#Blood Hunters 4 Preview | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebiggerbear · 16 days ago

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Untitled One Shot Preview:

After the interlude with Lester, Crowley decided to give Dean one more chance. One thing that the Mark seemed to crave was blood; that they both already knew. But the other thing that Dean seemed to be on the hunt for almost as much as the next fight was the intimate company of a woman, any woman, even if only for a few hours. The violence and the sex seemed to keep the Mark appeased. It didn’t change Dean’s attitude but it did seem to keep him balanced — as balanced as a demon could be Crowley supposed.

So when he heard the next demon deal report, he immediately came up with an idea that might sate Dean, one way or the other, and kill two bird with one big bloody stone.

When Dean walked into the bar after getting into a fist fight with some meathead down the block, that smug smirk slowly settled onto his features. “And here I thought you were done with me. That I was just some fling.”

“We’ll never truly be done with one another, Dean. Not really.”

Dean snorted and shook his head, slapping the bar top to get the bartender’s attention. “Okay, Nicholas Sparks.” He gave the man a nod and within moments, two shots of whiskey were in front of him. Much to Crowley’s amazement, the bartender didn’t seem to react to the blood on Dean’s hands or spotting the left side of his face. If he hadn’t already known this was the rough part of town they were in, that would have solidified it for him right there.

“So what do you want, Crowley?” Dean looked as if he could care less and ordered two more shots after downing the first two.

“What I want,” Crowley began as he sidled up to the former hunter. “Is for us to put this bad blood behind us.” When Dean didn’t respond to that he added, “I’m willing to overlook the Lester incident.”

Dean’s angry eyes snapped to him, his jaw tight as he glared.

“I see now that sending you to close up that particular deal was incredibly…presumptuous of me.”

Dean huffed out an impatient scoff and threw back a shot.

Crowley watched him intently. “As it so happens, I have another job for you.”

Dean’s shark-like smile appeared and he grabbed the second shot. “I don’t work for you.”

Crowley could feel his patience being tempered. Sometimes dealing with Dean when he was like this was like dealing with a rebellious smarmy little shit of a teenager. He kept himself from rolling his eyes and leaned in closer. “No, you don’t. But this is right up your alley. Particularly the Mark’s alley.”

Dean glanced over at him. “I’m not killing any innocent women.”

“Killing? No. No, this would be the farthest thing from that.” He watched as the hunter’s brows furrowed slightly and he knew he only had a small window of opportunity so he needed to talk fast. “I admit, this request was a bit unusual but we’ve gotten stranger deals before. You would be surprised at what people are willing to exchange their soul for these days. A gig on one of the Real Housewives shows, becoming President again, Taylor Swift concert tickets, the new iPhone, even for Elon Musk to eventually go bankrupt.” At Dean’s look, Crowley shrugged. “Let’s just say there’s a reason why he now calls Twitter ‘X’. It’s a done deal, won’t take long.” Dean shrugged and went back to his whiskey that the bartender silently slid to him. “If it sweetens the pot any, you were asked for specifically.”

Dean turned slightly to face him, his eyes a shade darker than they had been a moment before, an indication that the Mark was listening and very much interested as well as the body that bore it. “What’s the job?”

And just like that, Crowley knew he had him. This time, the shark-like smile was sitting on the King of Hell’s face.

"You're safe now, I'm here." Preview:

When you arrived at your destination, some dive bar not too far from the Minnesota state line, you knew the place was one level above a rat-infested roach motel, barely. There was no way Dean would have come here. As low as his standards might be sometimes, he still had them. Not to mention there was no sign of his ever being there. One frustrating conversation with the skeezy-looking bartender later, you determined this had been a bust. You shot a text message to Sam, letting him know you had struck out. Disappointed, you considered having a beer before trying to find a decent-looking motel in these parts to crash for a few hours, but you wouldn’t even dare sit on one of the bar stools. Hell, you wouldn’t even stand in this place for more than the twenty minutes you’d already been there.

You had just made your way out to the parking lot, intent on finding that bed for the night, when something hit you upside the head and you collapsed to the ground. Everything had gone black until you came to in some shitty looking cabin, tied to a chair, and saw two creepy looking men grinning wickedly down at you. A small sliver of fear sparked through you when you realized they were human, the very worst type of monster in your book. The fact that they hadn’t gagged you told you they weren’t concerned about any screams being heard which meant they had taken you to a remote location where no one was around to hear anything. So you were definitely in a jam but a fiery determination overtook the fear when you remembered you were a hunter, and you had dealt with some of the worst monsters on the planet, demons included. Hell, you’d even had a brush with Lucifer himself at one point; you could take these two asshats.

“There she is,” the taller man of the two practically purred. He leaned in, taking a big inhale, and gave you a shark-like smile. “Real pretty.”

You screwed up your face in disgust and tried to shift your body a little but you were tied tightly, with your arms behind you — the worst way to be tied up. Had your arms been tied to the chair, you could have possibly rocked the chair until it fell over, breaking, or perhaps leaned forward to bite at the rope, trying to loosen it or gnaw at it. But no, you were nearly hog-tied from the waist up. Another sign that these two knew what they were doing and you hoped like hell that you could get free.

You had texted Sam to let him know Dean wasn’t in these parts like had been rumored. If he texted you back and got no response, would he know something went wrong? Even if he did, would he even be able to make it in time? He had traveled in the opposite direction as you; there was definitely no way he’d make it if he knew.

The man who’d sniffed at you straightened up, his eyes roaming over you hungrily. The other man who was shorter and had longer greasy-looking hair was studying you just as intently. “When do we get to the fun part, Jim?” He asked.

“Easy, Roscoe. We’ll get there.” Jim smirked down at you. “I want to savor this one.”

You gritted your teeth and kept attempting to move your body but to no avail.

“Don’t bother trying to fight against the ropes, honey,” Jim’s deep smooth voice rumbled before he turned towards a table you hadn’t initially seen. “They’re nice and tight. You won’t be getting loose.” You watched him pick up a machete and study it before placing it back down, only to pick up a crossbow. “Not until we’re ready for you to run.”

Oh, you dared them to let you free, especially in the vicinity of weapons. These sick fucks planned to hunt you down, did they? You were going to make them regret that decision, in spades.

“So that’s your big plan?” You scoffed out in a laugh. “Have me run so you can hunt me? Wow, that’s original. Einsteins you are not.”

Roscoe stepped forward and slapped you, hard. The coppery taste of blood was in your mouth and you noticed that it was coming from your bottom lip.

“Roscoe,” Jim admonished. Roscoe turned to look at him with a frown. Jim gave him a shake of his head. Roscoe’s jaw tightened but he stepped away from you all the same.

“So is this your MO? Wait for some girl at that dive bar to walk out to her car and then ambush her? Hit her from behind? Tie her up while she’s unconscious? What two big strong men you are,” you spit at them in disgust. You knew you shouldn’t risk riling them up because they could do something worse to you before they ever planned to loosen the ropes, or they might not loosen them at all, but you hated these bastards with your very being. There was no telling how many girls they had done this to now; there was no way you were their first.

Jim slowly approached you, twirling a blade in his hand. He gripped your chin and you tried to yank your head away, but he tightened his grip. “Honey, you can say whatever you want but it’s going to end the same way as all the others have. So scream, cry, beg, call us whatever names you want, because at the end, none of it is going to save you.” He ran his thumb along your lips that you kept sealed tightly as you glared up at him. “You are are pretty. Roscoe and I are going to have some fun with you before we get to the main event, and me…” He leaned in, inches above your mouth as he peered into your eyes. “I like ‘em feisty. The squirming never stops.” He let out a dark chuckle and you could hear Roscoe snickering as well.

“What do you see in him?” “Everything you don’t.” Preview:

You and Alisha watched as the buxom blonde who had been focused on Dean Winchester all night smiled and leaned in, whispering something to his ear. You saw Dean’s face light up and his smirk spread across his handsome face as she pulled back, him saying something in reply that had her nodding her pretty little head. You felt an all-too familiar pain flare to life in your chest. The same pain that had started burning the minute Dean had set his eyes on the woman and proceeded to dial up the flirt, on a hunt of a whole other kind.

Alisha practically gagged as she watched the woman take Dean’s hand and slowly lead him out of the bar, giving him a seductive smile over her shoulder. “I don’t get it. What do you even see in that guy?”

You stared down into your beer. “Everything you don’t,” you mumbled.

“Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” Part 2 Preview:

You took a couple of slow steps up the driveway, stopping when DJ’s head snapped up. He spun around and locked eyes with you, his widening in disbelief. “Mom?”

You gave him a smile, your eyes welling with tears. “Hi, honey.”

A silver blade was suddenly in his hand, his body tensed up. “What are you?” He asked through gritted teeth.

You held up your hands in reassurance. “It’s me, DJ.” You saw his jaw tighten at the nickname he hated. “I promise. It’s really me.”

“No, my mom’s been dead for a while now and she didn’t look like that! Not since I was a kid!” He started advancing on you. “So if you don’t tell me what the hell you are then I swear to God I—”

Dean suddenly appeared in front of you, taking your hand in his and forcing your son to come to a stop. “Hey! Take it easy. She’s your mom, okay? She’s not a ghost or a skinwalker or a ghoul or anything like that. She’s the real deal. She’ll pass all the tests.”

The younger Dean stared at the older Dean, dumbfounded. “I’ve seen pictures of you. You’re…” His eyes flickered over to you. You gave him a nod and he looked back over at Dean. “You’re my…”

Dean gave your son a smile. “Hey, kid.”

“But…how did you… I don’t understand. Am I dreaming?”

You took a half a step forward. “No, honey, you’re not dreaming.”

DJ looked completely perplexed. “But both of you are dead. If you’re not ghosts or something else, then how—”

“We were sent back,” you explained. “By Jack.”

“Jack as in…?”

“Yeah.” You saw your son’s eyes light up with a glimmer of hope at the idea. It broke your heart, but you forced yourself to focus on the moment. You were here, Dean was here, and father would finally get to know son. Not to mention the huge battle still ahead of you. You wiped a tear away with your free hand that had somehow escaped down your cheek. “There’s a lot to talk about but for right now, we’re back.”

DJ still seemed unsure but he lowered the blade.

Untitled One Shot Preview:

You knocked on Dean’s room door and when you heard a gruff “Yeah?” you opened it up. Dean was standing near his bed, his eyes widening a fraction of an inch when he saw you. In that moment, you could see everything he was feeling flicker across his face: the sadness, the anger at himself, the shame, the worry — the worry overshadowed them all.

“Hey,” you offered, throwing him a figurative lifeline to be kind. Though that was the last thing you felt like doing right then.

“Hey.”

You held up the duffel of his things that you had confiscated from his room back at The Black Spur and then tossed it onto the bed. “I grabbed what I could find. Should be everything.”

Remorse filled his green eyes. It was definitely a refreshing sight compared to the cold black ones you’d been witness to the past two days, and you never wanted to see the empty jade you’d seen ever again. “Thanks.”

You nodded and slipped your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, thinking of how to say what you wanted to, but coming up empty. Eventually, you decided that perhaps it was best that you left certain things unsaid. As you turned to leave, Dean took a careful step forward.

“Y/N, I…”

You swung your gaze back to meet his, waiting.

He compulsively swallowed and briefly hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me, too.” When his brows began furrowing in confusion, you elaborated. “I thought we had something that was going good, for the both of us.”

Worry lined his expression once more and he took another tentative step forward. “We did — we do.”

You dropped your gaze to the duffel bag. “Doesn’t seem like it.” You licked your lips and let out a sigh. “I love you, Dean.” You didn’t need to look up to know how those three words affected him; you’d seen it often enough during your relationship. Each time he would get this deer-in-the-headlights look as if he couldn’t believe you would actually love him, that anyone would. “And I want to forgive, but…I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Like a coward, you kept your eyes on the ground as you turned and walked out of the room, unable to see the pain and devastation you had surely just caused the one person you never wanted to hurt.

