted on you. He’s worried you’ll do what you always do when trouble comes.”

“That jerk.” Dean rubbed his hand up and down her back. He kissed the top of her head, whispering into her hair, “thank you.”

The doctor stepped out of Sam’s room. “Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean let go of Y/N, but held onto her hand, focusing on not crushing her delicate fingers with his stress.

“Sam is going to pull through.” He gave Dean and Y/N a moment to let out a sigh of relief before continuing. “We’ll need to keep him her for a while, and we won’t know the full damage till some of tonight’s boxing wounds heal, but I really think he’s going to be alright. If I could confide in you, though,” he looked passingly at Y/N. Dean nodded for him to go on. “It is of my personal, and professional opinion that this man’s injuries were not caused by an upper cutting punch. If you have anyone you can trust, I have enough evidence to prosecute his opponent.”

Dean thought for a second. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll keep that in mind and in my pocket. Thank you.” The pair watched the doctor as he left.

“You’re going to try, right?” Y/N asked.

“No. Not yet. It’s enough for Virgil, not for the top level.” Dean looked at her, taking in how her focus listed to one side. “No. Y/N you can’t go to the police. Not yet. You promised.”

“And your boss promised you’d win with no ramifications too,” she snarked. “Fine. I won’t go. But the second we have something I’m the voice. You guys are too close. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Bobby peaked his head out of the room. “Dean, he coming too.”

For a split second, Dean held back. Then he stepped forward, Y/N at his side.

Part 5: Prizefight 

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Promises Part 4: A Simple Question

Aebli Leave a comment

Theoric and the Reader (Y/N) deepen their relationship. Loki notices that Theoric sneaks away, and tries to riddle out where Theoric is going.

Characters: Y/N, Theoric, Loki, Frigga

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1700+

Note: This wasn’t meant to be a political thriller, but I kinda like it. Let me know what you think by rebloging, liking, or commenting. My requests and asks are open, as well as my tag lists.

Part 1: Under the Stars        Part 2: Intimidation        Part 3: Faltering

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Frigga’s face was masked with indifference as the captain of the guard spoke.

“We do not need a shield around the city. It will make us appear weak and fearful. Besides, what Lady Y/N is proposing seems to be made of light, something I do not think will be strong enough to hold off the Fire Giants.”

You spoke up, “if we do not create some sort of defense, our only hope will be based on the soldiers who will be confined to the ground and to a few speeders. We simply do not have enough to send to Muspelheim and to defend the city at the same time. And what about our outlying towns, Captain? If we pull everyone to the palace or send them all to another realm, who will defend the people?”

“Each town has their own defenders,” he parried.

“But not as trained as the royal guard; they will all perish. If we can create a shield large enough to protect the palace, then we can share the magic with the towns and outlying villages. Then the individual warriors have a better chance of survival. It is not weakness. It is a good offense.”

The Captain had never been a friendly comrade at war counsels. He kept any snide comments to himself as Frigga considered the proposals. Theoric stood at the captain’s side. He opened his mouth to speak, but you nodded your head. Leaping into trouble with the captain and the queen would not go well for him. You turned your attention back to Frigga as she took a breath.

“Lady Y/N has made some valid points. We cannot become complicit in our battle honor. The Fire Giants have tactics we have not seen for generations. She is studied in military history as well as magic, Captain. Lady Y/N, will you be able to construct such a field without the help of the guards?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Then it is settled. Lady Y/N and I will work with the others of our craft, and Captain you will ready your troops for battle. Odin Allfather should return from the front soon and I will tell him the plans.” She stood, and everyone stood with her. “To your tasks.” She met you at the door as everyone dispersed, followed by other members of the counsel practiced in magic. “Thank you for your inspired proposal. I am glad to see you are doing well, Y/N. How is your strength?”

“Returning slowly, but I should be fully recovered after a sleep or two. I believe I have a text that will help us.” You caught Theoric’s eye as he walked past you. “Lieutenant Theoric, a moment please.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“My queen, this man brought me a book some time ago with ancient spells long forgotten. If you should thank anyone for the proposal, it should be the lieutenant.”

Frigga nodded as Theoric bent at the waist. “Indeed, thank you, sir. We will keep you updated as the shield develops so you can relay it to the Captain.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Theoric saluted as she left. You stayed behind and beamed at him.

“She likes you. I told her about the book earlier and she wanted to thank you in public. It is full of ways that we can defend Asgard and her allies. I’ll see you at dinner.” You turned to walk away, but Theoric caught your hand.

“Y/N, if I could see you a little sooner than that, I would appreciate it. I have a few questions… about the book… among other things. Could we meet in the library before then?”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Yes. I’ll wait for you in the stacks.”

“Till then, my lady,” he leaned down and kissed your hand. Then he spun on his heel and left with a warm grin.

Loki stepped into time with you as you headed for Frigga’s hall.

“You two are getting serious. I hope you can see that he is using you.”

“No, he isn’t,” you scoffed, “he had no way of knowing I could get your mother to do that.”

“I doubt it. You are her chief student, the best. He would have to be a simpleton not to see that.” Loki stopped and gripped your arm. “I do not trust his motives. I’ve seen the way he gapes at you when you are not looking. Like a hungry snake at a mouse.”

“Have you been spying on him?” you asked, pulling your arm from his grasp.

“Not yet, but I am strongly considering it.”

“Please don’t. He is a soldier, an honorable one.” You sighed, “I have not been blinded, Loki. I appreciate what you are trying to do, but you do not have to watch out for me anymore.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I am happy. Remember your promise. Do not interfere.”

You walked away from him, leaving him standing alone in the passage. He muttered under his breath, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I cannot.”

Loki headed after Theoric. He disguised himself as a warrior from a different division, one that he hoped Theoric would not recognize. Loki couldn’t help but notice how Theoric smiled at every young woman he passed, beaming when they giggled. He wanted to fight Theoric when he ran his fingers up a young maid’s arm but held back. Theoric was going somewhere for a reason, and Loki was intent to find out just how treacherous he was. Once, Theoric turned and looked behind him. Loki continued walking and changed his illusion around the corner again to continue following him.

Theoric would his way down to the base of the palace. Once people flow ceased, Loki kept a distance between them, shifting into himself for the quiet without armor rattling. He watched from an alcove as Theoric waved his arm and the bare wall revealed a door similar to the ones on the upper floors. Loki picked up a few words, enough to recognize a simple distortion spell. Theoric walked through, and the door vanished behind him.

Loki was torn. Was this all a trap? If he should follow Theoric, he could be caught. If he stayed, Theoric might have transported somewhere else in the palace and he would be stuck staring at a blank wall for hours. He decided to wait.

The wall revealed the door once again within an hour. Theoric emerged, carrying a charm on a string and a small box. His bliss smile sent acid through Loki’s veins. Loki clenched his fists, ready to confront him. Then he saw the details of the charm.

It was the emblem of Muspelheim. An iridescent flame that glowed as if lit from within. It started off blue, but as the door vanished, the flame changed to orange, then to red as the wall reverted.

Theoric held it in his palm and muttered words in a language Loki didn’t recognize. The spell rose and fell in the air in a way that was seriously more complex than concealing the door. When he was done, Theoric tied the string around his neck, now simply wearing his family crest. Loki ran down the hall as Theoric moved to leave.

You ran your fingers over the spines, watching the gold letters and embellishments disappear under your fingers and then reappear as you continued moving. Although as a rule, the library was quiet, today the silence would be stifling to anyone else. Not you. You thrived in the silence. It gave you a clear mind. When mixed with the aged smell of parchment and vellum, you felt stronger than Thor.

You didn’t look up from the shelves when you heard boots behind you. “So what did you want to talk to me about, Theor…”

“Tell me more about the book he gave you.” Loki stayed at the edge of the row, standing as if ready for battle. He glanced behind him and you noticed he was out of breath.

“He found a copy of the Ara Notoria, a text that has not been seen in centuries. I’ve been translating the spells since he arrived; they are powerful and wonderful. Loki…”

“You can read it?” Loki stepped closer. His eyes glowed with a mixture of anger and worry, a glow you learned when you were teenagers. “Has he asked you about any of them?”

“Yes, a few. But he is not skilled in magic. He cannot even pronounce the words. Why are you asking me all of this, Loki?”

“He is not the man you think he is.”

“I think he is the man I love, the man who loves me. Why are you still trying to sabotage my relationships? You swore you would stop.”

Loki stepped closer and placed his large hands on your shoulders. “This isn’t that. He is dangerous. Theoric has been sneaking around the palace to the deepest reserves. He vanishes without a trace…”

“Sounds like what you do occasionally.”

“Theoric is planning something.”

