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l0v3-qu4rtz · 7 months ago

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Cat and Mouse

Summary: you've been chasing Spencer for months and finally caught him.

Pairing: Unsub!Reid x BAU!Reader

Warning: One use of Y/N, mention of serial murder, heavy cursing, weapons and use of them, blood, kissing, small make out session, heavy romantic tension, dark romance, UNSUB REID !!! Proofread with love by me, my best friend, and boyfriend <3

Word Count: 3.7K (holy moly)

A/N: This took a whole month and a half to write. It was mainly just procrastination and my lack of commitment to things. Anyway, I hope you guys like this, it took a lot of work <3

Spencer Reid is a criminal, a serial one at that. The FBI has been investigating him for months but everytime he surprises them and goes completely against the profile. He kills dead-beat fathers who abandoned their families. He thinks they're nothing but pigs who are cowards, abandoning their families when they really need them. He's been able to outsmart the FBI for months but not this time. You were completely obsessed with the Reid case, investigating every piece of evidence to the smallest atom. Hunting him every chance you got, every tip, every body, every city, you were there to try and catch him. Unfortunately, every time you failed but not this time. You were on a case in Columbus, Ohio when the police station received a call about a suspicious man in a motel. The description matching the Spencer Reid, you jumped in excitement and rushed to your Federal car. You instructed the police to park across the road and wait for a signal to come in. You waited in an empty motel next to his room, waiting for any sign of movement. Once you heard footsteps, you quietly snuck out and stopped the door before it shut fully. Your footsteps were soft despite your racing heart beat, you finally saw the curly hair you've been longing to see for what felt like ages.

The sound of your gun cocking and fills the room, the air instantly becoming heavy and tense. He lets out a single chuckle. "Finally, Agent L/N." He says with a smirk, his back still facing you. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever gonna catch me." He teases, he was sort of expecting you.

"Spencer Reid, put your hands where I can see them and turn around" You command before adding, "Slowly." You said slowly, your eyes glued to his every movement with a firm grip on your gun.

He lifts his hands in the air and begins slowly turning towards you, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally make eye contact with the killer you've been engrossed in. He has a wide smirk on his face as he finally gets a good look at you, "Is that any way to greet an old friend ?" He teases as he slowly takes a step towards you, not even remotely threatened by you holding a gun right towards his chest. "I'm actually quite glad you're here, but-" He glances down at your gun and the firm grip you have on it, "we both know that wont do you any good here." He looks back up to make eye contact with you.

You take a step back as he takes a step forward, your whole body tense and your grip only growing tighter on the gun, "Shut up, and don't take another step or I'll shoot !" You threaten, the smirk on his face only growing wider and wider til he becomes a cheshire cat like smile.

He chuckles at your response, amused by your empty threats and tense posture. He takes another step forward as your back hits the wall. "You and I both know you won't shoot me, darling" He mocks you and slowly lets his arms collapse to his sides, "You had so many opportunities and you never seized them." He looks down at you, amused by the height difference. You were like a little puppy to him.

You lunge forward and push the barrel into the bottom of his chin, effectively putting distance between you and him from fully pinning you to the wall. "This time is different." You say, quietly and bitterly.

Spencer pushes and leans forward, his face only inches away from yours. "Oh, is it now ?'' His voice is low and teasing. "you've been saying that for years and look where we are" He chuckles before leaning in closer to your ear "You can't bring yourself to do it. You love this little game we play."

Your gun is pressed firmly against the bottom of his chin as he leans closer, "you're nothing but a big pile of unfinished work." You spit out, your voice is bitter and callous.

Spencer gasps and puts his hand on his chest, fauxing offense. "Oh, how you wound me" He mocks and puts his hands in his pockets, still leaning in. "And here I thought our game actually meant something to you" He chuckles and adds "We both know the truth, princess. You can deny it all you want, but I know you love our game"

You quickly bring your leg up and give him one kick to his stomach, causing him to back up from you. You aim your gun and shoot a warning shot near him on the ground. "The only game i'm interested in playing is the one where you're behind bars" You aim your gun at his head. Your voice matches your face, stern and serious. Spencer's cheshire smile turns into a look of amusual at the sharp boom of your bullets.

He raises an eyebrow and looks around, putting his hand out in mock surrender. "Come on, darling, there's no need for the violence" His voice is dripping with sarcasm as his gaze returns to you. "You can never put me behind bars. All your other attempts have been futile." He laughs bitterly and shoves his hands in his pockets again.

You scoff at his almost narcissistic confidence, "I'll do anything I can to make sure you rot in prison like the piece of trash you are." Your voice radiating venom as you speak, poison dripping out of your lips.

Spencer smiles and laughs at your threat, taking a small step towards you. "Wow ! You've got a fire in you today !" He teases "I always knew you were feisty, but this is a new record" He laughs as his eyes focus from your gun to your face. He smirks at the determined look in your eyes.

You take a side step so you aren't up against the wall anymore. Your gun is still aimed and your grip is still firm. "You're a pig." You throw insults to try and shatter his ego.

He turns his body and smiles at the insult, his demeanor still nonchalant and relaxed. "A pig ? Wow how original, princess." He chuckles darkly, taking small slow strides towards you. "You can call me whatever you want, baby" he pauses and looks down at the floor for a second. "But you can't hide the fact that you're attracted to me." He finally says what's been on his mind the whole time he's known you.

You scrunch your face and shoot off another warning shot, this one blasting right past Spencer's face and grazing his ear. Burning at the flesh of his earlobes, making his crimson red blossom. "You're so full of yourself, classic narcissist" You say and laugh sarcastically as he brings his hand up and lightly touches his bloody earlobe.