Untitled One Shot Preview:

You and the Winchesters were sitting in the Dean Cave, watching a movie. Dean picked one night out of the week and deemed it Movie Night which included snacks, beer, and him usually being the one to pick the movie. If it wasn’t The Lost Boys, then it was Tombstone — the latter which you were currently watching. You tended to prefer this one though the actual history of the Earp brothers and the OK Corral seemed to have been muddled a bit for entertainment’s sake. You remembered Wyatt all too well during your appearances on Earth from time to time and you hadn’t been too impressed back then either.

The scene of the final confrontation with Johnny Ringo began and you could see Dean leaning forward slightly, a gleeful focus on his face which made you smile a little at the clear enjoyment he was experiencing. No matter how many times he saw this movie, he always seemed to watch it with as much excitement as if he were watching it for the first time. It was endearing.

“Well, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’m your huckleberry.”

As Doc Holliday lifted his head to reveal his identity, you frowned. “I don’t understand that phrase, Dean.” It was always something that had puzzled you. Granted, you hadn’t spent much time down here during the Wild West era, but you had never heard anyone going around uttering this phrase, especially in this context. Perhaps it was a pop culture thing of the times.

Dean paused the movie and turned to look at you. “What?”

“‘I’m your huckleberry.’ What does a small fruit have to do with battle?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam turn his head away from you both, trying to hide a smile. Dean appeared unsure of how to answer you.

“Well, I think it just means something like ‘I’m your guy.’”

“Then why doesn’t he say that?”

“Say what?”

“I’m your guy? Instead of saying ‘I’m your huckleberry’ then why doesn’t he say what he means?”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam before turning back to you. “I don’t really know, Y/N/N. Perhaps the line wouldn’t have been as legendary in pop culture.” You noticed Sam rolling his eyes and then you saw a salacious smirk start to spread across Dean’s face. “You know, if you’re having trouble understanding the movie, why don’t you come and sit with me? I’ll answer any questions you have.” Sam was frowning at his brother now.

You glanced at the recliner Dean was in. “But, Dean, that seat can only hold one person at a time.”

“I know, just like this,” He gestured to his lap. “Is only made for one person at a time. Well, mostly. But it’s open so how about it?” He patted the space invitingly.

“Dean,” Sam warned.

“Shut up, Sammy. So, Y/N/N, you gonna come sit with me or what?”

Your brows furrowed, still unsure of how you both would fit in that chair comfortably, but Dean seemed determined for you to join him. You got to your feet and slowly made your way over.

Untitled Prompt Response (Fic Request) Preview:

“Does this seem normal to you? The way it’s bleeding?”

You glanced up from the book you had been perusing on powerful rituals to ward off the undead and your brows furrowed as you studied the small surface slice in Dean’s hand, seeing the beads of blood dotting the line.

“How did that happen?” You murmured.

“Chef’s knife slipped in the sink while I was doing the dishes.”

Judging by the clean pathway of the cut, you would think otherwise but you kept your thoughts to yourself. Instead, you gently held his hand aloft with one of yours and suspended your other hand over the cut. You ignored the quick inhale of Dean’s breath when your skin made contact with his and focused on healing the wound. Regardless of how it came about, you didn’t like seeing any of Dean’s blood outside of him.

You both watched as the wound closed itself up under the golden glow of your hand. You were satisfied when the blood disappeared and everything appeared as it should have been when it came to Dean Winchester’s hand. You let him go and met his gaze, his green eyes full of awe and something else you’d seen there as of late. Though you often puzzled over it, you still had not been able to figure it out. Humans were complicated; their emotions even more so.

He quietly cleared his throat and flexed his hand. “Thanks.”

You gave him a nod and then went back to your reading. You heard him hesitate before walking away. You smiled to yourself when you heard Sam say to Dean in the hallway, “Are you serious, Dean? Did you just—”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled, before continuing towards the kitchen.

You shook your head and turned to the next page.

Untitled One Shot Preview:

You both stare at one another and after a moment, Dean starts to ask you something when there’s a knock on the door, signaling the five minute warning. He appears disappointed and much to your surprise, you are too. You blush as you get to your feet, his hands flashing out to help you.

“I, um…I’m sorry. I didn’t know that I… Can I do anything to help?”

Dean quickly glances around before setting his eyes back on you, almost as if he’s reluctant to keep them away from you for too long. “No, I’ve got it. I, uh…didn’t mind, ya know.”

You feel your face getting hotter but you bite into your lip to keep your embarrassed smile at bay. “You didn’t?”

He gives a small shake of his head and staring into the green gaze glued to yours, you can tell he really means it.

You let out a nervous chuckle and grab at your clothes. “Thanks.” You quietly clear your throat one more time and hastily redress. Dean moves away, having decided to give you a minute, and moves towards the sink in the corner of the room. As he washes his hands, you hear him ask, “So, how long are you in town for?”

As you’re finishing slipping your shoes on, your brows begin to furrow. How did he know that? “What gave it away?”

He dries his hands and gives you a shrug. “The business attire. Plus, there’s a convention happening this week.”

Relief flows through you that your cover hasn’t been blown. “Oh, uh, maybe another day or two.”

His green eyes light up and you can see the delight there clear as day, tinged with what looks like a tiny amount of hope. Uh oh. “Well, if you decide you need a break from all the handshaking and Corporate America crap, I’ll be here. Just ask for me.” Suddenly, the confidence seems to go out of him in a heartbeat, surprising you. “You know, if you want.”

A part of you wishes you could tell him the truth, about why you’re really here, but you know you can’t. So instead, you respond with, “Thanks but I think this was kind of a one time deal for me.”

Dean smiles in understanding but you can see right through it — he’s disappointed. And strangely enough, so are you. He walks over and hesitantly reaches out to do up the last two out of three buttons on your blouse. He seems as if he wants to say something but holds back, possibly unsure if he should. You don’t know what it is about this man or the way he looks at you in a way that almost begs you to save him — save him from what you can’t even begin to imagine — but you cover his hands with yours and lift up, tenderly pressing your lips against his.

There’s a moment there where he doesn’t return the kiss and seems hesitant to move at all, but as you were about to pull away, thinking you made a mistake, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him. His mouth move against yours more insistently and when you feel his tongue gently seeking entrance past your lips, you grant it to him. He groans and cups your face, delving deeply into you, and it takes everything you have to keep yourself upright.

Soon enough, that doesn’t seem to matter when he picks you up and moves you towards the table. You happily surrender your strength and hold onto him as tightly as you dare. There is a line here that you were never supposed to cross but truth be told, you leaped past it long ago and you haven’t looked back since. Because there is no going back. You moan when his hips fit in between your thighs and you can feel him up against you. Definitely no going back — not that you want to right now…not ever actually.

Your hands encourage his hips to start up a slow rocking motion and each time you feel him, it’s all you can do not to lock your ankles behind him, keeping him there within your reach. When he breaks away for air, you notice his eyes are dark again like they were earlier but this time, you can see his control is about to snap. Something you would definitely like to push him past right now and see what happens. Fuck it, you haven’t just crossed a line; you’ve crossed a whole goddamn stadium of lines. If you’re already going to hell, you might as well enjoy the ride down.

“Are you sure?” He breaths harshly against your mouth when he feels you tugging at his belt.

“Yes.” You have your hand inside his pants within seconds, gripping him. You swallow up the air he expels along with the deep groan from his chest. His fingers greedily grab at you but you both get interrupted by another more insistent knock, forcing you both to break apart and glance towards the door. Time is up.

Dean drops his head to your shoulder. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. You should be grateful for the person on the other side of the door. They just kept you from making a huge mistake, bigger than the ones you’ve already made in the last hour. You withdraw your hand from him and when he lifts up to stare into your eyes, you give him a thin-lipped smile.

Untitled Prompt Response Preview:

You held onto Dean’s hand as you both perused the aisles. You both and Sam had split up the list of supplies you needed to bring back to the Bunker. Normally, you two weren’t so PDA but you had a feeling that Dean needed a little extra love today, especially since he was the one to take your hand and intertwine your fingers, pulling you away with him. You managed to give Sam a meaningful look before he did that Dean thankfully didn’t catch. Sam gave you a nod and headed off in search of his half of the list.

You grabbed the chips Jack liked and tossed them into the basket Dean was carrying. He appeared to be deep in thought and your brows drew together. “Dean, are you okay?”

His eyes snapped over to you. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

You released his hand and framed his face with your hands, staring worriedly up at him. “Something on your mind, baby?”

His gaze dropped down to the ground for a second. “No, uh, I mean…” He looked back up at you and he licked his lips, seeming torn about something. “I guess I was just wondering if you—”

“Found it,” Sam interrupted, forcing you both to look over at him. The younger Winchester was giving you both a wide smile. “That sauce you like, Y/N, it was the last bottle they had but I got it!”

You gave him a warm smile. “You’re the best, Sam.” You turned back to Dean. “Now, what were you saying, baby?”

Dean glanced back and forth between you and his brother. “Nothing,” he muttered, gently lowering your hands from his face, making you frown. “Nothing.” He turned and headed down another aisle, not looking back to see if either of you were following. You and Sam exchanged a worried glance and you hurried after Dean.

He had stopped to grab some ground beef from the meat section and you hugged him from behind. “I love you, Dean,” you murmured to the back of his jacket but you knew he had heard you when he squeezed your hands. It worried you a little when he didn’t say it back like he usually did.

Untitled Mini Series Preview:

“You’re right,” Dean agreed, his eyes not meeting yours and shame filling in his expression. “I guess I’m not being totally fair.”

You cupped his cheek and urged him to look up at you. “That’s not what I said.” You brushed your thumb tenderly over his stubbled skin. “Just give her some time,” you gently urged. “She’ll come around once she has more time to process all that’s happened.”

His green gaze softened and he gave you a hint of an affectionate smile before turning to press a kiss into your palm, cradling your hand in both of his. The action drew your sight to the area where it had sat not that long ago. You could feel an all-too familiar rage coursing through you.

Dean noticed your intent gaze on his right forearm and he immediately reached out his other hand to place his fingers under your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “It’s gone,” he murmured reassuringly.

You could see the bluish-white glow of your eyes reflected in his and you tried to rein yourself in though you were failing miserably. It had been hard enough to see the struggle Dean had gone through bearing it and wielding the First Blade, the darkness corrupting his beautiful soul right before your very eyes, sacrificing himself for the greater good once more, not allowing any of you to help shoulder that burden. It had been agonizing to see him eventually turn into a demon, the very abomination you had fought and destroyed for millennia. But it had been absolutely devastating to watch what happened after Dean had sliced through Death in that restaurant.

The thought of that mark, that brand, on his skin infuriated you, as did the connection it represented. You were an angel; you didn’t get jealous. At least you hadn’t before your short stint as a human. But this wasn’t jealousy of another more powerful entity being interested in the human you were currently copulating with. It was pure fury that this entity had made a claim on Dean Winchester’s soul and forged a connection that the man could never rid himself of. One you could never remove no matter how powerful you might be. Even if you had been an archangel or even Chuck himself. Yet she could break your connection to the man you cared deeply for with a simple snap of her fingers if she wanted to, and in the same breath, she could erase you from Dean’s memory as well as this universe. In this situation, you were the ant. It bothered you tremendously that not only had she laid claim to one of the most beautiful souls ever to exist, but there was nothing you could do about it. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t protect him or save him from God’s sister should it come down to that.