“You are correct, your highness.” Theoric walked down the row to meet you. Loki stepped away, but not by much. “I have been sneaking around, but not for the reason you think, Loki.” He sighed and smiled at you. “I had hoped to do this a bit more publicly, but seeing that my honor is at stake…”

Theoric sank to one knee and took your hands in his. “Y/N, years ago you entranced me with your wit and your strength. When you showed me your favorite place, this library, I did not understand how someone could love dusty pages. Then I began to read. I found strategy, wisdom, worlds that I would have never seen without you. When we reunited, I was a lost man. The knowledge I gained from the books were not enough until you showed me the way they connected.” Theoric shifted and chuffed, “if I am honest, I missed some of your lessons because I was distracted by the aura that surrounds you in sunlight. Or the way library dust dances when you are with me. If I die tonight, I hope to keep those memories with me to Valhalla. But if I survive, I hope that my future could be filled with similar memories.”

He pulled out a golden band set with a ruby and pearls.

“Y/N of Asgard, will you give me the great honor of being my wife?”

Part 5: A Simple Answer 

Tags: 

@cutie1365 @mayorofzillyhoo @shockwavee @drumbells @1superwhogirl1 @impossiblyangrypaper @damalseer @itswingedprincess @earinafae @indhianimelover @redberryfan  @inkhandsammy  @indaybella99 @itsjusthaawo @spike-meowsters 

A Sunbeam Morning

Aebli Leave a comment

deepdisireslonging:

A lovely wake-up call for Dean.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Hand job, oral (male receiving, implied female receiving) implied later smut

Word Count: 508

Note: Happy Smut Appreciation Day! At first, I wasn’t going to write anything since I’ve planned another Dean post to come out later this week, but then this hit me. I highly recommend reading while listening to this Ambient Mixer.

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You woke as Dean shifted next to you. He continued to snore lightly, something that made you smile. He always denied that he snored.

Morning was starting to break through the curtains, blinding the spot over your pillow. You curled into his chest, hoping it would block out enough of the light. It was dark, but also close enough for you to feel other things in greater detail. Like the stiffness presently pressed into your stomach. You suppressed a giggle as he draped an arm over you, keeping you from moving too much.

You could have fun with this.

Keep reading

Supernatural Smut Appreciation Day!

Promises: Part 3 – Faltering

Aebli Leave a comment

Theoric takes the reader to a glen to relax, but they are attacked. Loki comes to find that the reader has true feelings for Theoric.

Characters: Reader (Y/N), Theoric, Frigga, Loki

Warnings: Short moment of peril, otherwise nothing but blatant flirting.

Word Count: 1900+

Note: I love how this ending turned out. Please don’t hate me.

Part 1: Under the Stars       Part 2: Intimidation

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~1885

Theoric dragged you down the hallway, laughing all the while.

“Where are we going?” you asked for the hundredth time. He sent you a note that morning requesting that you dress warmly, and to bring a cloak. It billowed behind you as you ran.

For the hundredth time, you received the same answer: “It’s a surprise!”

Theoric knew his way around the palace now that he was a lieutenant in Asgardian Guard. Because of his nobility, he could have easily jumped to that rank years ago, but you learned from outside sources that he worked his way to the top till he was indispensable. The more time you spent with him, you began to notice little things about him. The way his eyes would light up before he laughed, the same way they did when he was suppressing one. The way his armor gleamed, alerting you to his presence. And the light tone in his voice when he said your name. It was enough to make you blush just thinking about it.

“Here we are,” he said, slowing before rounding a corner.

“The stables? I have to admit it’s been a while, but…” You didn’t get to finish as he led you to a twin stall. Inside were two gorgeous black stallions. They were saddled in Theoric’s colors, black, and silver with red detailing. The slightly smaller one nuzzled into your shoulder till Theoric handed you a sugar cube. It was gone a second later.

“I hope you do not mind, but I took the liberty of requesting an afternoon with you from the queen. During some of my patrols, I discovered a secluded path that I believe you will appreciate. How long has it been since you have not ridden in a carriage?”

“Not since I was a little girl, but I would appreciate some lessons and practice.” You don’t know where the words came from, but they made his eyes light up before he broke into a grin.

“First things first, this one is Gísl. And the larger one is Hófvarpnir. Secondly, you need to get in the saddle.”

You squealed as he wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you onto Gísl. His touch lingered till you were steady, then you felt cold without him. He mounted Hófvarpnir and clicked. Gísl followed till you were at the gate of the stables.

“I almost forgot, but you are going to need these.” He held out a pair of red gloves embroidered with silver thread. They were lined in black fur and reached high enough to fold over the sleeves of your dress. You thanked him and took up the reigns. He gave you a quick lesson to reteach you a few things, then led you into the wood.

You passed many beautiful places. Each time you paused, Theoric kept going. After a while, it began to feel like you were going in circles, but you didn’t mind. Theoric filled the air with discussion. He asked if you had any success translating the book he gave you. You had, but you kept the details of the spells to yourself. Odin had given him his own guard to train and command. He invited you to watch the drills someday. You invited him to read with you on days when he wanted peace and quiet.

At last, he brought Hófvarpnir to a halt at a rocky bend you couldn’t see around. He dismounted, then helped you. Again, he lingered to hold you, then led you into the glen as the horses trotted behind.

A nearly perfect circle of trees opened to reveal an ancient well. The surrounding grass was green like fresh spring. The stones on the well were carved with letters you did not recognize. The minerals inside the cuts seemed to glow gold in the sunlight. There was even a bucket, but no rope.

“What is this place?”

“A sanctuary I come to when life at court becomes rife with politics that no one can agree on. I come here to think, to rest. To search my mind for answers. I must admit we would have been here sooner, but listening to your excitement for your research was too pleasant. I did not want to interrupt.”

“Please, interrupt me. If you are not careful I might ramble till the sky grows dark.”

Theoric chuckled and began to pull out a blanket and some food from the saddle bags. You wandered to the well and looked down. The inky darkness gave no distinction for depth. You imagined it tunneled for miles. Yet, there were trickles that ran in three directions from the base, disappearing into the tree line.

“So, is this your favorite place?”

“Any place with you is my favorite,” he said. Theoric looked away with a shy smile. “I promise I did not read that from a book.”

You blushed and covered your face. You were sure your cheeks were brighter than the gloves.

A crackling in the tree line echoed around you. The horses whinnied, their ears rotating to catch the origin. Theoric crouched, ready to spring. You noticed he’d only worn light armor usually reserved for training. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, unprotected in his riding gloves. The air, which had been brisk all morning, warmed instantly.

You found it difficult to breathe as the air grew hot. Then two large flames walked into the clearing. Fire giants of Muspelheim. They stood as tall as the trees. Their red skin stretched across muscles that glowed from within. Their faces were surround by fire, like a lion with his mane. Horns, dark like soot, protruded from their foreheads, unique to each giant.

“Verðandi konungur,” one said, pointing down towards you and Theoric. They stepped closer into the clearing.

You stopped Theoric from drawing his sword. With a few muttered words, you drew water from the trickles to form a large droplet, keeping it spinning above your hands. “Do not step any closer.” The fire giants stayed where they were, glancing between you and Theoric. He pulled you towards Gísl, who you mounted in a very unladylike fashion with your legs on both sides. Theoric mounted as well and clicked, sending both horses into a gallop. You kept the droplet hovering between you.

You felt something hot fly by your face. Gísl reared as a tree exploded into flames before you. Theoric circled back around to lead him forward. He took the reins from you, leaving you free to control the droplet. Another tree erupted into flames. More followed suit till you could barely see the path for the flames. The droplet was not large enough to put out every tree, you knew you had to save it for something even more dangerous. It came as a tree fell in front of you. The horses leapt over it, but Theoric’s cloak caught a branch and started to burn. You sent some of the droplet to the hem, waiting till it hissed and steamed before reforming the orb.

The fire giants gave a screech as you burst through the tree line into the field by the stables. Guards were already lining up for an attack. Theoric hopped off Hófvarpnir and sent him into the stables with Gísl once you were on the ground.

“Hold the line! They must not reach the walls,” Theoric cried out. He pulled his sword and motioned the mass forward.

“Wait!” Taking a deep breath, you muttered more of what you had before. The water in the troughs and some from shore nearby trickled to a form a stream in front of the warriors. You pulled it up till there was a curtain of water wider than the flames. It inched towards the trees as the screeches grew closer. Your arms were shaking, but you continued to mutter the words louder till you were shouting them. With a final cry, the curtain fell over the trees like a wave, dousing the fire and the giants within. They screamed till they were no more.

“That was amazing, Y/N. Y/N?”

Theoric caught you as you fell.

