#Wil isn’t around to do this and she wants him back and he’s not going to be back. not for a while. and it’s not his fault but it doesn’t | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

underground-secret · 9 months ago

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The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x F!reader

Description: After getting a call from John Winchester after no contact for months. The group gets led to a town in which a couple goes missing every year around the same time. But Sam doesn’t want to follow orders anymore, and the town still needs help.

Warnings: Cannon Violence, fight scene (tell me how i did, im still learning how to write it!), arguing, a little angst, talk of crimes, cursing (i think), talk about sacrifices and Pagan rituals (i fricken love learning about Paganism), Y/N gets a little snarky and cocky, use of magic and abilities

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word Count: …14,005

Scarecrow

(Master List, Prev. Chapter, Next Chapter)

“So you’re with the Winchesters?” Adeline says, her voice just as husky and amused as I remembered. It had been months since we talked, I'm surprised she wasn’t mad at me, though maybe she was and she was just hiding it well. “Yes.” I answer simply, waiting for the impending lecture.

“I should be surprised, but I'm not,” She remarks, and I can hear the smirk on her face.

“You know B/N said nearly the same thing!” I laughed lightly, but it soon died down when she didn't join in instead going completely quiet.

“You should have told me.” She says, venom on her tongue, but I know it’s out of worry. “No text, no call, not even a letter! I show up at your house. Not only are you not there I have to find out from your co-workers that you quit and haven’t been in contact with anyone. Did you quit because of those Winchesters? ‘Cause I swear to God I wil-“

“No!, quitting had nothing to do with them.” I cut her rant off, “Look Addie I'm sorry. I got so caught up in it all I didn’t think of telling anyone.” I sigh, leaving out the part I forgot I had people who cared about me—which is so stupid. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you. But that isn’t what I called for…”

Suddenly a sharp demanding knock sounds at my door. I don’t move for a second, watching it, “One sec, Addie” I place my phone down on the bed pulling back the heavy blankets. I tiptoe to the door, the rough carpet dragging on my feet. I take a deep breath preparing myself for the worst, I unlock the door, creaking it open just wide enough to see who is there.

Dean stands there, his eyes wide and his hair a little messy, still in his pajamas. A black shirt and some plaid pajama pants, though I figured he might have thrown those on before coming to my door- I knew he wasn’t foreign to sleeping with just a shirt and underwear on. I open the door further, “Are you okay? What happened?” I spew out.

“Get dressed. Dad called, ‘doesn't want us following him. He's going after the thing that killed Mom, says it’s a demon. He gave us a bunch of names and needs us to go investigate. Meet by the car.” He answers quickly. I stared at him, all of this was rushed, we barely got any sleep and we were already leaving rather quickly. He looks me over, nods, and then walks away back down the hall to his room, giving me no chance to ask if he was okay.

I closed the door a little shocked, making my way back to my phone and before it was even by my ear I heard the impatient click of her nails against some hard surface, “Now what” she huffed. Definitely mad at me. “I’ll have to call you back later” I sigh, “I need to go.”

“No you don’t get to just call me—“ She nearly yells but I cut her off again, “Addie I promise I’ll call you back.” The line goes silent for a beat and I wonder if she’s still there.

She sighs, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay” I smiled sadly, yet even as the words passed my lips my stomach twisted itself, “I will call you.”

“Fine.” She huffs but she doesn't sound so convinced.

“I love you, Addie.” I say, and I mean it.

“I love you too. Stay safe, and call me!”

“Alright, just to double check all those names are couples?” I ask from the back seat of the Impala, copying notes down on a little notepad. “Three different couples. All went missing.” Dean confirms from the passenger seat. The darkness of the night cloaks us in its cold embrace.

“You said they were from all different states, Washington, New York, Colorado, and all went missing at the same time each year trying to travel across the country. But is it possible that it’s just a serial killer? Not to undermine your fathers findings.” I explain motioning my pen around as I speak, “I mean it is possible the suspect lives in Indiana, knows the roads well, and which way people go when road-tripping. Then being able to intercept them therefore fulfilling his or her urge. Then that kill can satisfy them till next year.”

“I guess, but they always disappeared in the second week of April. One year after another after another. That’s pretty weird.” Dean points out.

“Not necessarily, serial killers can have a certain connection to a date like an anniversary of something. Feeling only the need to do such an act during said time.” I ramble.

“Well, we’re still checking it out” Dean answers plainly, practically shutting down my theory. I guess it’s safer to check but it’s nighttime. I didn’t get any sleep, they barely got any sleep, and rushing over to Indiana in a 3-hour long car ride doesn't sound so fun if it turns out not to be a supernatural thing. “And this is the second week of April.” Sam remarks.

“Yep.” Dean nods.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer.

“Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obituaries Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.” Dean beams, flipping through the papers he had on the missing couples. He very clearly looked up to his Dad in some manner, even though he wasn’t deserving of such praise. I know Sam feels this way too, he never had an issue calling out John and he certainly can see all that’s wrong with how they grew up. The thing is I know Dean knew too, he was just trained to be loyal.

I watch Sam in the rearview mirror, his nostrils flaring in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel harder until the knuckles turn white. He pulled the car off to the side of the road, sharply, my body jerking at the motion. “What are you doing?” Dean asks confused, straightening the way he sat.

“We’re not going to Indiana.” Sam says firmly.

“We’re not?” Dean replies, shock and amusement written on his features.

“No. We’re going to California.” Sam answers, “Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.” Sam reasons, and I don’t disagree.

“Dad doesn’t want our help.” Dean argues, his voice getting louder.

“I don’t care.” Sam answers rather calmly.

“He’s given us an order.” Dean bites, using one of his favorite excuses.

“I don’t care.” He repeats himself, this time more firmly, “We don’t always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain.

“Please stop fighting, why don’t we work this job, put all our energy into it. Work it quickly. Then immediately head to California, both of you win” I offer, always the person trying to cool the fight down and offer some sort of solution. But even as the words leave my mouth I know I’m wrong, this argument is more than working a case or chasing demons. This is years of grief built up. Sam half turns to view me, his eyes are pained and I almost think he might be close to tears, “It won’t be enough. You said it yourself. My Dad moves fast, if we don’t head there right now we’ll miss him entirely.” He looks between both of us now as he adds, “But I’m talking one week here, to get answers. To get revenge.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, look, I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Sam spits, nearly yelling. “How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

Oh. This is old grief on top of new grief, he hasn’t coped with the loss of his girlfriend not that we could have expected him to. It’s too soon. These emotions are too raw, too new. Dean matches his brother yelling, “Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us. I mean, he knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.” Sam argues, looking at his brother strangely.

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells. The tension has exploded, the car falling quiet in its aftermath. My dislike for their father seemed to grow ten folds, to make your own child feel like that—

“Dean, that’s no—“ But before I can say anything more about it Sam exits the car. Slamming the door behind him. Dean and I get out of the car following him to the trunk where he unloads his things from. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks.” Dean yells.

“Dean!” I snap, “This has gone far enough, you don’t get to say things like that, he’s your brother! Both of you calm down, please.” I didn’t want Sam to be treated like this, not from his brother who I know cares about him. “No. It’s okay, Y/N” Sam says calmly, his movements slowing as he stares his brother down, “Is that what you really think?”

“Yes, it is.” Dean gives a single sharp nod.

“Well.” Sam shuts the trunk, “then this selfish bastard is going to California.” he puts his backpack on and starts to walk away.

No. This can’t be happening. “Dean,” I say desperately, he has to apologize or stop him so they can talk it out. This isn’t my place but I can’t watch this happen. He looks out at his brother, “Sam, come on. You’re not serious”

“I am serious.” Sam responds, still walking away.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean yells out, “Hey, we’re taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?”

Sam stops walking, turning around, “That’s what I want you to do.”

I let out a frustrated groan, “What the hell is wrong with you both?! Just talk it out, we can come to some sort of agreement or—or reason with each other.” I practically beg. Both their eyes fall to me but Dean just responds with, “He’s made up his mind” his eyes turn back towards his brother, “Goodbye Sam.”

I stand frozen, eyes wide, this is not happening.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist, his hand warm despite the cold night, practically dragging me to the passenger side of the car. He waits for me to sit and buckle myself before closing the door and making his way to the driver's side. He gets in, putting the car in drive.

I watch Sam turn back around and walk away in the car's side mirror. Dean must have been watching too because he slams his fist on the steering wheel, takes a deep breath, and then does it again and again. I place my hand over his just as it connects with the steering wheel again. “Dean…” I say softly, but it comes out more like a plea. His hand goes still under mine, and when I turn my face to look at him, his eyes are glossy.

He does not turn to look at me though, keeping his eyes straight ahead at the dark road. “Dean” I say weakly, letting out a shaky breath feeling my own eyes welling up, “please, stop the car.” He listens, slamming on the brakes, my body jolting at the sharp stop. He snaps his head towards me, “Why so you could leave too?!”

I lean away from him retracting my hand, placing it on my lap, “No” I say quietly. But his reaction made me want to leave, the tears in my eyes finally fell over, spilling down my cheeks, “Do not take your anger out on me.” He sighs, turning his face away from me, cursing.

“I know you don’t want to hear this…but you must” I begin to say, having to pause to clear my voice of its shakiness, “I care for you both a lot but I’m so sick of you guys constantly fighting over something stupid when all you have to do is talk.”

“That's easy for you to say.” Dean snaps back, still looking away from me.

I huff, annoyed, “See! You get all standoffish instead of dealing with your emotions and I know that's what you’re used to but you don't have to be that way around me of all people.” He goes quiet, with no snappy comeback or even a grunt of annoyance. His jaw clenches and I wonder if that's from anger, trying to hold back tears, or both. “What if were destined to always hate each other,” he says quietly, and I know he means him and Sam. “He doesn't hate you, and I know you don't feel that way either,” I answer softly, even when I know what he truly means. He turns his head towards me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “Then why does he keep leaving?!” he says through gritted teeth the last word coming out as if he spit venom.

In truth, I can't possibly know what he feels. He raised Sam and was there every moment of every day. He saw him take his first step and say his first word, brought him to school, fed him, put him to bed, and kept him safe. I was more like Sam in that aspect, I was the youngest with an older brother who took care of me and looked out for me. Honestly more than our own Dad, maybe that’s why he and Dean got along together so well- a shared understanding.

So, no, I could not understand exactly what he felt, not even a fraction of it. But even despite that I reached my hand out carefully, my fingertips barely brushing his cheek before pausing giving him time to pull away and hide if he wanted to. He didn't. I cup his cheek, whipping away another tear that fell. His green eyes seemed softer then like his anger had diminished enough but still lay beneath the tears. I don't have all the answers, “I know it may not seem like it, but he isn't leaving you. He went off to college ‘cause he wanted a chance away from this life. Even now he is going in hopes of stopping what started this all, he’s going to come back…your brothers you can't escape each other even if you wanted to.”

It's not a solution, and I don't expect it to help. But all I can do is hope it eases something in him. He leans his face into my hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath in.

In one quick motion, I unbuckle my seat belt with my free hand. He must have known what I was going to do because he removed his face from my hand only to put the car in park, release his seat belt, and turn his body so I could hug him properly. I close the distance between us so I can wrap my arms around his neck, his body immediately reacts to my movements. His head falls to the crook of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls my body impossibly closer and tighter.

His breathing gives him away, his warm breath coming out uneven against my neck a wetness forming against where he resides. I don't say anything about him crying, or anything at all, I just move my hand up and down his back in soothing motions, hoping to ease him.

I do not know how I managed it but after he finished crying I got him to switch seats with me so he could rest while I drove. I've never driven the Impala before, maybe this was him showing me he trusted me even though I already knew he did, or maybe it was tiredness overtaking him. But the drive was pretty straightforward and it was dark so there wasn’t a worry about other cars.

He managed to drift off, which I was envious of but I was more proud of being able to drive Baby to notice my exhaustion. I even got to play music that wasn’t the usual rock songs he liked to play, which I don’t have any problem with but a change is nice sometimes (even if I played it very quietly so he could rest).

Just as we pulled into the small town he woke up, grumbling a “good morning” before staying silent the rest of the time. He went on his phone at one point, pulling up the contacts but ultimately he did not call anyone. “Ok, ready?” I ask, shutting off the car after pulling into a spot.

“Yeah” He nods, his voice still a little gravely from sleep. I hand him back his keys before exiting the car, the pure feeling of accomplishment pulling over me. I drove Baby accident-free and made it to the destination! I’m so good!!

We walked up to the only person in sight, an older man sitting on a wooden rocking chair in front of a café. Maybe it was too early for anyone else to be out, it certainly felt too early to be up though I guess I never really went to sleep.

“Let me guess,” Dean points to the store's sign that reads Scotty’s Café, “Scotty.” He looked proud of his stupid joke if you could even call it that, a dumb grin on his face. Scotty looks up at the sign and then back at us looking unamused, “Yep,”

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham and this is Pat Phillips” Dean introduces us both, and I want to glare at him for using a member from a popular band's name but if Scotty doesn't know then the glaring would give it away.

But of course, our luck has long run out, “Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?” He looks at Dean pointedly then at me, “And his wife?” Now I really do glare at him, I didn’t know Pat Phillips was Bonham's wife! I barely knew Bonham was the drummer for Led Zeppelin, only remembering because of Dean rambling about it. Dean looks at me, eyes raised as if to silently say he didn’t think he would know. He turns back to Scotty, shock clear on his face, “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.” Alright, he wasn’t even trying to deny it, great.

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks anyway and I’m surprised he didn’t completely write us off. Dean takes out two pieces of paper from his pocket, unfolding the missing person's flyers. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty takes the flyers, barely studying them before answering, “Nope. Who are they?” Huh, that was a little weird, I would think he would want to think harder about it. I study the older man but his face reveals nothing, no fear in his eyes.

“They’re really close friends of ours, honestly we’re worried,” I explained while trying to test him, if he is responsible and he knows friends are looking for them and hasn’t given up he might crack a little. “They’ve been missing for a year now, passed somewhere through here. And we already asked around Salem and Scottsburg—“ But he doesn't let me finish my list, “Sorry.” He hands back the flyers to Dean, “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Once more his eyes and face reveal nothing but still something about him is coming off weird.

“Scotty, you’ve got a smile that lights up a room, ‘anybody ever tell you that?” Dean tells him, earning a glare from the man himself. Dean chuckles, amusing himself at this point, “Never mind. See you around.”

I wait until we’re back in the car to say something, Dean taking his rightful place in the driver's seat, “Is it me or was that guy acting weird about this all?”

“Nah, he just doesn't have expressions,” Dean responds. I laughed, “That is not what I meant!”, I turned in my seat to face him, “Okay if someone came to you and was all like ‘my friend went missing and she’s been gone a long time and I think she passed through here do you know anything.’ Wouldn’t you really study the photo and try and think back, especially cause it’s a year ago. Scotty barely looked at the photo!”

He seems to contemplate what I said, “ ‘Could also just be a jerk.” he responds. I let out a frustrated sigh, “Dean.”

“Alright, you could be onto something sweetheart. We’ll keep asking around.”

Our next stop is a sort of Gas Station, all road trip essentials lining the walls from maps to mixed nuts. Aka the perfect place someone would stop at on their trip. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or something?” Dean asks the older couple working.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em. You said they were friends of yours?” The man who introduced himself as Harley responded.

“Yes, dear friends,” I answered.

“Did the guy have a tattoo?” A sweet blonde girl probably around our age asks, coming down the nearby stairs with a large box in her hand, her face just barely visible. “Yes, he did,” Dean responds. She puts the boxes on the counter and looks at the picture of the dark haired Vince then back up at the couple, “You remember? They were just married.”

Harley’s eyes suddenly widened making a little ‘oh’ sound, “You’re right. They did stop for gas. Weren’t here’ more than ten minutes.” Dean and I shared a look, now this guy wanted to suddenly remember. “You remember anything else?” Dean pushes further.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate. They left town.” Harley answers, finally sharing some truth. These townspeople were strange. “Would you be able to point us the same way?” I ask him, eyeing him carefully.

“Sure.”

Dean drives down the long road, slower than usual, both of us looking for anything unusual or suspicious. There was undoubtedly something going on whether it was supernatural or not. But there wasn’t much near us, just trees and endless roads.

We pass by what looks to be an orchard, apples hanging from the lush trees.

If I was kidnapping and possibly killing people I would choose somewhere along this Interstate, it was practically dead and no one would suspect anyone driving here even late at night. My thoughts are cut off by a violent buzzing noise coming from just behind me, most likely in the back seat. I turn to Dean, giving him a confused look, he turns his head to the back of the car looking instead of the road. “Dean. Road” I remind him, his eyes going back where they belong.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, shifting myself so that I was kneeling on the seat. I lean over the back seat, having to drop down low to reach his duffle bag, the top of the seat digging into my gut. My ass is definitely sticking up in the air and most likely close to Dean, but I ignore the embarrassment of that idea as I shuffle through his bag. I move one of his shirts around, finding the cause of the loud noise, “It’s your EMF” I call out hoping he can hear me even with my head still buried in the little space between the floor of the car and the backseat. I grab the box, the medal heavy in my hand.

I lift myself up and back to my seat half turned and sitting on my legs, it continues to buzz violently, the meter blaring to the red. “‘Think it’s the orchard” he announces, pulling the car off to the side of the road. We venture into the trees.

The ground was soft beneath my shoes, a light morning dew still clinging to the grass. If this was any other day or occasion I’d say it’s a rather nice orchard but the EMF has not stopped, and I think if it could go any further red it certainly would be there.

The trees were all lined up, apples scattered about the ground and a potent scent of rotten fruit following it. From where we pulled over it wasn’t hard to find the middle of the orchard, the trees cut down in almost a circle, except some paths that broke away in various directions.

A tall post stood in the middle, a creepy scarecrow on it. It looked rather human and full rather than stuffed with straw. Its face looked like a mask with stitches adorning it and hollow eyes, greasy long hair flowing from beneath his fedora. The only scarecrow-like thing about him was the fact he was tied to a wooden post and had a sort of jumper with patches on it, though the added black trench coat contradicted this. And in his hand was a sickle, what was meant to be used for agriculture only made him that much creepy.

Its head was leaned down, and looking up at it made it only seem like he was staring down at us with those empty eyes. “Dude, you're fugly.” Dean says out loud and I almost expect the thing to move or respond, but it doesn't. “Maybe you should say sorry to him.” I practically mumble to Dean. If it came to life I didn’t want a target on his back for insulting it, or mine if it thought I was guilty by association.

“Why would I say sorry?” he counters.

“So that he doesn't kill you if it comes to life!”

“I think it’d kill us either way”

Rationally I knew he was right, but the thought of something like a doll or in this case a scarecrow coming to life creeped me out a little too much, “Good point, but he is horrifying.”

“Yeah, horrifyingly ugly” He chuckles at his own joke, a stupid smile on his face. I try to hide my own laughing, not wanting to encourage him.

“I think I see something,” He murmurs. He moves back, turning to the closest tree with a ladder against it. He picks it up as if it weighs nothing, placing it right next to the scarecrow. He climbs it until he’s at eye level with the thing. I watch his eyes fall to the hand that held the sickle, his gaze at its wrist. Its sleeve ripped a bit revealing leathered “skin” and a sort of design.

I wrack my brain for any customs or cultures that decorate scarecrows beyond just its clothing and face, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Why would anyone put a design on a scarecrow's wrist?

Dean pulls out a paper from the inside of his jacket, unfolding it swiftly before placing it near the thing, comparing the two. “Look who has a nice tat.” he says, turning the paper down so I could see. He held Vince’s missing poster, the young man holding a mug in his hand the perfect pose to see his tattoo. Detailed ink with all sorts of shapes I could even begin to describe, I look back up at the scarecrows tattoo. The two are the exact same, far too alike to be any sort of coincidence.