His face twitches as the bullet burns his ear. He smiles, assumed by the sudden blood. He rolls his eyes at your comment and continues walking his long lanky legs over to you. His grin widening with each step. "Your confidence is bullshit. You think killing fathers who do wrong makes you so righteous, when in reality you're just as bad as they are." You spit angrily at him.

He raises his eyebrows and laughs darkly. "Oh now you're tryna lecture me on morality ? That's quite rich coming from a federal agent who's been hunting me for months." He retorts and steps even closer "Your hands are just as dirty as mine" he smirks, pulling his hands out and making sarcastic jazz hands.

You flash him a fake smile, "at least I can wash mine by saving people and putting pieces of shit like you in prison." Your voice slowly raises as you continue to spit insults at him. You snarl, scrunching your face in disgust as he leans closer and closer.

He snorts slightly, ”Your typical hero complex” He steps closer, the height difference making him tower over you more and more with every step closer. “Let's be real, here darling. You love chasing me around like a lost little puppy. You don't actually want to see me in prison because that means you lose your favorite game” He mocks you and laughs darkly.

You push your barrel into his chest, your grip tightens as he gets closer and closer. Your breath is shallow and rough. “Self projection, much ?” You respond, your tone sarcastic and disgusted, “Me putting you in prison means I win. It's not your place to get rid of bad people '' Your tone is firm as if you're getting on to a child who did something wrong.

Spencer laughs, amused by the banter filling the lone apartment. “Winning ?” He asks rhetorically “You really think you're going to win ? That you can just lock me up and put me in the past ?” He leans in and smiles, looking deep in your eyes. The gun pushed itself deeper in his chest. “You're forgetting the most important part, lovely. You've been trying to catch me for years and you've failed. What makes you think this time is any different ?” He asks, teasingly.

You gulp and try to calm your nerves by reminding yourself that a whole police squad is outside. “I've never had a gun pointed directly at your heart until now” You threaten.

“Ah yes, the almighty gun” Spencer chuckles at your mention of the gun. “You really think that's gonna stop me ? You can point a thousand guns up to my head and yet-” He raises his arms up, “Id still be alive and well.” He mocks the way your confidence hinges on a single weapon. “You don't have the guts to pull that trigger” He challenges.

“I have twice now, nothing is stopping me from doing it” You say with confidence, referring back to the warning shots.

Spencers entertained by your confidence and laughs. “ Act tough all you want, baby. We both know that deep down in that burning center of yours...” he softly points in between your breasts and laughs at your flinch. “You don't actually want to see me dead, baby. You're addicted to this little game we play” He leans closer to you, his face mere inches away from yours “You're addicted to me” He whispers softly.

You breathe hitches at his closeness. “I hate scumbags like you” You seethe.

Spencer smiles calmly, unphased by your hard head demeanor. “There it is, your usual insults. Ya know that gets tiring after a while, baby” He smiles at the way your ears flush at the contrast of his name calling versus yours. “You're just in denial about your true feelings.”

With one swift swipe, you bring your gun up and pistol whip him. He grunts in pain as the butt of your gun makes contact with his forehead and he stumbles backward. You quickly back up more and aim your gun back at him. Spencer lays his head on the wound, blood trickling down and filling his palm. Even with a gash in his head, he still looks up at you with a mischievous smirk.

“You could've asked nicely if you wanted to hit me, darling” He wipes away the blood and puts his hands in the air again. His cockness and nonchalant behavior only makes you more pissed off.

“The only reason I haven't killed you is because I wanna be able to watch as you age in prison and become a sad shell of a person.” You spit, hoping to crack his pride even just a little bit.

Yet, somehow all your threats only succeed to make him even more cocky. He chuckles for the millionth time. “Ah, of course...” He begins, his tone sprinkles with fondness. “The classic watch your enemy rot in prison tactics.” He takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. “It's not exactly original but i'll give you points for effort” He shrugs as he mocks all your attempts to break his image.

“You're a bitch” You spit through gritted teeth as a weak attempt to break him down as much as you possibly can.

He only laughs at your poor attempt, not in the slightest deterred by your repeated jabs. “Such harsh language, lovely” He takes a step forward, frankly you're amazed how determined he is to get so close to you. After pushing him away countless times, he still yearns to be close to you. You find this slightly enduring but you quickly push that feeling away. “But let me ask you something” He begins, never looking away from your eyes.”Why do you keep pushing your love for me to the side ?” If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed he was hurt.

You scoff slightly, backing away again “I'm not in love with you” You clarify plainly.

Spencer continues to get closer to you, you're like a magnet to him. A drug he has to have on hand at all times. “Oh yea ?” He responds sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at your denial. “Deny, deny, deny it all you want” He says as if it's some matra, or a sick lullaby. “But actions speak louder than words.” He says lowly, his signature smirk falling off his face. His body is now close to yours, he lightly rests his hands on your hips and his fingers hide a spot in your pant belt hoops.``Your body language, your flushed ears, the way your breath hitches as I get close” He reads you like a book before reaching up and tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. “Admit it, You're already mine” He teases softly, his smirk slowly coming back to his face.

You quickly raise your hand to strike him across the face but he blocks it by grabbing your wrist. He shoves it against the wall above your head, grinning. “Ah ah ah, Naughty darling” He softly scolds you. “You need to learn how to play nice” His voice is teasing. He moves his body flush against yours and smiles. “We both know you like this no matter how much you struggle”

You reach your hand that's holding the gun to aim it at the bottom of his chin, but he also grabs that wrist. He slams that wrist against the wall next to you, knocking the gun of your hand. Your heart drops as you hear the gun fall on the carpet floor, leaving you helpless under his grip.