Loki could hear voices as he grew closer to your quarters. He stormed in, only to be hushed immediately upon arrival. “Where is she? Is she alright?”

“Y/N is asleep,” Frigga said. “She is tired and needs rest.”

“What is he doing here?” Loki pointed at Theoric. “You were to protect her, not lead her into danger.”

Theoric stood from kneeling by your sleeping side. “I had no way of knowing there would be an attack this close to the palace. She is alive, and she saved the warriors better than anyone else could. Now let her rest, your highness, in peace.”

His voice came into focus as you opened your eyes. “Theoric,” you whispered. He gave you his hand as he again kneeled next to you.

“How are you feeling, Lady Y/N?” Loki asked quietly. It stung that you didn’t ask for him.

“Like I’ve been hollowed out,” you sighed, “but I will heal. I overstepped with magic, that is all.”

“Why did you not wait for assistance?”

“There was not time.” You moved to push yourself up, but Theoric pushed you back down. “My queen, is there anything I can do to help strengthen the shield?”

“You can rest and help us another day, Y/N.” She tapped Theoric on the shoulder, making him rise, “but for now you can sleep.”

Loki watched as you gave Theoric’s hand one last squeeze before closing your eyes with a smile. Loki turned away with a shuddering breath, missing the assured look on Theoric’s face. They left Frigga to weave a deep sleep over you, parting as soon as they could.

Theoric stormed to the depths of the palace till he reached a tunnel. He hacked away the lock and took the torch. When he reached the other end, it was starting to grow dark. Warm light that became hot as it approached flickered over the ground till two fire giants stepped into the clearing.

“Why did you attack us? It is not the time for such actions yet,” Theoric bellowed.

The giant growled and his voice crackled. “We sent word that Krakatoa was a success. You set up a meeting, but did not mention you were bringing a witness.”

“Our meetings have always been at night, you heimsk kol. You almost killed the one person who can read the texts that will open portals between our worlds.”

“She killed two of our warriors. She will die in the conflict.”

Theoric speared the torch into the ground. “No one is to touch her. If at any point, she even smells like smoke, I will terminate our arrangement.”

The giant chuckled, a sound akin to logs breaking in a bonfire. “You care for her.”

“She is a powerful sorceress, worthy enough to be my queen. Nothing more.”

The other giant spoke up, “then keep her close, verðandi konungur, or we will curb her sorcery ourselves.”

“Leave her docility to me. All will be in place when the time comes. As for now, you cannot use the portal any longer. Heimdall will spy it out and see that it is closed. Do nothing but prepare till I call upon you again.”

Theoric plucked his torch from the ground and headed back into the tunnel. The giants dimmed their flames and walked away as well to relay his message. Theoric replaced the torch and doused it at the other end.

He raised his hand to the broken lock and whispered a few words. The bent chains folded back into place, and the padlock clicked into action. He stepped back and waved his arm. A wall of gold shimmered over the tunnel, then vanished, leaving the space blank and the passageway a seemingly dead end.

Theoric chuckled to himself, then walked back into the main halls. His turn to patrol would start soon.

Part 4: A Simple Question 

Tags: 

@cutie1365, @fvckingavengers, @mayorofzillyhoo, @shockwavee @drumbells, @1superwhogirl1, @impossiblyangrypaper, @damalseer, @itswingedprincess , @earinafae , @indhianimelover , @redberryfan

Touch and Sensitivity

Aebli Leave a comment

Y/N is a mutant who can’t touch anyone due to a permanent force field over her skin. Kevin is a mutant who can’t touch anyone because they will wither to dust on contact.

Pairing: Kevin Ford/Wither x Mutant!Reader

Warnings: short battle violence, angst, smut, force field contraception (unless you’re a mutant, take precautions!)

Word Count: ~1400

Note: Thanks to @comic-book-reider for introducing me to this character. Happy half-birthday, and happy reading. And thank you for the request!

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Glass exploded from the windows as the team walked up. The next wave sent members of the NYPD through anything that remained.

“She’s scared. Be gentle and walk slow,” Scott said. “If another wave starts, hit the deck.” He sent some of the team to other entrances, then followed Storm through the front door.

You were huddled on the living room floor. The air around you blurred like city pavement in the summer. You could barely see them as they walked towards you. “Please,” you begged, “don’t hurt me.”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Storm said, kneeling a few feet from you. “Take deep breaths. You’re going to be alright.”

Storm and everything around her swirled before your vision went black.


“How have you been liking our school for gifted youngsters?” Hank asked.

“I don’t feel gifted. I feel cursed,” you muttered. You curled away from him as he reached out to pat your shoulder, remembering how he spun while flying across the room the last time he tried to comfort you.

“You don’t have to be afraid of your powers, Y/N. From my tests, it seems it keeps you impervious to harm except for light bruises that would be knotted on anyone else.”

“Has the NYPD pressed charges?” you asked. They had rushed you. You panicked. But the world was against you, so you expected blame.

“No. They knew you didn’t mean any premeditated harm.” Hank looked down at you and sighed. “Would you like to know your results?” He waited for you to respond. When you didn’t storm out, he flipped his clipboard. “Defense shield, level six. Protects subject’s exterior and interior from outside contact. Scans show it protecting you down to a cellular level, miss Y/N.”

“Can I be cured?”

“Even if you could, I don’t think your field would let in a needle or anything that would break it down. Maybe once you learn to control it to let in certain positive forces, but not at this moment.”

You breathed deeply as you woke up. Soft sunlight was just starting to break through the cracks in the curtain. With a sigh, you arched back into the bare chest behind you, reveling in the warmth there. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling the covers over your bare shoulders.

You saw him staring at you.

He quickly looked away but dared to peek at you from the corner of his eyes. You tried to ignore him.  You didn’t know his name since nobody talked to you. When the bell rang, you raced into the hallway, but he followed you.

“Y/N, wait!”

You spun on him. “What, you want to stare at the most dangerous freak in the school? Go ahead, just stop being creepy about it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I mean… I… um. My name’s Kevin. I was wondering if you wanted someone to sit with today… at… lunch?” He groaned at himself, cursing the voice that was faster than his brain.

You chanced a smile. He was cute, in a way. People seemed to avoid him as much as they did you.

“Sure.” Did you just-?

“Great. Come find me, or I’ll find you, or whatever happens. See you then!”

He scurried away, leaving you with your mouth hanging open. Like a fish. You quickly closed it and hurried to your next class.

“Mornin’” he mumbled into your hair.

“What time is it?”

He cracked an eyelid towards the clock. “Not time for school yet. Still got a few hours.”

You curled again. His hardening morning glory rubbed against your back, pulling a groan from him.

Kevin led you to a grassy patch under a tree in the side lawn. He started asking questions and didn’t stop till you began to ask some of your own. Before lunch was even half way over, you knew each other’s favorite band, best/worst class, and backstory. You realized Kevin was in the same boat as you.

“I wear these gloves so I don’t accidentally hurt someone, but I miss… never mind.”

“No, please,” you said, “go on. I think I’m learning what you mean.” You looked away, waiting for him to continue, but when you looked back he was staring at you again. “What?”

“You know your hair kinda glows in the sun? I think I can see a blue haze around it, like seeing your force barrier.” He cleared his throat and focused back on his sandwich. “It’s kinda cool.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you asked a question. “What do you do in your free time?”

“Metal art.”

“Cool.”

“You?”

“Painting.”

“Awesome.”

You twisted around to drag your fingernails across his chest.

“Y/N. You know, if you keep doing that, you’re gonna start something.”

“I know,” you laughed, “I’m planning on it.”

“We’re doing this?” Kevin asked. He stood in front of you and still had his shirt, boxers, and gloves on but wanted to hear you say it one more time.

“Yes.” You fidgeted, sitting on the edge of the bed. His bed. “I want to. Skin to skin. All of it.”

He shook his head and grinned. “Alright then.” He pulled his shirt over his head as you removed your tank top, leaving your torso bare. He eyes latched onto your breasts as he absent-mindedly picked at the fingers of his gloves. You covered up your chest, giggling when his eyes flitted back up to yours.

“Go on,” you whispered.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as the gloves fell to the floor. He reached out for you and stopped millimeters away from your skin. You leaned up to him, letting out a shuddering breath as he ran his finger across your collarbone. Unharmed.

Kevin hugged you close before pulling up to cage you exactly where you wanted to be. With a chuckle, he leaned down to begin kissing you. You sucked on his bottom lip and tugged on it with your teeth. You pulled away to suck on his ear lobe. Distracting him. A second later he was on the bottom, smirking up at you. His hands ran up your arms, then pressed harder into your skin, bolder, kneading your breasts till your nipples were hard, then sinking further down your body. His fingers danced along your hip bones. Hesitating.