Dean had assured you that this was a connection he didn’t want, something you knew to be true not only because you could feel it but also because it was something you’d heard him tell you when he’d unknowingly confessed his true feelings on the matter to Lucifer who had possessed you at that time. But you hadn’t missed the way his eyes softened when they trained on Amara when she was in the room or the tension in his jaw when you and Sam had talked about how to destroy her. You also noticed when he didn’t meet your eyes when he refused to name who had shown up as his heart’s desire during that one case. You even saw how he pulled away from your reassuring touch later that night, something he usually didn’t do unless he felt ashamed for one reason or another. And now, Amara had brought back the one thing Dean had wanted since he was four years old. So, yes, right now it was more difficult than normal to douse the flames of fury within you.

Dean released you and gently moved your hand to his shoulder — your shoulder. “This isn’t,” he whispered, covering your fingers with his. “And it never will be.”

The light in your eyes faded as the fire died, only to be replaced with an overwhelming sadness. “You don’t know that.”

He pressed his hand further into yours, splaying your fingers out along his skin, lining them up as they had been once upon a time. You could feel your handprint there even though it could no longer be seen by the naked human eye. It surprised you that Dean knew exactly where to align your hand without having that visual guide but it also made you smile slightly. Of course he would know where to place your hand; he still felt it, too.

His eyes met yours once again, serious and determined. “I do.” His tone left no room for arguments or doubts.

You could feel a familiar stinging sensation at the corners of your eyes and your smile lengthened into a grateful one. You leaned up and gently gripped his face with both hands, bringing him to you in a gentle kiss. He slowly laid you back down with him following, him rearranging the sheets around you both before affirming your connection to one another once more.

Untitled One Shot Preview:

“I need you.”

That was the text message that sent you speeding down the highway, trying to get back to Lebanon as fast as possible. Dean never sent you messages like that so you knew things had gotten worse since you left to help a friend on a hunt. One phone call to Sam confirmed that yes, things were much worse since your departure.

You had been in Grand Forks, North Dakota, just wrapping up a Djinn case when you got the text out of the blue. Your jaw had dropped upon reading it and you immediately stepped away to call Dean. He hadn’t picked up, making your concern skyrocket, but Sam had when you tried him next. He told you everything — from the situation with Claire and Cas to the current one with Metatron. You disagreed with him on the massacre angle of what had happened with the men who tried to take Claire and attack Dean but agreed that it put the man at even more risk with the Mark.

Needless to say, you made your apologies to Julie, the hunter you had been assisting, and you hauled ass back to Kansas. An almost ten hour drive was about to be made in seven. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on your side; you hadn’t come across any cops on the highway. Dean still hadn’t called you back or picked up the many times you tried him, but you had sent him a text: “I’m on my way.” You just hoped that he not only understood what you spelled out in the message but also everything you hadn’t. He just had to hold on, you would be there soon, and everything was going to be okay.

You’d told him when he was no longer a demon that you would do everything you could to keep the Mark from taking him over again, that you would continue fighting for him with everything you had. His eyes had softened at your passionate vow and he had pulled you into an embrace, hugging you tightly as his head burrowed into your neck.

You heaved an aggravated sigh when Dean didn’t pick up for the umpteenth time you tried to call him from the road and you were just about to hang up when the line suddenly connected.

“Hey.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Dean’s voice was rougher than normal, tired even, but you could still detect trace amounts of tenderness weaved into it. Just from that one word, you knew Sam was right: things were much worse. “Hey,” you greeted back, doing your best to keep the worry from your tone. “There you are. I’ve been trying to call you.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I meant to call you back. It’s just, we’ve been dealing with Metatron. Sam thought we might have a shot and we had a limited time frame since he was on loan.”

“That’s okay,” you softly assured him. You knew exactly what happened with the dick Scribe and how he had goaded Dean into almost losing control. You were glad Cas had returned him to his jailers in Heaven because if he had still been around when you got there and there was an angel blade within reach, you would have done much, much worse to him than the eldest Winchester had. “I’m about thirty minutes out from the Bunker. I’ll be there before you know it,” you murmured soothingly.

“Actually, I’m on my way out right now.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “Where are you going? I thought—”

“I won’t be gone long. I’m, uh, doing this meetup with Claire. Cas asked me to reach out to her to talk. So we’re going to have a quick sit down.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Claire? The girl who wasn’t returning your calls until…”

“I see Sam’s got you up to speed,” he muttered. You didn’t bother saying anything to that; you weren’t going to apologize for getting the scoop from Sam when Dean hadn’t responded to any missed calls until now. “Look, she called me last night to set up a time and place to meet. I’m headed there now. Shouldn’t be long. And then I’ll be seeing you,” he ended, a softer touch applied to his tone.

Something wasn’t sitting right with you about this. According to Sam, Dean had brutally slain everyone in that living room (well deserved in your opinion) and Claire had seen the end result. The teenage girl had run out on Cas again and she wanted nothing to do with any of them, especially Dean. She held him responsible for killing her “family”. She hadn’t taken any of Dean’s calls and ignored the voicemails he’d left until last night. Something definitely didn’t smell right. “Where are you meeting her?”

“That RV park about fifteen minutes from here.” The sound of him clearing his throat came down the line. “Look, I’m going to get this done and hurry back, okay? I really wanna see you.”

You couldn’t help but let a small smile slip onto your face. “I know. I want to see you, too.”

“Won’t be long. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

“Okay. Be safe and good luck. If you need backup, call me.”

You could hear him chuckling. “If you were closer, I might just take you up on that.”

You had been serious but you played along. “Teenage girls don’t scare me.”

“Well, they scare the hell out of me. Especially this one. She’s…had it rough.”

“I’m sure she has.” Your instincts were practically screaming at you.

“Yeah. Alright, sweetheart, let me go take care of this. I’ll see you right after.”

“You got it. Talk soon,” you swiftly agreed.

When the line disconnected, you pressed down on the gas pedal, flattening it to the floor. “You’re going to see me a lot sooner than you think, Dean,” you muttered as you flew down the highway.

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Cas sat at the table in the library, doing his best to focus on the book in his hands. He tried to ignore the sounds his super hearing was picking up on and let them fade into the background. It was something he’d always done whenever Dean had brought back company at one of the various motels they’d stayed at. Most of the time he had either tuned into Angel radio to check on the status of Heaven and the other angels in order to drown out the other noise, or he’d vacate the vicinity altogether until the next morning. Now, while it still bothered him slightly to hear the human he felt this great love for take pleasure in someone else, he had pretty much accepted that his relationship with Dean would never expand into that area, no matter which form he took. Dean just didn’t view him that way and he made it pretty clear that while he loved Cas, he wasn’t in love with the angel. And the love he felt was more of a brother and best friend, family even. At first, it deeply hurt, but Cas had always known that he would take whatever he could of the hunter who’d made him feel things on a scale he never had in all of the years of his existence. He hadn’t lost Dean, like he feared he would once he returned and the two would have to talk about that moment before The Empty took him. He still had as much of Dean as he did before he was taken, which is to say not much. Oh sure, they had grown closer over the years, bonded like family as Dean had said, and even co-parented Jack together with Sam, but Cas never really had him. And the angel supposed the same could be said for him when it came to Dean. Though now, Dean could have what he wanted and much more, if only he wanted it. Which, sadly, he didn’t. He wanted his best friend and his family back, but nothing else.

Things were awkward between them and Cas could see Dean trying his hardest not to make certain jokes about Cas staring at him like he had before and he’d actually tried to be more considerate now that he was aware of the angel’s feelings. But once they began hunting and working together again, they fell into a familiar routine and most of that tension and uncertainty all but melted away. Cas was actually okay with how things were. He had never expected that Dean would feel for him what he did for the hunter and he was alright that things had gone back to the status quo. It didn’t change his feelings or the intensity of them but he was there for Dean however Dean needed him. And he was content with that as was Dean.

Until you showed up that is. Cas knew right away the moment he saw Dean’s eyes light up when he talked about you and his gaze lingering on you as you talked to Sam about a case. It wasn’t a leering gaze, though he could sense Dean’s attraction to you from a mile away, but a warm one. His physical attraction grew the more time you spent with the brothers and pretty soon, Cas could sense Dean’s longing for you as well. You weren’t just some hunter the elder Winchester wanted to have some fun with. He actually began to form a bond with you, one where he started to trust you and craved an emotional connection with you. It wasn’t long before he had you sat down in his Man Cave watching all of his favorite movies with him, both of you laughing in similar places, having epic popcorn battles (which he always seemed to lose and that confused Cas because he knew what a formidable opponent Dean was in battle), and eventually snuggling together on the couch. A friendship had formed that soon grew into something else, as Cas and Sam found out one night by coming home from a hunt earlier than expected.

When both of them walked into the kitchen, they found Dean standing there, a sheepish grin on his face, stark naked. Thankfully, the steel counter covering his lower half kept certain things from being seen that might scar Sam for life but Cas could hear certain sounds as well as your heartbeat that let him know that Dean wasn’t alone.

“Uh, hey fellas. You’re back early,” Dean rushed out breathlessly.

Cas’ eyes detected a thin layer of sweat on Dean’s skin and a familiar scent was surrounding the man.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam answered, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I guess you’re…”

“Well, I’m not baking cookies if that’s what you’re—” Dean suddenly reacted to something that made him let out a nervous laugh as he bent forward slightly, digging his fingers into the counter. “Kind of,” he forced out, his voice slightly higher than before.

Sam looked thoroughly grossed out, his nose scrunched up in disgust. Cas half expected that at any moment, Sam would give his brother a hard time about indulging in such activities where they cooked and ate their food.

A faint pop was heard from below by Cas and within seconds, Dean’s body relaxed and your eyes lifted above the counter line, staring at both men across from you. You got to your feet and gave them a smirk. Your hair was messy and you were wearing a flannel of Dean’s that was hanging off of your frame, enough to cover anything that shouldn’t be seen by polite company. “Hi boys,” you greeted them, looking very much like a cat that had eaten a canary as you leaned into Dean, hanging onto his arm. “How was the hunt?”

Though Sam had been repulsed by what he and Cas had walked in on, he now shot a pleasantly surprised look over at his brother who gave him a smug smirk. Sam smiled to himself and nodded. “Successful,” he answered.

“Mmm,” you slipped a hand behind you that neither of them could see and Dean tensed up again, his eyes darkening a bit. “Here, too.” You turned to give Dean a seductive smile and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you further up against him.

Sam nearly laughed watching the two of you. “Ah yeah, we can see that.” The younger Winchester caught Cas’ attention and inclined his head towards the door.

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You leaned against the door, unable to keep from smiling as you watched Dean walking around the nursery with your infant and quietly humming “Smoke On the Water”. He gently patted the baby’s back and continued moving in a swaying motion. You tiredly rested your head against the doorframe, beyond grateful for the image you were seeing. You never thought you would see the day that Dean Winchester would willingly get up for a nighttime feeding but here he was, right in front of you, rocking your recently fed child back to sleep.

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“You’re not supposed to be here,” you muttered.

Jensen’s brows furrowed slightly as he chuckled. “What?”

You realized you had actually just said that out loud. Great. “Nothing.” You quietly cleared your throat. “Sorry. I meant I thought you said you weren’t going to make it.”

“Uh huh. I got done earlier than expected and decided to join you. I hope that’s okay.” He stared at you meaningfully.

While the girls all around the table told him of course it was, his eyes never left you. “Of course,” you forced out. “The more the merrier.”

He graced you with a smile and turned back to the table.

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You groaned loudly when your phone began to ring on the nightstand next to you. On the third you slowly opened an eye and turned to see who was waking you out of a very sound sleep. You let out a louder groan when you saw the name and the time and rubbed at your bleary eyes.

You let it ring a couple of more times as you stared up at your dark ceiling, debating on whether to answer or not. If you didn't answer, there was a good chance you would be getting a lengthy voice-mail, a barrage of text messages, or worse — more calls until you picked up. Or it could actually be an emergency this time. Would you be able to live with yourself if it was and you'd let it go to voicemail, choosing to go back to sleep instead?

You thought it over for one more ring before grabbing for the phone. No, no you couldn't.