“That's better, lovely” His voice is low and smooth. “Now we can talk without you waving that gun all over me”

You struggle against the grip, your panting and your hair falls in your face. “Let me go !” You grunt.

Spencer chuckles at your feeble attempts, his grip tightening and earring a slight wince. “Don't struggle, lovely” He says, his tone bordering on mocking and reassuring. He pushes his body more against yours, pinning your whole body to the wall. “Relax, I won't hurt you… unless you ask me too” He winks.

Your breathing is labored and shallow. You met his eyes with hate. “Youre sick” You spit lowly.

Spencer continues to be amused by your attempts to defy him. He leans in closer, his face so close to yours. “Look at you. All worked up and out of breath. Your body is betraying your words” He teases as his eyes trail up and down your face. He smiles as he watches your face contorted with anger and stubbornness.

You jerk your neck and spit in his face. Your salvia landing under his left eyes and he narrows his eyes. His confidence mixes with anger but he doesnt let your wrist go, instead his grip tightens and pushes you harder into the wall.You yelp and whimper at the tight grip, sure it'll leave bruises. “You really know how to get under my skin, don't you ?” He growls as you try to push yourself into the wall to get as far as you can away from his touch.

“Let go !” You scream and try your best to wiggle out of his grip.

Spencer simply ignores your cries and pleads. He tightens his grip even further, causing you to wince. You feel your hands go numb as the blood stops circulating. You raise your gaze, your hands and see your hands have gone pale. “Ah ah ah, you're not going anywhere” His voice is smooth and authoritative. “I have you exactly where I want you” He chuckles, leaning close to your ear and his breath grazes your neck “And you're enjoying every second of this, aren't you ?” He teases.

“Fuck you” Your snarl through quick, exhausted breathes. You try to jut your foot and legs out to kick him but he quickly pins them to the wall with his knees. Keeping you completely trapped.

Spencer smirks at your defiant language and coos. “Such dirty profanity coming from those pretty lips of yours''. He pulls away from your ear and looks between your eyes down to your lips. “That hot-headed attitude of yours won't do you any good, and I bet you know that. You know you're all mine, whether you like it or not '' He says, his breath filling your nose with coffee and subtle mint.

“You don't own me” You softly claim, feeling as if your hands have been cut off and it's making you slightly dizzy.

Spencer laughs darkly as he notices how faint you are becoming. “But I do.” He counteracts your claim. “Even your body agrees with me. You're all mine” He smirks and leans closer. His eyes flicker to your lips then back your eyes.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to regain your composure as much as you can. You slam your forehead against his, instantly regretting it as it makes you feel even dizzier. The center of your forehead throbs with pain. He winces but he doesn't let go, much to your disappointment. He grunts, feeling the pang in his forehead then he smirks. “There's my feisty girl, the one that I love. You really know how to keep me on my toes, angel” He presses his body impossibly close to yours, pinning you tightly against the wall.”But you know what they say about playing with fire…” He leans in close to your ear, dropping his voice to a deep whisper “It's only a matter of time before you get burned’

The side of your cheek is pressed against the wall, your head turned to avoid being too close to him. Your breath is quick and shallow, feeling completely defenseless and at the complete mercy of this serial killer who was responsible for the death of several men. You dig your top teeth into the skin just below your bottom lip as your brain searches for any possible way to regain control. “Okay ! Okay..” You begin, your voice is full of defeat as you surrender. “Maybe I like investigating you and chasing you down” You admit, still very angry and annoyed.

Spencer grins at your admission, his pupils filled with mirth. “That's better, angel. It's about time you admit it. You enjoy the chase as much as I do. You love tracking me down and constantly failing.” He chuckles and you turn your head to face him head on. Your brows are furrowed and every muscle of your face is filled with animosity. “But you know what I love most about our game ?” He asks rhetorically “Is the fact that you're just as obsessed with me as I am with you” He leans in closer and his nose lightly brushes against yours.

“You're a creep” You insult him softly, almost as if your breath is being pulled out of you as he gets closer and closer to you.

Spencer lets out a small puff of air, amused by your half-assed insult. He can sense the fact that your walls are beginning to crumble and fall. The change in your voice and the way you're out of breath fills him with amusement and a weird sense of hope. “Just give in, darling. Stop fighting it.” His voice is almost pleading and beckoning.

Without a second thought or a second to waste, you suddenly slam your lips onto his with searing passion. He's taken aback but quickly recovers, returning the action with just as much intensity. He finally releases your wrists, leaving a red and slightly purple band in its wake and moves his hands down to your sides. His fingers softly grip the just below your vest. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and you feel the tip of his nose lightly caress your cheek. He feels your heart beating just below your chest just before he pulls away. “I knew you couldn't resist me” He mutters against your lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your tongue inside his mouth. He moans at the feeling of your tastebuds against his own. His hands roam your body passionately, then he pulls away. He's slightly out of breath and he looks deep into your eyes with animalistic desire. “You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, love” He admits softly and wickedly.