You wriggled them. “Please.” You shrugged off the blanket that had somehow stayed in place over your shoulders. He groaned at the sight of you. A rumbling noise you hoped you’d never miss hearing from him. He ghosted his fingers over your slit, breathing heavy as you shuddered. You gasped as he inserted a digit into you.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Keep going.”

He slowly pumped in and out of you, curling occasionally to brush across your bundle of nerves. You bucked down to meet him, willing him to move faster than this slow burn. You reached for him, curling your fingers around his length. His hips jerked in your hand.

“A bit eager this morning?” he growled. His fingers became more insistent in you. Toying with you like you were toying with him.

“You complaining?” You squealed as he flipped you back beneath him.

“No.”

He tugged your fingers away from his length before leading the tip to rest against you. You rubbed yourself against him, coating him in your slick. You both moaned as he sank into you.

When you were ready, you bucked up to him. He met you, thrusting and dragging till you were breathless. A sheen of sweat broke out on your skin. Kevin’s glistened in the rising sun. He sped up, not by much, but enough to wrench moans of pleasure from you.

The coil pulled tighter and tighter inside you. You quaked beneath him, pleading for him to never stop. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him deeper into you. He thrust harder, twisting and probing till he found the spot that made you cry out. Everything inside you clenched. You sucked in air as his thrusts released you. Your eyes fluttered shut as he staggered to his release. Force fields had their benefits too, so that wasn’t a bother.

Kevin pulled out and fell beside you. You were almost asleep again when he pulled you closer to him. The sweat made you stick to each other.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N,” he murmured.

You were out like a light before you could reply.

Consequences: Part 2 – Caution

Aebli Leave a comment
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Y/N meets Dean for a date after his semi-finals win, after some convincing. Dean is warned about what happens to those who fight the plan.

Characters: Y/N, Jo, Claire, Dean, Bobby, Uriel, Raphael

Warnings: threats of violence, past relationship abuse trigger (separate from the first warning)

Word Count: 2500-ish

Note: This one wrote a lot quicker than the last installment, which you can read here: Part 1 – Ringside. Please let me know how you like, or why not, and any guesses as to how it’s gonna go. If you like my style, my requests are open! Be on the look-out for a few coming out soon. Now, enjoy…

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“You have to go!” Claire looked at Y/N, incredulous that her roommate didn’t want to show up to her date. “He’s going to the semi-finals… he’s hot! Why don’t you want to go?”

“It was an off-hand promise,” Y/N groaned, sinking onto the couch. “I didn’t know he was a… the boxer. I thought he was just some guy trying to get a date. Then in the hype from the fight, we set a place and time. I’m thinking clearly now.”

“No, you’re not,” Jo said. She hung a series of dresses on the door. “You’re panicking like every girl does before a date.”

“But you know what happened the last time I did something like this…”

“This is a different guy.” “A new start,” they said, overlapping one another.

Y/N looked back a forth between Jo and Claire. They were going to make her go, even if it meant they had to drag her there. A new start. “Fine, I’ll go.” She stopped their triumphant grins by pointing at the dresses. “I don’t know why you brought all those out; the one I wore to the fight will be fine.”

“Oh sweetie,” Jo said, dragging Y/N to her feet, “you are going to look perfect for tonight.”

“Trust us, looking pretty isn’t for the guy. It’s a real self-boost and since you’ll be wearing one of mine or Jo’s dresses, you won’t have to worry about ruining an outfit with bad memories… ouch!” Claire rubbed her arm where Jo slapped it.

Y/N laughed as they chattered plans between them, then waited for her input. They were good friends. Y/N wouldn’t have anybody else looking at her, waiting to hear her ‘okay’. If this did go sideways, they would know how to help her through it.

“Alright then. Let’s get going.”

All three of them squealed as Jo and Claire started to dress her for the night.

The summons was almost as ominous as Dean thought it would be: a quick call with a single command. He attempted to walk quietly through the arena, but his steps continued to echo through the dark space. Raphael’s office provided the only light, shining from one corner of the rafters except for two dark forms moving on the inside. Bobby was waiting for him at the door with a heavy pat on the back but didn’t enter with him.

“Winchester,” Uriel sounded surprised to see him, “sit down.” Dean sat in the only available chair, which was situated in the middle of the room. Uriel started to pour a drink with his back turned to Dean. Dean knew it wasn’t for him. Uriel took it instead to Raphael, who was leaning against the windows in the far corner.

“You know why you’re here?” Raphael asked, wafting the glass under his nose. Dean could smell the aged brandy from his chair.

“Are you the principle now?” Dean snarked.

“No. I’m your boss.” Uriel sipped the drink slowly, keeping his voice low and dangerous. “And when I tell you to lose, you lose. Not that KO from last night.”

Dean shifted in the chair. He’d never met Raphael in person before, but he didn’t like it.

“We lost money last night, Winchester,” Uriel chimed in. “I want to take it out of your hide, but Raphael’s got a better plan.” Uriel poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it quick, snarling through the burn.

“Cole gets a rematch.”

“What? You son of a ” Dean tried to stand, but Uriel pushed him back down and kept his hand clamped over Dean’s shoulder.

“A rematch. I’m leaving it up to Cole to figure out the particulars of why he wants one, but it’s also your second chance. If you follow orders like a good little soldier till then, I might let you keep your win. Otherwise, I’m going to tell some of the more obedient players to give your brother a visit.”

“Leave Sam out of it.”

“Can’t do that, Winchester.” Uriel squeezed Dean’s shoulder harder, then left to sit on the edge of Raphael’s desk. “When one of the team messes up, it ripples through the whole operation.” Uriel stood to his feet under Raphael’s glare.

“What’s it gonna be, Dean? You can win either way if you play along.”

Dean gripped the arms of the chair, almost wishing he could hear them splinter if he squeezed hard enough. But he relaxed his gaze and loosened his grip. “What’s the script?”

“We’ll tell you when it’s time.” Raphael nodded to Uriel, who grabbed Dean by the arm and pushed him towards the door. Dean had his hand on the knob when Raphael laughed. “See, following orders isn’t too hard.”

Dean turned to growl but kept moving instead. When Bobby wasn’t outside, he left the door open, relishing in Uriel’s harsh curse.

She knew she was early, but every minute felt like an eternity. The table for two by the jukebox was empty, reserved with her name on a tented piece of paper. She laid it flat at first, but now she was fiddling with it till it was shredded. Again, she checked the clock on the wall. He wasn’t late, yet, but damn did it feel like it. Did he have the same idea to skip out? He couldn’t, or the table wouldn’t be reserved. Right?

“Did he stand you up, doll?” A well-dressed man sat in the other chair, looking very much out of place. His grin was not unpleasant, but it was too big. Too bright. “What’s your handle? I’m Richard.”

“None of your business. I’m waiting for someone.”

“And he’s late. His loss.”

“Actually, he’s still got a while. I’m early. Your miss.” Y/N turned to face away from him, hoping he’d take the hint. Instead, he reached across the table and took her hands in his, gripping them tightly so she couldn’t get away.

“But a lovely girl like you shouldn’t be waiting alone, and not without a second opinion.”

“The lady said to get lost. Sorry, I’m late.” Dean yanked the man to his feet. Richard straightened his jacket as they stared each other down.

“Actually, you’re right on time.”

Richard twisted his head, “Dean ‘Raisin Cain’ Winchester. Out of the kennel for the throw last night?”

“Shut your mouth, before I kick it wide open.”

Richard chuckled, “what? You don’t want your girl knowing it’s all planned to a tee? A scam. A fake.”

“You want to see how real it is? Take a step out back and I’ll show you.” Dean and Richard grabbed each other by the lapels at the same time, but Y/N jumped to her feet and pushed them apart. She pulled Dean to her side of the table and wrapped her arms around his waist, positioned to defending and being defended by Dean.

“I’m not interested in seeing him bloody you, sir. I’m not interested in you at all. So get moving.” Her heart hammered in her throat as Richard grunted and walked out.

“If you squeeze any tighter, darlin’, I’m gonna get bumped down to a middleweight.”

Y/N let go of his waist, “sorry. I just ruined my chance, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. That was wonderful,” Dean laughed. “Just remind me if I get too big for my gloves that you could KO me in a heartbeat.” He helped her into his chair before hanging up his coat and hat and joining her. “Does that always work?”

“It didn’t at the fight, thankfully. It comes from a promise I made to myself.”

“And what was that?”

Y/N grinned, “stop being a polite doormat.”

Dean gave her a thumbs up and sighed. They sat in silence till Dean asked, “Hey! This is a date, isn’t it? Do you want dessert first or last?”