You swiped green and immediately held the device up to your ear. “Hello?” You gruffed out. You winced at your gravelly tone and quietly cleared your throat.

“Whoa,” a familiar voice answered. “‘You okay?”

You laid your head back down and shut your eyes. “You know what I sound like when I first wake up.”

“Oh shit,” was let out in a sudden slur. “Did I wake you?”

You nearly rolled your eyes. Great. He was drunk. Again. “It's almost 3 in the morning, Jensen.”

“Fuck, I'm sorry.” If he wasn't the bane of your existence right now, you probably would have smiled at his casual dropping of the F bomb. Not that he didn't curse, but recently he had gotten it into his head that you were a lady (where he'd gotten that sudden notion, you had no idea) and he was making a concerted effort to be “more respectful” around you. Something about how he was raised or something or like that. You didn't understand it but it seemed important to him, so you went with it. Which meant you didn't change a thing or clean up your language at all. Hey, you never said you were a lady; you almost laughed at the thought of his glare when you'd said that to him. But now that he had been drinking, all of that was forgotten and his tongue was loosened. Like it usually did when this happened lately.

“It's okay,” you attempted to reassure him.

“No. No, it's not. I'm gonna let you go back to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow.”

Immediately, you knew something was bothering him. Something in the way he spoke those polite words perked your ears up and had your eyes opening. “No. Hey. Jensen. What's wrong?”

Silence met you and you quickly glanced at the phone to make sure he hadn't hung up. He hadn't.

“Talk to me,” you gently urged.

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You quickly glanced up from your seat on the couch to see Jensen enter the room. You immediately clicked the TV off but from the wide-eyed expression on his face, you hadn’t been fast enough.

He stood there, frozen, envelopes in his hand that he had just retrieved, gaping at the now black television screen. “What are you watching?”

“Uh, nothing, nothing.” You tossed the remote over your head, thankful when you didn’t hear a clatter or crashing sound, and gave him a nervous smile. Jensen may hate the rug back there but you loved it; this just proved you had been right to insist on the placement of the furnishing. “I was just reading.” You lifted the open book in your lap, briefly flashing him the title, before using your thumb as a temporary bookmark. You then cleared your throat and nodded your head towards the envelopes. “Anything good?”

Jensen’s eyes flickered between your forced smile and the television before settling back on you. “Nope.” He continued his trek towards you and tossed the mail onto the coffee table as he took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. “Why were you just watching that?”

You pretended to go back to your book, not willing to meet his penetrative gaze. “I told you, I wasn’t watching anything. You know I like to put on some relaxing music in the background sometimes when I read.”

“That wasn’t music.”

You involuntarily winced and lifted the book higher, forcing yourself to focus on the bold text in front of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He covered the top of the book with his hand and gently pushed it down until you were forced to look at him. “Y/N, seriously, why were you watching that?”

You blew out a heavy breath in defeat, knowing the jig was up. He had been in a Zoom call with his team for the last hour and you hadn’t expected to see him surface anytime soon. So you figured a little perusing of the topic you were reading up on might not hurt. But, truthfully, you had been so engrossed in the video you had found, you hadn’t heard him coming down the stairs or approaching the living room. And now, you had been caught; it was time to come clean.

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The tour guide finished running off the list of possible spirits in the place and when she turned her back to move further down the hall, Jensen’s smile dropped and he directed an annoyed look in your direction.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me doing this crap,” he muttered.

“I can’t believe you volunteered to come here to do said crap and now you’re complaining about it,” you shot back as you warily glanced into open rooms as you passed them by. You hoped like hell you wouldn’t see anything; you had joked about packing an extra pair of pants but you actually hadn’t brought any.

“You mean when you volunteered me?”

You scoffed and turned to look at him. “Okay, that’s a bunch of bullcrap if I ever heard it. For the record, I asked Danneel to go, not you. But when it conflicted with her schedule because of that OTH reunion thing she has this weekend, you immediately said, and I quote ‘Fine, I’ll go’ and pulled a grumpy Dean face while saying it. You even rearranged your schedule to be here tonight, I might add, even though I told you that wasn’t necessary.” You shone your flashlight into another room, thankful when it turned up empty.

“Was I just supposed to let you go alone? Knowing you, you’d tumble down a flight of stairs without adult supervision.”

You shot him a look before continuing to walk ahead. “I wouldn’t have been alone. I was going to ask Rob to go with me.” No, not that Rob. The other Rob who you had been seeing the past eight months.

Now he was the one giving you a look.

more i want better for you...what's better for you than me?:

It was very rare that you and Jensen slept apart under the same roof when he was home. Occasionally, due to an argument, you would grab a pillow and plod your way down to the guest room, angry enough that you didn’t want to be laying next to him or upset enough that you didn’t want him seeing or hearing you cry. But that usually didn’t last the night, because either he would be unable to sleep and seek you out, crawling into bed with you and whispering an apology as he buried his nose into the back of your neck, or you would be the one to do that. You were a big believer in not going to bed angry but you were both human so sometimes it happened, but very rarely did you spend the night apart.

You had even stopped him from taking the guest room on the nights he arrived home late after traveling from a set or coming back from a con. After one such night, when you woke up to no sign of him anywhere until you checked the guest room to find him snoring away, the argument at breakfast had been one of your worst yet as a married couple. Not because of volume or any nastiness, but because you couldn’t hold back the tears that time. Even when he tried to explain that in previous relationships he had adopted the practice to be a more considerate partner, you still couldn’t stop crying.

Jensen’s hand covered yours as you sniffled. “Honey, listen to me. I got back around 2am. I was just trying not to wake you. That’s all it was. It wasn’t about anything else, I swear.”

You had confessed the myriad of thoughts running rampant in your head at that moment you’d found him sleeping separately from you after you’d spent weeks apart due to filming — every single fear but by far the worst one was the point you were going to drive home right now. You framed his face with your hands and stared into those green eyes you loved. “Every single time you come home, I want you in our bed. I don’t care if you wake me. I want to know you’re safe, dammit!”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise but then realization dawned on his features.”Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

More tears rolled down your cheeks and his gaze saddened seeing them. “I want to know that you made it home safely. I don’t care what time it is. When I woke up and didn’t see you, didn’t even see your bags, I thought…” You shook your head, sniffling once more. “Please don’t do that again. I appreciate the consideration and selfless intention behind it, I really do, but I love you and I need to know you’re safe. Okay?”

He nodded and pulled you over into his lap, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow, your cheeks, and then your lips. “Okay,” he agreed. “I will make sure to drag my suitcase down the hall, bump into the wall a few times, scare the shit out of you, and burst into our room to say ‘Honey, I’m home.’”

You frowned down at him. “Don’t be an asshole and make fun of me. Not with this.”

“I’m not, I promise,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your head before hugging you to him and dropping his forehead to your shoulder with a sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered, making him tighten his embrace.

The next time he came home late, he made sure to go right into your room, sit on the bed, and gently rub your back, murmuring into your ear that he was home safe before kissing your hair. You had turned a grateful smile on him. “Thank you.” He had returned your smile and kissed your nose before telling you to go back to sleep, that he was going to get ready for bed.

Instead, you had turned onto your side to watch him change clothes and then head into the bathroom to take care of his nighttime routine. You chuckled quietly when you heard the tell-tale bangs and noises he made every night when he was home. He must have heard you, though, because he stuck his head out with an arched brow, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “You’re still awake?” At least that was what you thought you heard him ask you; it was hard to tell with the mouthful of toothpaste he had.

You gave him a little nod in response.

He disappeared for a moment, presumably to spit out the toothpaste, and returned with his toothbrush still in hand. “This seriously doesn’t bother you?” At the shake of your head, he looked stunned. “At all?”

“Have I ever complained before?”

“No, but…”

You gave him a sleepy smile. “You’re home.” Those two words may have been simple but they encapsulated everything for you. He was home, safe, and with you. You knew where he was when you heard those sounds. Perhaps it might have annoyed someone else, or grated on someone after a while, but you never took them for granted. As long as he was here to make those noises, he was here. That’s all that mattered to you.

A slow toothpaste-y smile began to spread on his face and you couldn’t help but laugh at the adorable sight. He vanished again and you could hear the water running as well as a banging noise. A second later, he re-emerged, grinning as he turned the bathroom light off and hurriedly got into bed.

Within seconds, he had you in his arms and was placing kisses to your neck. “You know, since you’re already awake and you don’t mind any sounds, I know of a few other noises we could make.”

“Seriously?” You laughed, feeling him drag his fingernails up your bare thigh.

“Why else would you be wearing this?” He flicked the strap of the silky nightie you wore and playfully wiggled his eyebrows.

You sighed mournfully, playing along, as you watched him remove your hand from his face to place a kiss to your palm. “You know me too well.”

“Damn right I do.” He quickly shed his t-shirt with a cocky smirk and tossed it away from the bed. “And I want to know you, again and again and again.”

“Three times? Some of us have to go into the office early, Casanova,” you teased as he kissed your collarbone.

“Call in sick,” he murmured to your skin. His fingers were slowly working the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. His lips followed the trail of one and you ran your hand through his hair, watching him with adoration.

“I don’t think I can,” you whispered.

“You can.” His eyes met yours and he lifted up to look down at you, cupping your cheek. “I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“I’m home, baby.”

He leaned down and kissed you for the first time since he’d arrived and it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone, least of all you, that you did end up taking a sick day the next day and had your assistant reschedule all of your appointments. You intended on showing your husband just how much you had truly missed him.

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“Jenny,” you murmured. “I need to get back to work.”

“Mmm, no you don’t.” She moved her hand a little to the left and you arched your back, letting out a breathy moan. You then felt her lips near your ear. “You’re close. I can feel it. Let go, babe. Let go.”

The blonde increased her speed and you felt your body start to tense up in an all-too familiar way. “Oh fuck,” you gasped.

She let out a tiny evil laugh and worked her lips from your ear down to your neck, nipping your skin along the way. “You’ve got that right.”

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Hoyt had been there the first time you were invited to one of Beau’s infamous movie nights but once she saw you, she scowled in your direction the entire time, didn’t speak a word to you, turned up the notch on her flirtation with Beau, and never attended again while you were there. It had been so tense you could have cut it with a knife, something you had no doubt the blonde was thinking about doing to you anytime Beau spoke to you or smiled at you, if her glare was anything to go by. Cassie, on the other hand, had been welcoming to you since the two of you met. She definitely sussed you out as you expected her to and you did the same, but once that was past, you both became as thick as thieves. Beau was constantly tag-teamed by you two, the teasing incessant but enjoyable as you saw your friend’s spirits lift and that all-too familiar gleam return to his green eyes. He and Cassie had also become friends when Beau first started with the department and she was good to him. As you got to know her more and more, you had to admit you had a special fondness for the woman and her quirky assistant (though you kept telling Denise to stop cooking for Beau as he had a working kitchen and could cook for himself, which Cassie seconded) and she had more than earned your respect on the job from the few times she and the department worked together. Not to mention that if Beau rode out with Cassie, you felt a hundred times better than you would have if he had ridden out with Hoyt. You knew Beau would be safely returning home that night. You almost wished Cassie would work with the Sheriff’s Department every single day.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Kai didn’t go down easy, even when Denise promised to bake a special batch of her cookies that he could have tomorrow when he woke up.”

Your smile widened and you got to your feet. “No problem. Wait, Denise bakes, too? How am I missing out?”

“Because you are not the sexy lawman from Texas who she adores and whose waistline hasn’t budged an inch despite all of her delicious home cooking,” Beau supplied as he stepped out of the Airstream, three beer bottles in hand.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you took your proffered beer. “I’m pretty sure you told me that you’ve had to go without a belt the past two days but sure, not an inch.” Beau’s immediate glare made you snicker.

“Y/N’s right. Your clothes have been looking a little…snug lately,” Cassie teased. “Must be those pumpkin enchiladas you keep asking for.”