Your lips stretch into a smile “And you have no idea how long i've waited for this.” You reach into your belt holster and pull out a taser. You push the taser into his abdomen, your finger gripping the button, sending several volts of electricity into his nerves. Spencer groans and his body convulses as he falls to the ground. You pull the collar of your shirt towards your mouth, finally giving the command for the officers to move in. You move down to your knees, placing one on his back. He doesn't struggle as you handcuff him, grunting more than resisting. “You really know how to spoil the moment, darling”

“Glad you think so.” You reply plainly through labored breathing. You secure the cuffs and stand up, watching cops take him away. He takes one last look at you, almost as if he was taking a mental picture of you in your current state. Messy hair, Smudged lipstick, disheveled clothes all make him wanna break free and tear you up. He smirks and lets out a single chuckle.

“This isn't over, love. Not by a long shot”

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doctorbitchcrxft · 11 months ago

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Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

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You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig.

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head.

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.”

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers.

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?”

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary.

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target.

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you.

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building.

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report.

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied.

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled.

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you.

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up.

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head.

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away.

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom.

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—”

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library.

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented.

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them.

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room.

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression.

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it.

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged.

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you.

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light.

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death.

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up.

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?”

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest.

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly.

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her.

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them.

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?”

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors.

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you.

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match.

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother.

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar.

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it.

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly.

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face.

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—”

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother.

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you.

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you.

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands.

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand.

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked.

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?”

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now.

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean.

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded.

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time.

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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soracities · 10 months ago

Note

hey! i was hoping you and your many brilliant followers could weigh in on this. my sister is moving to columbus, ohio for med school. she's not a huge reader, but i'd like to give her a little something to get acquainted with columbus / ohio / the midwest / rust belt's literary scene. i'm thinking something by hanif abdurriqab or maggie smith but i don't know their work well enough to pick the best gift.... any thoughts?

will open this up to my mutuals & followers bc i'm only familiar with abdurraqib through some of his poetry and essays online-- if i recall correctly though a lot of his writing often doubles as a love letter to columbus so if you want literary and specifically columbus based i think he's a great bet because he loves that place and it shows deeply in his writing: his essays on music are beautifully lyrical, intimate yet expansive and so emotive and they can't kill us until they kill us has been on my list forever now.

i will leave this open to anyone else who is far more familiar with these region though x

#ask #Anonymous

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merrybloomwrites · 10 months ago

Text

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Mitch x Reader Cockwarming)

Summary: Y/N misses Mitch while he's away on tour and can't get close enough to him when he returns home. He comes up with a solution that leaves them both content.

Previous Chapters:

Main Story: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

Sickfic Part 1 ; Part 2

Mitchrry Prequel

Fan Reactions

Holiday Blues

Mitchryy Reunion

Getting High

First Earthquake

Word Count: 2K

CW: smut, cockwarming, p in v sex

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One thing you absolutely hate is goodbyes. Whether temporary or permanent, you despise having to separate from the people that you love.

It’s been a difficult few weeks for you. Mitch and Sarah left for tour almost a month and a half ago. Harry was with you for most of that time, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t missing the other two. You and Harry went to Mitch’s show in New York City, but the four of you weren’t able to get a minute alone. You couldn’t even spend quality time with them after the show since there were paps and fans tracking you and Harry.

The next day you flew back home to Ohio, Harry flew to London for a couple weeks to work, and Mitch and Sarah continued on to the next city.

It was even worse then, being completely alone in your big, empty apartment. The upside was that it was only a few days until the show nearby in Columbus and you’d be able to see Sarah and Mitch again.

But even at that show you weren’t able to spend too much time with them. This time Mitch’s family was there so the three of you had to be careful. They don’t fully know the extent of your relationship with Mitch and Sarah, and though you all plan to tell them someday, now doesn’t seem like a good time.

You are able to snuggle up next to Sarah for a little while since that’s something you two have always done. It feels nice to have her arm around you, to smell her familiar shampoo, and it settles you just enough to get through the end of the tour.

They finish the last couple of shows, and Sarah comes home to you. Unfortunately, Mitch has to go back to LA for a couple meetings, and your separation from him continues.

You spend a few days hanging out with Sarah before she leaves for a girl’s trip with some of her best friends. For two nights you’re alone again.

Finally, it’s the day Mitch is set to arrive home. You’re excited to finally see him and actually spend some quality time with him, but part of you feels anxious. You’re not entirely sure why, but you can’t shake this nervousness.

He arrives home as you’re cooking dinner, one of his favorite meals. You hear the door open but don’t greet him at the door like you normally would. He finds you standing at the stove, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pressing against your back and saying, “Hi baby.”

You turn your head, smiling and saying a quiet hello before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Mitch is taken aback by your less than warm welcome after so long apart, but then you say, “Sorry, I have to keep stirring this until it boils or else the sauce will congeal and burn and be totally gross.” It’s a valid explanation, but there’s something just a bit off about you at the moment.

“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” you say.

“Can I help?” Mitch asks.

“No thanks, I’ve got it. Why don’t you shower? I know you normally like to after flights,” you suggest.

“Ok, sounds great. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He turns and starts to walk out of the room, stopping when you call his name. “Yea?” He questions.

“I’m glad you’re home,” you say before shyly adding, “I missed you.”

His face softens and he replies, “I missed you too, so much.”

You smile at his response before jokingly saying, “Now go, wash off the germs.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“You’d better. Don’t want another minute without you.”

He steps closer, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before heading to the bathroom. While he takes a quick shower he assesses the way you’d greeted him and what might really be happening here. He hopes that maybe you really were just focused on not burning dinner. But Mitch knows you too well. He knows there’s something else there. Whatever it is, he knows he needs to fix it.

The food is ready by the time he’s dressed, and it smells delicious. The two of you sit down to eat, and though everything seems normal during the meal, Mitch isn’t convinced.