“Please?” Y/N thought back to some of the phrases Jo and Claire had taught her. Was this one of them?

“This place has the best pie in Illinois. Sometimes I eat it first so I don’t run out of room, but if that’s too strange we can wait.”

“No, that sounds perfect.”

“Alright, blueberry or cherry?”

He was a comical sight. Y/N could tell he wanted to wolf it down while it was hot, but he ate slowly to stay neat. In the meantime, she learned more about him, and he learned more about her. Just the basics. The dinner slowly emptied out till there was only the cook and the bar. By the time they ordered and their main meal came out (burgers with a slice of pineapple!) they were joking like old friends, but she could tell he was holding something back.

“Just spit it out, Dean.” She giggled as he looked around confused after having taken a huge bite of his burger. “Not the food, the question you’ve been holding back on.”

Dean nodded and swallowed, but thought about it for a minute longer before trying to throw it into the air. “So, I get the moving away from home and the freedom and the roommates. But why Chicago? You sound too high-class to be living on this dark side of town.”

It took her by surprise, deeper than the rest of the questions. She took a breath and tried the usual brush-off. “Chicago was less expensive than New York, so here I am.”

“No, it’s more than that. I’ve seen… I’ve had that face before. What are you running away from?”

She nearly choked on her drink. But his eyes were attentive and deep. And don’t get lost Y/N, or he’s going to think you’re crazy. “It’s not a what. It was a who.” She shrank back into her chair, questioning if she was really going to tell him. He reached out for her hand, and she gave it to him. The warmth and the small squeeze spurred her on. “Honestly I didn’t want to go to the fight. I thought I’d had my fill of seeing punches thrown.” The next words died in her throat, refusing to leave.

“I know the feeling.”

Y/N looked up at him, surprised. He nodded and looked away, but didn’t add any more. He didn’t have too. He gave her hand another squeeze then stood in front of the juke. Dean had paid enough to keep it going all night, but he switched over what was playing to one of Sinatra’s new albums. Come Fly With Me began to spin, crackling to life as trumpets started the tune. He pushed as few of the tables out of the way before pulling Y/N to her feet. He started swaying slow but picked up the pace as the music hopped.

By the time Moonlight in Vermont rotated in, Y/N was as close to him as she could be with their clothes still on. He led the way, turning her and swaying while humming along. But she couldn’t help but feel the questions bouncing around in his head as his back stiffened and he swayed out of time.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re stiff.” She smiled into his tie as his steps faltered, making a note to thank Jo. “You’re not swaying to the music as you were,” she continued. “Something in your thoughts is blocking your steps. Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean considered it. But she was too new, freshly escaped from other problems. She didn’t need his. Her voice broke through his wonderings.

“Say what you can. Your heart will follow.”

Dean spilled in one breath, “what would you do if… have you ever… I mean… ugh. I’m not very good at this.” Dean stopped swaying. Y/N placed her hands on his chest. They were so small and delicate. He couldn’t break her. “I’m sorry; I can’t.”

“That’s alright. But you still need to talk to someone. Somebody you trust.” Y/N ran her fingers under his tie, searching for anything comforting. “I talk to Jo and Claire about anything I’m not sure about. And I’m just a phone call away.”

Dean perked up. “Are you offering to give me your number?”

Y/N blushed. “Yes. But be warned, it’s a party line. It’s probably worse than getting spied on by the police.”

“Hey, mine is too. Same boat.”

“Miss?” the bartender interrupted the moment, and Y/N realized she was again pressed up against Dean.

“Yes,” she said, stepping back.

“There’s a call for you. A young lady named Jo?”

“Oh.” Y/N looked at the clock. It was half an hour later than when she’d said she be home. She ran over and took the receiver. “Jo?”

“How are you still there? We figured you’d be home or elsewhere by now.” Y/N heard Claire giggle in the background.

“Sorry. We were, um,” Y/N turned to face away from Dean, “we were dancing to Sinatra.” She heard him snort and start to gather their things.

“Alright. Will we be seeing you tonight?” Now they were both giggling.

“No. I just didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll be home shortly.” She ignored their teasing and hung up. The waiter waved away her coins with a smile and continued to clean up the bar. “It seems I am late for curfew.”

“I’ll call you a cab.” He nodded to the waiter, who nodded back and dialed. “And before we get interrupted again, what’s the number?” She laughed and wrote it on a napkin before sliding it into his coat pocket. He wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and led her to the door. They stood in the window until the cab honked. Dean handed the cabbie his cash, despite Y/N arguing that she could pay her own way.

“What about you?” she asked, leaning out the window.

“I walked here; I’ll walk back.” He chuckled at her worried face. “I’m Dean ‘Raisin Cain’ Winchester. I’ll be fine. And I might take your advice. So, thanks for that.” The driver started up his motor. “And Y/N, thanks for coming out.”

“Thanks for asking me.” She blushed and peaked at the driver. “I hope we can do it again soon.”

“I’ll call you.” He waved after her as the cab pulled away. His apartment could have been a block away or fifty. He didn’t care; every step felt like it was on air. As for Uriel and Raphael… well, he pushed them out of his mind. They could wait till daylight. Their damned plans weren’t going to bring him down now.

Y/N sprawled out on her bed still in her roommates’ date dress. Jo and Claire were whispering like giddy snakes in the living room, waiting for her to regale them with everything. But first Y/N wanted to remember the way he felt pressed against her, the way he smelled, his smile.

What couldn’t he tell her?

She sighed the question away. When he was ready, he’d say something. And maybe, if her luck held out, she could tell him things too. Things she hadn’t even told Jo or Claire.

Part 3: Undercard 

Tags: @kittenofdoomage @supernatural-jackles @theriumking @ilostmyshoe-79 @dean-imagine-reblogs @itskilling-me  @idontknow-canyou @cookie-dough-lova  

Consequences – Part 1: Ringside

Aebli Leave a comment
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Y/N gets dragged to a boxing match by her friends where she meets Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester. When asked out on a date, she says she’ll only go if he wins. Which is a serious problem.

Pairing: Boxer!Dean x Reader

Warnings: violence in the form of boxing

Word Count: 3100+

Note: I’m not a boxing expert, but I have watched a lot of fights from the greats to make this series. Find any Sugar Ray Robinson fight on YouTube and use it for background music if you’d like. I certainly used some to get in the zone. Feel free to leave comments on how you like or dislike it (with reasons why you dislike it) and guess where the story is going.

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The den didn’t look like much from the outside. The brick was chipping on the corners and several of the windows were boarded up. If there hadn’t been a line of patrons waiting at the door, Y/N would have thought it was abandoned.

She looked at her ticket stub again. Admit One: Winter Chicago Amateur Semi-Finals.

“Why are we here?” she asked Jo, her roommate.

“Because Claire got tickets from her friend who works concessions. She’s already inside and said to meet at the seats on the second row.” Jo spun, flaring her skirt and drawing the eye of several men standing around them.

“I feel overdressed.” Y/N looked down at her little black dress, wincing at the grand amount of tulle under the skirt. In reality, it was only a notch above what she wore around town, but she would have preferred to save this dress for a Sunday. “It’s just going to be a bunch of sweaty guys beating each other up. We could watch that any night at your mom’s bar.”

“Y/N,” Jo sighed, “try to enjoy this. The guys fighting tonight are going to look a lot better than the ones at the bar.” Jo leaned close and whispered, “and they’ll be wearing considerably less clothing.”

“Jo!”

A quick cheer resounded from the front of the line as the doors opened. Light poured out into the street, followed quickly by lively music. Barely twenty people had walked through the doors when the bet collectors were yelling the stats. Y/N and Jo showed their ticket to the bouncer and were nearly drowned in the rush to get in. They were separated, but Y/N walked over to a less populated part of the arena to catch her breath.

“You alright, sweetheart?” a voiced asked.

She turned and found herself face to chest with a man in a suit. Taking a step away, she looked up into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. He watched her with concern, but something about him made him feel dangerous. Like he could easily overpower her in more ways than one.

“Yes. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to my seat.” She turned to walk away.

“You might want to wait a few more minutes till the crowd dies down or you’ll get swamped again.” Y/N stopped to listen. It was still crowded. “And I would take a moment to breathe. Once you’re sitting down, it’s probably not going to smell good.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered under her breath. But she stayed all the same. If the smell of sweaty men could reach her up here, then it was going to be unbearable down there.

“I’m Dean. What’s your name?” he asked, holding out a hand. She shook it with her fingertips.

“Y/N. Pleased to meet you.” She turned to watch people find their seat, reminded of the movements of ants.

“Have you ever been to a fight before?” Dean asked.

“Are you writing a book?”

He raised his hands in defense. “Just wanted to get to know you, sweetheart.”