Beau’s expression softened slightly when he approached Cassie, holding out a beer for her to take. “I will have you know that I fit just fine into the clothes I came up here with.”

You knew he was wearing clothes that he had bought since living here, but you kept your mouth shut when you noticed Cassie’s bright smile grow a little as her eyes intently focused on Beau, followed by his murmur of, “Hey, Cass.”

You glanced back and forth between them for a moment before quietly clearing your throat and bursting that bubble they were in. “So, the sexy lawman from Texas over here wants to watch yet another John Cusack romance movie.” You ignored Beau’s playful scowl in your direction and continued, “I told him I would prefer horror myself. So what say you, Dewell? You’re the deciding vote. What are you in the mood for?”

Cassie shrugged. “A John Cusack romance? I could get behind that.”

Beau’s answering smile was immediate. “Yeah?”

Cassie bit her lip, trying not to grin, and let out a quiet “Yeah.”

You watched as Beau’s stance relaxed and he tipped his bottle to Cassie’s. “John Cusack it is. You’re outvoted, Y/L/N, just like I knew you would be. Nice try, though.”

But you couldn’t be too bothered at being made to sit through yet another cliche romantic comedy right then. Instead, you focused on your two friends who settled into their familiar banter as Beau began to set up the movie. And instead of the sinking feeling from earlier making a reappearance, a new lighter feeling took its place. You even smiled, watching the two of them, not even minding that you had been reduced to the third wheel for the evening. You knew that Beau had been stuck on Carla for a while after the divorce, which was to be expected, but you did hope for his moving on eventually. And from the looks of things, it didn’t seem like you needed to worry about him as much as you had anymore.

Well, that was until your best friend went and got shot. The thought made your blood boil once more and your jaw tensed. Not even the sight of Cassie giving Beau a tender hug and the latter settling against the woman, clearly relaxing in her embrace, could chip away at your fury or deter you from the chewing out you had planned for Hoyt.

The doctor waited patiently for Beau to reassure Cassie as well that he was okay, and only when Cassie sat next to Beau on the bed with her hand gently rubbing his back did the man then begin talking once more.

He didn’t get too far when a certain blonde practically burst through the door.

“Beau!”

Hoyt hurried over to the sheriff, practically pushing the doctor out of her way in her frantic rush to get to Beau. Cassie had discreetly moved her hand away and put a little distance between her and Beau, making the latter’s eyes tighten. You practically ground your teeth as you seethed. It was a near damn miracle that you hadn’t grabbed Hoyt by her blonde hair and dragged her as far as you could from your best friend.

“Thank God you’re alright. Pop said you were going to be okay but I just had to come and see for myself. I’m really sorry about what happened. I didn’t see that third guy,” she rushed out in apology.

You clenched your fists. Your suspicion had been all but confirmed; this was Hoyt’s fault.

Beau held up a hand to reassure her but you cut him off before he could speak. “Hoyt,” you ground out. All eyes turned on you, Hoyt’s narrowing as expected. “A word.”

Cassie’s jaw dropped and she glanced between you and the blonde worriedly. “Ah, Y/N, Jenny’s just a little upset. Why don’t I—”

You shook your head, your glare for Jenny alone. “Now,” you practically growled.

Hoyt scowled right back at you and after a moment, she nodded. “Right now,” she agreed.

You gestured for her to go first and she practically stormed out of the room, with you right on her heels. Beau tried to catch your attention. “Y/N…,” he began warningly.

“This doesn’t concern you, Sheriff. Doc,” you snapped out, making the doctor jump slightly. “Finish up what you need to tell him so we can take him home already. I’ll be right back.” You spun around and stepped out of the room, seeing Hoyt waiting for you, not looking intimidated or worried in the least.

“Well?”

You held up a finger and then beckoned her to follow you. She scoffed but did so, following you into an empty patient room you found. You shut the door and made sure to close the blinds after flipping on the light and securing the lock. This conversation was better had behind closed doors. You turned around to find the other woman scowling, her arms crossed in front of her.

“What the hell were you thinking, Hoyt?” You demanded. “You could have gotten him killed!” You could see a slight wince that she tried her best to hide but you had seen it. Good. She deserved to feel some guilt after what her actions caused to happen today.

“I knew you’d blame this on me!”

“You didn’t see the guy, you said so yourself! Let me guess, you just charged in there without backup and Beau had to run in after you to make sure you didn’t get killed, again!”

Hoyt’s own jaw tensed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual.”

“I don’t?” You got closer, not intending to do so aggressively or intimidatingly, but to make her hear you. “Beau has told me himself how many times you’ve done it. Hell, Cassie has told me about the time you ran into that Ron Pergman guy’s house!” You noticed the fire in her eyes dim slightly at that revelation. “What is it going to take for you to get it through that stubborn head of yours that you don’t just rush into any situation without having proper backup?”

She moved closer. “I have been a cop for a lot of years. I know what I’m doing and you don’t get to question how I do things. You’ve been here for what, a month?”

“What the hell does that matter? That has nothing to do with how reckless you’re being and the lives you’re putting in danger every single time you are, both civilian and law enforcement. I’ve been a cop for a lot of years, too, and when Beau brought me here, he gave me the same amount of authority as you. And while I know that burned your ass, this is exactly why he called me to come up here! Because now I’m temporarily in charge while he’s out, and the first thing I’m doing is putting you on suspension.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t have the authority to do that!”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Actually, I do. Effective immediately, you are hereby suspended. I will review your case and get back to you within the week.”

You turned to leave when she stormed right over to you. “You can’t do that!”

You stared her down. “Watch me.”

At this point, you should have turned and walked away before anything could turn physical. Thanks to Beau and Cassie (and Denise, Pop, and Madge), you were more than aware of her temper and how quickly it could be set off. And from the look of things, that seemed to be exactly what was about to happen. Her breath had quickened and her chest was rising and falling in rapid succession. You literally were waiting for her to throw the first punch.

One thing you had to give the woman, she was beautiful. Even this pissed off, up close, she was a sight to behold. Her long blonde hair thrown into a messy ponytail, some wayward strands sticking to her face, her blue eyes full of that familiar stubborn fire, her lips slightly parted to allow her shallow breaths to escape. You silently cursed yourself for noticing these things instead of stoking the furious fire deep within you.

You forced yourself to double down in order to ensure your proper focus and moved even closer until there was only a few inches between you. “This has been a long time coming, Hoyt, and you know it.”

You waited for the shove or swing that statement would surely provoke, but the last thing you would have ever expected happened instead. “It has,” she murmured and her eyes dropped down to your own lips. Before you could wonder what she meant, before your brain could catch up to what was happening, before you could even react, she launched herself at you, her lips pressed up against yours.

Your brain literally short-circuited and you froze, not fighting her one bit when she pushed you up against a wall. She kept kissing you and you could feel her tongue swipe against your bottom lip but still you didn’t do anything. Jenny Hoyt, the 5’6” blonde spitfire of a pain in your ass since you arrived in Helena, was kissing you as if her life depended on it. Where the hell had this 180 come from?

She must have finally noticed that you weren’t kissing her back, and she broke away, panting harshly, staring up at you in question.

You didn’t say anything and neither did she; you both just stood there, watching one another and catching your breath. You couldn’t form a single thought but that all changed the minute the blonde buried her teeth into her bottom lip followed by a slight blush forming on her cheeks.

That goddamn teeth-biting-the-lip thing again. Your brain may have overloaded and come to a halt before, but now it started up again and it spurred you to do what you did next.

You used your thumb to reach up and work her bottom lip free, making her gasp slightly at the contact. You then spun her around so she was now the one up against the wall and you didn’t give her a chance to react before you were on her, kissing her as passionately as you dared. Remembering the sight of her in that miniskirt that drove you nuts a few weeks ago, you snuck a hand down and lifted her left thigh to come around and rest on your hip. You practically melded yourself against her and only pulled away when the two of you needed air.

“Is this what you really want, Hoyt?” You punctuated your question with a push of your hips into hers, making her gasp loudly. “Or is this just a ploy to keep me from suspending you?”

“Not a—” She gasped again when you nipped near her ear. “Not a ploy,” she rushed out.

You gently trailed your fingertips down her neck towards her cleavage, your eyes following as they did. “You sure?” You purred.

“Yeah,” she panted when your fingers continued their journey, over whatever band t-shirt she was wearing today and down to her belt buckle. You smirked slightly when you finally noticed the name on the shirt. Kiss. How apt.

You let your fingers wander further down and press in once they found their target, making the blonde release a loud breath and rest her head back against the wall, and when you began to move your fingers in an all-too familiar way, increasing the friction through her jeans, she let out a small moan.

Damn, you’d love to hear that again. Again and again. She sure was beautiful, too, when she made pretty little moans like that. You did your best to ignore the new image in your head of her spread out on your bed with that look on her face, making those sounds that you know you could repeatedly get out of her, and forced yourself to focus. You couldn’t afford to get caught up. Not here. Not now.

“You know something, Hoyt.” You abandoned her jeans and instead, leaned in with an arm against a spot on the wall above her head, staring her in the eyes, your smirk getting wider when you noticed her breathing just that bit faster. “You have been a major pain in my ass ever since I got here. Kind of looked like you felt the same way about me. Why the sudden turnaround if not to get something you can use against me and get me out of the department, and your life, for good?”

Her brows began to furrow. “No, that’s not—”

A loud knocking on the door interrupted her and you moved quickly away from her, both of you turning to look. You felt a bit of relief at seeing you had remembered to close the blinds and lock the door. You could have been in some real trouble had you not, and you didn’t even want to think about it.

The knock came again. “Hoyt? L/N? The boss man sent me to come find you. With a first aid kit in case that’s needed. Though seeing as we’re already in a hospital...” You recognized Poppernak’s voice and nearly sighed in relief. Though you tensed up again when you realized had it been him or anyone else from the department that walked in on you, you definitely would be in a heap of trouble. Especially considering you were in charge now.

You glanced over at Hoyt and she gave you a pleading look which surprised you.

“Come on, ladies,” Poppernak called again. “Open up. No need to keep duking it out. The sheriff said he wants to get out of here already.”

You smoothed down your clothes and your hair as best as you could, considering the blonde had been running her hands through it while your hands were…elsewhere. You glanced over at her one last time and headed towards the door.

“Wait,” she called, grabbing your hand to stop you.

Your eyes widened and when Poppernak knocked again, entreating with both of you once more to open up, you gestured towards the door. “We’re on a timeclock here. What is it?”

“I… We didn’t finish talking about my suspension.”

So, it had all been a ploy as you suspected. And you fell right into it like the idiot that you were. When would you ever learn? You glared at her and snatched your hand back, making her frown. “Still effective.”

She scoffed. “But we just—”

“Just what?” You challenged.

Poppernak’s knocks were getting impatient as were his pleas through the door. Something fleeted across the blonde’s face too fast for you to determine what it was but you stood your ground. Her jumping you was not going to change your mind about the danger she currently posed to the department. No one else was going to get shot due to her recklessness, not on your watch.

Hoyt ended up surprising you by stepping closer, staring you in the eyes, and not backing down. “Look, I get that you’re pissed at me because of what happened to Beau today. But I did my job, a job I do every single day and I do it well. I am undersheriff of the department and when Beau is not in charge, I am. Not you. So there is no suspension. Is that clear?”

The smirk you wore earlier made a reappearance. It was a shame you two hadn’t met under different circumstances. You had a feeling if you had, you’d be in for a couple of wild nights and that mouth would be put to better uses, like making the sounds she was letting out just a mere two minutes ago. Beau had said she was a little red-assed when he took over for Tubb; you would have been more than willing to make that scenario a reality. The thoughts alone of what you two could have gotten up to in Beau’s office in his absence, something he definitely wouldn’t have thanked you for, were enough to make you consider ignoring Poppernak altogether. But, you still had a job to do, and not one Hoyt’s bullshit could put in jeopardy. Your eyes roved over her quickly. A crying shame. “We’ll see.” You spun on your heel and opened the door before she could retort.