He suggests watching a movie and you agree. Before it begins you go to change into pajamas, seeing how Mitch is already comfy in his sweats. You wear an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, knowing that once you cuddle up to Mitch his body heat will keep you warm. You stop in the bathroom, deciding to do a quick nighttime routine so you won’t have to do it after the movie, but rather go straight to bed.

A few minutes later you’re ready and you join Mitch on the couch. He’s sitting on the corner of your L-shaped sofa, legs stretched in front of him. You waste no time, quickly sitting against him. Your head finds its home on his chest, where you can hear his heart, feel the rhythm of his breathing. His arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders, holding you close.

“This good?” He asks, referring to the romcom he’d pulled up on the TV.

“Yea, I like this one,” you reply, before tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

He presses play, but the movie doesn’t hold his attention. He’s purely focused on you, and your actions. You always love to cuddle, especially when you've been separated from your partners, but it’s like you’re trying to literally get under his skin. Mitch notices even the slightest movements as you continue to shift, never fully settling.

Halfway through the movie he feels your hand move to his shirt and grip the material tight. He can’t stand it anymore, he needs to know what’s going on in your head. So, he casually says, “You okay?”

“I’m good,” you quickly reply.

“Are you sure? You seem a bit, I dunno, upset maybe. I’m just not sure why.”

You’re quiet for a minute, unsure how to answer. Because he’s right, you are upset, but you’re not even fully sure what it’s about.

Finally, you reply, “I just really missed you.”

Mitch is quiet, hoping that you’ll explain a bit more.

After another moment you add, “It was just harder to be away from you than I’d expected. Don’t get me wrong, I am so happy for you and so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. But selfishly, I really missed you. And then I’d see all the pictures and videos of you hugging and talking to all those other girls.”

“And you were jealous of them? I promise, they’re just fans, baby. You and Sarah are the only girls for me.”

“I mean, I know that. And I know they weren’t coming on to you or anything. I was just jealous that they got to see you and hug you and I couldn’t. I wanted to be in your arms, and it like, physically hurt to not feel you for so long.”

“C’mere,” Mitch murmurs, pulling you so that you’re straddling his lap. He cups your face, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. “Those girls may have gotten a hug then, but you get me for life. Even if I’m gone for a while, I’ll always come back. And I’ll always hold you in my arms. Way tighter than I’d hug a fan.”

“I know,” you reply.

“But something’s still bothering you,” Mitch states, picking up on the way you continue to shift restlessly on his lap.

“I really don’t know what it is. I feel like I can’t physically get close enough to you. Like, I know you’re here, but part of me still doesn’t believe that,” you admit.

Mitch is quiet for a minute, thinking of what he can do to help you. He thinks for a minute and comes up with an idea. He’s not sure it will work, not sure if you’ll agree to it or not, but he has to try.

“You said you can’t get close enough?” he questions.

“Yea, it’s like I wish I could just merge us into one person,” you reply with a laugh.

“I mean, we kind of can,”

“Are you saying we could have sex?”

“Not exactly.”

You look at him for a second and say, “Explain.”

“Okay, you know how sometimes when we do have sex, you want me to stay inside for a bit after we finish?”

You blush and nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. You’re not sure why you like that so much, but it always makes you feel so safe and loved.

“Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” he asks, and you shake your head no.

“Basically, it’s that, but without the sex first. We just relax together but I’d be inside of you.” You take in his words and imagine doing what he described and a flush runs through your body. Mitch watches as your cheeks turn even pinker and your pupils dilate.

“Do you want to try?” he asks, needing to know exactly how you’re feeling.

“Yes, please, can we try that? How do we start?” Mitch smiles gently at your eagerness before leaning in to press a kiss against your mouth.

“Well first we have to warm up a little bit,” he says and leans back in for a deeper kiss. Your mouth moves with his, and you feel arousal building in your belly as wetness starts to seep into the boxers you’re wearing. Mitch moves his hands to your hips, and gently presses you lower so you can feel his length hardening beneath you.

He helps you maneuver out of your bottoms, and you shiver as the cold hair touches your sensitive center. Mitch then pulls himself out and wastes no time before running his tip along your folds.

“You sure baby?” He asks, checking once more for consent.

“I’m sure. I want you. I need you closer.”

At that he doesn’t hesitate. He gently slides inside of you, and you practically sob in relief. He fills you perfectly, feels so warm in you. You wrap your arms around his neck, shifting slightly to get comfortable and his arms wrap around your lower back, holding you to him.

Finally, you settle. No more fidgeting or restless movement. You’re perfectly content, physically attached to the man you love and missed.

You lose track of time, not noticing when the movie ends and another one begins. All you’re aware of is Mitch, how you can feel him everywhere. His hands gently caress your skin, his lips randomly press kisses to your face as he whispers how much he loves you.

Eventually Mitch is softly shaking you to wake you up. You breathe him in as you stir, slightly dazed, but it all comes back to you as you shift your hips and feel him still nestled inside of you. You let out a quiet moan, a new wave of desire running through you at the realization.

Without thinking, you lift your head to crash your mouth back to Mitch’s. He meets your enthusiasm with his own and what started out gentle earlier now becomes desperate. He carefully moves you so you’re laying on your back with him on top. He checks in again to make sure you’re on the same page before he begins thrusting.