“Nice tat indeed.”

We immediately got in the car and turned around back to the town. Something was going on and someone was causing it. Now Dean pulls the car into the local gas station. Turning it off and exiting, I nearly stay put in the passenger seat until I see the same blonde girl from before walking up to the car. We needed answers and she seemed to be the only one willing to help.

I exit the car, keeping the door open as I lean my arms on the roof of the car. “You’re back” she greeted, smiling. “Never left.” He replies smoothly.

“Still looking for your friends?” She asks, acknowledging us both. “Yup, call it stubbornness or what have you but we aren’t given up.” I respond, still pushing the same agenda as before. “I’d call that a good friend,” she smiles.

I don’t think she’s involved in all this, she’s willing to answer our questions when no one else was and she seemed to genuinely care. If she was involved then she was quite the actor. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” Dean asks her, nodding his head towards the car. The nameplate necklace she wore came into view as she grabbed the pump and began to fill the tank. That’s how he knew her name.

“Did you grow up here?” I ask, starting back up conversation.

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.” She explains shortly.

“They’re nice people.” Dean replies plainly. She nods as she speaks, “Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town?” Dean shrugs, nonchalantly.

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it.” she pauses for a moment, “I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean turns his head towards me, giving me a look. This definitely was weird, I mean how could every town around them be failing but not here?Were they making sacrifices to the scarecrow? It would make sense considering its tattoo. Dean turns back around to Emily, “Hey, you been out to the orchard? ‘You seen that scarecrow?” We were thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, it creeps me out.” She answers her nose scrunching. “You can say that again” I laugh, “Do you know who owns it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just always been there.” She shrugs.

He nods to something behind her, I turn my gaze to it, my eyes landing on a red van parked by a garage, “That your aunt and uncle’s?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “Customer. Had some car troubles.” That’s a little too convenient, “Is it a couple by any chance? A guy and a girl?” I ask, worried that they might be the town's next victims.

She nods even as her face twists with confusion, “Mmhmm.”

As soon as the Impala's tank was filled, and Emily gestured toward the couple's location, we wasted no time heading straight there. Dean opens the glass door for me, the little welcome bell ringing above us. I walk in first, immediately being hit with the sweet smell of baked goods, the culprit of it being a thick piece of apple pie that Scotty delivered to a couple sitting by the window.

“Oh, hey, Scotty. Can I get a coffee, black?” Dean greets, walking in behind me, adding “And a green tea…actually while you’re at it some of that pie too.” I have to hold back the smile that wants to escape onto my face, he was being slightly annoying on purpose which is proved further when Scotty gives him a nasty look before walking away. But beyond that I’m surprised Dean knew what I wanted, yes I drank tea quite often but how did he know I was feeling that flavor in particular?

He moves to sit at a table right next to the couple, I sit in the chair next to him trying to come up with a conversation starter for the people only a table away. I mean how do you say ‘hey you’re in danger! haha, please leave town’ to someone without them thinking you're actually insane? I am pulled out of my thoughts at the feeling of my chair moving, a soft scratching noise below it. Immediately I see Deans hand at the side of my chair, pulling me closer to him without saying or looking at me.

I try to ignore his strange antics and the butterflies that flutter in the depths of my stomach at his movement as he talks to the dark haired couple, “How ya doin’?” God for someone whose usually so smooth he was being so awkward. They share a weird look clearly looking uncomfortable before waving and smiling. But their uninterest in starting a conversation with strangers is very obvious as the girl leans closer to her boyfriend placing her arm up to lean her head on as if to block us out.

“Just passing through?” Dean continues, ignoring their reactions. “Road trip.” The girl answers plainly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Hm.” Dean hums his hand suddenly finding my thigh. My heart lurches, my leg twitching slightly at the sudden movement but he just gives me a little squeeze before readjusting his hold. Splaying his warm hand against my thigh, his fingers hooking onto the inside of my leg as he pulls them apart slightly, the gap just big enough to hold my thigh comfortably. He gives me another squeeze as if he was testing the feel of me again…oh god.

My brain seemed to short circuit, any logical thoughts I had turning into a mass space of blankness and static. I swallowed roughly, my heart beating out of my chest and the butterflies in my stomach flying frantically in warmth. This was just for a cover, if we acted as a couple too then they might feel more comfortable and inclined to talk with us, I try to reason with myself. But god when did my face get all warm? Stay focused Y/N, stay focused, I repeat to myself in my head. This wasn’t the time. Can’t be thinking of my feelings for him or the fact that this was only making me feel more desperate for him. Stay focused.

“Us too” He adds, and I have to think for a second what he’s talking about…Oh yes, we are also on a road trip, yeah.

Scotty walks over with a pitcher of something brownish orange, maybe it was apple cider considering this town clearly has a large supply of it. He moves right past us, refilling the couples cups, “I’m sure these people want to eat in peace.” he scolds us.

“Just a little friendly conversation.” Dean smiles up at the grumpy man who begins to walk away, “Oh, and that coffee and tea, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty just stares at him, the scowl on his face deepening, but he doesn't say anything as he walks away fully. “So, what brings you to town?” I ask softly, a sweet smile on my face in hopes of erasing the awkwardness in the air.

The girl answers, “We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Aw, really!” I respond trying to sound amused.

The guy answers this time, “Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.”

“That’s really sweet” I nod with a smile even as concern eats at me. They were definitely going to be the next victims. But I’m also terribly confused, I have no idea what he was talking about. I'm guessing a broken brake line means you won’t be able to stop the car but I didn’t know it could leak…

“Yeah.” The man nods trying to go back to his food.

All at once it hits me, I nearly want to kick myself for not thinking about it right away. I want to blame it on Dean's hand placement but it was most likely my lack of sleep because I was in fact enjoying his hand on my thigh…

This small town in Indiana was practicing Pagan rituals, and as much as I hate to admit it learning about Pagans was one of my favorite things to do.

“So, how long till you’re up and runnin’?” Dean asks them.

“Sundown.”

It was common in Paganism to sacrifice something or someone to the gods. It was a time where they didn’t understand why certain things happened like crops dying, so they blamed this on not respecting the Gods enough. When the real cause could have been for a number of reasons from lack of water to not crop rotating…

“Really.” Dean pauses for a minute, “To fix a brake line?” He receives a nod. “I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.” He offers.

…However in terms of supernatural beings when these sacrifices were made it did work, whether or not it was the Gods “cursing” them or just not understanding agriculture. Either way it did work, the gods answered, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the payout which is why they typically did human sacrifices, sometimes even on a mass scale.

“You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.” The girl replies, looking nervously at her boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” I chime in, “He really is good, I mean you should see the level of care he puts into his own car. ‘Keeping it all good even though it’s decades older than him, he even keeps my old car in check.” I knew with every word I was stroking his ego, but it was true. Beyond his own car I can count on two hands the amount of times he helped with my old Volkswagen Beetle, he’s probably the reason why it still works.

In the corner of my eye I can see his cocky sexy grin, he squeezes my thigh once more and my thoughts fizzle out again as a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my gut. Jesus Christ, Dean Winchester will be the death of me without knowing.

“Yeah we’re sure” The girl insists.

“Sure.” Dean pauses, his smile dropping, “You know, it’s just that these roads. They’re not real safe at night.” I guess he figures they won’t listen any other way. The couple exchanged a look, “I’m sorry?”

Dean leans in closer, “I know it sounds strange, but, uh—you might be in danger.”

The man finally snaps, looking annoyed, “Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean says disappointingly, "You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d just buy right into it.” The couple looks at him strangely.

The bell above the door rings and I figure we don’t have much time left, “Look we aren’t trying to bother you and ruin your day, okay, I’m sorry.” I start, looking back at the Sheriff who had walked in. I lean in, speaking just low enough for them to hear, “But you really are in danger, for the last couple of years couples have gone missing this time of year repeatedly withou—“

“I’d like a word with you both.” The sheriff practically booms. I go quiet giving the couple a warning look both to say to listen to what I said and to not bring anything up now, they look scared and hesitant.

“Come on. I’m having a bad day already, ‘m just tryna make it better with my girlfriend” Dean reasons, I know it’s a lie but the way the word slipped so easily from his lips made my heart flutter.

“You know what would make it worse?” The sheriff replies. Dean releases his hold on my thigh, a tingling feeling taking its place. We got up and followed the man outside then following his orders, he was going to follow us out of town and we weren’t allowed back.

We drive down the interstate, both knowing we would turn back once it was clear. But for now we trudge toward passing by a sign that says ‘Thanks for visiting Burkittsville.’ I check the side mirror, the sheriff making a U-turn, heading back to town. Great.

“Should we find a motel nearby and return at night?” I ask, knowing the couple wouldn’t have a car to leave with ‘till sundown.

“Yeah, you need sleep” He hums. I wonder if he’s saying that because he knows I haven't slept at all. “Unfortunately I will not be sleeping ‘cause I have a very good idea on what’s going on and I wanna research further” I answer, opening up the glovebox to pull out the map that resided there.

I unfold it, tracking down Indiana and then the small town we just left, following the colored lines. “I think if we stay straight we’ll be at a rest stop in about 15 mins” I mumble, hopefully reading it right.

“Anyways!” I place the map down in my lap, “I’m very sure this town is sacrificing the couples to a Pagan God.”

“‘Thinking the same,” He answers.

“Okay, good. Now I'm not 100% sure i’m right on which one it is ‘cause there’s a lot of agricultural Gods as well as Gods of the woods, but the second I can search it up I’ll confirm it.” I ramble, talking with my hands.

“To be honest, sweetheart, ‘don’t know much about Norse Gods except the basics.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I got this” I beam.

I grumble for the fifth time typing different wording into the search bar. I want to scream as the page turns blank, the only words on the screen being ‘No Results.’

“What is it?” Dean asks from where he lays in his bed his fathers journal open, looking for anything on Norse Gods.

“Somehow there is nothing on Vanir Gods and when I mean nothing I mean nothing!” I get up from my bed walking the short distance to his, I climb on it putting my legs beneath me. I turned my laptop towards him, showing him the screen, “See!”

His eyebrows scrunch up looking just as confused as I feel, “I know we aren’t in the town anymore but do you think it’s somehow related?” I ask.

“Maybe. We aren’t that far from Burkittsville” He answers, taking my laptop and searching up ‘Books about Vanir Gods’ but again the same message pops up ‘No Results.’

He types in ‘Books about Norse Gods’ a couple searches pop up the main one being a thick book only available in a college in Burkittsville. “That’s so strange.” I mumble, I mean how could they be interfering with the internet.

“If they can make sacrifices to a god I’m guessing they could mess with google of all things. We’ll go there later” Dean responds and I’m sure he means after making sure the couple is safe. He closes my laptop, “You should sleep, I’ll wake you”

I studied him for a moment, and he was right. I should sleep, it sounds wonderful actually. I nod getting up, I don’t even bother changing into comfortable clothes or even taking off my bra I just crawl underneath the covers of my bed. “Good night, Dean.” But it was hardly close to night time.

He smiles, “ ‘Night baby.”

Dean sped down the interstate, the sun was nearly down and we would have been there on time if not for all the semi trucks in the truck stop not knowing how to exit. You really think it wouldn’t be so hard.

Continuing by the vast orchard, we scanned for a red van parked on the side, hoping to beat them there.

After some more driving, we eventually stumbled upon the deserted car, devoid of anyone. He stopped the car short even as we still had multiple feet between us and the vacant van.

He turns the car off and I meet him by the trunk, he hands me a shotgun, “Go through here, cut ‘em off--get in front” he rattles off the plan as he cocks his own gun. I nod, cocking my gun before shutting the trunk as he takes the lead.

I catch up to him, running at his side, passing through each tree as my shoes crush the fallen apples with a satisfying crunch.

I squint my eyes, the dark haired couple too far away to get there before the dark figure of the scarecrow does. It was a clear distance away, I could bring us there in a moment's time. I’ve practiced this sort of distance before, it was doable, and nothing like the asylum. “Get ready to shoot 45 degrees to your left” I shouted, reaching a hand out to grasp Dean's shoulder. He meets my eyes with a look of determination hard in his irises. I focus back ahead on the target, forcing my energy there.

The air ripples around us even as we continue to run, in a blink of an eye we’re in front of the couple. A loud shot rings out, Dean shoots the thing square in the chest. But all it does is stumble back before it continues to walk forward.

Its head was tilted slightly, that greasy hair dangling on his shoulders, the sickle gripped tightly in its leathery hand. “Get back to your car!” I yell behind me, “Go!” I looked behind me for a split second, they were running and we weren’t too far from the orchards clearing.

Almost at the same time Dean and I start walking backward away from the horrifying thing. I raise my shotgun up, shooting it right in its chest as Dean cocks his gun again. But these salt bullets were doing nothing and was hardly buying us time, “Get ready to run!” Dean orders as he shoots the thing again.

Not needing to tell me twice I shift my footing, running towards the clearing right after the couple. Beyond Dean's own shoes hitting the ground hard next to me I could hear the subtle click of its boots walking the ground. Now I know how every character in Halloween felt as Myers went after them.

I do the thing that you should never do in a horror movie and turn my head to see how close the scarecrow was. It couldn’t be more than 10 feet away, “Screw this” I mumble, twisting my footing again so I could walk backwards as it came towards us. I uncomfortably hold the gun in the crook of my arm as I extend my hands forward, effortlessly calling upon my abilities as I shoot out pure energy from my hands.

The scarecrow goes flying what seems like 100 or more feet, landing harshly on its back. I want to celebrate and get all cocky but this was dealing with Norse Gods and I didn’t particularly feel like getting on their nerves at the moment.

I make it to the clearing, my chest heaving from the running and use of powers. Man, water would be good right now.

A familiar arm wraps around my shoulder, the crook of his arm touching my neck as he brings me into his side. His chest heaves too, “Good job.” The praise makes my heart swell but the sweet moment is cut off by the man in the couple panting, “What—what the hell was that?” He points between the orchard and me. Double yikes.

“Don’t ask.” Dean responds.

We sit in the Impala just outside of town so we wouldn’t technically get in trouble.

After helping the couple officially leave, thank god, we went back to the motel. It would be hours until the college opened so we really just had to wait. We ate at some all night diner before showering and sleeping for a couple more hours. We woke early, I threw on some low rise black jeans and a fitted black & gray long sleeve baseball tee, heading out to grab some coffee before heading back close to town to wait.

Dean had called Sam, placing his phone on speaker and positioning it in the middle of the dashboard so we could both hear and speak. He called his brother on his own accord to talk about the “hunt” and I didn’t dare say anything about it knowing he would just brush it off. The call was certainly more than just letting him know how the hunt was going. “The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town.” Dean muses, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam responded concerned.

“God no” I scuff.

“We can cope without you, you know.” Dean adds.

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.” Sam theorizes.

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.” Dean answers.

“What makes you say that?”

I answer this time, “There’s a lot that points to it, from annual cycle killings to the choice of victims. And I’m sure you know human sacrifices were common in Paganism especially when it comes to fertility. There were even mass sacrifices to even protect them and or help them with wars.”

I begin to speak with my hands again, getting more animated as I get excited, “And according to a local all the towns around them are failing in multiple degrees especially in agriculture, while Burkittsville remains flourishing largely in their apple department. As seen not only through their extensive orchard but their numerous apple products, they practically gloat upon it.”

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.” Dean adds in.

“The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims.” Sam acknowledges.

Dean answers, “Yeah, we’re thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…” Sam starts, Dean adding in with their usual weird finishing each other's sentences, “And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks.

“Well, there’s hundreds of Gods.” I answer, “But it will most likely align with Norse Paganism which are broken up into two sections one of them being Vanir Gods. From what I remember they’re Gods of fertility, wealth, wisdom and two other things. I don’t remember too much and unfortunately there’s an issue with the internet so I can’t even confirm my theory.”

Sam laughs, “What do you mean issue?”

“Long story,” Dean responds, “But we’re on our way to a local community college, they have a book on Norse Gods there. You know, since we don’t have our geek boy to figure out the issue with the internet crap.”

Sam laughs again, “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hinting anything.” Dean replies quickly with a fake annoyance to his voice, “Actually, uh—“ He looks at me as if he isn’t sure what to say, I nod my head encouragingly, “I want you to know….I mean, don’t think….”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” Sam says seriously, seemingly knowing what his brother was struggling to say.

Dean looks to his hands cradling his coffee cup to straight ahead through the windshield, “Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” I don’t try to bite back my smile, he wasn’t looking to begin with, either way I was proud of him.

“Are you serious?” Sam asks, probably never expecting to hear that.

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—“ He cuts himself off, sighing, “anyway….I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam says quietly.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Call me when you find Dad.”

“Ok.” Sam responds, though he sounds upset, "Bye, Dean.”

He collects his phone from the dashboard, hanging up. He catches me staring, “What?” I don’t answer, just smile at him, “No. Don’t give me that happy go lucky sweet look.”

“Oh come on!” I laugh, “That was really sweet of you Dean! So can’t a girl be proud of her boy.”

He rolls his eyes, placing his coffee in the cupholder before crossing his arms across his chest, but his face gives him away a light pink gracing his cheeks. “You are a sweetie pie” I declare, placing a hand on his shoulder. He removes one of his arms from their own hold, placing a warm hand on top of mine, grasping it gently to remove it, “I’m not.” he bites. His tough boy act was so cute.

“If you say so” I shrug, the smile on my face giving away the fact that this wasn’t me giving up on the fact he was a total softy. He turns his head away, facing his window, mumbling something incoherent.

I want to start skipping into the library, who knew a community college would have such a nice one. Though to be fair I would say any library was nice as long as it was in good shape. I make my way to the librarian's desk, “Hello!” I greet, my excitement getting the best of me, “Could you point us to the books on Paganism? Or even just Norse mythology?”

The old woman at the desk looks at me a little strangely, maybe I came off too strong. But her expression contorts into a small smile, “One of our dear old professors would have those sorts of books, lucky for you sweetie I think he’s free right now. I can just give him a little call.”

I look back at Dean, who stands a little bit behind me, he shrugs, I guess it wouldn’t hurt talking to a professor about this. Especially if it meant looking at that book.

I turn back to the old librarian, “Yes please.” But she already placed the phone back in its holder, “He’ll be right down.” Oh. Okay, this woman works fast. “You can take a seat there, it’ll be a moment” she points to just behind us at a mostly empty table. “Thank you!” I smile.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology.” Professor Williams says, as he leads us to his classroom.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean responds, not sounding all that amused.

“Well what are you looking for in particular?” The older man asks.

“Uh, local lore, maybe” Dean answers, looking at me to jump in at any time but I don’t know if I want to put all my eggs in one basket. We had to choose who we could trust here, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward with the nice librarian but doing so made getting to the book easier. I hope. “I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship.” He answers.

I can already feel this being a painfully slow lead to the answer, “You know, actually,” I began, “I was interested in the Vanir Gods. It struck me the other day and when I can’t get an easy answer for something I go digging.” The professor stops in his tracts, turning to face me, “Very well. I was not expecting to hear such a clear topic.”

I laugh a little uncomfortably, “I just like to learn.”

We follow him down the rest of the long hallway into his classroom. A small room with desks and chairs lined in order while a large whiteboard rested on the long wall. He beckons us over to his desk, a thick and long brown leather bound book lying there, “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages seeking what seems to be the chapter he’s looking for, “Ah ha, there we are” he declares, turning the book towards us.