Poppernak glanced between you and Hoyt, scanning for injuries and looking uncertain what to do when he found none. “Uh, it looks like you both are okay. That’s good. The boss said he’s ready to go and he wants you, Y/N, to take him home.” You didn’t bother turning around to see Hoyt’s reaction to that one. Normally, you wouldn’t be surprised at his choosing you but you figured that maybe he would have asked Cassie instead. Today had been a big scare; both you and Cassie had been worried sick the entire drive back. “He asked Cassie to drive you home, Hoyt.” Ah, there it was.

You could practically hear Hoyt rolling her eyes from here. “I don’t need to be driven home, Pop. I have my car. I’ll be fine.”

Poppernak shrugged. “Sorry, but the boss insists.”

You couldn’t help but shoot a triumphant smirk behind you at the offended blonde before making your way past the deputy and out into the hall.

Untitled One Shot Preview:

Jenny leaned in closer and whispered, “I think about that night a lot, too.”

Fuck. She meant the night she introduced you to who she referred to as Jenny 2.0. The Jenny who did her best to move on from her grief, who actually was a ton of fun (especially if tequila was involved), and who you could actually get along with.

Before Beau left, he had made sure to host one last movie night, insisting that you should keep up the tradition in order to help you have an easier time of stepping into his place with both Cassie and Jenny, but especially the latter. He was also loaning his prized camper out to you for the first few months since he planned to stay with Carla and Emily in Houston in the beginning just until he was sure they would be okay. He planned to come back for the camper after the six month mark.

You’d kept up the movie nights as he’d suggested and you noticed right away that you had an easier time with Cassie than you did Jenny. You tried your best to get along with the blonde but she wasn’t happy that you had taken Beau’s old position or that he’d called you to do so in the first place. In her mind, she was more than capable of stepping in as Sheriff; she’d earned it. You and Beau didn’t disagree but the latter had informed you confidentially that the higher ups still weren’t sold on her. So for now, you were simply filling in until either they could woo Tubbs out of retirement or their opinion changed of Hoyt’s leadership capabilities. Beau had tried to sell them on Jenny but he was shut down before he’d even finished his first sentence.

So that’s where you all were at upon Beau’s departure. Despite having an instant dislike and disregard for you, Jenny funnily enough kept coming to movie nights. She didn’t talk to you too much though you tried to repeatedly engage her, and she let you and Cassie do most of the talking in between movie breaks. But one night that all changed.

Jenny was pissed more than usual because you made a call earlier in the day that she didn’t agree with while you both were working a case. You’d made her pull back when she wanted to run a suspect down, without backup, again. Cassie had uncharacteristically fallen asleep midway through the horror film she’d picked and you had gotten up to use the bathroom. When you exited the small space, Jenny was right there, furious (and even more gorgeous if it was possible) and ready to confront you.

“Hoyt, before you start, I had to do it. Had you run in there without backup, you could’ve gotten hurt or worse. I’m not going to let you put yourself in harm’s way because you think—”

Jenny launched herself at you, pushing her lips to yours, and forcing you back up against the threshold, taking you completely by surprise. You knew she had been drinking but it had only been two beers by your count and you’d seen her drink way more in your time in Helena. You could taste said beer as she slipped her tongue into your mouth.

Her hands were everywhere, grasping, sliding, trailing, rubbing, and caressing everything in their reach. Your hair had been pulled out of its loose braid and your lipstick was smeared around her lips. She had even worked your coat off of you and ripped open your flannel, sending buttons flying everywhere. She began to work on your belt next when you stopped her, cupping her face and forcing her to meet your eyes. “Are you sure?”

She gasped for air and nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”

You’d wanted her the first moment you saw her. How could you not? She was beyond beautiful and even though she didn’t let you in, you saw how she was with Cassie and Denise, the victims you dealt with as well as their loved ones, not to mention people in town… She was a walking dream; your very own dream girl had been right here in Helena, Montana all along. Fuck were you sure. Instead of answering her, you leaned in and kissed her, letting that be your reply.

It had been frenzied between you, passionate, and almost damn near primal. You wanted to enjoy every single inch of her and she had wanted the same. Her clothes had gone flying at some point while most of yours stayed on but you were more than okay with that. A goddess was laid out before you, making the most exquisite sounds of pleasure, whimpering at times and begging you for more and harder and faster. You’d fucked her just the way you’d envisioned several times while in the shower or late at night alone in your bed when the urge became too strong. You’d pulled her hair, you’d sealed your front to her back and pistoned your hips into hers, and you’d whispered the dirtiest things into her ear that you’d probably ever said to anyone in your life. You had her against every flat surface you could find and then you moved her to the bed. The camper shook like hell when you went to town on her and somehow through all of the noise, Cassie miraculously slept on. Though your friend had ceased to be a thought in either of your minds as you fucked.

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You had just finished sorting through your mail when you heard a knock on your front door. You glanced at your watch and your eyebrows furrowed as you wondered who would be stopping by this late. You weren’t expecting anyone and you had just gotten home yourself.

You made your way through the living room to the front of the house, glancing through the peephole quickly. Who you saw made your eyes nearly pop out of your head in shock. The last person you expected to ever show up at your door was standing on the other side of it, and not looking well.

You threw it open, your heart beating fast. There could only be one reason why she was here instead of Beau. “What’s wrong?” You rushed out.

Her eyes were wide, looking just as surprised to see you, when you took in more of her appearance. She had some bandaging at her left temple, her eyes were red-rimmed, her mascara was smudged, and her hair was a bit of a mess. Something was definitely wrong and your chest began to tighten.

“Is Beau okay?” You asked worriedly. “Are you?” You gestured to her head.

“Beau’s okay,” she quickly reassured you. “I just…” She sniffled. “Can I come in?”

Relieved to hear that your best friend was alright, you nodded and opened the door wider so she could pass by you.

She gave you a thin-lipped smile as she did. “Thank you,” she murmured.

From what you could tell, she was moving alright, though carefully. You closed the door and immediately returned to her, your eyes scanning the bandaging. “What happened?”

After glancing around your living room, she dug her teeth into her bottom lip and looked over at you. “Uh, there’s no easy way to say it so I’m just going to say it. My mom was kidnapped by some guys and I was in the way.”

Your eyes widened. “What?” You asked in disbelief. “How did—”

“Pops is already working on it. Beau, too. Cassie’s helping but I—” She lifted a shaking hand to her head.

You carefully approached her. “You should be in the hospital,” you urged, using a softer tone.

“I already was, but I couldn’t stay there,” she sighed. “Beau has officially sidelined me for tonight and Cassie is busy trying to work some leads and track them down. I was going to go home but…” Her eyes teared up again and she compulsively swallowed. “It’s still a crime scene and I have no front door right now.” Your eyebrows furrowed at that but she continued. “I thought about calling Denise but she’s been through enough with the break-in at the office and I…I just didn’t want to be alone.” She sheepishly glanced up at you, waiting for your response.

As if her story of what happened to her tonight hadn’t shocked you enough, that last part definitely shocked the hell out of you. Last you knew, Hoyt wasn’t your biggest fan ever since Beau brought you on board over at the department and she seemed more than happy to keep her distance from you. Now, here she was, literally on your doorstep, looking at you like a wounded puppy (literally), and not wanting to be alone… You tried your best to ignore the light fluttering feeling in your lower abdomen by mentally telling yourself to knock it off.

Instead, your eyes flickered over her bandage again and you gave her a simple nod. “Don’t blame you.” You picked up the mail from the coffee table that you had been looking at, knowing you needed to keep her mind busy. “I was actually just about to order some takeout and binge the new episodes of Bridgerton, so if you want to join me, you’re more than welcome.”

A small smile formed on her face. “You watch Bridgerton?”

You shrugged. “It’s my Downton Abbey. Don’t judge me.”

She held her hands up in placation. “No judgment here. I actually used to watch Downton Abbey when it was on.”

You stared at her in shock.

“What?”

“Ah, nothing. I just never thought that show would be on any screens of Deputy Jenny Hoyt.”

“That was my show,” she insisted. “That and 90 Day Fiancee.” She saw your expression and held up a playful finger. “Don’t judge me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No judgment.” You watched as she smiled and sat down on the couch. “I’d offer you a beer or some wine but uh…” You gestured to her head bandage.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Doctor said strictly no alcohol until this heals. I’ll take a little coffee, though, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“You got it.” You hurried into the kitchen, calling back. “Just make yourself comfortable.” While you were in there, you discreetly texted Beau, asking if he needed help with Hoyt’s case. It’s not that you were looking to leave her by herself or even that you wanted to leave really, but by her words, her mother was still missing and she’d been abducted, violently if Hoyt’s head injury was anything to go by. Beau told you they had it and asked you to keep an eye on her, his tone of surprise somehow managing to come through the text. Everyone knew that Hoyt had it in for you and she would never show up on your doorstep. You assured him you would do as he asked and wished him luck, asking him to keep you updated.

“Do you need any help?” Hoyt called.

“No, I’ve got it, but thank you. You just sit there and take it easy, and I won’t answer the APB the hospital put out on you.” You had a sneaking suspicion she had left the ER AMA and considering there was no car of hers outside, she had either gotten a ride or an Uber here. How she got your address, you still weren’t sure about, thinking maybe Pops or Madge gave it to her or she’d somehow gotten it herself (she was a cop after all). But you knew the hospital wouldn’t have let her go just like that, not without someone to drive her home.

Her laugh confirmed it for you and that fluttery feeling from before now happened in your chest at the sound. Why did she have to be so goddamn perfect and so completely out of your reach? Sometimes, you wished you’d stayed in Texas.

You quickly glanced at your reflection in the side of the toaster and you attempted to smooth any out of control wisps of hair. You knew her coming here tonight wasn’t about that, of course, but you didn’t want to look like a total troll either. You hadn’t even had the opportunity to change before she’d dropped by and it had been a long day. You took a deep breath to center yourself, grabbed the coffee you’d made, and made your way back into the living room where the woman who haunted you on a daily basis sat.

Untitled One Shot Preview:

You were out of Pedro before Beau had time to put him in park, rushing to where you saw Cassie in the midst of everything.

“Cassie!”

She spun around to see you approaching, looking somewhat relieved to see you. “Hey.”

You laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Jenny?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she reassured. “Jenny’s okay. Gigi, too.” She glanced behind her and you followed her gaze to see the blonde you had been searching for, talking with an older woman who looked a little like her, next to one of the ambulances. Cassie gave you a kind smile and a nod. You squeezed her shoulder in thanks, hurrying past her. You heard Beau asking from behind you, “Cass, hey, you okay?” but you continued your trek, having only one focus.

You had just made it to your destination when Jenny turned and caught sight of you. Her blue eyes glistened and she gave you a soft smile. You threw your arms around her as soon as you reached her and pulled her into you, your own eyes tearing up when you felt her embrace you back just as tightly.

“Thank God you’re safe,” you whispered to her blonde hair.

“I’m okay,” she reassured but you could hear the slight wobble in her voice.

You pulled back, cradling her face, wiping away a tear that had fallen with your thumb. You studied her, noting that she looked worse for wear: her mascara was smudged around her eyes indicating that hadn’t been the only tear she had shed, and her hair was a little messy — and yet her beauty wasn’t dimmed in the slightest. She still took your breath away, just like she managed to every single time you’d laid eyes on her since you met her.

“For a minute there, I wasn’t sure we’d make it out,” she whispered out brokenly. Another tear shook loose and made a path down her cheek, her reaching up to discreetly wipe it away but not meeting your gaze. Jenny could be tough and she had a thick skin, two things that were invaluable in her career as a cop, but underneath all of that was a warm and caring woman with a good heart — something you loved about her the more and more you got to know her.