It only takes a few minutes before the two of you are coming together, the feeling of him coating you making you feel even warmer inside than before. You whimper as he pulls out, feeling empty, but better than before. After a few more kisses, Mitch carries you to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

You both climb into bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. That night you sleep more soundly than you have in weeks, and Mitch knows this won’t be the last time you spend an evening with him resting inside of you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Thanks for reading! I have one request for this story that I'm working on but if anyone has more just let me know!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz@fictionalmensblog@buckybarnessimpp

#harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles #mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader

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loverslantern · 1 year ago

Text

The Hunter and The Witch: Dean Winchester x Fem! reader

Description: A small town where dark secrets unfold isn’t anything new to these seasoned hunters, except when it has something to do with urban legends…apparently.

Warnings: cannon violence, mentions/talk of suicide, mentions of gruesome death, eye bleeding, Blood Mary (idk if this would be a warning but like 🤷🏼‍♀️), mentions of murder, witchy stuff

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra ,@fablesrose

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long to get out again my AP class is really AP-ing and has taken up literally all my time. I spent four days working on a 20 pages packet that took forever meaning I had zero time for this. Again so so sorry.

Word count: 7,719

Bloody Mary

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

“Sam, wake up.” Dean nudges the man in question, the car in park.

Sam wakes, confused, he sits up and looks around. “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one.” Dean confirms, and I nod too a frown on my face.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam offers

“Sam” I stretch out his name, “that cannot be your positive to this.”

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.” Dean adds.

But Sam ignores us, avoids the whole conversation, “Are we here?”

Dean lets him avoid the whole ordeal and I have to wonder how long he will let his brother lie. Though I guess I'm no better. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

Sam picks up a newspaper that sat on the console of the car, the obituary of Steven Shoemaker circled.

‘The Shoemaker family is sad to announce the sudden death of their beloved husband and father Steven Shoemarker. Steven was 46. A short service will be held on Wednesday, [...] 31 at 2:00 p.m. at the Toledo [...] and cherish you [...] Your [...]’ The article read.

“So what do you think really happened to this guy?” Sam asks us.

“That's what we're gonna find out.” Dean answers, turning off the car. “Let's go.”

We exit the car, entering the large hospital building that stood in front of us walking up to the two desks that lie in the room. One of them is empty with a name tag that reads, ‘Dr. D. Feiklowicz.’ The other one however was occupied by a Morgue technician in blue scrubs, “Hey” the man greets us as we approach.

“Hey.” Dean answers back.

“Can I help you?” The technician asks, looking between the three of us.

“Yeah. We're the, uh...med students.” Dean lies.

“Sorry?” The man asks back.

“Oh, Doctor—“ Dean stammers over the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemarker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The tech informs us.

“Oh well he said, uh—“ Dean sighs, “—oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't. Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.” He tells us, gesturing to the seats on the side of the room.

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then.” Dean looks at me and Sam as if queuing us to lie with him.

“Yeah.” Sam and I say at the same time, “Jinx” I mumble underneath my breath just loud enough for Sam to hear me who in return gives me a scrunched face.

“Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—“ Dena explains getting cut off by the man in scrubs, “Uh, look, man...no.”

Dean laughs a little. He turns around to face us, mumbling, “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

But I mean we can’t really blame the guy he’s just doing his job.

Sam hits his brother on the arm, taking a step in front of him he opens his wallet and pulls out some twenties. He lays a few of them, at least five, down on the desk. The Morgue Tech picks up the money, “Follow me.”

The technician gets up and leaves. I go to follow, seeing in the corner of my eye Dean grabbing Sam when he too tries to follow, forcing me to stop and go back a step to see what they are on about.

“Dude, I earned that money.” Dean complains.

“You won it in a poker game.” Sam clarifies.

“Yeah.” Dean answers.

Sam rolls his eyes, pulling away from his brother to follow the technician.

“You’ll make it back” I say, patting Dean on the back shortly to go follow the morgue man.

Dean stays back a half a second before following after us.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding.” Sam said as the Morgue Tech pulled back the sheet over Steven’s face. Revealing a pale, long faced man with dark hair, blood stained on his cheeks below his eyes as if he had cried them.

“More than that. They practically liquefied.” The tech scuffs.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean asks him.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone.” He answers.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam questioned.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.” He replied.

“You mean like cerebral bleeding?” I ask, wanting to clarify.

“Yeah. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen.” He responded.

“The eyes & mash;what would cause something like that?” Sam asked.

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims.” The technician explains.

“Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?” Dean scuffs.

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.” The tech shrugs.

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.” Dean requests.

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” He answers, stretching out ‘that.’

Sam sighs clearly annoyed, as he pulls out his wallet.

Now leaving the hospital, walking down the stairs Sam suggests, “Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing.”

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean points out.

“Uh, almost never.” Sam answers.

“Exactly.”

“Well then, let's go talk to the daughter.” I announce”

We walk into Steven’s funeral, a picture of him on the desk.

All the men in the room are wearing black suits and the women adorned in black dresses, everyone except us. Dean points this very fact out, “Feel like we're underdressed.” I nod in agreement, my lips in a tight line, the guilt of interrupting these people’s mourning with not only us being undressed but also for not having a reasonable explanation of us being here.

But no one stops us as we keep walking through the house, all the way towards the back and outside to the backyard.

A man points us towards Donna and Lily Shoemarker, the daughters of the man we had seen on a metal table only moments before, who are standing near two people whom I can only assume is a friend or family member.

“You must be Donna, right?” Dean greets the eldest daughter as we approach the group of people.

“Yeah.” She answers sadly brushing her short brunette hair out of her face.

“Hi, uh—we're really sorry.” Sam says.

“Thank you.” She replies, and I know she must have heard that same phrase of ‘i’m sorry’ and must have answered the same ‘thank you’ over and over to each person here. As if the death of her father hadn’t broken what’s inside her enough.