Y/N snickered, “I hope you don’t think you’ll get anything out of it.”

“Well now that you mention it…” Y/N turned to gape at him. He was serious. If he wasn’t so big she would have thought his boyish movements would have been cute. She almost missed his question while watching his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Did you hear me?”

“Please?”

“What are your plans after the fight?”

“As far as I can see, nothing with you.” Y/N turned to walk away, she could handle the second-row problems better than this.

“Come on, princess. Being one of the boxers should get me somewhere.”

Y/N took a deep breath. He was big enough to be a boxer but didn’t seem to fully fit the type. Not to mention he wasn’t dressed for a fight.

“I’ll tell you what. You win your fight tonight and I might meet you after the prizefight. Otherwise, forget it.”

Y/N walked away from his grinning face and into the pit. Jo and Claire didn’t have time to ask questions as the first opponents arrived at the ring. Y/N was ready to forget Dean.

“Dean! Where’ve you been, boy?” Bobby Singer grabbed Dean by the lapels and tugged him into the prep room. “You need to get dressed before Uriel gets here.” They froze as someone knocked on the door. “Balls.”

Bobby opened the door for Uriel. Dean hated his sneering face, but he was second in command for the match-fixing ring.

“Take a dive in the fifth, Winchester, and stay there. Feel free to do what you want till then as long as it doesn’t keep Cole from taking you out.”

“That’s not what we agreed, Uriel,” Bobby snarled, “Dean’s supposed to go to the big prize match in March.”

“He will. We had to add a week into the schedule so a special guest could meet you there. You’ll get a rematch next week, and then you’ll be on your way as planned.” Uriel laughed, a sound everyone found akin to nails on a chalkboard.

“You’d better not screw me. Not like you did to Cas with Bartholomew.” Dean stayed back, but his fists were tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Yeah, wasn’t that a bite? He made the distance till the tenth, though.” Uriel chuckled.

“It was torture,” Bobby spat.

Uriel stepped forward till he loomed over Bobby. “I wouldn’t focus on the past if I were you. Those who look back too much tend to get lost in the future.” He nodded at Dean and walked out, shouting over his shoulder, “the fifth, Winchester.”

They stood in silence, both seething. But it was the life they were in, one that they more or less chose. Sometimes they joked that God himself couldn’t stop them from deciding who lived and who died. They saved that for nights even darker than this.

“One of these days someone’s going to feed him a knuckle sandwich,” Dean growled.

Bobby nodded in agreement. “But it’s not gonna be you. And it’s not gonna be tonight. You’ve got too much riding on your family for you to rebel. It’d take the whole house of players to end this.”

“Or getting caught,” Dean mumbled.

“Bite your tongue boy! If they get caught, we get caught. And then all their attack dogs will get stuck in the same cage as us. We wouldn’t last the night.” Bobby sighed. Dean looked at him from the corner of his eyes. He was getting old, and the stress of the maintaining the fixes was taking its toll. Bobby shook himself with a grunt. “You need to change quick if you want to catch Sam before his fight.”

Dean shed his jackets while Bobby hunted out the shorts and gloves. He’d signed on to do whatever Uriel told him, but the image of the pretty girl from earlier mixed with the shame of being a fixed boxer made him question how tonight was really going to turn out.

Y/N jumped as the bell rang, ending the match. The ref announced the scores, awarding the win to the tall man with long hair. She halfway wondered how he could see his opponent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer started, “these ring officials have been appointed by the Illinois State Boxing Commission.” He rattled off several names, she couldn’t remember if they were different from the match before, but they did look a little grimmer. “This is the feature presentation of the light heavyweight not exceeding 175 pounds. From Fort Benning, Georgia, wearing the black trunks with the white stripe and weighing 170 pounds: Cole “Avenger” Trenton.”

A quick cheer rang through the arena. The announcer waited for it to die down before continuing.

“And from Lawrence, Kansas, wearing the white trunks with the black stripes and weighing 175 pounds: Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester.”

Y/N nearly fell out of her seat. It was the man she’d met earlier. And he was the title fight! She covered her face with her hands as Dean looked around the crowd before finding her. He smiled and winked, making her blush. She hoped he was too far away to see it.

“And ladies and gentlemen here is referee Balthazar Smith with instructions for both contestants. And ladies and gentlemen, no smoking, please.”

The referee stepped up to the mike and waited for Dean and Cole to meet. Their coaches stayed close, massaging their shoulders, and probably holding them back based on the daggers they were shooting. “You boys received your instruction from the Illinois Boxing Commission. I want a clean break at all times; careful of your kidney punches and your rabbit punches. In case of a knock-down, I want you to go to your furthest corner and stay there ‘til I tell you to come out fighting. Also, in case of a knock-down, you must take an eight-count. It that understood?” Dean a Cole nodded. “Shake hands and come out fighting.”

The boxers separated and went to their respective corners. Their managers took their robes and gave them mouth guards. The row in front of the girls was filled with men from the press. Y/N had been listening to the man directly in front of her all night as he announced the fight for a small radio program. He kept using terms she didn’t always recognize, but sometimes he’d clarify for visiting listeners. She hoped Dean wouldn’t get hurt.

Bobby held Dean back as he bounced and shadow boxed. “I know you don’t want to, but do what Uriel says. Next week you’ll get the rematch, and then we’ll be onto the big time.” Dean nodded and danced towards the center as the bell rang.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was the opening bell for this scheduled ten rounder, and Raisin’ Cain Winchester, who won the championship last year, is on his way to defend his title against a younger opponent in the semi-finals. Cole the Avenger is fighting in memory of his father, who died due to boxing injuries.”

He labeled several punches and moves as the men started to swing at one another. “Trenton, who is very effective inside, very good at body punching, and Winchester who is obviously good at long range… with that snappy left jab… and the right cross.”

Dean cinched Cole’s arms to his sides, preventing further body punches. Already they were both sweating, and Dean’s grip was slipping. The referee came over and broke them apart. They separated, but Cole chased Dean into a retreat. Dean fired out a jab, which Cole returned. They traded punches, uppercuts, and several different types of blows that Y/N had learned that night.

“That right hand to Winchester was just a trifle short. If Winchester keeps dancing around the ring like he is, he might tire before he can knock some wind out of Trenton. But there can be no doubt that both men came here tonight to fight. A short minute remaining in round one.”

To Y/N, the minute felt like ten as the men quickly exchanged blows faster than the reporter could call them. Cole landed a solid punch to Dean’s face, making him stagger back into the ropes.

“A little trickle from Winchester. Trenton is scoring repeatedly!”

The bell sounded as Dean pushed off. They ignored one another and went to their corners.

“And round one is over! Raisin’ Cain Winchester taking about as much punishment as I’ve ever seen him take in round one except for last year when Castiel Novak nearly punched him out of the ring. Winchester came back to win that fight. Novak fought and lost to Bartholomew in his next bout in a nearly murderous display. Winchester has had a total of 130 bouts, losing seven, two draws, and one technical knock-out trying to win the middleweight championship when he first started.”

The reporter continued to pass along Dean’s stats and Y/N couldn’t help but be slightly impressed. He was actually a good fighter. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to date a boxer. Not yet. There were still nine rounds to go to see if he could hold up his end of the bargain.

Rounds two, three, and four came and went with similar displays of prowess. Dean’s cut on his brow kept bleeding into his eye. Bobby kept patching it up and cleaning it the best that he could. Y/N learned that he had been a boxer back in the day, but an unsportsmanlike hit to his spine kept him out for several years. When he came back, he stuck to training others and found the Winchesters: Dean and Sam. He was a coach for both of them. Y/N wondered how his heart stayed in his chest on nights when they both fought.

“Trenton talking to Winchester constantly. And the eye of Dean Winchester is starting to smear a bit. Right on the right eyebrow.”

Cole swung out, catching Dean in the ribs, making him double over.

“Probably the best blow of the fight! Avenger Trenton overhand right swinging below to catch Winchester in the ribs.”

Dean swung wildly, missing Cole completely as he ducked. Dean backed away and tried to wipe the blood out of his eye, but missed seeing Cole’s left hook. He dropped like a stone, his head bouncing painfully against the canvas.

The world slowed down to single heartbeats. Patrons leaped to their feet like rocks in molasses. Bobby shook his head, refusing to watch. Y/N looked for his eyes, begging whoever would hear her to see the brilliant green instead of the blood over his closed lids. She gasped as they fluttered.

He found hers as well, latching onto them like a ship to a lighthouse during a storm.

The referee started to count.

One.

Two.

Three.

“To hell with this,” Dean mumbled.

Four.

He reached for a rope, using it to pull himself up. But knees don’t count. He knew he had to get to his feet.