“Hey, look at me,” you murmured. When her eyes met yours, you gave her a hint of a reassuring smile. “You did make it out and you’re here with me, safe.” She took a deep breath and nodded. Your smile lengthened and you leaned forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead.

“Jenny?” You both turned to see the older woman she had been talking to before watching you, eyes slightly wide with curiosity. “Who’s this?”

“Oh,” Jenny stepped out of your embrace but didn’t move away from you, gesturing towards you. “This is Y/N, my partner. We work together in the Sheriff’s office. Y/N, this is my mom, Gigi.”

Your eyes narrowed at the woman across from you and you crossed your arms. Ah, the infamous Gigi. You’d heard all about her from Jenny and then some. Not to mention the little sidebar Beau had given you after the whole UC mission went sideways the same day you had been called back to Santa Fe to testify on a case you had been previously involved in.

“Your partner?” Gigi kept glancing back and forth between the two of you. It was more than obvious what she was really asking.

Jenny tensed next to you and you felt a pit in your stomach at her reaction, but chose to focus on Gigi instead. “Yep. Now where’s the 30K you stole from her?”

“Y/N,” Jenny hissed, making you turn your glare on her. “Let it be,” she pleaded more softly.

“You and Beau both got your asses handed to you by the State because of what she did.” Not to mention how hurt Jenny had been afterwards, how torn up she’d been finding out her mother had used her again. You remembered her pain, her tears…no way in hell were you letting that go. “Maybe you’re able to forgive and forget, but I’m not doing either.” You then turned back to Gigi. “So, where is it?”

Gigi and Jenny both went to respond when Beau and Cassie appeared, the older woman’s eyes immediately landing on the sheriff.

“You alright, Jenny?” Beau asked, completely ignoring Gigi.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Jenny gave him a semblance of a reassuring smile.

Beau nodded, taking in the scene before him. “Everything good here?”

“It will be.” You approached Gigi, who tensed, and slapped a pair of cuffs on her before anyone could react, least of all the woman herself.

“What are you doing?” Jenny snapped, hurrying over to you.

“My job,” you answered, lifting Gigi up by the arm none too gently, not even paying attention to her pained moans or the EMT you’d failed to notice next to her telling you she needed to go to the hospital first. “We’ll take her,” you rushed out before turning to see Jenny’s glare laser focused on you. You both then turned to look at Beau.

He and Cassie glanced back and forth between you for a moment, your eyes burning into Beau’s, and after a moment, he nodded. “I’m sorry, Jenny, but Y/N’s right. We have a warrant out for her arrest. We have to take her into custody. Though,” he shot you a look. “We could do that after she gets checked out at the hospital and she’s cleared by a doctor.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “Nonsense. Like I told Doogie Howser over there,” you indicated towards the now scowling EMT. “We can give her a ride.” You pulled Gigi forward. “Let’s go.”

Cassie’s eyes flickered worriedly over to Jenny. The blonde’s jaw tightened and her blue gaze had become the equivalent of ice as it settled on you. You wished she wouldn’t be angry with you, especially not after what she’d just been through, but you weren’t lying — you still had a job to do. And you were going to make sure that Gigi understood just how much of a shitstorm she’d left her daughter to wade through when taking the money and running like she did. You let out a small breath, knowing you’d have your own shitstorm to deal with later, and began reading Gigi her rights.

“It’s okay, Jenny Bear,” Gigi assured her daughter, making you nearly grind your teeth as you spoke. “I’ll be okay.”

You moved her along faster, past Beau who gave you a subtle nod as he laid a hand on the small of Cassie’s back to urge her to move away from the scene and closer to him. Beau was on the same page as you as you knew he would be, especially after Avery. You both were doing your jobs but you also were going to protect your own.

The woman in your custody didn’t miss the movement between Beau and Cassie and briefly glanced back at you, scoffing quietly. “So much for the cute sheriff,” Gigi sighed mournfully.

You glared over at her and yanked her forward a little harder in your bid to have Poppernak take her off your hands. Jenny needed you; no matter how pissed she might be at you, that didn’t change the fact that you knew she did. Once you deposited her good-for-nothing grifter mother into the backseat of a cruiser, you fully intended to make your way back to her, her ice cold glares she reserved for you alone be damned.

#thebiggerbear writing #dean winchester writing #demon!dean writing #jensen ackles writing #jenny hoyt writing

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undermounts · 9 months ago

Text

bite the hand - chapter 4: false idol of mine

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

chapter preview:

The following evening, there is a devil in their campsite.

And it isn’t Karlach.

Read it on Ao3

The next morning, Astarion’s tribunal ends without bloodshed, much to Irileth’s immense relief.

It comes a little close once (Lae’zel unsheathing her greatsword, she holds it like an executioner’s axe—‘Bloodsucker!’) but cooler heads prevail. Namely Wyll’s, of all people.

“At ease everyone,” he says placatingly. “There is no need to spill blood on peaceful ground.”

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you some sort of monster hunter?” Gale interjects, frowning. “I feel as though I am experiencing a disconnect between that title and what is taking place here.”

“Monster,” Lae’zel clarifies. “So, hunt. Our course of action seems quite clear to me.”

“Vampire he may be, but Astarion is no beast,” Wyll explains. “He’s just a spawn. I’m more concerned about his former master.”

“Just a spawn?” Astarion echoes, miffed. But he bites his tongue when Lae’zel’s reaffirms her grip on her sword. “Of course. There are, as they say, bigger fish to fry. I will happily point you in the right direction. A gesture of goodwill, Wyll. ”

Oh, dear gods, Irileth thinks, vexed. Astarion truly is dedicated to his own demise.

“I didn’t say you were harmless,” Wyll retorts and it is clear from his tone that he doesn’t mean that as the compliment Astarion surely thinks it is. “I am only saying being a spawn does not automatically equate to being completely evil. Many are turned without their consent.”

Astarion sneers. “My, my, aren’t you well informed.”

“If you are evil,” Wyll continues, “you can rest assured knowing that I will not let you roam free. For now, consider this your probation. You’d best behave yourself.”

On and on it goes until Astarion is left alone, thoroughly scrutinized but ultimately unstaked. And for all of the threats he received, he looks remarkably unbothered. Smug even. Across the clearing, he meets Irileth’s gaze and smirks.

She’s moving toward him before she’s even realized. Damn it.

“That went quite well, don’t you think?” Astarion says glibly as she approaches. He gestures to himself. “No wooden stakes in my heart. Today is shaping up to be a splendid day.”

“You are certainly in a good mood,” Irileth replies, giving him a once over. Again, looking at him now in the full light of day, the change in him is subtle but considerable. He stands taller, prouder, and not (only) in the arrogant, preening way he did before, when he still pretended to be a noble. He is confident. Secure.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I feel incredible. Powerful. Ready to take on the world!” He grins, laughing lightly, and closes his eyes. His words become more hushed as he continues on, voice full of so much wonder. “I’ve imagined it so many times, but I never thought…I never thought it would feel like this. That I could feel like this.”

“Blood really has this sort of effect on you?”

“Yours does, certainly,” Astarion teases, and his gaze is lidded when he looks at her. “Animals, beasts… not nearly so much.”

“It’s no wonder Cazador forbid us from drinking it.” Astarion suddenly looks away and his fingers fumble with the metal fastenings of his new gloves. His resentment is made clear in the tense lines around his mouth and the deep furrow of his brow. “Why waste perfectly good blood on a bunch of slaves?”

Cazador. Master.

Irileth saw glimpses of the vampire lord through Astarion’s mind last night, though she never got a full look. Oil slick hair, grey skin, and glowing red eyes. She can hear his voice, though there are no distinguishable words, only an aura of malice.

(Gods help the wretch if she ever finds him; she will crack his chest wide open and construct a shrine with his ribs.)

“But I’m not his slave anymore,” he says fiercely, more to himself than her. “I’m free. Conveniently lost. And I’m never going back. Now,” he adds, looking at her, “you all know what I am. Which means I can fight with everything at my disposal—fangs included.”

His smile is all teeth and challenge, which reminds Irileth of the question that has been floating about her head ever since she awoke that morning. “How often do you need it? Blood from people.”

“Mmm, hard to say, really,” he hums, shooting for nonchalant as he examines his cuticles. “Depends on what we do. If we’re just traveling, engaging in some light fighting from time to time?” A shrug. “Then a little nibble every now and then will do just fine. Perhaps when a ripe neck presents itself in a fight?”

Irileth raises a brow. “And if we’re pushing it?”

Astarion’s eyes are intent on hers. His voice drops to a low tenor, purring, “Then I’ll take anything and everything I can get.”

How quickly his moods change! It is nearly dizzying, but despite herself, Irileth feels her insides turn molten. Her brain positively lights up with the fresh memory of him pressed into her back, teeth in her neck. How Astarion groaned when he first pierced her skin, mouth full with the taste of her.

Astarion smiles like they are indulging in the same memory. Then, he reaches out and brushes Irileth’s hair off of her shoulder with a feather light touch. Just when she thinks he is going to caress her neck and the tender marks that still sit there, his fingers alight on the buckle of her armor, adjusting the strap.

With truly—cursedly—impeccable timing, Wyll calls out from the edge of camp where he and Lae’zel stand ready to depart. Irileth must be unwittingly glaring at Astarion because he laughs lowly as he pulls away, all melted sugar and rich smoke.

“Let’s go hunt a devil, darling,” he purrs with his trademark, sinful smirk. “I think it’s high time for you to see just what you’ve done to me, too.”

A little blood, it seems, goes a long way.

With ease, they tear through the gnolls and bloated hyenas that roam in pockets around the Risen Road. Irileth sees now that before Astarion had supped of her blood, he wasn’t even close to reaching his full potential. Being well fed has made him stronger. Faster, too. Better.

He doesn’t fight like she does. Dancing through the thick of it; she waffles between striking where she is most needed and appearing where she is least expected. Prior to last night, Astarion mostly kept to the edges of a fight, but now he dips in and out of the fray—unseen arrow, hidden knife.

It delights Irileth every time his arrow pierces the throat of a beast in her radius, or whenever he drops down from his vantage point, a dark blur limned in silver, and drives his daggers into the back of her immediate foe, priming her death blow.

Lae’zel and Wyll are terrors in their own right. Lae’zel’s unflagging stamina and devastating swings complement Wyll’s concentrated blasts of magic to wheedle the gnolls down. But the two rogues working in tandem are the pressure point upon which the hordes break.

The whole thing is glorious, if not a little repulsive (hyenas whimper-writhing, distended bellies bulging, bursting!) and provides some very fascinating insight into the other uses of their illithid stowaways. When they find the gnoll pack leader, the tadpole twitches, pulses, and Irileth forces her way into her mind without hesitation. She sees the creature’s insatiable hunger, her spoiled devotion to the Voice.

(A bloodied handprint smeared across a slab of stone, it melts into a skull. They yearn to eat the world whole, but the Voice is unrelenting, all encompassing. Absolute.)

Poor, loathsome creature. It would be kinder for Irileth to just kill it, kill it like she has killed all the rest. But the urge within gnashes its teeth.

If you are so hungry, Irileth coaxes into the pack leader’s mind, forcing it to turn its attention to its remaining fellow gnoll hunters, to see them from a new, bloodier perspective. Then feast.

The following evening, there is a devil in their campsite.

And it isn’t Karlach.

Wyll is bound to Mizora, a gods damned devil, member of the Archdevil Zariel’s inner circle. Selfishly, Irileth feels betrayed. She had hoped… He is supposed to be a hero. Pride of the Gate. The Blade of Frontiers.

And now? Now, Irileth doesn’t know.