“I'm Sam, this is Dean, and that’s Y/N. We worked with your dad.” He explains.

She looks at one of the adults near her and then back at us, “You did?” And I feel bad for lying to her about this to give her a connection to her father that had never existed.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke.” Dean goes on.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now” One of the men with her say, stepping in.

“It's okay. I'm okay.” Donna says, with a sharp nod.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asks, listing out various options.

“No.” She says simply.

Lily, the youngest daughter, turns around, “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

“Lily, don’t say that.” Donna snaps.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset.” Donna explains.

“No, it happened because of me.” Lily speaks up.

“Sweetie, it didn't.” Donna tries to convince.

“Oh Lily”, I say sadly crouching down to be closer to her eye level, “What makes you think that?” I knew what it felt like to blame yourself for someone else’s death, especially your parents, especially when it happens twice and you're too young to understand why this would happen to you. I feel the eyes of the people around me bore into me, especially from the brothers behind me.

“Right before he died, I said it.” Lily answers.

“Said what?” I ask her.

“Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror.” She explains, pausing, “She took his eyes, that's what she does.” My eyes go wide, not exactly expecting that answer.

“That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.” Donna reasons.

“I think your sister's right, Lily. There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?” Dean offers, giving the kid some logic to combat what she believes.

“No, I don't think so.” Lily answers. But I know it will take her years to really believe it wasn’t her fault, if ever.

Saying ‘bye’ to the grief rickened family we head back inside the house, but instead of truly leaving we sneak upstairs, approaching the bathroom.

Sam pushes the door open, dried blood stained to the white tiled floor, “The Bloody Mary legend...Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of.” Dean answers, him and I trailing in after Sam who stoops to the floor touching the dried blood, “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

I grimace, why would he touch the blood?

“Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening.” Dean offers.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam asks and we both shrug, Dean opening the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—“ Sam looks at the medicine cabinet mirror, it now facing him, he closes it before continuing, “The person who says you know what gets it. But here—“

“Mr.Shoemaker gets it instead” I finish his sentence.

“Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out.” Dean adds.

“It's worth checking in to.” Sam concludes, as we leave the bathroom.

“What are you doing up here?” A blonde woman stops us, the same woman who was comforting the daughters outside.

“We—we, had to go to the bathroom.” Dean lies, poorly, because it makes perfect sense for three people to be using a private bathroom all at once.

“Who are you?” She asks us, naturally not accepting the poorly down lie.

“Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.” Dean confirms.

“He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.” She counters, and we should really start researching these people before we make up lies of how we know them.

Dean tries to cover, “No, I know, I meant—“

“And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.” She tells us, leaving no more room for any nonsense.

“All right, all right. We think something happened to Donna's dad.” Sam begins.

“Yeah, a stroke.” She answers.

“But it isn’t a typical sign of stroke, it might be something else.” I say softly, ashamed for suggesting such a thing to someone who has no knowledge of our world. These people are going through so much the last thing they need is some random people questioning what they know, I wouldn’t blame her if she did scream.

“Like what?” She scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her.

Sam explains this time probably sensing my unease with all this, “Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth.”

Dean tilts his head, “So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead.” My eyes widened, snapping to look at him, and suddenly that unease I felt vanished, replaced by a burning hot feeling that rushed through my veins and brought a flush to my face. I gulped, trying to push down the feeling a simple sentence that wasn’t even directed towards me made me feel. The cockiness it held as well as the allowance in his voice…it shouldn’t have affected me, and really shouldn’t have created a burning-longing in my gut.

“Who are you, cops?” The woman questions us, but my eyes haven’t left Dean as if he was light and I a moth.

I catch Sam and Dean looking at each other, speaking without words, in my peripheral vision. “Something like that” Dean answers.

It’s then that Dean must have felt my gaze on him, my lips slightly agape as I looked at him through my lashes. His attention turned to me as Sam continued the conversation that I had long blanked out of. Dean looked me over, eyes trailing over my very being, only worsening the burning I had felt within. His eyes met mine again giving me that devilish smirk of his, I swallowed again my eyes falling to his lips.

Sam clears his throat, nudging his brothers hard enough that he knocks into me slightly. Effectively catching our attention.

“Let’s go” He tells us, the woman still in front of us this time her attention to a small piece of white paper that I assume has some sort of contact information on it.

“All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof—Like a local woman who died nasty.” Dean begins as we walk into the oddly dark library, the stale smell of cleaning products surrounding us.

“Yeah but Blood Mary is a widespread legend with tons of versions of who she actually is, with no clear answer. There’s the mutilated bride, a spirit conjured to tell the future, a witch, and a whole lot more” I answer.

“All right so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asks.

“Well in every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers—public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.” Sam adds, answering.

“Well that sounds annoying” Dean admits.

“No it won't be so bad, as long as we…” Sam trails off looking over to the table lined with computers all that say ‘Out of Order’, he chuckles “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

We quickly turned around, heading back to the motel we were staying at to do our research there. Dean sat leaning with his head on his hand on the small table in the room on his brother's laptop. The younger brother in question had fallen asleep on one of the beds, the rustling of the sheets giving away the fact he was tossing and turning. I however sat crisscrossed on the other bed Deans to be specific, not like he cared anyways, researching on my laptop trying to find any relevant info on a Mary in this town or deaths relating to mirrors.

“Why'd you let me fall asleep?” Sam suddenly speaks up, voice evident with sleep.

“Cause I'm an awesome brother” Dean scoffs, he’d never admit it was really because Sam hadn’t been able to sleep or at least sleep long for the last couple of weeks.