I read the first page quickly, breezing through information I already knew. I turn to the next page only to be met with a picture of a scarecrow-like thing on a post in a field with farmers surrounding it. I read out loud the text just below the image, “The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.”

I looked up from the book catching Dean's eyes, this was definitely it. “This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?” Dean asks, gaze flipping to the man in question.

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.” He answers not all that helpfully.

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?” Dean questions further. He’s really just putting it all out there. The professor laughs, “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Yes of course” I fake laugh along with him, “My, uh, friend here just loves the hypotheticals, you know?”

“I do,” Dean nods seriously. The professor just looks at us strangely. God I really hope he just thinks we’re weird people. “Listen, thank you very much.” Dean says, holding out his hand. The professor takes it, giving what seems like a firm handshake before offering one to me, “Yes, thank you so much,” I say sincerely, taking his hand for a single awkward handshake.

I follow Dean to the door, an odd feeling settling itself in my gut as if something was about to happen. He opens the door and the feeling spikes, my heart jumping at the simple action. What the hell. I want to ignore it, push it to the back of mind and chalk it up to just random anxiety. But I can’t, genuine fear twists itself around within me, clawing at the walls of my stomach as if to warn me. Just as my foot breeches the hallway everything in me screams to turn around.

I listen to my body, turning around as I take a half step back, a large book only inches from my face. A small breathy squeak leaves my lips as I duck, a loud bang and tumble coming from beside me. This was a trap.

Using my bent knees as leverage as well as the attackers stumbling at missing me, I latch on to their forearms pushing up and out still holding on tightly as I lift my leg and kick. My foot connects with the soft expanse of the person's stomach, letting go of his arms at the same time. It was no doubt the professor as he was the only one in the room with us. I watch him stumble backwards, knocking into his desk roughly.

My brain works quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The bang and tumble I heard must have been someone attacking Dea—I twisted my upper body to the right, catching the sheriff's wrist before the blunt of his gun could hit me too. I didn’t need to look to know he already got Dean. God this town was crooked.

I bring his arm down closer to my level, twisting it in an attempt to put it behind him, but he uses his free hand to left hook me, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. I let go of his arm at the action, my hand instinctively going to my cheek that stinged until something cold clinked onto my wrist. I knew it was handcuffs but my eyes went to my wrist anyways just as he clicked into place the other half of the cuff.

He looked smug, as if he had won. He must have been stupid. Not that it changed much but my hands were cuffed in front of me, magic aside it couldn’t have stopped me. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a ‘seriously?’ look before kicking him where the sun doesn't shine, immediately he doubles over holding onto his crotch with teary eyes. I guess you could add assaulting a police officer to my list of crimes, he may have been a sheriff but it probably still counted.

He would be down at least for a minute or more so I turned back to the professor who seemed to be stalking closer with the same book raised as if he was trying to kill a bug. The second my eyes landed on him he stopped moving, I foiled his plan. “Could you stop with the book?!” I exclaim. He seems to contemplate what I said, his eyes slipping from me to something behind me. He was not good at this fighting thing.

Thin but strong arms wrap around me, forcing my arms to my chest. I flailed around trying to shake the guy off, I didn’t want to use my magic yet. The less they knew the better. “Watch, she’s a kicker” the professor warns. “I know” the somewhat familiar voice of the sheriff huffed from behind me, his chest rumbling with each word. His chest was rising and falling fast, I wonder if he fully recovered from my crotch attack or if he was pushing through.

All at once I stop flailing, a smirk making its way on my face, and before anyone can do or say anything more I bite down hard on the sheriff's hand, my neck bending at a weird angle to reach him. He yells letting me go to hold his wounded limb.

I take a couple steps away from both of them, “I’m also a biter,” I muse. I look between both men, neither of them seeming to know what to do. They hadn’t expected this. “Which one of you wants to go next?” I point between either of them, the handcuffs rattling with my movement, “ ‘cause I can go all day, baby.”

They look at each other, worried in their eyes. The sheriff's throat bobbed with a hard auditable gulp. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared” I tease, smirking viciously, I was having too much fun with this.

The sheriff reaches slowly for his gun, the one he must have put back after I kicked him. I watch him do it, he’d pull it but wouldn’t shoot and ask me to stand down or come with him. He expects me to be afraid of the gun, at the prospect of being shot which is why he assumes it would work. He pulls it out, holding it firmly out in front of him aiming for my chest, “Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!” he yells. How predictable.

The smirk on my face only deepens, I lift an eyebrow at him, “If you wanted me on my knees so badly you could’ve just asked.” I was never usually so flirty or straightforward, but this was just so fun. I knew I was getting cocky. Maybe I was hanging around Dean too much. “Knees now!” He yells again. At this point he was just feeding me these easy openings. A laugh escapes my lips, I must look like a psychopath.

He readjusts the gun in his hand, his finger scooting back towards the trigger, but he couldn’t shoot, not when they wanted to use Dean and I as sacrifices. “Last chance!” He warns. Last chance indeed.

I catch my eyes flaring purple in his shiny revolver, a look of horror and confusion apparent on his face. A look I was used to, and as much as it normally would upset me I could use it now. The air fizzled around me, maybe I was getting better at this, in a blink of an eye I was right behind him. I kick the back of his knee, the man buckling under his own weight, his gun going off. The bullet hits the ceiling light right above where I stood only moments before.

Shards of glass fall, the light flickering for dominance before eventually going dark. I easily grasp the gun from his hand, turning the safety back on before sliding it across the floor out of the room. Without a plan to actually hurt the man, I used what he gave me, pressing the linked chains of the handcuffs to his neck as I brought the back of his head to my stomach.

He grunts against my hold his hands trying to pry the chain off as his eyes search the professors for help, but his partner backs away hands up in defense. I loosen up my hold, I wasn’t trying to severely hurt the guy or kill him for that matter. “‘Had enough?” I ask, mostly teasing.

Suddenly a soft plush material is pressed to my face, I move to fight or teleport away but my limbs suddenly feel too heavy and my eyes begin to droop. My body feels like it’s falling even as I stand in place, I think. My eyes begin to flutter close, my legs giving out on me. The world turns black.

My head feels fuzzy. My eyes are too heavy to open just yet. It smelt bad, a musty smell combined with a farm-like smell. The ground was comfortable.

I try to open my eyes but they flutter shut again. Someones calling my name, they’re too far away…need to come closer. My head was pounding.

Something suddenly brushes into my hair repeatedly. Even still half gone, fear spikes in me. My eyes shoot open, my upper body jolting up into a seated position. Familiar hands hold my shoulders as I sway, the room seeming to move back and forth, “It's okay, you’re okay” Dean says soothingly. I stare at him, his features becoming less and less blurry as I blink.

He cups my face gently, his fingers barely brushing against my skin. He seems to study me, most likely noting the bruise that is undoubtedly forming where I was hit. His thumb brushes over my wounded cheekbone gently, yet even so I wince sucking in a breath between my teeth. “Sorry” he mumbles, meeting my eyes. I hum, my tongue feeling too heavy to utter a word. “What happened to you?” he asks softly.

I swallow, trying to force my tongue to work enough to answer but my words still come out too quietly, “You went down first. I fought, but I think someone else came. They covered my mouth with a thingy, maybe they used, um, what is it called?” My thoughts felt all jumbled still, fog covering the expanse of my brain. My head was killing me too much to think straight. He practically scowls, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned down in a frown, “Chloroform” he answers. I smile weakly, “yeah that.”

I want to lay down. The room was still spinning, my head hurt. This was embarrassing, I had gotten all confident before�� feeling invincible only to be drugged. I remove Dean's hands from my face, holding them instead as I place them on his lap. I looked around us, the room might be moving but it was obvious enough it was some sort of basement. No, a cellar. It was dark and empty, except for the straws of hay lying around. And just across from us was a small staircase up to what seemed like cellar doors. “It's locked,” Dean says, noticing my stare. Of course it is.

But if I could just right my mind, clear the fog, I could get us out easy peasy. Almost as if I willed it, the cellar doors creek open. The sunlight floods through, I try to block it with my hand, the sudden light worsening my headache if that was even possible. I need Advil. Dean lets go of my hand getting up quickly, just watching the quick movement makes me want to vomit. I blink slowly, following suit, with a lot of stumbling I make it to my feet even as it feels like the room is pulling me down.

Four jerks stand just outside the cellar, Harley and Stacy, Scotty, and the Sheriff. Harley moves close to the stairs as if he's about to descend them before getting abruptly stopped by the Sheriff, “I wouldn’t, she's feisty.” Dean laughs at that, my assault on the man very apparent by the various bruises he displayed. I would smirk or laugh too if it didn't feel like I was using all my energy to keep me standing. Harley knocks the Sheriff's hand off but makes no move to get closer, “She’s also still drugged” he bites. “Wrong,” I pointed a finger up, feeling more like a drunk as I spoke, “This would be the side effects or aftermath of Chloroform.” All four of them looked at me blankly, maybe I was wrong. I don't know.

“I hope you both know this is for the common good,” Stacy nods. I furrow my eyebrows, “Thanks for the preaching, lady. It really eases the brain into all this sacrificial nonsense.”

“That's enough” she replies rather calmly before nodding to the others. They begin to close the cellar doors, darkness enveloping us. I sat down rather quickly, landing on my butt harshly, “I'm surprised you didn't say anything snarky to them.”

“You were more entertaining” He answers with a half shrug. He tries the cellar door again but of course it's locked, he huffs moving to sit next to me.

I lean my head on his shoulder. He speaks softly now so as not to disturb my throbbing head, “Where do you think this important tree would be?” He was referring to the tree we would have to destroy in order to kill the scarecrow, and it was a good question. “Hm” I hum, “It would be the oldest tree here, probably the most protected. Maybe the first immigrants brought it over here, so it’s wherever they would plant it. I would say in the middle.” He nods and I swear I could hear the gears in his head turning.

The cellar doors open again, Stacy coming into view “It’s time.” I want to ask why they didn't just take us the first time they opened the doors but I guess waiting to die a little later was better than sooner. I remove my head from Dean's shoulder, do we fight? It would be 4 against 2 except I wasn't completely okay. But we could fight, right? I mean we always make it out, we always wind up fine.

Harley and the Sheriff come down the stairs, the Sheriff watches me carefully as he lifts Dean forcefully up. Harley doesn't show any remorse as he grips my forearm tightly, lifting me to my feet before grabbing my other arm roughly holding them behind my back. I struggle against him attempting to step hard on his foot as he forces me up the stairs behind Dean.

Real fear twirled itself around me, were we not going to fight?

They drag us forward deeper into the orchard, I dig my heels into the dirt trying to slow it down as much as I can. I’m scared. I don't want to die. I don't want to be sacrificed to some god. Please. Please. My headache needs to go away, let me use my powers without pain. I struggle against him more, trying to let my magic seep into anything around me but immediately my headache worsens by ten folds. I grunt in frustration, trying to shake the older man off further but he only tightens his grip. I hope bruises won't come from it, not that it would matter if I died today. I close my eyes tightly, digging my heels in further, please. Please. Anything, please.

Harley pushes me forward effortlessly. I don't want to die. Please. Please.

The ground begins to rumble, shaking violently. Apples tumble from the trees hitting the ground with a bunch of thumps. My heart beats wildly in my chest as if it's trying to jump out and run away. His grip loosens on me as he freezes in place, “It's angry at us!” Stacy yells covering her head. I wiggle out of Harleys hold, taking a couple steps away as my legs wobble like the ground. A familiar click locks into place, I come face to face with a gun, “It’s not causing this. It's her” the Sheriff accuses.

“Dont touch her” Dean yells, struggling against Scotty's hold. The Sheriff must have passed him on to hold me at gunpoint for the second time today. “I'm not doing anything” I spit, the shaking ground growing more intense.

“Your eyes are glowing again” he states. “What are you talking about?” I nearly yell, I think I would know if I was using my own abilities. Plus I've never done anything like this before so how would I be able to do so now?

Before I can react he has my hair wrapped in his fist, pulling my head back forcefully a hiss of pain escaping my lips. It felt like it was going to rip itself right from the roots. “Dont you fucking hurt her!” Dean roars. The ground seems to become more violent, the large trees themselves shaking where they stood while everyone nearly stumbles over. He pulls my hair hard, my neck snapping back as he moves his shiny gun in front of me, showing me its side.

My only slightly blurred reflection stares back at me. My cheekbone had a dark bruise painted there and my eyes were–

My irises were purple. No. It doesn't make sense, I wasn't controlling this. I wasn't making it happen, I've never done this before. The Sheriff pushes me forward letting go of my hair at the last minute, I fall to my knees only a foot away from him. The barrel of the gun is pressed into the back of my skull, “Make it stop or I'll make you stop” he threatens. I can hear Dean struggle against Scotty again, and in the corner of my eyes I see him finally pull away before turning around and punching the man right in the face. Scotty doubles over, but before Dean could do any more damage to anyone else Harvey grabs him.

“You can't kill her, we have to leave them both for it” Stacy argues. The ground seems to roar, the earth shaking so siverley I nearly fall to my hands. “I would stop if I could!” I admit, “I don't kno–” I cut myself off, a sudden deep memory making its way to the surface of my brain. A memory of a deceased corn field, a disaster I caused.

“Make it stop!” the sheriff spits. “I told you I don't know h–” Suddenly the gun is raised up and before I could do anything to stop it, the gun hits the side of my skull. My head feels like it explodes as I hit the ground, my eyes struggle to stay open. The last thing I see before it all goes dark again is Dean trying to lunge forward and the ground halting in its shaking.

My eyes flutter open, my horrible headache accompanied with an even worse head-ache. Both in my head and outside. At this point my brain should be a scrambled mess.

My wrists were zip tied to a thinner part of the tree trunk my back rested on. It was just beginning to be dark out. I move my gaze from above me to across me, Dean sitting against a different tree in the same position I was in. His eyes widen and he attempts to move closer before grunting in frustration at the restrictions of his wrists, “You're awake. Are you okay?” He licks his lips, “I swear to fuckin’ god I’ll kill ‘em.”

I don't say anything, my head is too heavy. He's staring at me with wide eyes, fear clear in his irises. “‘You okay?” he asks again. I nod, my head hurts and I’m confused and upset, but I’m alive so I’m okay. He shakes his head, “No.” I look at him confused, I don't understand. He continues to shake his head, wetting his lips again, “Say it. I need to hear you say it,” he sounded breathless, “I need to hear you say you're okay.”

“Im okay” I say weakly. He sighs, relief clear in the way his shoulders drop. But I had a feeling he knew I wasn't being totally truthful.

He swallows roughly, “Can you see the scarecrow?” Despite my heavy head I look in each direction for the thing, until I can slightly see the post. “Dean” I start and I can hear my own voice wobble with fear, “It's not there.” He fights against his restraints, and I would join him in that effort if my head hasn't already given up on me. “I hope their apple pie is frickin’ worth it” he grumbles.

A shadow catches just behind Dean, I squint hoping I'm just seeing things from potential brain damage then the actual scarecrow. “Dean, I think it's behind you.” Forget everything I said and thought, I begin fighting against my own restraints, the zip ties digging into my wrists harshly. “Dean?” a familiar voice called out.

Sam’s tall figure comes into view as he rounds the tree Dean is tied to. Dean twists his neck oddly to see his brother, “Oh!” he sighs in relief, “Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you. Come on.” Sam takes that as his chance to assess his brother's binding before pulling out his pocket knife, “‘You okay, Y/N?” he asks as he works on sawing the bindings. “Dandy” I respond, truly done with this all.

“How’d you get here?” Dean asks his brother.

“I, uh–I stole a car.”

Dean laughs at that, “That's my boy!” His bindings finally break with a snap. Sam doesn't wait for his brother to get up as he walks the short distance to me, beginning to remove my own restraints. His eyes gaze down at me every now and then, most likely assessing the damage.

Deans at my side a breath later, squatting down to be at my level. He brings his hand carefully to my face, gently moving a piece of my hair behind my ear. Something feels dried and stiff there and I wonder if it's blood from being hit or just dirt. I tilt and roll my head away from him, the pain overwhelming even with the delicate touch.

My restraints snap above me, bits of the plastic tangling itself into my hair. My wrists are raw and red, just one more thing to add to the list. I place my hands on the cold dirt, trying to pick myself up but my ears begin to ring and my vision spins. I sit back down again, huffing. Strong arms grab my arm and waist all but lifting me off the ground and onto my feet, “‘You got eyes on the scarecrow?” Dean asks, looking at his brother who shakes his head. “Alright, I can carry you, the clearing isn’t far off” Dean says looking down at me.

“That's ridiculous,” I shake my head, “I’ll slow you down. I’ll just push through, and we don't have time to argue this.” He grumbles, he doesn't like the idea. But again we don't know where the scarecrow is and we can't waste time bickering over stupid logistics.

I immediately regret not taking the offer. My brain feels like it's jumping around in my skull and swishing side to side as if on a boat. I feel like the orchard is spinning around me, tumbling over itself like one of those tunnels in a fun house.

“Alright, now, this sacred tree you’re talking about–” Sam pants lightly as we run, Dean having filled him in on the information we gathered. “It's the source of its power” I finish, my voice feeling far away even in my own ears. “So let’s find it and burn it.” Sam annonces.

“Nah, in the morning.” Dean counters, “Let’s just shag ass before Leather face catches up.”

We come to a skidding stop, just at a clearing of trees the four jerks from before as well as a couple others stand guard. Sam nudged us in a different direction just to be met with a wall of people, we were surrounded. “Did the whole fricking town come to watch us die?!” I exclaim, “Just let us leave!” I was so tired of this, I just want to go to a motel or something and shower off today's fears before falling into a deep sleep. “It’ll be over quickly” Harley says, and if it was meant to be comforting it was not working. “It's for the greater go–” suddenly a sickle is pushed through his stomach. His mouth opens in shock, blood dripping down the sides. Screams come from all around us, and I hardly know if I was screaming too.

He’s raised off the ground before the sickle is quickly pulled out. Stacy still stands there screaming, watching her dying husband on the floor. But soon her screams are cut off too, the sickle going through her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open too as blood not only spurts out of her neck but spills down like a waterfall onto her shirt. The air fills quickly with all the blood's metallic scent. The scarecrow does not retract its weapon, keeping the curved blade in her neck as it grabs onto Harley's collar dragging them both behind it.

Shock had frozen us in place, but apparently not the townspeople. “Come on let’s go,” Dean insists, leading us away.

Morning came by far too slowly but at least we passed the time by using the stolen car to drive back to the college to get the Impala before returning to the orchard. It all went by so weirdly, I knew I was moving but it felt like I never left that road outside the expanse of apple trees. I hardly remember the drive there or the drive back, everything still spun and the ringing only got louder. I think I might have lost my mind.

We stand in front of the sacred tree though I don't remember how we found it. The tree had Vince’s tattoo printed onto it, that was a tell tale sign it was the right one. Sam pours gasoline all over it, Dean picks up a long branch lighting it on fire before throwing it onto the tree. “‘Think the towns ‘gonna be okay?” Sam asks as the flaming tree roars with the crackling flames. “Don’t know” Dean shrugs, but I think the answer was apparent to all of us.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam adds.

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough.” Dean answers.

We walk back to the car leaving the burning tree behind us, though I hope it won’t spread and cause a whole forest fire, “So, can I drop you off somewhere?” Dean asks.

“No, I think you’re stuck with me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.” Sam explains, “But, Jess and Mom—they’re both gone. Dad is God knows where. You, me, Y/N. We’re all that’s left. So, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

I give Sam's arm a little squeeze, it was a really sweet speech.

“Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” Dean smiles, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder who hits it away. They fall into a fit of laughter, “You should be kissing my ass, you were dead meat, dude.” Sam says between laughs.