Five.

Cole shouted at him, “stay down! Or you’ll be worse than done, Winchester.”

Six.

Dean managed to get one leg under him, but it wobbled too much to support him.

Seven.

Dean pulled again, straining against his bruised ribs to stand on his feet.

The crowd roared with delight.

“Dean Winchester was not down for the count yet, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve still got a match as long as he’s got any fight left in him.”

The bell rang, ending the fifth round. Cole looked pale and a little green around the gills. Dean nodded to him, taking the blame for the manager storm that was going to hit later.

They met again, but Cole let Dean do all the hitting, feigning exhaustion. Dean knew Cole’s fighting and his style. Cole was tired, especially now that Dean wasn’t pulling his punches.

“A slowly tiring Winchester, but Trenton slows as well. Not punching cleanly going into this round, missing. Winchester’s left hook was low, giving him a warning from ref Balthazar.”

Dean gave Cole four quick jabs to the torso, sending him stumbling into the ropes amid a chorus of cheers. He followed with three more to the head and face.

“Come on Dean! You’ve got ‘im!” Y/N screamed.

“Four clean blows into Trenton, and then three more. Winchester was hurting Trenton. He’s hurting him now. Jabs to the ribs and the face. Now a bolo. Trenton is round housing, missing Raisin’ Cain Winchester by a mile. Trenton’s left eye is swollen. Closing gradually. Damn! Pardon my language, ladies and gentlemen, Dean Winchester has spun Trenton around. He’s still standing, but blocking drunk. Ref Balthazar separates them again as Trenton leans on Winchester. Half a minute to go in the sixth round. Winchester set him up with those body blows, damaged his nose. He has Trenton on his feet asleep, holding on. The audience is standing and cheering.”

Dean kept jabbing. Cole wasn’t fighting back and he was a fellow pawn, but Dean was punching red. All those times when he had a win in the bag and Uriel told him to fall, or every time they promised him the prize fight, like tonight, but then took it away. He could hold himself up. They could take their schemes and schedules with them to hell.

“Trenton punching drunk as the bell rings, ending round six. The ringside doctor checking him out. If he doesn’t respond to the bell, the fight will be over. No! He’s up and ready to go. This is round seven, ladies and gentlemen. And Winchester is not holding back, not with the end so close.”

Y/N notices a flurry of movement to one side of the ring. The doctor is waving his arms till a large man nods. The bell rings, but Dean keeps going.

“Winchester doesn’t hear the bell. Ref Balthazar has to break them apart. But it’s too late! Down goes Trenton. The ref counts… and Dean Winchester has won by a knockout, ladies and gentlemen. For six rounds, Trenton gave better than he took. Then Winchester unleashed all of his best guns for the last round. Our score cards showing that Winchester was ahead sixty-three points to fifty-seven.”

The ref pulled Dean towards the middle as Cole’s coach and attendees pulled Cole’s body off the canvas. The announcer stepped on stage and grabbed the mic. “Attention ladies and gentlemen, the winner by knockout, in two minutes and fifteen seconds of the seventh round, and the defending winner of the Winter Chicago Amateur Semi-finals is Dean “Raisin’ Cain” Winchester. He will face his last opponent to defend his title for another year once dates have been determined.”

He raised Dean’s arm above their heads. Y/N joined the rest of the crowd with a standing applause and cheering.

“See! You enjoyed yourself.” Jo yelled above the din.

“Yeah. I guess I did. Thanks, Claire, for the tickets.”

Claire continued cheering, stopping for a split second to gasp out, “he’s coming this way.”

Y/N looked back at the ring to see Dean pushing his way through the managers. Aiming to meet him halfway, she headed to the chaos surrounding the canvas.

Bobby was shaking Dean. “What were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Uriel’s voice said, breaking into the circle. “He wasn’t thinking at all.”

Dean stopped his struggle to face Uriel. “You want to duke it out here?” he challenged.

Uriel shook his head with a smirk. “No. But we will discuss this Winchester. Enjoy the light… while it lasts. And get that brow checked out; we wouldn’t want it to turn into something serious.”

Dean broke away, surging through the crowd. He bumped into the person he wanted to see most.

“Heya, sweetheart. You got plans?”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

Part 2: Caution 

A Sunbeam Morning

Aebli Leave a comment

A lovely wake-up call for Dean.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Hand job, oral (male receiving, implied female receiving) implied later smut

Word Count: 508

Note: Happy Smut Appreciation Day! At first, I wasn’t going to write anything since I’ve planned another Dean post to come out later this week, but then this hit me. I highly recommend reading while listening to this Ambient Mixer.

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You woke as Dean shifted next to you. He continued to snore lightly, something that made you smile. He always denied that he snored.

Morning was starting to break through the curtains, blinding the spot over your pillow. You curled into his chest, hoping it would block out enough of the light. It was dark, but also close enough for you to feel other things in greater detail. Like the stiffness presently pressed into your stomach. You suppressed a giggle as he draped an arm over you, keeping you from moving too much.

You could have fun with this.

Dean’s hips rolled as you gently wiggled closer to him till you were close enough to lay one hand on his chest and the other closer to his hip. He sighed as you ran your fingers along the edge of his boxers. Down, down, and down, you pulled your fingers closer to the slit in his sleeping boxers that would give you access. You eased your fingers in, careful not to disturb the fabric too much. Even after all that time safe in the bunker, he still tended to react violently to odd sounds and movements when out on a job. You mentally thanked Sam for getting his own room.

Your fingers stretched through the opening, finding first the patch of curls, then the Winchester endowment. He was hard, and twitched at your touch. You ran your thumb from base to as close to the head as you could get. You worked till your whole hand was inside his boxers. He let out a short, pleasured whimper as you wrapped your fingers around him.

As that hand began to move, you clawed at his chest through his tee. Within a few minutes his breathing was labored, punctured with grunts. You took a chance to lean up and press your lips against his. He began to move with you, leaving open mouthed kisses around your mouth. His brilliant apple-green eyes peeked out from under his lashes, but shut again as you ran your thumb over his tip.

“Baby, you’re killin’ me. But don’t stop,” he moaned.

You moved your hand faster, then took a split second to let him spring into the open. He growled when you stopped moving, a sound you stopped in his throat as you leaned down to take him into your mouth. Now that he was awake, he could make all the little sounds that spurred you on till his completion. His hips bucked, pressing your nose into his hairs as his warm seed filled your mouth. You drank what he gave you with a moan, swallowing to the shuddering breath that escaped him.

Dean pulled you up into a kiss, pinning your arms to your sides.

“My turn,” he whispered.

“You think you got what it takes?”

“By the time I’ve warmed you up, I’ll be ready; don’t you worry.” He kissed your forehead, “thanks for the wake-up,” then sank under the blankets to tease you into sky-high bliss till you were quivering all over.

Tags: @kittenofdoomage @ilostmyshoe-79 @dean-imagine-reblogs @bringmesomepie56 @angelblade67  

Promises – Part 1: Under the Stars

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When they were children, Loki and Y/N promised each other to marry if they did not find someone else by the next Belewe moon in 250 years.

Pairing: young!Loki x young!Reader (Think age 11 or so)

Warnings: None, except slight sabotage I guess

Word Count: 2,200+

Note: I used this post to calculate Loki’s age for the series as he is going to age throughout. Please let me know how you’re liking it (or not) and tell me what you think is going to happen next. Hint: if you know a little of the mythology, you might see the end coming. Shoot me a message or something if you want to be tagged for the series, or for anything else.

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~1635 AD (Midgard Time)

His door shut with a small click, one that echoed through the hallway like a bell. Loki flinched but kept moving. The next guard exchange was about to happen so he would have to time his escape perfectly. He ducked behind a pillar as a pair of boots thundered into the passageway. They didn’t stop. Loki half wondered if he should be proud that he wasn’t seen, or worried that the guards were inept at their job.

There wasn’t time to reflect on this quandary, he didn’t want to be late.

The grassy alcove outside the library was empty save for one solitary figure. Loki’s breathing was rushed, having run the remaining way from the hallway. He focused on calming it, then making it quiet. His steps were soundless as he slinked up behind the figure.

“Boo,” he whispered.

“Boo, yourself,” a voice said from behind him. Loki jumped with a yelp as you stepped out of the shadows. With a wave of your hand, the figure turned and faded away.

“Someday you must teach me how you do that.” Loki looked up at the sky and a smile broke out over his face. “It has begun.” Overhead a glowing celestial orb rocketed through the sky. Its tail sparked as it fought the Asgardian atmosphere.

“Do you think it will pass the correct spot?” you asked.

“Perhaps.”