Serves her right, she supposes, for being so naive as to fall for his chivalrous and heroic persona. A facade, she thinks bitterly—all of it. Astarion would tell her that she is the worst kind of fool—the hopeful kind—for actually believing that once Wyll completed his hunt and was freed of his duty, he would transform into some sort of knight in shining armor, just like in his stories, and put everything to rights. In the end, she is just as responsible for her own disappointment, for believing that Wyll—that anyone else—could save her.

This is quickly becoming a trend, it seems: her being repeatedly tricked by her companions into seeing one thing while reality is quite another.

After Mizora vanished in a blazing puff of fire and smoke, Wyll retreated from the heart of camp to sulk alone by the river. Irileth studies his unfamiliar silhouette, the new horns that curl back from his head.

“Poor guy,” Karlach sighs, kicking the dirt. “Mizora’s a nasty one. There is literally no one in all of Avernus more unpleasant than her. Except Zariel. Fucking devils man.”

At least one good thing came out of all of this, Irileth reminds herself. Karlach’s presence burns beside her, heat rolling off of the barbarian in waves. Irileth maintains what she thinks might be a safe distance, eyeing the flames that lick off of Karlach’s red skin. They’ve all seen first hand today just how hot Karlach can burn, and she has no intention of feeling it as well (even though a part of her fantasizes about it, craves it).

Irileth and the others watched from the road as the toll house smoldered to ruins. The sound of wood snapping and glass shattering echoed from within, and above it all, there was Karlach whooping and hollering in all of her frenzied rage.

“I’m free! Free! AhaHAHAHAHAHA! And I’m NEVER. GOING. BACK! ”

“You’re taking all of this in stride,” Irileth replies now, picking at the side of her thumb. It eases some part of her, to have something to do with her hands. Due to her personal commitment to keep her blades sheathed at camp, she has resorted to this: clawing up her own skin like an undisciplined child.

“It’s hard not to,” Karlach answers, and, evidently also not one to keep still, she bounces from side to side on the balls of her feet. “Don’t mean to monologue, but you’ve got no idea what it’s like, soldier, to finally be free of the Avernus after ten. Long. Years! ” She laughs triumphantly again. “And Wyll! Gods, I’ve gotta be honest—I’m reeling. He barely knows me, and still! He chose my life over his. Been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me.”

Irileth raises her brows. “You don’t think he’ll go back on his decision? Go back to hunting you to get back into Mizora’s favor?”

“Nah. No way.” Karlach waves her hand dismissively. “I’ve spent years dealing with cambions and their ilk. I know how to identify a liar and a swindler. Wyll is a good man. When he was chasing me through Avernus, I thought he was just another sad merc. How wrong I was.”

That gives Irileth pause. They have drastically different interpretations of tonight’s revelations, it seems. Maybe—no. Amiable as Karlach is, Irileth doesn’t want her opinions to be swayed so easily. This is her weakness, she has come to realize: her dependence on her companions’ insight and information to fill in the yawning chasm of her memory. But how to avoid it, when her cratered brain is filled with so many holes?

“So… You wanna give Wyll a pep talk, or should I?” Karlach asks, picking at bits of ash that are speckled around her broken horn, caught in her hair. Then, she drops her hands, swinging her arms around. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your inner dialogue or whatever. You were staring at him for a while, though.”

Irileth shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. Hells, is she tired today. Irileth, in fact, does not want to give Wyll a pep talk. What Irileth wants is to crawl into her tent, and sleep for an age. But wounds fester and Wyll is practically bleeding shame everywhere.

“I’ll talk to Wyll,” she decides wearily. As for that pep talk? She’ll see.

“Oh, and Karlach?” Irileth halts in her tracks, turning around.

“What’s up?”

“We’ll find you a mechanic as soon as possible,” Irileth promises her. “We’re going to fix your heart and get you home.”

Karlach’s grin is even brighter than her flames. “I appreciate you, you know that? Gods, I would smooch that little face of yours if I didn’t think I’d melt it off! First Wyll, and now you—this is the best day ever.”

Irileth smiles at Karlach’s back as she goes bounding over to where the rest of their party sits around the campfire, chatting and eating their rations. It’s only been a handful of hours, but everyone adores Karlach, Irileth included. There is such a light about Karlach, and Irileth cannot help but be drawn in by it; why anyone would try so hard to subject her to so much darkness is beyond Irileth.

“Karlach, my fiery friend!” Astarion looks up when Karlach joins the circle, and his fangs glint in the low light as he exclaims, “Settle a debate for Lae’zel and I, will you? In your opinion, what is the best way to kill a devil? I’m thinking it’s beheading.”

How adorable. The camaraderie that has sprouted up amongst her companions is so sweet it makes her sick. Irileth hurriedly turns away from the others and her smile melts from her lips, vision rimming with red.

Beheading, she muses. A quick death. Too quick. As she makes for the river, Irileth can’t help but wonder: would Karlach’s head still burn if severed from her body?

“Oh. Irileth. You startled me.” Wyll’s head snaps up when she approaches his spot on the riverbank. Illuminated by the light of the full moon, their reflections warp and ripple in the swift moving water—hers pale and ghoulish, his dark and distorted. Wyll gestures to the fallen tree behind him. “You’re welcome to sit, though I’m afraid I will make foul company tonight.”

“Foul company. Is that because you’re in a pact with a fiend?” Irileth asks bluntly as she ignores his offer and stands above him with her arms folded. She’s being unfair, she knows that. But it still smarts, the darkness she feels that she has been left in, without a guiding light.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” Wyll laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head. “I was referring to my presently poor attitude, but that too.”

Irileth is angry with him and she doesn’t quite know why. Or rather, she does know why, but not how to articulate it. Wyll doesn’t know the sadistic thoughts that churn in her vile little head. After all, Irileth has tried in vain not to let her sickness show, fearing what her companions might do to her (and what she might do to them in return) if they saw her true, darkest self. How to tell him—that she is mad at him for failing to rescue her before he even knew to try?

Instead, she draws up something one of their companions (Gale, she thinks) said after Mizora disappeared and Wyll retreated to isolation, tail tucked between his legs in shame. “If there’s a devil at the other end of your leash, she was bound to come around sooner or later.”

Wyll only winces and nods despondently, contemplating his strange reflection before him.

“You should have mentioned your pact, Wyll,” Irileth adds, but the rebuke falls flat on her own ears.

(She thinks of Astarion, unbidden: ‘I spent two centuries at someone else’s mercy.’ He needs someone to blame; this too, cannot also be his fault. ‘You can see why I didn’t trust you at first.’ )

They all have their reasons for keeping secrets, she supposes.

“Did it hurt?” Irileth asks when Wyll still does not rise to her bait, gesturing toward his new appearance. Sharp ridges of scar tissue-like flesh cut across his cheekbones and down his neck, looking for all the world as if someone had snatched Wyll up and carved a crude set of gills into his skin. Even his remaining good eye has been changed to something demonic: inky black scleras that encroach upon a ring of brightest red.

“When Mizora sent me through the Hells? Yes. More than anything I have ever felt before,” Wyll says bitterly, lips twisting with disgust as picks up a stone along the shore and rubs it between his fingers. “But now? The only thing my appearance harms now is my pride. A petty punishment from my petty patron.” His mouth suddenly forms a snarl. “Gods damn her!”

Irileth is silent as Wyll lobs the stone into the river, scattering his warbled reflection into tiny shimmering droplets. He whirls on her, teeth bared with disgust and pain. “Look at me! I did what was right, and Mizora punished me for it. When I made my pact, we had an agreement: I would be hunting devils and demons, traitors and hypocrites! Heartless evils—not Zariel’s victims, not innocent tieflings.”

Then, evidently exhausted by his outburst, Wyll sags forward like a puppet cut from his strings, resting his arms on his knees.

“You must think me a sham. And you would be right.” The moonlight glints off the ridges of his curled horns as Wyll hangs his head dejectedly. “It’s Mizora who grants me my power, but even that is a shadow of what it once was, now that we’ve been tadpoled. By the Helm, what have I become?”

Irileth feels a pang of sympathy (Soft-hearted whelp! She should cut that thing out—quick! Before it cleanses her foul and festering rot!) and her resolve against Wyll defrosts. He looks so miserable, like a wounded dog.

“Why did you make the pact with Mizora?” Irileth questions, because for some reason, it is important to her, to know how the Blade really came to be, and how much of him is real.

She wants to know how badly she misunderstood him.

“Because I had to,” Wyll states firmly, clutching his hand to his chest. “I told you before—of the time I realized the Coast needed a defender. The realm is too big for one man alone; what is a lone rapier to a horde of goblins? A band of cultists? I needed to be more. Someone who could actually help.”

“I understand that, but was there truly no one else you could have bargained with?” Irileth grapples blindly for any information she knows about warlocks and pacts, though of course, she comes up nearly empty handed. “A different being. The archfey?”

“It’s not that simple, and I’m afraid I cannot do much to clarify.” Will sighs wearily although his expression remains kind, if not a touch wry. “Literally. I am forbidden by my pact to tell you the details of how it came to be. Just know that my deal with Mizora was not sought prior, nor was it expected. If there is anything to be learned from my sorry tale it is that devils only come when there are no other options, and not a moment before.”

“So, what? Mizora forced you into your deal?” She wants him to say yes.

“I only wish I could be as blameless as you think I am. But no.” Wyll unsheathes his rapier and holds it up, the sharp blade like quicksilver beneath the moon. Irileth catches his reflection in it, his new devil-marked eye. “Mizora may have forced my hand, but I still decided to make the pact. Because someone had to. Everything I have done since has been for the good of the people. And so I cannot regret it, not even now.”

Wyll turns away from his reflection, closing his eyes. “No matter what kind of horror she has made me into.”

Slowly, over the course of Wyll’s confession, Irileth’s anger deflated; now, it abandons her entirely. Hells.

When they first met, Irileth had thought him unflappable. Unchangeable. She’d looked upon the Blade of Frontiers, saw his easy confidence and warm smile, and thought that this was a man who not only knew no shame, but also never had reason to know. She’d never considered him to be capable of holding such regret nor so much self-loathing.

No, she hadn’t been that kind. She didn’t want him to be more than what she thought he was.

Now, Irileth lowers herself to sit beside Wyll and lightly touches her hand to his shoulder. Wyll looks up in surprise.

“You’re still you, Wyll,” Irileth tells him, although a part of her recognizes she is convincing herself as much as him. “Horns or no, you’re still you.”

She wants to believe in the Blade of Frontiers. She wants to believe that some things can still be saved, even if she isn’t one of them.

Wyll stares at her, a bit starry eyed. Then he smiles sadly and puts his hand over hers. “I’ve let you down, Irileth. I know that.” He sighs heavily, then releases her to put his hand over his heart once more. “But I promise, I will make it up to you. You have my word.”

Irileth withdraws, a protest on her lips. She is at once flattered and… disquieted by his vow. He should not be beholden to her, no one should—it is too much pressure, to be the person someone looks to for approval and guidance.

Irileth squirms. She really had been unfair to Wyll from the start.

Fortunately—or maybe, unfortunately—Irileth is spared from responding. Something snaps in the brush behind them, and in an instant, both Wyll and Irileth are on their feet. Wyll, having already drawn his blade, steps forward, placing himself between camp and their unseen interloper.

Irileth is unarmed, but she knows—oh she knows that her hands require no daggers to reap death. (Open palm and fingers splayed, all the better to feel the sternum crack.)

“Show yourself!” Wyll demands, and (bless him, he still thinks she needs protecting) gestures for Irileth to stand back. “I’ll not suffer any sneaks or thieves tonight.”

His rapier begins to shimmer with green fiendish power and eldritch energy swarms around his clenched fist, ready to fire.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Someone—a familiar voice—shouts, and a woman stumbles forward out of the shadowed forest. A jumble of color, pale blue and purple, like the leaves of an autumncrocus flower. “It’s me!”

Alfira.

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x durge #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #durge #bg3 fic #baldur's gate

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