“Yeah, right. I had a plan, I’d have gotten us out.” Dean scuffs.

“Right.”

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #witch reader #witchcraft #dean winchester x witch reader #dean winchester x f!reader #the hunter and the witch #the hunter and the witch update #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #angst #arguing

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intoanotherworld23 · 1 year ago

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Deep Water II

Characters: Frankie Morales, Will Miller, Ben Miller, Santiago Garcia and female reader

Warnings: Some swear words and mention of killings and murder

Summary: Waking up in a room that isn’t your own you suddenly remember you were kidnapped by a dangerous gang called the Frontiers, and you get to talk to your captors a little more

Part 1 Part 3

Quickly blinking your eyes open as you stared up at the ceiling wondering where you were. Everything looked and seemed normal but you did not recognize the place. Rubbing your eyes as you sat up trying to remember what happened.

Feeling that sudden prick in the side of your neck it hitting you that the men of The Frontiers had kidnapped you. Taken your against your will after you had witnessed them murder an innocent man. Although you have absolutely no idea if he was innocent or not.

All you could hear in your head was the sound of a gun going off, and a man's body hitting the floor. Images flashed through your brain as they so casually slumped his bloody figure into the car. Unable to get the sent of metallic out of your nose.

It didn't matter cause they still didn't have a right to take you away. Feeling like you still had liquor in your system. Your hair and your face probably looked like a train wreck right now. Still wearing the same clothes that you had on feeling sticky and hot.

Taking a closer look at your surroundings you noticed the room looked like someone was already living in it. There was a dresser that had all kinds of cologne on top of it, and a shelf that had books stacked on every inch of the shelves.

This was a massive room whoever was living in it, and you hated to admit but you were kind of jealous. You've never seen a bedroom just as big as your entire apartment.

In the corner there was a pile of clothes stacked in a hamper that were clearly a man's. Nothing in here indicated to you who was living in here, but you really didn't care at the moment. You just wanted to get out of this room and get the hell out of here.

Just as you started to get off the bed you looked over to the nightstand to see a white note along with some water. Picking up the piece of paper you realized the note was written for you.

Come downstairs when you're ready

Will xx

As you held the note in your hand you debated whether or not you really wanted to go downstairs. It was probably just a rouse or a trick to get you to be around them so they could kill you or rape you. A shiver running up your spine at the thought of what their hands could do.

Right now all you wish you had in this moment was your mother. To have her holding you in her arms as she rocked you back and forth to comfort you. Telling you sweet things in your ear until you smiled. Brushing your hair until you could fall asleep.

Having nobody and feeling so alone was the most dangerous thing you could feel. It was like falling down a deep dark hole that you just couldn't escape. Trying to claw your way up only to fall further down.

Hearing voices below silently reminding you what situation you were in. These men were probably never going to let you go, and that you might as well just accept it. Grabbing the water bottle uncapping it as you chugged half of it contents, but it still didn't quench your thirst.

Placing your feet on the cold floor as you quietly stepped towards the door. Soon as you opened the door you kept smacking yourself in the head for not walking away from the alley when you had the chance. If only you had your mother or father to get you out of this.

Walking down the hall slowly trying to listen in what they were saying, but all you could hear were muffled sounds. Peeking around the corner down to the stairs to see them all sitting in a humongous living room chatting.

"You know he's going to come looking for him." Frankie had spoke as he lifted up his beer to take a sip.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Will spat back at him as he rubbed his forehead in stress.

They obviously knew the man was of some importance otherwise they wouldn't be worrying about it so much. He had to have been an enemy of theirs, and they didn't want to start a war with them. The last thing they wanted was to piss on someone else’s front yard. They knew how to handle things accordingly before they got out of control.

"I'm just saying man." He put his hands up in defense.

"Anybody could have killed the poor bastard." It almost scared you how cold he was acting after murdering someone in public.

"How are we going to get rid of the body?" Santi asked looking between all of them in genuine curiosity.

"We burn his body and put his ashes and everything else in a trash bag." His suggestion came so quickly since he's obviously murdered people before. "Nobody will ever know."

"I say we just come clean and come to a truce." Benny suggested which made Will laugh menacingly. "In case they do find out."

"That's a stupid fucking idea." Taking a huge gulp of what looked like whiskey hissing as it went down his throat. "We'll get rid of any trace it was us."

"He's not an idiot Will he'll know it was us." Santi responded lounging back on the leather couch.

“Yeah than he’ll be knocking on our front door.” Frankie mumbled loud enough.

“More like shooting our front door.” Benny shot back which only irritate Will even more.

"Enough." Will bellowed as his cheeks started to turn red with frustration. "We're done talking about it."

"What about the girl?" Benny asked after a few moments of silence and that definitely got your ears perked up now.

"What about her?" Will said raising his eyebrows at him in question.

"I mean what are we gonna do with her?" Leaning forward so his elbows were leaned against his knees in genuine concern for you. "She can't get involved in this."

"We keep her here until she is of no use to us." When those words left his lips you felt yourself gulping but a lump forming in your throat making you panic.

"We're not killing her William." Frankie exclaimed the other two men nodding their heads in agreement. "She's done nothing wrong."

"I won't kill her." Sighing heavily as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It's her name that's keeping her alive."

Scrunching your brows you wondered what he could have possibly meant by that. Pondering if your father was involved in stuff that he maybe shouldn't have been. Maybe this is what they didn't want you to know growing up. The less you knew about what he did the better.

Maybe that's why they kidnapped you thinking they could find some use of you. Although it didn't make sense given the fact that your family was dead, and it was probably by an enemy of his.

Standing there with even more kinds of questions running through your mind now. If only your parents were alive to help answer these questions cause you already knew that those men down there certainly weren't going to answer them for you.

"Good morning darling." A voice rang out as you started to back away groaning knowing you'd been caught. "Hear something interesting?"

You were like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Your entire body froze and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move quick enough. Feeling like their was something stuck in your throat. Finding it extremely hard to swallow that saliva that built in your mouth.

"Come down and join us." He waved over to you to come down which you timidly did.

Walking down the steps you kept your eyes downward not wanting to look up. Even though you could feel all there eyes on you. It was like that spotlight was on you again, and you just wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Hesitating on taking the last step off the stairs to what could be your doom. Looking up to see all of them staring at you with different looks on their faces. Benny and Santi gave you a smile, Frankie gave you a wink while Will had a dangerous twinkle in his eye.

Almost like he was challenging you to cross the line or challenge him. He didn't seem like the type of person you wanted to cross or even piss off. At the same time though you couldn't help but admire each and every one of them.

They were handsome in there own unique way. If they weren't blood soaked killers you probably would be flirting with them right now. Feeling your cheeks heating up under there intense gazes rocking back and forth on your heels.

As you glanced around you could tell that this wasn't just a house but a full on mansion. It was pretty clear that these men were living a lavish lifestyle. They could probably buy anything they wanted with a snap of there fingers.

"How are you feeling?" Benny asked as he stood up to stand in front of you.

"Fine." Voice was so dry it sounded gruff making you let out a cough to clear your throat.

"Are you hungry?" Frankie spoke up making you look over at him with a quizzical look not expecting any of them to be nice. "Could make you some beef stroganoff?"

"Um." That was a complete shock not expecting him to be a cook at most you thought cold pizza out of the fridge. "Sure."

Giving you a wink he took off into the kitchen to starting preparing your meal. Looking out the window seeing the sun shining brightly in the room. It looked like it was morning time although you could be wrong and your brain is tricking you right now. It looked like it was morning, but since he offered you dinner food it clearly wasn't.

Which means that you have slept for more than eighteen hours. Never in your life have you ever slept that long, and it was only cause they drugged you. Thanking your lucky stars they didn't use too much, and accidentally killing you with an overdose.

Looking back over to the rest of the men you noticed Will was looking your body up and down with a close eye. Quickly looking away when he made eye contact with you. Hearing a light chuckle slip past his lips.

"Relax we're not gonna kill you." Will joked after a few minutes of awkward silence making your eyes widen. It was in bad taste. "Yet."

"Jesus man don't fuck with her like that." Santi gruffed as he took in your terrified look.

"He doesn't mean that sweetheart." Benny smiled as he placed his hand on your lower back guiding you over to the couch. "You're our guest."

"Weird choice of words for a group of men that just kidnapped me." You snapped back unable to keep it from coming out of your mouth. "After they killed a man."

"The babe here can bite." Benny joked as he sat down beside you making Santi laugh and Will crack a smile.

"Harder than you think." You really were pushing it with your attitude considering they literally could snap your neck like a twig.

"I'd watch your tone sweetheart." Will caught on to you as he gave you a firm warning.

Sitting back up against the couch while you stared down Will. Pouting like a little child letting them control you like that. Your mother always taught you to never ever let a man tell you what to do.

Once again there was awkward silence as the four of you sat there and looked at each other. Silently nudging for someone else to speak up first. They figured you probably had questions and wanted to answer as many of them as they could.

"Why did you kidnap me?" Asking as you looked over to Will for a response Santi and Benny could tell this was just going to be between you two.

"Because you're a witness and we can't have you running your pretty little mouth." Will groaned as he answered when nobody else responded.

"So what do you guys do?"

"We're salesmen."

"What do you sell?"

"Stuff little girls like you have no business in buying."

"You don't know what little girls like me are into or know about."

"Judging by the way you acted after we killed that guy I'd say you've been sheltered most of your life."

"You know nothing about my life." The corner of Wills lip twitched when he knew he had struck a nerve with you.

"Just like you know nothing about us sweetheart."

"What do you want with me?"

"Nothing."

"I told you I wouldn't go to anyone I would keep quiet and you'd never hear from me."

"Like I told you that's something we can't risk."

"Are you gonna kill me?"

"Not unless you give us a reason to." He answered honestly which made you audibly gulp.

As you sat there thinking about his answers there was one question you did want to ask him, but we're too afraid to ask. It was nagging at the back of your mind to just go ahead and ask to see what he says.

"Did you know my father?" Silence.

All of them including Frankie in the kitchen was silent. They all looked to each other waiting to see if Will was going to respond. As you sat there looking at him you noticed how light his eyes really were. They were almost kind entrancing like something was tugging you to him.

Feeling your heart stating to race as the two of you looked at one another. It was like it was just the two of you in this room, and the rest of the men were disappearing. The room was starting to become smaller, and the air was becoming thicker with tension.

"Yes I did." He finally responded making you lean forward a little more your curiosity even more peaked.

"H-how?" Forgetting about who you were talking to and just cared more about what he had to say. "How did you know my father?"

“If it weren’t for your last name you wouldn’t even be alive.” His words had a cold meaning behind them almost like a warning or threat.

“How did you know him?” Asking him again but he was clearly choosing to not answer that.

"That's enough questions." He growled as he stood up and headed upstairs assuming to his room since you heard a door slam shut.

Staring straight ahead as you felt a slight ringing in your ears. Feeling that familiar lump in your throat as well as your eyes watering up. Shaking your head you looked to the other guys to be met with sympathetic looks.

It really did shock you that Will knew your father, and as soon as you start asking questions he suddenly shuts down. It was almost like he didn't want you to know the answer which was frustrating to you.

Right now your mind was all over the place like it had been scrambled. All you wanted to do right now was take a shower, wash off the smell of alcohol, get into some comfy clothes, and then go to bed. Taking a deep breath before you stood up to go back to your room.

"Dinner is ready." Frankie called from the kitchen placing your plate on the table with a soda.

"Smells delicious." Sniffing the air you almost moaned at how good it smelled.

"It's the best you'll ever have." Complimenting himself making Benny and Santi nod their heads in agreement. "I can promise you that."

"Thanks." Picking up the fork quietly jabbing the pasta and beef before placing it into your waiting mouth. "Jesus Christ this is delicious."

"The best you've ever had kind of delicious?" Frankie asked as he stood there with a hand on his hand and a smile on his face.

"Yes." Quickly jabbing some more into your mouth practically stuffing your face like a weirdo.

The guys laughed at your eagerness to eat not caring anymore, and starting to feel more comfortable around them. They were being incredibly nice and understanding of your situation.

Will on the other hand was cold and hostile towards you for some reason. One minute it felt like he felt bad for you and wanted to help you, and the next it was like he wanted to rip your throat out.

The guys were chatting around you making small talk while you ate your food in peace. For a minute you forgot where you were and what was going on in your life. Just imagining that you were back at your apartment watching tv while playing on your phone.

Speaking of your phone and your stuff, you had no idea where any of your belongings were. Patting down your pockets to feel they were all empty. Looking over at the other men debating on whether you should ask or not.

"Wheres my stuff?" Asking with a mouthful of food turning their attention to you.

"Will said it was best if you didn't have it until we can trust you." Benny answered making you scoff with a roll of your eyes.

"What if someone comes looking for me?" Not being able to come up with one person you knew that would ask where you were but you still asked anyway.

"Nobody's gonna look for you darling." Santi answered honestly with as much sweetness as he could muster. "Not that anybody wouldn't but we have ways to handle it."

"That's such bullshit." Not meaning to say that out loud but they found it funny. "Sorry."

"Sweetheart you don't have anything to apologize for." Benny gave you a huge grin showing off his white teeth.

"We actually tried convincing him to let you go." Looking over at Frankie and then the rest of the men who nodded.

"When you were passed out we told him you wouldn't tell anyone." Santi spoke up. "I mean we have the cops in our back pocket they wouldn't touch us."

"Why didn't he let me go then?" It was the one question nobody really seemed to want to answer.

"That's something he's gonna have to tell you sweetheart." That was the kind of response that you didn't want to hear.

It would be as waste of energy and time if you asked Will more questions. You'd probably irritate him so much he snap your neck, and then dispose of your body like the other man. As much as you wanted him to tell you everything it might just have to wait.

"I guess I'll go back to the room and sleep." Getting up from the chair heading towards the stairs but someone's voice stopped you.

"I wouldn't do that sweetheart." Frankie’s voice turned a little deeper making your nervous turning around to face him.

"Why not?" Quirking an eyebrow at him wondering why he told you not to go upstairs.

"Because that's Wills room."

“Then where am I supposed to sleep?”

“We’ve got a spare room all made for you.” Benny stood up as he walked over to you with a hand on your back escorting you upstairs to the room going past Wills bedroom.

Great you were going to be staying in the room just next to his. You would rather sleep downstairs on the couch then get within twenty feet of him. He seemed like he would smother you with a pillow in the middle of the night.

“Do this a lot do you?” Quirking an eyebrow as you stood in the middle of the room looking around.

“Nah.” Drawing out the word crossing his arms across his chest. “We don’t give them a room we dig them a grave.”

——————————————

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129

Tag list for Series: @casa-boiardi @luciferiorbxtch @ladyelissarose

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #Charlie hunnam #Charlie hunnam imagines #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam x reader #Frankie morales #william miller #garrett hedlund #Oscar Isaac #triple frontier #triple frontier imagines #triple frontier smut #pedro pascal fic #charlie hunnam fic #triple frontier fanfiction

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fgfluidity · 2 months ago

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bartender (part 2)

Summary: bartender- English, 'the one who mixes drinks'

Over time and betrayal, people and drinks both change. (sequel to pincerna)

Pairings:Damien/DA, Mark/Celine, Wil/Celine (all only mentioned)

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, alcohol (obviously); depictions of severe injuries; please drink responsibly

Bartender: 1

support me?

@opprose @volbeast @statictay @otterlyinluv @mirrorslament @alaroweq

The first place Damien goes when he comes to-- after leaving that horrid manor, after being washed away from the icy forest, after seeing them, betrayed and despairing in the depths of the mirror-- is his own home.

He can’t explain why he does, looking back later, though he tries. Perhaps after all the death, the drama, the chaos, he simply wanted somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. Perhaps it was purely habit, the familiar routine of waking up at Mark’s the night after a party and stumbling home, feeling a bit worse for wear.

Whatever his reasons, he finds himself in his home, back pressed up against his front door.

It’s quiet, as per usual. He doesn’t keep staff, like Mark, preferring to either do it himself or pay someone for once-a-week tasks. He doesn’t spend much time in his home with all there is to do-- all he gives himself to do, really, loading another task onto his already-overflowing plate, enjoying the pressure. His family is spread all over town, in their individual homes, and anyone he’d want to stay, to move in with him--

The world around him shudders, splitting into different versions: this one red, this one blue, this of shadow and this of light. There’s a shrill ringing in his ears, and all over, his skin prickles, as if his limbs have fallen asleep.

He blinks, and his foyer looks just as it always has. It’s a bit sparse, a bit plain, but all to his personal taste. Normal.

Normal, after everything. He almost laughs.

Mark couldn’t handle his feelings like an adult, couldn’t reach out to anyone, couldn’t be bothered to. Mark had to bring everyone in on his personal issues, because talking to the people involved, talking to someone outside of the whole problem, wouldn’t fit into his worldview. Mark had to be the actor he always was about it, dramatic until the end, and now the people he loves are dead. Nothing is normal.

He always was prone to temper. His father was an angry man, and his mother held her own form of icy steel; to all outside appearances, though, Celine took the lot. She wielded the passion and the poise under her enigmatic demeanor, vindictive and impatient, and it suited everyone fine that Damien remained gentle, kind.

He isn’t. Through great effort, he keeps it down in his core, preferring words and measured actions to win his battles, though with enough backbone he can’t be called a doormat. Deep down, in his thoughts, were no one can hear… it’s a different world.

All that said, it’s never been like this. The anger roars in his chest, creeping like fire up his throat. Thoughts come racing, unbidden: Mark’s smug film-star smile, bloodied; tearing through town and burning it all to drive him out of hiding, anything to catch him, damn the consequences.

The images come thick and fast, and he presses himself further into the door. What was it his friend always tried to tell him? Some way to breathe, some technique-- they always used it when they felt out of control.

His head cracks back against the wood, and he grits his teeth, but it doesn’t hurt, despite the sound. It does, however, make him open his eyes, breathing harshly through his nose.

Once more, his foyer splits into four, making a nauseating, rippling pattern with every breath he takes. The piercing ring fills his ears again, and he could swear the glasswear on the table vibrates to the pitch.

He can’t feel his body.

The thought scares him enough to hold his last inhale, and though his eventual exhale is shaky and tight, the shapes around him stop wavering. When he tries again, they start to merge.

There you go, something in his memory says, warm and sweet. Now you have it, you won’t need me to calm you down.

A harsh noise escapes him with the next breath. He can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a sob-- either way, his eyes burn, but nothing falls.

His throat burns, too. By God, is he thirsty; he takes some small pleasure in noting that, whatever has happened to him, he still needs something so simple as a drink.

He waits until the world around him looks as it should before he heads further into his home. He can’t think straight with it lurching and flashing, and if it truly moves half as much as it looks to be, he wouldn’t make it very far.

Feeling jittery, he doesn’t make for the kitchen. Thirsty as he is, water wouldn’t soothe his nerves like a drink. A nasty habit, and one he’s not the most proud of, but he’s never done it to excess-- at least, not since university. Water can wait until his fingers stop trembling.

The bar in his parlor is just how he left it. Ostensibly, it’s simply for decoration these days, in accordance with the law. A leftover from previous times, and one he couldn’t bear to get rid of; the polished wood and shining glass gives everything a touch of class.

He takes good care of it-- and it’s filled with plenty of not-for-appearances booze.

The steps come to him easily, pure muscle memory. The glass, the bottles, the orange from the bowl--

He scowls down at the fruit, the scent of death and orange groves still thick in his nostrils, and shoves it away. He doesn’t need it for the drink.

He pours the concoction, rich and clear, into a crystalline glass. It’s been a favorite for years, with the balanced, strong flavor, and he smiles, pleased, as that same flavor spreads over his tongue. He swallows the mouthful.