The comet soared closer to the object of your attention: a relatively close moon, not your own, that filled the sky. Every two hundred and fifty years or so, the comet Orvar had the chance to pass behind the moon, creating a comet-lunar eclipse. When this happened, the reflection of the moon shown blue with the space fire around the comet. It was called the Belewe Moon. If one watched the comet pass by in a secret place, the observer was supposed to have good luck until the next Belewe moon.

“Do you want to see if we can see anybody else watching the moon?” Loki asked, walking towards the edge.

“No, Loki, don’t. Don’t ruin someone’s luck by spying out their hiding place,” you held him back and shrugged, “besides, if, by peeking you give our spot away, you’ll curse us both with bad luck.”

Loki nodded in agreement.

You sat on the grass and laid back to watch the sky. Even with the brightness of the comet, you could see billions of stars. Loki laid next to you, hands behind his head. You twisted to lay your head on his chest, breathing in time to the rise of his breath.

“What luck do you think you’ll have?” he asked.

You thought for a moment then said, “maybe I’ll marry a husband who’ll build me a library. I know it won’t be as big as the one here, but it’ll be mine.”

“Marry?” Loki’s breath hitched beneath you. “You are not old enough for that yet. And we’re still in school.”

“Not for much longer,” you sighed, “Mother and Father have been discussing taking me out of school. A boy is coming tomorrow. They say I might be betrothed to him.”

“Betrothed? What is this, the Dark Ages? Nobody does that anymore.”

“They do here at court.” The comet continued its path, finally drawing close to the moon. “We wouldn’t have a ceremony till years later, but… I’m of an age where they must start thinking about it. And at this stage, I have a choice. They told me I can say no if I wish.”

“Then say no.” Loki’s chest was tight. You rolled over so you could twist to look directly into his eyes.

“Why should I? I have not met him yet.”

“But you’ve met me,” Loki smirked at you, but his eyes claimed something deeper.

“I don’t think you are on my parent’s list. You are too above my station.”

Loki turned to lay on his side; you did the same. “Then it will help your family even more. I’m a prince of Asgard. You are an intelligent young lady of the court. There couldn’t be a more perfect pairing. And Father favor’s Thor, so he will be the one to have an arranged marriage for the throne.”

“You speak like it is so easy, Loki,” You rolled back onto your back. “There are more politics involved than you think.”

Loki looked down to his feet, so close to yours. “Then I will learn the politics.” He glanced at you, but you were watching the sky. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“If I learn the politics, and if I can convince our parents that the match will be good, would you at least consider… me?”

Orvar was just touching the inner edge of the moon. You two were so young. What could you possibly know about marriage? The first glimmer of blue started to glow around the moon. It gave you an idea.

“Do you think you could wait for me?”

“What?”

“If I have not married by the next Belewe Moon, nor you, would you marry me then?”

Loki laid back with a confused huff. “Yes. But that is not for another two hundred and fifty years.”

“Exactly. If no suitors have caught my eye by then, my parents will want to take any proposal given to them. It will help you sway them even more. But you would have to promise. I do not want to wait that long with the false hope that you will back out, married or not.”

“Agreed.”

The comet was fully behind the moon now. The sky surrounding it burst into different beams of blue as the tail fully eclipsed the moon. You could hear soft cheering around the city.

“Y/N, I promise you by the light of the Belewe light: if neither of us has wed by the next moon, I shall wed you without hesitation.” His voice was strong.

“I promise you, Loki, by the light of the Belewe light: if neither of us has wed by the next moon, I shall wed you without hesitation.”

The cheers died off as Orvar passed the point of illumination. The moon lost its halo, and the sky was as it was before.

Loki took your hand and squeezed it. He continued to hold it till the comet was out of sight. He successfully escorted you back to your room without incident. You fell asleep with the courage that he had the luck, and skill, to make it back without getting caught.

The Next Morning

“What do you think of him, Y/N?” your mother asked you. The boy jumped out of the transport and took a small bouquet from his father.

“He’s cute, I guess. But looks are not everything,” you replied. You could feel your parents grinning at each other over your head.

“Sindri,” your father called out, “welcome to Asgard!”

“Thank you, my friend. May I introduce my wife, Erna, and my son, Theoric.”

The fathers continued to talk as you looked at Theoric. He was cute, in a way. His hands were shaking around the flowers, but he kept his posture straight and strong. You found his eyes observing you as well and looked away, blushing through getting caught.

“Here,” he said, holding out the flowers, “these are for you.” You took them. A few sprigs of baby’s breath surrounded a single, small, red tulip that hadn’t opened yet.

“He picked those himself this morning,” Erna said kindly. Your mother tapped you on your shoulder.

“Thank you. They are beautiful.”

“Perhaps you could show Theoric around the palace while we talk.” You clenched your jaw and looked up at your mother with pleading eyes. Could she be any more of a cliché? She didn’t give you time to reply or to complain before taking Erna’s arm and leading her inside. Your heart was thundering in your chest as you turned back to face Theoric.

“You don’t have to show me around,” he said, breaking the silence. “You can just show me your favorite place. If you would like.”

You nodded in agreement. If Thor and his friends saw you with him, you wouldn’t live it down for weeks. “Follow me.” You led him through back hallways to the library, opening the door with a flourish.

Theoric gave you a single nod as he looked around. “Your favorite place is… a library?”

“Yes. I have an impossible dream to read them all.”

“That is impossible.” Theoric walked to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a book. He flipped through the pages quickly, then shelved it with a huff. “Do you have any other favorite places?”

Your eyes flitted to the grassy alcove, but you played it off as thinking. “No. I have been known to stay here all day when I’m not called elsewhere.”

“How incredibly dull. How are you still sane?” He looked past you to the hallway. “I think we should get back. Mother said there was to be a lunch before they started discussing anything important.”

“My mother said the same. This way.” You took the short route to the small dining hall outside your family’s quarters while at court. You walked quickly, answering shortly to any questions Theoric had. Then he was silent. You turned around to ask if he was alright, but he was gone. Panic set in. While you had already eliminated him as a suitor, your parents and his would be furious if you lost him in the palace. You started to backtrack your steps, hoping he could not have wandered far.

Loki was deeply engrossed in a book when a disgruntled boy walked around the corner muttering about incompetent girls.

“You there! Which way to the dining hall?”

“Which one?” Loki muttered, refusing to look up from his book.

“The one Y/N Y/L/N was taking me to before she lost me around a corner. Would you stop reading and show me the way?”

Loki sighed and closed his book. The boy’s hands were clenched, as was his jaw, and he kept shifting his feet impatiently. Loki was going to take his time with this rude boy. There was no way you were going to choose this one over him.

“This way.”

Loki led him in circles for quite some time. He occasionally poked his head into one of the other small dining halls, feigning innocence. By the time they reached the correct hall, Theoric was fuming.

“I asked for guidance, not a tour. Everybody in this place is so incompetent.” He burst through the doors, starting chaos inside. Loki thought it best to slip away. Besides, he’d left his book on the window sill.

You burst in through the other doors as Theoric did. “Mother, I cannot find-“

“You! You lost me on purpose.” Theoric pointed at you across the table, face redder than a beet.

“It is not my fault that you could not keep up.” It was an accident. A gentleman would be understanding. You looked at your mother and sent her a curt nod. This was not the one. She sighed and looked at the other three adults, passing along your message.

“Father, I refuse to stay any longer.” Theoric turned on his heel to march out.

“Are you sure that is the right way, Theoric? Are you an expert of the palace now?” You smirked at his back, enjoying the way he flinched.

He stopped, flustered. He stomped his foot and waited for your father to usher his parents out the door. Your mother shot you a look. You were in trouble, but they’d have to find you first. Nobody knew the palace better than you, except maybe Loki.

Loki.

He had to know about this idiootti, this idiot.

You found him in his favorite window alcove, reading as always. He heard you coming and made room for you. You laid against the opposite wall so your feet could almost touch.

“How was the meeting?”

“A disaster. I lost him on the way back from the library, and he was extremely rude about it. And he thinks reading is dull.”

Loki whipped around to look at you. “What? A person who does not read considers it dull because they find themselves so.”

“I know that, and you know that. But I’m in trouble now for losing him, and probably again for not sticking around to see him off.”

“He wasn’t worth it.”

After a moment of reflection, you spoke up.

“Did you mean what you said last night? Or was it just the moon?”

“I swore, Y/N. I will never break that vow, no matter how many stars fly through the sky.”

Your heartbeat slowed. Calmed.

Loki handed you a book from his stack. You two sat reading in silence except for sound of the palace bustle below. 

Part 2: Intimidation  

Tags: 

@cutie1365 @fvckingavengers @mayorofzillyhoo @shockwavee @smuttymarvelousfanfics