Or, he tries to. As he does, his throat spasms, a sharp pain through his neck; when he tries to turn it, coughing and spluttering up what didn’t make it down his throat, the bones creak. His head flops worryingly to one side before he can catch it and right himself.

The pain subsides quickly enough, but it still leaves him panting, staring down at his hands and the drink on the bar. His throat and lungs burn, still, but it passes with each moment.

His relief doesn’t linger. By the time he catches his breath, a new pain ripples out from his middle-- his stomach. It’s worse than any side effect from alcohol he’s had, searing just under his rib cage, and he’s had some of the worst rotgut a university student could find.

He bends slightly, pressing his hands to the spot. The pressure doesn’t ease the pain, but thankfully, it doesn’t worsen; it simply continues, burning, twisting, and when he pulls one hand away, he’s surprised it doesn’t come up wet with blood.

With…

He looks up, then.

There’s a mirror at the back of his bar. It’s inset into the structure, not a separate piece, and ornately decorated around the edges. He keeps it clean and clear of anything to block the view, admiring how it catches everything in the parlor, makes the room seem bigger than it is. More than once, he’s seen friends laughing in it, catching the eyes of one in particular, their smile growing warmer as he does.

Now--

He looked in a mirror earlier. All he saw was them there, hands pressed to the glass. He’ll come back for them, he knows, once he’s dealt with, once things are normal, once he gets his own body, and they can have this one, good as new.

For half a second, he swears he sees them again, but no-- his vision flickers, and he’s standing there. He doesn’t look like himself, he notes with cold horror, finally easing the pain in his stomach.

He always tries to look put together. Even beyond personal preference, the importance of appearances was drilled into him extremely early. People want a well-groomed mayor-- if he can handle the city and himself well, he can handle anything well.

He doesn’t look like that man, now. His hair falls messily out of his carefully slicked style, hanging over half of his face. His bow tie is gone, leaving his shirt open at the collar. The pristine white is gone, smudged with sweat, dirt, blood, and it even spreads to what skin he can see.

Beyond that, his color is gone.

His hair has always been black, and his eyes always dark, but his skin was a similar shade to his mother’s, to Mark, to Wil. It marked him as different, yes, but it was his, a golden-brown that was as much a part of him as anything.

Now…

He’s gray.

Not gray as a foggy morning, not gray as steel, but ashen. Bloodless. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in years, like just that morning he crawled from his grave.

Didn’t he? He’s a ghost-- two? Three?-- piloting around a corpse. That was the deal his sister set up, wasn’t it? Borrowing a body, just until everything was dealt with.

His stomach lurches, and in bending forward to press against the searing pain, his neck creaks once more.

Not a body. Their body. Disheveled, filthy, and broken, taking on a parodic illusion of his own.

There’s white powder in his hair, above his twisted neck. His stomach burns, like a brand.

The marble floor that broke under their fall. The bullet, lodged behind unbroken skin.

Nothing healed-- not properly. They’re still broken, a sure death sentence if they ever re-enter their own body. They aren’t simply on a hiatus, a brief sleep, the way he’d begged Celine for when she detailed their plan.

The second they were killed, they were just that. Dead.

The only thing keeping him moving is the thing she made the deal with in the first place. The sickening black sludge under his skin, urging his anger, making the world twist and rip under his emotions.

He could never give them this.

He could never get them out.

He breathes heavily, looking down at the glass before him. It’s innocent, gleaming amber onto the wooden counter top, the ice inside slowly melting. It clinks as it shifts, and the whole room splits.

With a roar, he takes it in his hand and throws it at the mirror, liquor and glass splintering all over the four versions of the bar. Red bottles, blue glasses, light and dark wood-- all of it breaks apart under the psychic assault, black energy racing through the cracks to fling them all around the room.

He isn’t sure how long it’s been when he comes back to himself. The room is torn to shreds, only a few bottles and glasses and pieces of furniture seeming no worse for wear. He sinks to the floor, back pressed against what remains of the bar, and breathes.

When the world outside is dark, he rummages around what’s left and makes himself something new.

He doesn’t like it as much, he’ll be sure to tweak it over time, but for what he has... it goes down smooth.

--------

Black Manhattan

50ml/2oz rye whiskey

20ml/1oz Averna amaro

1 dash Angostura bitters

1 dash Regan’s bitters (or other orange bitters)

brandied cherry, for garnish

Stir all ingredients in mixing glass with ice until well-chilled. Strain into chilled coupe glass and garnish with brandied cherry.

A bittersweet drink. Heavy and dark as night, this is a bitter and unbalanced shadow of its former self, but not beyond salvation-- or affection. Ultimately, still a Manhattan.

#fg writes #wkm fanfiction #wkm fic #wkm damien #wkm celine #actor mark #the colonel #da y/n

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midnight-pluto · 1 year ago

Note

I have an idea feel free to write it or not (childe x fem reader)

Playing truth or dare and someone dared y/n to kiss Childe (they did that bc they knew he was in love with her) she got a little angry and shy about it but she approached him pulling him by his collar to kiss him and everyone in the room start to scream and laugh and Ayato is recording what happened for later use

A DARE.mp4 — childe

TROPES: fluff, crack

PAIRING(S): childe x fem!reader

UNIVERSE: modern

WARNING: someone gets called an orphan at the end, swearing

A/N: I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted! I did my best to write it in a sense where I could include all your details but if you do plan on requesting some more please be more specific so I can do your request justice

THE AUDIO IS quite distorted at first but then clears out to the point where you can hear distinct voices yelling at one another as well as faint sounds of laughter in the background.

As Ayato shuffles with his phone, he quickly sets his phone up, leaning on the wall in order to properly catch what was occurring. After seeing it balance on the wall he turns back to the problem at hand.

“I REFUSE to kiss this ginger! I have standards!” Y/N declares.

From the camera’s recording, on the left was Ayato’s back and on the right was Yoimiya holding back laughter at her friends despair which so happened to be displayed to the camera between the gap of the two.

“C’mon Y/N~ it’s a dare! Besides Childe won’t mind, right Childe?” Ayato teased, looking towards the man next to the girl having a crisis on whether or not to listen to the dare.

“I’m not confirming nor denying that information,” he chuckled.

“What do you MEAN you’re not going to confirm nor deny that information?!” Y/N exclaimed, grabbing Childe by his collar to look at her in the eyes and shaking him back and forth.

“He means he wouldn’t mind making out with you,” Yoimiya whisper yelled through her hands in the direction of the two with a giggle.

Y/N then turns to the blond in shock, “Hold on! Making out and kissing are two different things! I’m not making out with this,” she turns to Childe and pauses, “Twink.”

“Twink?! Excuse you?!” he yelled horrified, face turning pink not only because of the close proximity between his crush and him, but because of the whirlwind of emotions he felt when being called a twink - causing Yoimiya to fall over with laughter while taking photos of the current scene revealing a stunned Ayaka and Thoma next to Y/N.

“You’re excused bitch!” Y/N turned back to face Childe, creating and intense stare-off between the two.

“Y’know, I don’t think Y/N doesn’t need to kiss Childe if she doesn’t want to; we can all just get a free pass,” Ayaka begins, immediately getting cut off by a loud string of gasps and yells as she looks towards her right she covers her mouth in shock trying to prevent any noise from escaping.

The kiss was gentle yet exhilarating - with watchful eyes around them, their loud cheering just became faint background noise in the distance.

Y/N’s eyes with squeezed shut, but soon relaxed as she slipped her hand into his.

Childe’s breath was swept away and gone in an instant. He had been so sure she would’ve followed through with Ayaka’s words but as it turned out she planned to go against her words the moment she spoke them. Well, not like he was complaining any ways.

Ayato hurriedly snatches his phone back up into his hands and points the camera towards the now kissing friends.

Moving 180°, Ayato pans the already landscape view so the whole room and all the participants is now in the frame - him included - pointing to the two opposite of him saying, “That was me. I’m the one who gave her that dare. You’re welcome.”

Immediately pulling away from Childe, Y/N turns her attention towards the blue haired man and yells, “Are you fucking filming us right now?! Give that shit to me right now you little fucking orphan-“

A/N: I’m including this into my 200 follower event since idk if n e one will request but if anyone else would like to, feel free! also I swear I write things much longer than this I jus didn’t know where else to go with this I’m sorry 😭

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boldlyvoid · 7 months ago

Text

Where There is Love, There is Life | Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Clandestine Meetings | for @elriel-month 2024

Summary: Elain finally takes matters into her own hands, tending to her life as carefully as she would her garden.

Warnings: requited love, mutual pining, love confessions, Smut!! Oral (fem receiving), wing play, teasing, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 6.1k | Masterlist

Dinner is weird.

She sits across from Rhys and bites her tongue. Which isn’t abnormal for her; she’s not talkative around him. They’re friendly, they’re family, but they’re not talkative. Part of her wants to yell at him. The rest of her knows that Feyre will handle it. But the part that wants to yell is bigger.

So, as Feyre picks up Nyx from his high chair and brings him out of the room to bathe him before bed, Elain takes her chance.

“I know what you did,” she announces.

The wraiths, her best friends, hear the seriousness of her tone and leave. Abandoning the dirty dishes for the safety and solitude of the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?”

“That night with Azriel, you made him stop,” she explains. You stepped in, you pulled him away from me. You made a decision for me, thinking it would benefit the court without considering my feelings. How many times are you going to do this? To Feyre and her family?”

He’s shocked. He never expected her to take such a tone with him, to stand up for herself. It’s evident by the way he blinks and pulls back, thinking about what he’s done and realizing how wrong he was. Before he can speak, she continues.

“I do not like Lucien. He is a good male, sure. He’s handsome, whatever? But do I love him? No. Would you force me to marry Lucien to benefit this court? What good does he really bring to you? He’s close to Vassa and Jurian, but do you know who else? Feyre, Nesta and myself. Jurian helped Azriel save me. My father made the deal that broke Vassa away from Koschei. Lucien is just a cog in the machine; he’s there for help, but he is not the reason it works.”

“I’m—

“And furthermore!” She cuts him off. “did you ever wonder why he spends so much time with Vassa instead of me? Have you ever considered he also doesn’t want this? If he did, he’d be here. You couldn’t stay away from Feyre, and Cassian couldn’t stay away from Nesta. No matter how much she pissed him off, he kept coming back. You fought for love. Lucien and I don’t like each other, the cauldron made a mistake, and I am sick and fucking tired of letting other people, other beings, make decisions for me. I have been controlled, kidnapped and changed all against my will. Do not force me into being unhappy for the rest of my life because it’s convenient to you.”

Rhys takes a deep breath at the same time that she does. They just stare at each other for a moment. He asks with his eyes if it’s his turn to speak, and she motions with her hand for him to go ahead.

“I didn’t think. Not about you,” he confirms. “My first fear wasn’t that we’d lose Lucien as emissary. It was that I could lose Azriel if he asked to fight to the death for your hand. Lucien was sleeping upstairs. If I could smell your arousal... if it had gone further and we heard you… gods know how it would’ve ended.”

“We would’ve gone somewhere else,” she assures. “And I don’t think Lucien would do that. Seeing what his mother went through, the way he aches for standing by while Feyre dealt with Tamlin, he wouldn’t force me into something I don’t want.”

“Azriel is my brother; I love him more than I can describe, I want him to be happy, yes, but I want him to live more than anything,” Rhys bows his head with a sigh. “How can I make this right?”

“Turn a blind eye to us for the time being.”

“Are you together?”

“I’m meeting him later, hopefully. I need him to know I am in love with him. That I want him. That my choice, the biggest choice I could ever make, is to choose him as my forever. I’ll deal with Lucien later; Feyre and I have a plan for that, which she will fill you in on later tonight. It will be fine. It’s not the first time a mating bond hasn’t been the end all be all, look at Luciens own mother. She is mated to Helion and married to Baron, and they’ve never fought over it… I like to think Lucien, no matter which father he takes after more, he’d let me be in control of this because he’s seen how much control his mother lacks.”

“So, get married.”

“What?” Elain’s eyes almost pop out of her skull; she can’t believe what he said.

“Marriage is as serious as a bond. I knew that once Feyre said I do to Tamlin, I wasn’t able to interfere; the bond would be there, but it would never happen. Helion does nothing because she’s married. Not because he’s afraid of Baron or because he enjoys keeping a secret. It’s something most males respect. So marry Azriel, make it official, and no one can interfere.”

“H-how?” She asks, still reeling from the idea.

“Feyre and I got married right before we went to get the cauldron, right before you were changed,” he explains with a solemn look on his face. Taking another deep breath, he says, “I knew no matter what happened, by marrying her and making her our high lady, my court would be taken care of, and if I died, I died a happy, married man. But it came in handy when she went back with Tamlin.”

Elain nods. “So… what? We just walk into a temple, and a priestess marries us? We don’t need anyone there to witness it? It just becomes official?��

“They will have a second priestess there to witness it,” Rhys assures. You can do it alone, in the middle of the night… or you can do it here, in the garden, with your closest friends and family, and we will keep it a secret until you want to tell Lucien.”

She nods along, slowly taking it all in. “I think… I think I want to talk to Az first. Make sure we’re on the same page.”

“You are,” Rhys smiles, that genuine, toothy, Rhys smile. “He almost beat the shit out of me because I told him to stay away. He put rocks in the fucking snowballs the next day.”

Elain laughs, blushing slightly as she shakes her head, “I love him so much; if you hadn’t stepped in, I was going to tell him that night.”

“I’m sorry. Truly sorry. You happiness, your future, your love, that’s all up to you. I won’t step in again, unless you need me, because we’re family,” he reminds her. “It’s been so long since I had a sister— and don’t tell Nesta I said this, but— I love you both, even if I have a weird way of showing it.”

Elain laughs, “You and Nesta butt heads like you’ve been siblings for 500 years. You both love so strongly, and you’re so afraid of people you love thinking the worst of you that it comes out in screaming matches and shoves. But she loves you; I know she does. If not because of Feyre, because of Cassian and how you kept him safe as a boy.”

“If I could go back in time and do it all again, I’d simply go find him sooner.”

It breaks her heart what the boys went through before meeting Rhys. Even if they hated each other for the first little bit, they saved each other—again and again and again.

“I, uh, I’m going to go settle down for the night,” she announces as she stands up. “Thank you for understanding and for the advice.”

He nods, “I’m always here for you, Elain. For anything.”

—

He gets there early.

He winnows to the townhouse garden. Sitting at the little picnic table in the dark, he contemplates bringing out some candles and making the garden brighter, but he also doesn’t want to draw attention to the townhouse. It’s known to be unoccupied currently, and the last thing he wants is for someone to ask Rhys why the lights were on tonight.

He sends the shadows out to watch the house and alert him when Elain is at the front door. She has a key, she’s allowed in the warding, and she’ll be here as quickly as she can walk over from the river house. So he sends another shadow to watch the path she would take to ensure her safety.

He can tell it's midnight from the moon's position; he stares up at the stars, wanting to memorize where they were the day he finally told Elain the truth—that he loves her more than he could ever properly explain, but he’ll try. He’ll tell her everything tonight, even if it’s almost a year too late.

Elain clears her throat, alerting him that she’s arrived and startling him. “How did you—

“I can winnow,” she shrugs. “How do you think I was able to stab that asshole so fast?”

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head before taking her in. He looks her up and down, and his heart skips a beat. In her deep blue dress, it might even be purple in daylight, but in the moonlight, it’s blue—his favourite shade of blue on his favourite person in the whole world.

He smiles then, “I figured it was a heat of the moment power serge… Feyre had the same problem with her powers when she was learning; if she got too excited, angry, or… lustful, she could freeze, burn, blind, or disappear.”

She nods, stepping closer to the table. " It was a shock that first time, but I kept learning. Nuala and Cerridwen helped me; they’ve taught me a lot."

He smirks, shaking his head slightly, “I should’ve known you 3 would be dangerous together.”

She giggles that beautiful, miraculous giggle. She sits across from him, “Yeah, well, I’m going to have to learn how to be dangerous if I’m going to be married to you, shadowsinger.”

Everything stops. His breathing, his heart, the noise of the night in the city—it’s all gone.

“Excuse me?” It falls out of him.

She just smiles, big and toothy, her head slightly cocked to the side her eyes gleaming. It’s the same smile Feyre gives Rhys. He knows it well. She’s in love with him.

“I gave Rhysand a talking to for stepping in last year. I… I want to make the choice of who I end up with, who I love. And while the cauldron was right for my sisters, the choice it made for me wasn’t right. I don’t agree, and I am putting my foot down. I’m taking my future into my own hands.”

He nods along, “Okay.”

“I love you. I want you. I need you.” Her voice lowers on the last line. She looks at him through her lashes and smirks slightly. “So marry me. Make me yours as much as you are mine, and together, we can deal with whatever that brings.”

That was the last thing he expected tonight. However, he had dreamed about this moment… just a little differently. He was going to ask her about the continent during a trip to the Botanical Garden in Vallahan, somewhere she’d talked about visiting since she learned of it 2 years ago.

“Tonight?” He asks, “Alone?”

She shrugs, “If you want that. Rhys also suggested we do it in the garden at their house, with just a small group of us, so that it can stay a secret until we can tell Lucien.”

“What if he—

“He’ll take it well. I think he’ll be just as relieved to know I don’t want him as I will be to know he doesn’t want me either,” she explains. “I have a feeling he stays with Vassa for more reasons than just that she understands him. I think he fell in love with her.”

“That… that would make sense,” Azriel agrees. “He is very opinionated about breaking her curse and he would do anything for her the same way I would for you.”

Her eyes light right up again, so big the stars reflect in her pupils. “So you love me?”

He lets out a deep breath, staring deeply into her eyes. Reaching out over the table, he takes her beautiful hands. “So much that it feels like my heart could explode. I never, ever thought I could feel like this and I’ve been alive—

“Forever?” She teases, squeezing his hand.

He laughs, “a long time, yes. And in all those years I’ve never believed it could happen to me. To be loved the way I love someone, to feel like I deserve it… you make me feel worthy. You make me feel good. I just hope that my love brings something as meaningful to you as yours has brought to me.”

“Oh, Az,” she drops his hand and rushes around the table; he meets her halfway. “You make me feel so powerful and strong and… and me. I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you. You don’t make decisions for me, you don’t talk over me, you don’t talk down to me… you’re so wonderful and strong and powerful, yet you respect me as if I’m exactly as powerful. You respect me, you care for me, you are an extension of me at this point. I love you with my whole soul.”

He cups her jaw and pulls her back to look down at her; every hair on his body stands up with anticipation as he stares into her eyes. The last time they were this close he fucked it all up. “I never meant what I said that night. You weren’t a mistake; Rhys made me feel like I was making one… You’d never be a mistake.”

“I know,” she whispers softly, looking from his eyes to his lips. “Kissing you wouldn’t have been the mistake, trying to pretend we weren’t together behind everyones backs would’ve been. Loving you proudly, out loud and in front of everyone is what you deserve. What we deserve.”

“What we both deserve,” he agrees before pulling her in and pressing his lips against hers.

—

The second his lips touch hers, the world stops. Her eyes close in an instant. She wraps herself around him just as his big hands grasp her back and tug her in so they’re chest to chest. She hums against him, safe and content, where she’s always wanted to be—where she’s always meant to be.

This is what she wanted last solstice; all those same feelings come rushing back. Her arousal coursed through her; she wanted him more than air, and as she took in a deep breath from her nose, she could tell he wanted her just as bad. His tongue slides over her bottom lip, begging for access to more of her mouth, so she lets him in. Tasting his tongue, exploring his mouth, feeling up his back as he cradles her head and holds her so carefully like she could break. Pressed against him, his leg juts out between her legs just right for her to gently grind upon.

His hands slip down to her ass as he pulls her hips closer until she feels the outline of his cock pressed against her. She moans into his mouth and that heady and delicious scent comes pouring from him in response. He wants her just as badly as she wants him. Heat floods her body; she lifts a leg to wrap around him and pull him in even closer and to her surprise, he pushes the material of her dress up to grip her bare leg right under the knee and hold her there.

He kisses down the side of her neck, growling lightly, “fuck, Elain, your scent is going to be the death of me.”

She tilts her head to the side, holding onto his massive shoulders for dear life as he nips and sucks at her skin. “Az,” she moans his name. “It’s all for you. Always you.”

He licks from her collarbone up to her ear, “you even taste like jasmine and honey.”

“More,” she breathes out. “Taste me more?”

He groans again, “let's get you to a bed—

“No!” she stops him, staring back into his eyes. “I want to do it here, where I fell in love with you.”

“Right here?”

She nods, “In the garden where you healed me… I have some blankets.” She waves her hand, and suddenly, there’s a pile of quilts and furs laid upon the ground, surrounded by lanterns and candles. “All I want is for you to take me in the flowers we planted together.”

“Elain,” he cups her face. “Anything you want, from now until forever, I will give it to you.”

“Then come on,” she smirks, taking his hand to lead him to the blankets.

She makes him sit first, leaning back on his hands with his wings slightly spread— enough to show off but not enough to knock anything over and set the garden ablaze. She hikes up her dress just enough to straddle his lap. The light, satin fabric pools around her hips, cascading over them. She cups his face once more as he wraps his arms gently around her.

“Are you sure?” He worries.

She nods, “I took the tonic this morning after breakfast, I’ve wanted to do this for a while— tell you that is, not... you know? Well…”

He smirks, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, too.”

“How long has it been for you?” She wonders, almost regretting it.

“Since I met you… even before that. I think it might be five years now. Near the end of Amarantha’s reign, my shadows alerted me to what was happening all over, and I was too nervous to partake in anything fun.”

She nods, " As much as I hate her, I’m grateful she brought us together.”

He brushes her hair back behind her ear and cups her cheek, “I would’ve waited 500 more years for you.”

“And I would’ve come back, again and again and again, until our paths crossed.”

He gently cups her body and flips them around, resting her against the blankets and hovering over her. “I know something else you can do again and again for me.”

She knows exactly what he means, “Oh, please?” She begs. “I’ve never… but I want to.”

“Never?” His eyes widen in shock.

“Never…”

“Well then, at least we get to share at least 1 first each tonight.” She looks at him, confused. “You’ll get to cum, and I get to be loved. Truly loved.”

“Oh,” she swoons. “I do love you; I love you so much.”

“Let me show you just how much I love you,” he coos, leaning back in to kiss her lips.

With her dress still hiked up, the bulge in his pants pressed directly against her underclothes. He feels so remarkable, both against her and as his tongue reenters her mouth.

Before she can get into it again, he kisses her lips one last time, and he shuffles down between her legs even more. He kisses her neck, shoulder, and collarbones, “can I?” He whispers against her skin, hand tracing the bodice of her dress, over her pebbled nipples and up towards the straps.

“Yes,” she moans. “Touch me, Azriel.”

He makes a pleased sound, almost a purr against her, as he pushes her straps off her shoulders and pulls the dress down to her middle. Watching as her breasts become free from their silky prison and fall away from each other with the weight of them. He takes two handfuls, his scared hands carefully gripping them as she arches towards his touch. She never thought too much about her breasts, thinking they were a fine size, not too big and not too small… looking at them now, in his hands, she realized they were made for this. To fit perfectly in the palms of her lover's hands, her one true love's hands.

Then, he grips her tits, pushing them together, and kisses her right nipple, then the left and then he lets them go. Gravity separates them enough for him to kiss the centre of her chest and down her stomach until he’s lying between her legs. Tugging at the dress once more, she lifts her hips to help him slide it off of her, down her legs and abandoned on the blankets beside them.

He kisses her stomach again, hands sliding along her thighs as he pushes them apart even more. Resting between them, he presses a kiss right to the fabric in the centre of her underwear. “Are you 100% positive you want this?”

“Yes, Azriel,” she breathes out, assuring him one last time before he starts to pull her panties right off.

She’d dreamed about this moment, the way he’d look up at her with greedy, lust-blown eyes just as he kissed the most sensitive part of her.

She’s had the unfortunate experience of hearing her sisters with their mates, thinking they were overexaggerating their noises just to stroke their Illyrian egos. She had no idea it was this good.

His tongue glides along her quim, slowly savouring the taste of her slick. She reached for him, resting on one elbow as her free hand ran through his hair. He looked up into her eyes, smirking as he sucked on her, causing her to gasp. “Oh gods,” she whined, just as he growled against her. The vibration radiates through her body.

She had never felt like this. The heat in her veins danced through her body, sparking like her favourite wine. She arched off the bed, pushing herself closer to him; she wanted more. She wanted all of it—all of him.

The way his hands gripped her thighs, holding her open as he dragged his tongue over her once more before plunging his tongue right into her. She gasped, not expecting it. She had read about this, having stolen one of Nesta’s books when she was a teenager… but this, this was far more intimate, more intense than she expected. His nose brushed against that bundle of nerves as his tongue turned inside her. Fucking her with his tongue, reaching a place inside of her that no one else had.

She swore she closed her eyes at the feeling, yet she could still see stars. Whining and moaning as her hips undulated to meet his movements, she didn’t care if the whole city heard them. The world should know that the shadow singer of the night court was hers, dedicated to her pleasure, and had promised himself to her for the rest of his life.

If this was anything to go by, she knew a good half of that remaining lifespan would be spent here. In her bed, between her thighs, inside her. Where he belonged.

Pressing a hand to her stomach, he held her down as he withdrew his tongue, going back up to her clit to flick his tongue against it. She cried out, feeling bubbling in her gut, lower than that… in her womb. Closer than she’d ever been in her life, she knew she was close to experiencing her first orgasm. Giving it to him would be a blessing— without any warning, he slipped a finger into her.

Breathing against her, he looked up to see her reaction as she looked down at him with pure shock on her face. “I’m going to need to stretch you,” he explained. “You’ll need to be prepared for me.”

She tossed her head back, “sweet fuck,” she moaned. “I knew it…”

He chuckled against her, “knew what?”

“Illyrian wingspans…” she tried to explain as he fucked her with his finger, kissing her clit over and over as he watched her. “They—gods— they’re indicators of size in other— other places.”

He hums, “That they are.”

She moaned again as he curled his finger, gently rubbing a spot inside of her that made those stars behind her eyes explode into blinding white light. That moan became a scream of pleasure as something foreign coursed through her body, making her shake and writhe against the blankets.

He coaxed her through it; behind the ringing in her ears, she could tell he was praising her. “Good girl, there it is; let it go.”

She couldn’t catch her breath, panting with her hand gripped to her breast, her chest heaved. “Was that?” She asked, not able to use any more words; her brain felt like it melted in her skull.

He hums against her thigh, pressing kisses there as she calms down, finger still inside her. “It was… you look beautiful when you cum.”

She just lay there, looking up at the stars again. “Holy fuck.”

He withdrew his finger then, and she felt his tongue back on her hole, lapping up her release. He groaned, “You taste even better.”

Her legs still quaked as she sat up slightly, looking down at him again. His eyes were blown out with lust, so impossibly dark… his wings spread out, fluttering and twitching every now and then as he kept licking at her. “Are you… are you sure I need more stretching?”

He nods, “Just 2 more fingers… give me 5 minutes?”

“Okay,” she smiles. “I can’t wait to have you back up here.”

“Oh,” he softens at that. “Here,” he offers; getting to his knees, he crawls over her. Keeping her thighs apart with a knee, his fingers dance over her sensitive clit and down to her hole. Leaning over her, he’s so close to her now. She can smell herself on his face; a husky jasmine essence covers him. “I can multitask.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down into a kiss. Tasting herself… he wasn’t wrong. She hums in his mouth; she could get used to this. And then there are two fingers working their way into her. Slowly, knuckle by knuckle, he was right about needing to stretch her because even this is a lot. She has to stop the kiss, breathing against him, “How in the world are your fingers so big?”

He laughs against her, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. He rests on his elbow, yet he’s still able to brush her hair off her face. All of him is huge, actually. He makes her feel so small, not in a bad way. She likes it. She likes how delicate she feels under him, knowing she’ll always be protected, especially as his big wings stretch out and hide them from the world.

She reaches out for his wings, brushing her fingers from the talon and down along the membrane. He shutters, bucking his hips against her legs. “You did that on purpose,” he groans.

She smirks, “oh, does it feel good?” She teases. “I had no idea.”

He bites her shoulder, making her yelp. He drags his tongue over the bite mark and then blows on it lightly, sending shivers down her entire body. Her nipples get even harder, somehow. He kisses from her shoulder to her chest, sucking her nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. He pumps his fingers in and out of her with more fervour, his thumb ghosting over her clit to see if she’s still too sensitive for more. She isn’t. She’s craving more of him all over again.

Curling his fingers again, his rhythm changed ever so slightly to rub that spot inside of her as he thrusts. She can hear how wet she is and feel it slipping out of her to pool on the sheets. When it all starts to feel a bit too much again, he slows down, withdraws all the way and starts to work in another finger.

She hisses; it’s more than she’s ever had inside of her. Her first time wasn’t anything too spectacular; Greyson was a typical, average human man. Nothing, absolutely nothing compared to Azriel. With his wings and his fingers… oh, she was in for a world of pleasure after the hurt subsided.

“You can take it,” he whispers in her ear, cooking her through it. Sucking on her neck gently, he presses his thumb into her clit for added pleasure. Knowing exactly what he’s doing, she eases up and relaxes just enough to let him in all the way. “Good girl.”

The phrase makes her brain fuzzy. She reels in the praise; it’s not often she’s complimented like this. She brushes a hand over his wing again, “Az…”

Deep from within, he purrs against her again, “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m good— ready, I’m ready,” she rushes out. “Please?”

He smiles, pulling away from her breasts, hovering over her; he keeps pumping into her. Scissoring his fingers slightly, stretching her even more before he pulls out. “Are you sure?”

She nods like her head is on a spring, “yes, Az, please?”

“Say it,” he orders, grinning like a devil, still fucking her with his fingers. “Tell what you want.”

“Fuck me,” she breathes out. “I want you to fuck me.”

“I can do that,” he teases, pulling out of her and sitting up on his knees. He’s quick to suck her juices off each one. Savouring the taste, his eyes roll back in his head slightly. He groans, pulling them out with a pop sound, “I’m never going to get enough of how you taste.”

She props herself up on her elbows, staring at him with her head cocked to the side. Her eyes drag over his body, over his tight black shirt and down towards the strain in his pants. “Are you going to stay clothed all night?”

With the snap of his fingers, he’s naked in front of her. So, so naked… her jaw drops at the sight of him. She’d seen him shirtless many times when he was working out on top of the house of wind or resting with Cassian in the backyard… she’d daydreamed about what he’d look like under the belt, but nothing compares to the real thing.

She quickly closed her mouth, swallowing before she could drool and embarrass herself. She reaches out for him, hand on his abs, she follows the bumps and ridges with her fingers, tracing over his skin causing him to breakout in goosebumps. She stops at the tuft of hair that usually peaks out of his training leathers. “Wow…”

His cock twitches, standing tall and pointing towards her, head gleaming as a pearl of precum dribbles out of him. Her hand drifts further down, tentatively gripping him at the base as she makes eye contact. Her fingers barely meet her thumb. He’s that thick and long… holy gods, she would take this. Again and again and again for the rest of her life.

She gets to her knees, still not as tall as him, stroking him lightly. Looking into his eyes, she deeply breathes, “Make love to me, Azriel.”

He lunges for her, kissing her hard, passionately. Hand at the nape of her neck, he caresses her with his thumb as his tongue meets hers once more. She would never tire of how he kissed her and savoured her, as if every kiss would be their last. His other hand rests on her lower back, pulling her in closer so their bare chests touch. She settles against him, letting go of his cock so she can wrap her arms around him and feel his back muscles, tracing gently around where his wings meet skin.

He whimpers into her mouth, nipping at her lip before pulling back, “lay back.”

She listens, quickly finding the most comfortable spot against the blankets, her head resting on a makeshift pillow of folded fur. With her legs spread, she watches him kneel between her legs once more, dropping over her, hands on either side of her, and caging her in. He looks at her like a meal, like he’s been starving for half a millennium.

Which, in a way, he has been.

Starved for love.

“I love you,” she whispers, reaching for him again. She cups his face. “I love you so much, Azriel.”

Fighting back what looks to be tears, he smiles, “I love you, Elain Archeron.”

“I’m ready when you are?”

“Okay,” he whispers; reaching between them, he gathers some of her wetness and rubs her clit for good measure. She bites her lip with a moan, still relaxed and happy and okay… so he slips in slowly. Inch by inch, watching himself disappear inside of her. It’s intoxicating to watch him watch her, but the feeling, the stretch… it’s far too good to stay focused.

He’s just hovering over her, completely inside of her, staring into her eyes while they take in the moment together. “You’re inside of me,” she whispers with a smile.

“I am,” he can’t help but laugh slightly, entirely in love with her. “Can I move?”

“Please?” she grips his shoulders for good measure, pulling out just enough to push back in again and again and again until he builds a beautiful rhythm that she adores. With her head lulled back, he kisses her neck and jaw, using everything in his power not to completely cover her in marks where the whole city could see tomorrow.

“Can you, can—“ she tries to talk, feeling too much to string much along. “Touch me… in that spot?” she begs, not wanting to say such a crude word out loud.

“Your clit?” He teases. “Of course.” Using his thumb, he rubs her clit while the rest of his flat hand rests on her pubic bone. He can almost feel himself with each trust, and it’s just as intense for her.

It’s everything she ever wanted and then some, more beautiful than any experience she could read in a book or imagine late at night… and usually he was the star of those dreams that felt like this. And now he’s real, and here and between her legs, making her feel more than ever before; she’s so fucking close again.

“Az,” she whispers, getting his attention back, “kiss me?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice; he kisses her hard and passionately, thrusting into her with precision and dedication to make sure she has a good time. He would be damned if he came before her, so he rubs her clit faster and fucks her deeper and kisses her harder. It’s all so much, her thighs are trebling again and she knows it’s going to happen, she wants to warn him but it feels too good to kiss him and hold him while he takes her there. And he feels it too, she knows he does by the way he whimpers against her mouth, “close?” He mumbles.

She nods, “please?”

“Cum baby,” he encourages her, feeling her clench around him, pulsing around his cock as she releases, just like she did on his fingers. “Good girl,” he praises, bucking his hips into her and withdrawing his hand from her clit. He wraps his arms around her, fucking her gently and with intent as he chases his own high. His wings spread wide, splayed out so fast that all the candles are extinguished by the gust of wind.

“Oh Elain,” he whispers, “oh, I love you, I love you so fucking much,” he groans as he cums, shaking on top of her.

She runs her hands over his back, touching that spot where his skin meets his wing—where she now knows he likes it—coaxing him through it all. It feels so much more intense than either of them expected.

He still’s inside of her, panting in her ear gently between each kiss to her neck. He just wants to hold her, he could fall asleep after how incredible it was, but then she starts to shake again, and it’s not because she’s cumming.

She’s crying, holding him tightly with her cheek pressed to the side of his head, “I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” he lifts himself up enough to look down at her, feeling himself start to tear up as well. “So, so much,” he feels the tear trickle down his cheek and land on her chest.

She pulls him into another kiss, holding his cheeks in her hands. She breathes him in deeply. “Thank you,” she whispers afterward.

“We’re even,” he teases with a smile, wiping her tears. “Thank you.”

@greenleaf777 @lostvillainess

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

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modelbus · 2 years ago

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hii! for your 500 followers event i was wondering if i could request wilbur with coworkers to lovers and fake dating? congrats on 500 <3

It’s kind of like I just did a part two to the previous request for the event… :D Thank you!!

This is the last request for the event, thank you all for sending in the requests! I really enjoyed doing them all <3

Pairing: Cc!Wilbur x Gn!Reader

Coworkers to Lovers - Fake Dating

“You know, I’m always surprised you still don’t have a special someone.”

You give a tight-lipped smile to Shannon, one of your many cat-lady coworkers. She’s really one to talk, seeing as the closest thing to a boyfriend she has is her cat, Ferdinand.

Really, you’re just trying to go home. Apparently not having a partner to pick you up was a crime in this building.

“I could always set you up with my vet’s son. He’s around your age I think.”

This is the fifth fucking time she’s tried setting you up with the same guy. The first time was nice, just like the first time she bothered you about your dating life. Seven months later? Not so nice.

You didn’t want to be an asshole and make work awkward though, so you just haven’t told her to stop. She’s a cat lady, it shouldn’t bother you so much.

Yet it does.

There’s nobody. Hell, there’s been nobody for years! Your dating life is nonexistent! And for some reason it’s exactly what all your coworkers decide to talk about with you. All of them except Wilbur, thank God.

“No thanks, I-“

“Have a boyfriend.” Wilbur interrupts. A warm weight settles around your shoulders: his stupid trench coat. “Here, I know you forgot your coat.”

You mutely slip it on. It’s definitely his stupid coat, and that was definitely his voice saying those things, so you have to be having a vivid hallucination. There’s no way he just lied and said he was your boyfriend.

“You two are dating?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

Okay, so you’re not hallucinating. You’ve just slipped into an alternate universe.

“We were worried about the fact we work together. Don’t tell, okay?” Wilbur grins, grabbing your hand.

“Oh, I wouldn’t.” Shannon assures you both. “I’m so happy for you two though! Enjoy your walk home!”

“We will. Come on, let’s get you home before it’s too dark out.”

You let Wilbur tug you along, not even remembering to grab your bag until it’s already in Wilbur’s hands. Although you were saved from Shannon, this just didn’t feel real.

He doesn’t let go of your hand until you say something about halfway down the street.

“What the fuck just happened?” You ask.

Wilbur drops your hand but doesn’t return your bag or take back his coat. “I just saved you from Shannon. She’s a bitch sometimes, isn’t she?”

“I mean, yeah, but why’d you pretend to be dating me?”

“To save you.”

He’s acting like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like friends pretend to date each other all the time.

“Wil, you realize we have to keep pretending, right? She’ll know if we suddenly break up after telling her. And not to mention we might get in trouble because we work together!”

It seemed perfectly logical that Wilbur just majorly fucked up.

“It’ll be fine. We can fake break up in a few months or something. That way the cat ladies won’t bug either of us about being single. Nobody but the cat ladies have to know. It’ll be fun!”

You sigh, but not being harassed by the cat ladies would be nice. The motion of your rising and falling shoulders makes you remember the coat you still have on.

"Oh, sorry, I still have your coat-"

"Keep it on. Your dumbass will catch a cold."

Hurtful but true, you keep the coat on.

“You know she’s going to tell everyone?” You ask, referring to Shannon.

“Oh absolutely.”

"Hey, love. Did you like the flowers?" Wilbur's grinning when he asks it, and you're tempted to tell him no. Just to see what would happen. But he already knows you like the flowers he left on your desk because they were your favorite.

"Of course." You answer instead.

Three months. That's how long you've been pretending to date Wilbur and that's how long he's been doing things like this. From having flowers delivered to your desk to sneaking in your favorite dessert, he's been making you fall in love with him for too long.

How were you meant to keep your feeling platonic when he did things like this? Just seeing the flowers on your desk this morning made your heart leap, knowing they were from him.

Oh, and the nicknames. You nearly died the first time he used them, a casual "darling" slid into his sentence. Now you were too used to hearing them come from his mouth. Fuck, you even liked them!

"Don't forget we're going to dinner tonight. I'll be at your house at eight." He reminds you. From behind him, Shannon gives you a thumbs up.

"I know, I know."

He wouldn't actually be there. This was simply for show, just like all the other things he did. It didn't matter if he kept holding your hand far out of view from the building, or if his little pet names persisted even out of earshot from others. Dating Wilbur was fake.

"You're hovering." You finally say, raising your eyebrows at him.

He gives a sheepish smile. For the first time since you two started... whatever this was, he had to work overtime. You were walking home completely and utterly alone.

"I called you an Uber." Wilbur admits.

"Wil!"

"I know you said you didn't want one! I was just worried about you walking home alone!"

He smiles and you sigh. “Fine, I’ll take advantage of the fact you’ve already paid.”

“Of course you will. Be ready. Eight. Don’t forget.”

“I’m not going to forget!”

At exactly eight o’clock, someone knocks on your door. You’re in lounge clothes, settling down to watch a movie or something for the rest of the night. It's probably the postman or someone normal, so you don't bother to see who it is before opening the door.

Big mistake.

"You forgot." Wilbur deadpans, and you gape at him in surprise.

Not because you forgot about your "date" tonight. No, you definitely remembered it. You just didn't think he'd actually take you on one. After all, your relationship was purely fictional for the office ladies only.

"I didn't forget." You protest. It doesn't matter if it's the truth because he definitely doesn't believe you.

His eyes flicker over your clothes. "Go get dressed. Fancy."

It's only then that you realize what he's wearing. A suit, striking black standing out against the white shirt. He looks better than good, which makes your heart flutter.

"Okay, okay. Come in, I'll try to be fast."

He steps in while you hurry to get changed. Keeping true to your word you just throw on your best clothes, not bothering to style your hair or worry about anything else. Thank God you quite liked your natural hair.

"Wil, could you grab my shoes for me? By the door, the black ones." You call out, slipping on the socks to go with them.

"These ones?" He asks, holding them up when you walk out. His mouth parts slightly at the sight of you. "Wow. You- um, you look good."

"I'd look better if I had more time." You joke.

"Not possible. You looking better, not the time. Not to say you can't look better if you wanted to- I mean, you look great right now-" He keeps backtracking, face steadily getting redder with each word.

"Wilbur?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

He hands you your shoes, and you slip them on. You haven't worn them in what feels like forever: they just sat by your door, collecting dust. In your defense, you haven't exactly had a reason to wear them.

"So why are we going out on a date?" You ask.

"What do you mean? I literally told you I was taking you on one." Wilbur runs a hand through his hair, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You're also confused here.

"But why? We're fake dating at work."

Understanding dawns on his face, and he suddenly looks sheepish.

"That's kind of why. I- I wanted to take you on a real date. Away from work, so you know it wasn't pretend."

What could you ever say to that? His words seem straightforward, but you're certain there's a trick in them. The date might not be pretend, but his feelings were. That's all that he means, right?

Hope was too dangerous of a thing for you to have now, after all this time.

He must read something in your face, because he's suddenly sweeping his arms wide in a grand gesture. You're too startled to even get a word in before he starts talking, but maybe that's for the better.

"Will you do me the honor of going on this very real date with me? I have very real feelings for you, and a very cowardly heart."

"A very cowardly heart, huh?" You ask, raising your eyebrows.

"I spoke before I thought when I told Shannon we were dating. That night I swore to myself I'd finally ask you out, but I fucked it up and jumped a few steps ahead."

Finally, you laugh. That definitely sounded like a Wilbur thing to do. But most importantly, he said his feelings towards you were real. Romantic feelings. Feelings you've felt for so long that you can't keep them in with his confession.

"I will." You answer.

Now he's the only one confused. "What?"

"I'll go on a date with you. A real one."

He breaks into the biggest grin you've ever seen him wear, and he's shown you a ton of cute animal videos. It's infectious, making you smile right along with him.

"Well then." He holds out his arm, and you take it. "Let's get to this date."

#wilbur x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot #mcyt #mcyt imagine #wilbur mcyt #wilbur dsmp #dsmp #dsmp imagine #mcyt wilbur

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zeb-z · 1 year ago

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minecraft-sinfonia family in the Star Wars au, because brain worms never sleep

Chayanne is hardly a toddler in the crèche when the Jedi temple falls and the Empire is born. Phil saves him, cares for him, raises him as his own on a homestead after meeting Missa, far from the core worlds. He grows up learning to farm, to cook, to find his own resources and how to make do with what you have. He has no idea where he’s from - his records were sealed in a holocron along with the other younglings his age, and who knows where that is now. Not that it matters all that much to him - his family are his parents who have raised him, and later his sister.

Tallulah is also force sensitive, but was never picked up by the Jedi. She knows where she’s from - an outer rim dustball of a planet where she had no one but the other street kids, where they all had to eat dirt. According to Wilbur, who picked her up and took her in, she had been crying in the rubble in an ally, where a building had managed to collapse sideways into, somehow entirely unscathed, the only survivor. Now that she’s older, and has an understanding of her powers, she can guess she had used the force in some sort of subconscious survival instinct. She spent a good year or two with her father, before she had been dropped off during a visit to her “abuelo Phil”, and never picked back up. It’s another year before she starts calling Phil her Pa instead.

For a year after the fall of the Jedi, Phil travels with Wilbur, and tries to take care of a very young Chayanne as best as he can. He tries to make it easy on Wil as he can, but he know it can’t be simple, traveling with an ex-Jedi on the run and a force sensitive toddler who makes all the noise a toddler does. Whatever guilt he has is buried under the knowledge that this is safest. Staying in the wind, between the stars, without making a name or life for himself, is necessary until the panic around the Jedi dies down.

Phil meets Missa shortly after he parts ways with Wilbur, on some forgettable, relatively mild planet on the edges of the mid rim, in a town full of farmers and workers. He’s clearly lost, and exhausted, and struggling to find something he can afford to feed the hungry child in his arms, and Missa may not have much but for this he has a few credits to spare, and well - he just can’t ignore that feeling, tugging in his gut and wrapping around his chest, that’s pulling him towards the two strangers. Kindness has him buying them a meal and offering his home to them for the night, and when Phil asks if they can stay for just a while, to figure out where to go next, he says yes before he even processes the question. A little foolish, maybe, given the state of the galaxy, but Phil would be lost without that kindness.

Phil makes himself useful helping around the farm, feeding the growzers and nerfs, pulling weeds, planting new crops, at least when Chayanne doesn’t demand attention. Missa works as he always does, keeps them all fed, and looks up all the articles he can find about childcare - and then double checks with a few parents when they drop into town for market, because surely Chayanne isnt old enough to be eating full carrots yet, his teeth are just so small - that’s when he realizes he’s far more open to Phil and Chayanne staying around than he thought he was. It isn’t much longer until Phil comes to a similar conclusion, during a dinner like any other night before, where Missa had taken care to cut Chayanne’s carrots and had made a pot of tea that was Phil’s favorite (one he got based on a hunch back in town a few days prior), and he realizes that he doesn’t want to lose this. That he wants to stay.

After he finds that Missa himself is also force sensitive, and he comes clean about who he actually is, their life continues on without the idea that this just a temporary set up. They get officially married just before Tallulah comes into the picture, which gives Phil an official new identity to the Empire, from a legal standpoint.

Chayanne and Tallulah both grow up learning Jedi techniques to balance their connection with the force. They learn early on the extent of their powers and how to meditate. The better trained you are, and the more you know of your own powers, the better you can master self control - that’s what their dads say, at least. While Phil had been anxious when Tallulah first arrived - wondering if them knowing their powers would make them all more obvious to those hunting for them - it’s cemented when Chayanne uses the force in the market, floating a fruit from a street vendor towards him when he couldn’t reach it himself. They were extremely lucky he wasn’t noticed. Chayanne, with enough core memories in the temple, where using the force and connecting wasn’t only second nature, but was encouraged all around him, would only struggle if they pretended anything different. Besides - as much as they have to keep themselves hidden and safe from the Empire, the force was something to celebrate. They were never taught that their gifts were anything but special - it wasn’t them that was wrong, but the Empire for hunting them.

After their home is raided, and the kids go with Phil to the rebellion, separated from Missa, is when they learn to fight. Chayanne is extremely disappointed he can’t actually train to learn how to wield his dads lightsaber. Tallulah leans less into physical training, and gets a better handle at using the force to interact with the world. She learns a technique to help plants grow just a little faster, and a little stronger, and likes to help around the gardens and greenhouses. It makes Phil a little sad, but only sometimes - she would have loved the Room of a Thousand Fountains, had this universe been kinder.

When Missa manages to find them again, worn and weary and somehow with Phil’s lightsaber still intact and all his limbs attached, he joins the rebels cause and fights with his family. Phil insists Missa keeps his lightsaber on him, pretending like it isn’t as big of a deal as it is, saying he’s grown used to fighting without it - but Missa knows better. A lightsaber is a Jedi’s life, their being connected to their crystal that gives it power, the weapon an extension of themselves. He understands the significance, of Phil’s life humming in his hands, protecting him above all else. There’s an immense amount of love, of trust, in the decision. It makes Phil a terrible Jedi - giving up his saber by choice, for a familial attachment he should never have made in the first place. But who gives a fuck - the temple has long been gone, the Jedi and all their believers dead with it, and Missa is here in front of him, alive, unlike the fucking Jedi council, the merry band of hypocrites. He’d like to keep it that way.

Chayanne still gets Phil to train him with the lightsaber, and it’s the coolest thing ever of all time.

#thank you for coming to my TED talk. please keep asking me about them about anyone in this au to keep the speeches going lnfjsjfoaofjej #out of everyone they’re who I’m working on an actual fic for. them and etoiles #Also okay. listen I know growzers are like specifically native to celwis. a chiss world. if you also know this pls suspend your disbelief #sorry once again I don’t know brevity. take my word dump I hope you like it #mcyt #qsmp #sw #Star Wars #qsmp au #z speaks

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prismartist · 2 years ago

Text

when the end times fall (i'm standing right by your side)

Ao3

cw: swearing, alcoholism

---

“I don’t want her to go, Phil,” Wilbur whines into Phil’s shoulder, words lined with whisky and exhaustion. “I don’t want to lose her.”

Phil sighs for the umpteenth time that night, and pats Wilbur gently on the head. “I know, mate. I feel you.”

“She’s my niña,” Wilbur continues, “Mi niña pequeña. Mi niñita. Mia amata figlia. Mijn liefde.” He sniffs, lifting his face from its perch on Phil’s arm. “Why does she have to go?”

Phil can think of a couple reasons. The mom wants her kids back. This island hates us. They have to grow up. He’s sure Wilbur can think of more, and in a couple other languages no less.

“I don’t know,” Phil replies.

Wilbur doesn’t say anything back, merely tilts his head up at the moon and takes another swig of Lagavulin.

It’s a bright evening on the server, moonlight defining the two talking on a newly-built balcony. Wilbur’s taken to another night of drinking, as he has since he’d come back to the island. Phil isn’t sure if that’s normal or not, and he’s unnerved that he can’t remember. Still, he stays by Wilbur, making sure he doesn’t wander off and do something stupid like dying. He thinks perhaps by chaperoning he could ease Wil’s alcohol intake, but at the rate he’s going, that seems unlikely.

“It’s stupid,” Wilbur gasps out as he removes the bottle from his mouth. Phil wrinkles his nose at the smell. “We have to get emotionally attached and care for them and love them, and then they go away? It’s bullshit.”

“Apparently we’ll get a reward,” Phil says dryly. He’s as fond of the idea as he is of Nightmare Stalkers.

“Tallulah’s reward enough,” Wilbur mutters. “Our children are reward enough, aren’t they?”

Phil grins. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Oh it is, it definitely is.” Phil tilts his head. “I’m glad you have something to care about.”

Wilbur scoffs. “I can care about things,” he defends. Phil wonders if they’re really just talking about Tallulah, but cannot for the life of him think of anything else they could be referring to. Instead he directs his attention to Wil, pouting and five seconds away from a complete breakdown.

“You are really similar, huh,” Phil murmurs. “You just want to be a good dad, she just wants to be a good daughter.”

Wilbur shakes his head. “She’s already a good daughter. She’s my daughter.” He tips over ever so slightly. “Mi- mi niña perfecta. La niña perfecta.”

“Oh I know that, mate. I’m just saying. She really does seem like she was made for you.”

Phil scoops Wilbur slightly, pushing him back upright. He’s reasonably anxious, considering they’re on a fifty-something foot tower and if Wilbur fell without a paraglider he’d definitely get hurt. Why the fuck did Wilbur pick this spot to chat again? Couldn’t they have sat on, maybe, the couch?

Wilbur huffs as he’s adjusted, snapping Phil out of his anxiety. “That’d be fucking depressing if she was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine being made to be exactly like someone. Wouldn’t that be horrible?” Wilbur’s voice slurs when he’s deep in thought. “You’re just a- a clone. A mirror. Not a real individual.” He takes a swig. “Doesn’t leave much for free will, does it.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Besides—” Wil swirls the whisky lazily, “I don’t want her to be anything like me.”

“Aw, Wil,” Phil mutters. Wilbur dismisses him with a wave of the bottle.

“I’m getting paranoid, Phil. I’m paranoid, and yet I’m absent. I don’t want Tallulah to become paranoid, or for her to… abandon everything.” He buries his head in his hands, fingers tightening around his curls. “But I’m scared. I’m scared for her. I’m scared of losing her. I need her to be safe, but I can’t protect her. Sometimes I think, ‘Maybe I should be stricter,’ and then I think, ‘No, that’s not the solution, of course that’s not the solution.’ But I want to keep her safe. I need to.”

Wilbur sighs, tilts his head to peek an eye out at Phil. “You’re right, Phil. I do want to be a good dad. But hell if I know how to do that.”

Phil exhales. “I think you’re doing a fine job as is.”

“Yeah you’d say that wouldn’t you, you bitch.”

Phil laughs. “Shut up. I mean it. You literally stayed up all night building her a tower. You play her songs. She hasn’t even lost a life. You two are fine.”

“We’ll be fine when I kick that dragon’s ass,” Wilbur says. “Thinks it can just- just fuck off and then take our kids back, huh? Shouldn’t’ve left in the first place, that’s on them.”

“We’ll be ready for it,” Phil assures. “We’ll be ready when it comes.”

“Hell yeah. When it comes.”

He pauses.

“If it comes.”

He takes a swig. Phil can smell the roasted peat.

Wilbur whispers, “And if it doesn’t?”

Phil also has the urge to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“We’re being a bit silly about this, aren’t we?” Wilbur leans on the railing, Lagavulin hanging just over the drop. He’s nearly at a ninety degree angle. “We- we’re tiptoeing around it like children. Like we’re five-year-olds.”

Phil can’t help barking out a nervous laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“It didn’t say, ‘The mother is coming back in six days,’ did it?” Wilbur sharply says. Phil turns quiet. “Didn’t- didn’t go, ‘Oh, in six days, the eggs are going away. They’ll be gone. Like your pet goldfish that your mum gave away. The eggs are going away.’ On what, a grand adventure?” He muffles his scoff with another swig. Phil still doesn’t say anything.

“It said-”

“I know what it said, Wil,” Phil says, a bit colder than he intends.

Wilbur pauses, and Phil knows he’ll say it anyway.

“‘Your children will die.’” Another drink. “Sus hijos morirán.” He chuckles dryly and humourlessly. “Doesn’t sound a lot better in Spanish, does it.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“What are we thinking? Explosion, mobs, /kill?”

“I… don’t want to think about it.” Phil laughs despite himself.

“Yeah. I don’t want to either.”

“Then what the fuck did you bring it up for?”

“Don’t queshon the inber workings of my mind.” He’s getting drunker, leaning far over the railing now. “I just wanna be. Ready.”

Wilbur turns around, still slumped, and looks up. Phil follows his gaze; he’s staring at the window at the top, where Tallulah’s room is. He stares for a long, hard moment, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Finally he looks at Phil, face blank but tight.

“’m not a fighter, Phil,” he says quietly. He bows his head again, holding the bottle close to his chest. “But I want to fight for her.”

A sob escapes Wilbur’s mouth, and Phil suddenly realizes he’s crying. Tears drip down and land on the bottle, moonlight making them shimmer like pearls.

Wilbur cries. And Phil lets him, leaning forward just to hold him.

Wilbur smells of whisky and poppies.

They stay still for a while, only Wilbur’s shoulders shaking from his sobs filling the night. Distantly, Phil hopes Tallulah can’t hear. He rubs his back firmly. The bottle starts to slip from his grasp, so Phil slyly takes it from him.

When Wilbur lets the last of his cries out and Phil wipes the last of his tears, he gently straightens him up again somewhat, and starts guiding him towards the door. “I think you need to sleep, Wil.”

“But head will hurty in the morning, Phil,” Wilbur grumbles between sobs.

“I’ll get you a glass of water, mate. But you need to go inside. You might fall off and fucking break your neck.”

“I’d be fine.”

“Yeah, but it’d hurt first.”

Phil is able to wrangle Wilbur into the couch with only a moderate amount of struggle, and twenty minutes later he’s downing a glass of water and groggily handing it to Phil, who takes it with a small smile. Wilbur fixes his gaze onto Phil, eyes wide and mellowed with alcohol, though the effect is starting to ease. He shifts so he’s laying on his side, hands tucked under his cheek. Phil tells him to go to sleep; Wilbur retorts that he doesn’t think he will. Phil snarks back as he heads to the front door, telling him to Go the fuck to sleep, Wil, jesus christ, what will Tallulah think? Wilbur says something about weaponizing his daughter against him, and promptly passes out. Phil laughs, and steps out the door.

The moon is still shining, but starting to dip beyond the wall. Phil takes a deep breath, relishing the absence of alcohol in the air. The first thought that goes through his head is, I should check on Chayanne.

Did Wilbur get the drinking from him? He sure the fuck hopes not. Imagine if Chayanne started drinking too.

“What a fucking mess,” he says out loud with a bitter laugh, and he goes back to his child.

#qsmp #wilbur soot #philza #tallulah qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp fanfic #mcyt #prismatic writing #cursing #alcoholism cw

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chandelier-s-notebook · 1 year ago

Text

Okay guys. Horrific thought: it’s October, the Lovejoy tour is almost over. Wilbur is should be coming back to the QSMP soon. And Tallulah is still gone. But he doesn’t know that.

Imagine with me for a moment, Wilbur returning to the treehouse to look for Tallulah and there she is!! Which her maracas that’s she’s shaking about and her signs that say “Welcome home Papa.”

Now imagine Phil logs on. He sees Wilbur’s online and he goes cold. Tallulah is still gone. She’s been missing for weeks. Wilbur trusted him to take care of his daughter and he lost her. Not once but twice, and she’s not home yet. He has to break it to Wil that she’s gone. But there’s hope, she spoke to him once a few weeks ago. With that in mind he goes to find Wil.

He sees them, running across the wall to go try the parkour course. Them. Wilbur and Tallulah. But Tallulah is gone. He feels a flutter of hope in his heart, maybe Chayanne is back. He approaches them, calling out to the two of them. Laughs as Wil fails the glass neo, and stops dead in his tracks when Tallulah demonstrates how to do it properly for her Papa.

Now Phil doesn’t want to diminish her accomplishments. But Tallulah has asthma, she can’t do that. He watches her bounce around without trouble where she normally stumbles.

That’s not Tallulah. That’s code. Wilbur is in danger.

He questions it. If he’s seeing what he’s seeing, but he knows his eggs. Tallulah isn’t here.

He pulls out his sword and goes for the kill.

Now let’s go back to Wil. He doesn’t know about the code. The only person he’s seen since coming back is Phil, and little Tallulah of course. Yet here Phil is trying to murder his daughter for no reason.

He shouts. He screams. He puts himself between Phil and his daughter. He could try to stop him but Wilbur doesn’t have a sword on him, and he could never beat Phil in a fight anyways.

Phil is shouting at him to move out of the way, but Wilbur can’t hear beyond the pounding in his ears. Why is Phil, the man he trusted to take care of his daughter, trying to kill her?

And Phil is dying inside. He doesn’t want to hurt Wilbur he really doesn’t. But that’s not Tallulah, he’s sure of it now. Wilbur is still screaming at him.

How can he explain that this isn’t his daughter and that the daughter he trusted him to take care of is lost and has been for weeks?

#QSMP #Philza #QSMP Philza #Wilbur Soot #QSMP Wilbur #hypothesis #angst

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lillyspeakz · 9 days ago

Note

Want to give you a possible heads up about something.

Nearly everyone on WilburTwt has gone private because JustaMinx might be stalking or lurking around the Wilbur community. Minx quoted at a NSFW WilburTwt account and said people like them shouldn't have an opinion. I assume it's because the NSFW side is more likely to hit mainstream and get more clicks than the normal ones because people are nitpicking the "worst" of our community. They want to prove or show everyone how bad our community is and not how it actually is. (Besides there are NSFW people in like every fandom or community)

A possible reason could be that she's after those that could make the WS community or Wilbur look bad because she has a podcast thing coming up where she said she was going to expose a bunch of people (She might try to drag Wilbur more). Or she is lurking here to get some brownie points or farm engagement. There could also be other several accounts doing the same, to follow her lead.

For the upcoming podcast - I’d take anything and everything she says with a bunch of salt because she is not someone, I would call a reliable or trustworthy narrator. (Remember Minx’s main reasoning for disliking Wil was because he yelled at her because he was drunk, and she followed him to the bathroom to “hold his hair back” and he thought she was trying to hurt him)

Wanted to give you and your followers a heads up in case it comes over on to Tumblr and because you post NSFW stuff. (You may also want to warn other similar blogs)

Thank you for this warning love.

Personally. I fucking hate minx. She’s never been reliable, and if anyone deserves to be dragged, it’s her. Look at how much shit she’s done compared to Wilbur, WITH ALLEGATIONS THAT MOST LIKELY ARENT EVEN FUCKING TRUE. She needs to get a grip.

If she does come after me, so what? If I get death threats, wouldn’t be the first. She doesn’t have to defend Shelby- Shelby should defend herself and look at how she’s doing with that.

This isn’t towards you anon or anyone. I’m just simply saying, don’t be afraid of someone who isn’t reliable either. Shit she says is either complete bullshit and doesn’t make sense or is purely said to drag that person even more. She’s done it before.

Sorry if I sound bitchy but people like her make this situation 10x worse.

#lilly answerz.#anon dearest <3

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sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

Note

Could I request a protective Hotch fic? He sees someone bothering/attacking Emily and intervenes, or notices a bruise and wants to know what happened....

This IMMEDIATELY inspired me, and you even got a banner , so here you go ❤️

New Ways to be Awed Each Minute

He had always known she was beautiful

-x-

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He had always thought she was beautiful.

It was one of the first things he noticed about her, and it had fueled some of the initial distrust of her, the annoyance he felt in her presence. Aaron knew even at the time that it hadn’t been fair. It wasn’t her fault he found her attractive, something that made him feel uneasy as his marriage crumbled around him, but it was easier to project that onto her than look inward. To see the gulf that had grown between him and his wife, to acknowledge that it was already over, even though it would take Haley several more months to serve him with papers.

By the time she did, he already trusted Emily just as much as the rest of the team, if not more. Everything he learnt about her, her kindness, her empathy, her wilfulness that often morphed into self-sacrifice in a way that made his breath catch every time, made her all the more beautiful to him. He was enraptured by her, and as time went on he realised he had been since the moment they met. His life unknowingly changed by the smile he now knew wasn’t her real one, but the one she put on for show, and a confident squeeze of his hand as she shook it.

She’d become his best friend somewhere along the way. The way she’d cared for him after Foyet was something he’d never forget, forever cementing her as someone he would trust with not just his life, but his son’s. She’d helped after Haley died, holding him and Jack together in a way he knows he would have been lost without.

Aaron had hoped they were edging towards more, hoping that he wasn’t reading too much into the way she sometimes looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Then Doyle happened, tearing through their lives with the same efficiency that he’d impaled her with, leaving destruction in his wake. Deciding to fake Emily’s death was one of the hardest things he’d had to do. There were days when he’d wished he had the ignorance that the team did, the knowledge that she was alive no comfort to him when he didn’t know if they’d ever get her back.

He learnt that standing over a grave he knew was empty was no different to standing over one that he knew wasn’t.

That was when he realised he was in love with her. The same feeling threatened to choke him as he stared at a stone with her name etched into it as it did when he stood over Haley’s grave.

When she came back things were different, she was different. Her promise to come to him when she was struggling became the thing that started to bring them back to each other. They became each other’s solid ground again, and everyone knew it.

Which was why the team always sent Emily to his office to convince him to join them for drinks. It’s how he found himself standing with the team in a bar not too far from work, all of them giddy that they had a few well-earned days off ahead of them.

“Look’s like Em’s made a friend,” Derek says, an amused tinge to his voice

Aaron scans the bar to find her and sees she’s standing by the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. A man is standing next to her, his hand on her arm as he leans in to talk over the loud music around them. The man is tall, handsome. The type he knew Emily would go for. He feels a surge of jealousy before he analyses the situation a little more closely. The man’s hand is a little tight around her wrist, given away by his white knuckles, and the way the material of her shirt bunches around his fingers. Emily is smiling at the man but isn’t her real one, it isn’t the one that Aaron would set the world on fire just to have thrown in his direction. There’s a tension in her frame, and her eyes flit across to the team, where they’d been standing all evening, and they meet his before she looks back at the man in front of her.

“I don’t think that guys a friend,” JJ says, clearly having spotted the same thing Aaron had, and she steps forward as if she’s going to intervene.

“I’ve got this JJ,” he says, stopping her in place with a quick smile as he takes a swig of his beer before placing the bottle down.

He makes it across the dancefloor in seconds, using his height and size to his advantage as he walks through the crowd. He doesn’t miss the relief on her face when he approaches, his face stern as he stands next to her.

“Everything ok over here, Em?” He asks her, but his eyes are fixed on the man who lets go of her arm but doesn’t make a move to leave.

“Yeah,” she replies, stepping back to lean into his side as if it was something they did every day, “I’m fine, honey.”

Despite how he’s momentarily paralysed by the scent of her, the warmth of her against him, he picks up on what she’s trying to do. He wraps his arm around her, his hand on her shoulder as he pulls her in impossibly closer.

“Glad to hear it,” he says, still glaring at the other man who simply rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering something Aaron is glad he doesn’t hear under his breath. As soon as they are alone he disentangles himself from Emily, turning so he is standing in front of her.

She watches as he switches from Hotch to Aaron, the anger he’d put on show for the man who’d accosted her outside the bathroom melting away into concern. She smiles at him, pretending she doesn’t feel the loss of his arm around her.

“Thanks for that, that guy wouldn’t take no for an answer,” she says, feeling the tension radiating off of him.

“Are you ok?” He asks, looking over his shoulder for the man that had walked away, “Did you get his name? I’m sure Garica could find-”

Emily chuckles and places her hand on his arm, squeezing his bare skin from where he’d rolled his sleeves up, and he pauses, looking back at her.

“Aaron, I’m fine. It’s just a creep in a bar, it happens.”

Aaron frowns, fury that this was something she was so used to she was dismissing it rolling through his chest.

“That doesn’t make it ok, Emily,” he says, his eyebrows knitting together, “It shouldn’t just be something that happens.”

Emily beams at him, and she squeezes his arm again before letting go and looping her arm through his, leading him back towards where the team were standing.

“I agree, but we aren’t going to fix all of society's problems tonight,” she quips, smiling up at him, “Now, let me buy my hero a drink.”

___

He insists on walking her to her door.

Emily playfully rolls her eyes at him as they exit the elevator on her floor, “I think I’m good from here, Aaron. I don’t think that creep knows where I live.”

“I’m just being cautious,” he says, smiling at her in a way that never fails to make her stomach flip, “You never know who might be lingering around a corner.”

She chuckles as she roots through her bag for her keys, “Well, I doubt Mrs Rooney who lives next door is going to try and grab me,” she sticks her key in the door and unlocks it, turning back to look at him as she does, “You may as well come in for a drink since you’ve come all the way up here.”

Aaron agrees with a nod, not wanting to leave her company any time soon, and follows her into the apartment. He stands aside as she closes the door and locks it before heading towards her kitchen.

“Beer? Scotch?” She asks, and he follows her, shrugging in response.

“Your choice.”

She smiles, “Scotch it is, Dave got me a really nice bottle and I’ve been waiting for a reason to open it,” she says, moving around her kitchen as she gets two glasses out, reaching for the bottle in question. He laughs and shakes his head.

“Someone should tell him that there are gifts other than…” his quip about their friend's gift-giving skills trails off as her arm stretches for the bottle of scotch. Her shirt sleeve shifts, revealing a bruise on her arm, fingerprints left behind where he had seen the man from earlier grasping her, “Em.”

“What?” She asks, and she follows his line of sight, putting the bottle back down as she pulls her sleeve further back to inspect the damage. She groans in irritation as she presses her fingers into the marks, relieved that so far they didn’t seem to hurt. “Son of a bitch,” she complains, as if it was a mere annoyance more than anything else, “I didn’t think he’d been quite that rough.”

Aaron rounds her kitchen counter and gently cups her elbow, bringing her arm closer to inspect it.

“Are you ok?” He asks, careful to not touch the bruise itself, “I knew I should have tried to get his-”

“Aaron,” she says, placing her hand over his on her arm, “It’s just a bruise, it’s fine.”

“It’s assault,” he replies, more venom in his voice than he means to. He sees a flash of something across her face, and he sighs, closing his eyes to centre himself, to remind himself it wasn’t her he was angry at. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok,” she replies, brushing off his unnecessary apology. She hates the look in his eyes, the over-the-top reaction to the injury she hadn’t even realised she’d endured. She offers him a smile, a small twitch at the corner of her lips. “I’m fine, I promise,” she says, squeezing his hand, “We both know I’ve survived worse.”

She immediately knows it was the wrong thing to say, his jaw tense as he lets go of her, and she sighs.

“Aaron-”

“You should never have had to survive worse,” he says, so quietly she almost misses it. “I should have…”

He drifts off, unable to put into words what he’d been feeling for months. He’d replayed her actions in the lead-up to her showdown with Doyle over and over in his head, desperately looking for things he could have spotted. As if the hindsight alone would have been enough to save her.

“You should have…what?” She asks, taking a step closer to him, a kind smile on her face that he’s sure he doesn’t deserve, “Seen what I was trained to keep hidden from you?”

He sighs, closing his eyes as he looks down at the kitchen counter, and he shakes his head at himself.

“I should have looked after you, realised something was wrong when you pulled back from me.”

“I didn't need you to look after me then.”

He looks up at her, surprised to find her even closer than she had been before. Emily was always careful with her words. She’d been taught from just about as early as she could talk how to reveal only what she wanted to. She never said anything she didn’t mean.

“Do you need me to now?” He asks, and he swears the air leaves the room, both of them staring at each other as if they were searching for answers in each other’s faces that they had been seeking for years.

“No,” she answers quietly, taking in a slow breath as she sees his body sag, his eyes closing again, “But I want you to.”

She sees the second her words register, his head snapping back up so quickly she’s sure it must hurt his neck. They stare at each other, the sound of their breathing the only noise in her apartment.

“Em…” he trails off, sure if he moves even a fraction, if he breathes a little too loudly, he’d snap out of this moment. Maybe wake up in his bed, this whole night a strange creation of his subconscious.

Emily smiles as she closes the final gap between them, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb skating over his lower lip. Her smile widens as she feels his breath skip over her skin, her eyes meet his and she can still see the question in them, the uncertainty, so she makes the decision for them both, and leans forward.

When their lips meet, it feels new but somehow familiar. Like everything they had done, everything they had been through, had led to this moment. A tender kiss in her kitchen, her sleeve still rolled up from where he’d been inspecting the small bruise that had been the final push they needed

It takes Aaron a moment to respond, but when he does he’s fierce. His hands grasp her hips as he pulls her closer, turning them so she’s pressed between him and her kitchen counter. She sighs, opening her mouth to lick along the seam of his lips, her hands moving as they meet at the back of his head. Her fingers trail through his hair as she holds him in place.

He kisses her back just as enthusiastically, making sure to remember as much about this as he could. The feel of her, the taste of her.

She moans as he licks into her mouth and it seems to reset his brain, making him pull back from her, his forehead resting against hers as she chases his lips.

“Em…”

“I think,” she says, breathlessly, licking her lower lip as she seeks out the taste of him still lingering on her skin, “I think we both know we want this,” she says, one of her hands slinking down his neck, grasping at the collar of his shirt, “And I think we both know this isn’t just a one-time thing.”

He closes his eyes, hope catching fire in his chest as he nods against her, his forehead gently knocking against hers.

“I’ve wanted this…you…for a long time,” he admits, his voice hoarse. She doesn’t know if it’s the barely restrained arousal she can see in his eyes or giving something so personal away that has him almost falling to pieces against her, but either way, it makes her smile.

“I want you too,” she replies, kissing him quickly, her smile widening at the feel of him holding her even tighter. She can feel him pressing into her thigh, and she heaves out a breath, and she cups his face again, “Please, Aaron.”

He doesn’t need asking again, surging forward and putting everything into the way he kisses her, leaving her moaning and breathless as she’s pressed between him and the counter.

“Bedroom,” he mumbles against her lips, and she nods, turning them and leading him down the hall of her apartment.

He’s behind her, his arms wrapped around her, one hand cupping her breast through her shirt as he kisses her neck, his lips trailing down to her collarbone.

She turns to face him the second they are in her room, making sure she flicks the light on so she can see all of him. For a moment they just look at each other, both taking in how everything was about to change.

He leans in to kiss her again, knowing he could never get bored of it. His hands drift from her hips and up under her shirt, making her gasp as his hands skim her waist, his palms scalding hot. He pulls her shirt up, only disconnecting his lips from hers to pull it off.

He had always thought she was beautiful, but he realises she was more than he could have ever imagined. Her pale skin over her peaks and valleys mesmerising to him in a way he knew he could, and later would stare at for hours. He takes a small step back to take her in, his eyes honing in on the scar above her left breast, just visible over the top of the cup of her bra.

He remembered reading her file after she was sent away, and could still taste the bitter anger as he realised Doyle had branded her. He hadn’t been able to picture it, his brain not allowing him to do so, but now he’s looking at it all he can think of is that it’s beautiful. Not because Doyle had taken any particular care, or because of the skin grafts she’d clearly had to try and cover it. But because it was made of her. The slight thickness of her skin there proof that she had survived.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she says, and he looks back at her face, a slight smile paired with a flush to her cheeks that he knew was everything to do with him, “and I’m used to it, I don’t even really notice it.”

She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, letting it slip down her arms and down to the floor. He feels breathless for a moment, taken aback by her, before he steps forward, crowding her against her bed. He kisses her quickly before moving down her neck and chest, stopping to make a point of kissing her scar, sucking a mark next to it that makes her breath catch in a way that could be a laugh or a moan.

He pays attention to both of her breasts, making her throw her head back, her eyes closed as he licks at her skin. Then he kneels in front of her, kissing the scar beneath her ribcage. She grasps his head, her fingers tight in his hair at the strange sensation, her skin still partially numb.

“Aaron.”

He manoeuvres them so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows as he carefully takes off her shoes before moving onto her pants and underwear, pulling them down her legs as if he’s unwrapping a precious gift.

She briefly thinks about the fact she’s now completely naked, and he’s still fully clothed, but her attempt to point that out is lost as he runs his hands back up her legs, his palms pushing at the inside of her thighs.

He takes her apart, expertly using his fingers and his tongue, his comments about how good she tastes lost against her thigh. It’s like he has a manual, or has studied her so intently over the years he doesn’t need to be directed. She’s still breathless, every single one of her nerves tingling, when he leans over her, kissing her cheek, her nose and then finally her lips.

“You ok?” Aaron asks, kissing her neck and she nods, laughing as she lifts her arm to cup the back of his neck, the collar of his shirt brushing against her skin. She kisses him, tasting herself on him, and she pulls back as she nods.

“I’m more than ok,” she kisses him again, biting at his bottom lip, “please take off your clothes.”

Aaron is sure he’s never moved faster, standing up and shedding his suit jacket, for once not caring about where it fell, wrinkles in the material the last thing on his mind. He shucks off his shirt, and his shoes, socks and pants soon follow. Emily laughs at him from her position on the bed when he almost trips on his pants, and he raises an eyebrow at her, a fake glare on his face as he makes it back to the bed, kissing her laugh away as he joins her.

She encourages him backwards so he’s sitting up against the headboard, and she settles over his lap, reaching between them and gently squeezing him, taking pleasure in the punched out groan she gets in return.

“Em.”

She rests her forehead against his as she sinks down on him, matching moans escaping them both. They pause for a moment, Emily taking a second to adjust, before she nods, leaning forward and kissing him.

They move in tandem, finding their rhythm quickly. Giving and taking as much as they can, hands grasping at skin in a way they both know will leave bruises they’ll find in the morning. His hands find her waist, holding her in place as she tips over the edge, her nerves shot.

He’s not far behind, and he has to lean forward, his face pressed into her skin as he tries to muffle his words, knowing he cannot stop them from escaping as he follows her over the precipice.

“Love you,” He chokes out, “Fuck I love you.”

He’s breathless against her, and for a moment thinks she hasn’t heard him, that his attempts to muffle his confession had been successful. But then she kisses his forehead, her fingers running skating over the scars on his torso, lingering over the thickest one at the top of his chest.

“I love you too,” she says quietly, “I have for a long time.”

He pulls back to look at her, tucking some of her now messy hair behind her ear. He isn’t sure what to say, his words lost somewhere between their confession and the fact she was still in his lap, that he was still inside of her.

“What do we do now?” He manages, and she laughs, her head resting on his shoulder as her body shakes with it.

“Well,” she says, sitting back up properly to look at him, “I think we should do that again, and then maybe shower, and then sleep…so we can do this again in the morning,” she says, kissing his jawline. She bites her lip, unsure why she feels so nervous now, after all that happened that night, “And then we do whatever comes next together.”

“I like the sound of that.” He smiles at her and nods, she kisses him once more before she rolls off of him, sitting next to him before snuggling into his side, as he pulls the covers over them. Her smile somehow gets wider when he puts his arm around her. She looks at her arm, the bruise left behind by the man at the bar and she chuckles. “What’s funny, sweetheart?”

The term of endearment makes warmth spread through her chest, but she pushes past it, linking their fingers together as she turns her head to kiss his shoulder.

“We really should let Pen find out who that guy was,” she says mindlessly, “I wonder if she could get the bar’s CCTV.”

Aaron looks down at her, worry making him freeze, “Why? Do you want to press charges?”

“Oh, no,” she replies, waving off his concern, “I want to send him a thank you card.”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head at her, the sound bright and beautiful as it surrounds them.

-x-

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