“And what’s your excuse Y/N?” Sam questions me, leaning on his side with one arm propped up.

“You were sleepy!” I admit simply, smiling at him. He rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh.

“So what did you dream about?” Dean asks him, though what he was really asking was ‘did you have another nightmare?’

“Lollipops and candy canes.” He answers sarcastically. So sassy and for what?

“Yum” I reply, my eyes going back to my laptop.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asks us.

“Oh besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean huffs, making Sam sit up, “No. We’ve looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but uh, no Mary.”

Sam falls back on the bed, the crisp sheets making a ‘whoosh’ noise beneath him, “Maybe we just haven't found it yet.”

“Thing is, there’s also been no strange deaths in the area, no other eyeball bleeding. Nothing. Which you know is good in hindsight but not quite helpful for us.” I explain.

Dean adds on, “Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary.”

Almost as if on cue Sam’s phone rings, he answers, still laying down. “Hello?”

Charlie, the blonde woman who questioned us before, sat on the park bench slightly hunched. I sat next to her to offer some comfort, while Dean sat on the back on the bench, his leg nearly brushing my back.

“And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her—her eyes. They were gone.” Charlie nearly sobbed, having explained everything that happened with her friend Jill.

Jill, who had wanted to tease the blonde women about believing in such a legend, saying the name in the mirror and winding up dead. Her death being in the same manner as Mr. Shoemaker.

“I'm sorry.” Sam answered, eyebrows scrunched together.

“And she said it. I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?” She whimpered, using the back of her hands to clear the wetness from her cheeks.

“You aren’t insane” I tell her clearly.

“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse.” She whines and I try to not let it hurt me, because she's griefing, even though it does.

“Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained” Sam explains. Dean adding, “And we're gonna stop it but we could use your help.”

Dean lifts me up again, this time to reach an elevated first floor window rather than a fence. His hands sliding from tight around my hips, to brushing down my thighs as he lifts me in reach of the window sill. The window wasn’t that high to reach in the first place but with my height, amidtely being shorter than both the boys, it wasn’t exactly comfortable or super easy to reach the window and pull myself up and in.

My hands grasp the cold white window sill, my rings clinking against the surface as I pull my body up. I swiftly slide my hips sideways making my butt land on the sill, in the same sort of movements you would use when you lift yourself out of a pool.

I move my legs inside the carpeted room, ducking slightly as to not hit my head on the open window. The room belonged to Jill, and as my feet hit the soft gray carpet I officially feel the disgust of intrusion creep up on me.

I slide off the windowsill moving into the room more, Sam quickly taking my place near the window to pick up the duffle Dean threw up at him. He catches it, putting it on the bed and immediately digging through it.

“So what did you tell Jill’s mom?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, the uncomfortability of being in someone’s bedroom let alone a dead girls bedroom crawling up my skin and in my bones.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things.” Charlie answers looking between us and the door nervously. Dean climbs through the window shutting the curtain behind and Sam pulls something out of the bag. “I hate lying to her” Charlie adds.

“Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights” Dean orders.

She goes over to the lights, “”What are you guys looking for?

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it.” Dean hums.

Sam hands him a camcorder on and ready, the object he got from the duffel, “Hey, night vision.” He recalls prompting the older brother to do so, his face scrunched with focus as he finds the button.

“Perfect.” Sam smiles.

The little screen of the camcorder is facing Dean, in a ‘selfie’ like mode, “Do I look like Paris Hilton?” He smiles.

I laugh, slapping a hand to his upper arm on instinct, “Sure you do, baby” I joke, the pet name not something I ever use slipping from my tongue before I could realize. His head turns to give me an amused and smug smirk. In his distractment Sam takes the camera back, going over to the closet door filming around the mirror.

“So I don't get it. I mean...the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?” Sam asks out loud.

“Beats me.” Dean answers, focusing back on the situation at hand. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke.” Charlie reasons.

“Yeah well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.” Dean replies.

Sam wandered into the bathroom now, looking at the mirror there. “Hey!” He calls out, getting us to turn and look at him. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

Dean immediately went off to go get it coming back rather swiftly, just as Sam placed the mirror on Jill’s bed laying it upside down after having carried it from the bathroom. With the black light now in hand, he peels off the brown paper that’s on the back of the mirror, shining the purple light on its back revealing a handprint and the name ‘Gary Bryman.’

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie reads out loud both as an acknowledgment and also a question.

“Do you know who that is?” I ask her.

“No.” She answers simply.

Back on the bench, in nearly the same positions, Sam recalls his findings. “So, Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver.”

“Oh my God.” Charlie gasps, horror in her eyes as she covers her mouth.

“What?” I ask the question we’re all thinking.

“Jill drove that car” She answers. Without looking for confirmation I know the boy's eyes are wide too, but there’s no room for the talking that comes after shock.

“We need to get back to your friend Donna’s house.

Somehow, with the help of Charlie, we convinced our way into Donna’s house back up to the bathroom we were in only hours before.

Hunched over the mirror with the black light, our suspicions were correct. There’s a handprint, one I have to say looks like the one in Jill’s bathroom, but I'm no criminologist. This time the name ‘Linda Shoemaker’ is written on it.

We all look at each other, knowing it’s likely that Steven killed his wife hence why Bloody Mary went for him and not the young girl who chanted her name. But the only way to have any idea of this theory is correct is to ask the brunette teenager downstairs.

“Why are you asking me this?” Donna asks us.

“I’m really sorry, Donna, but this is important.” I try to explain, but I know it won’t make sense to her. I mean we are total strangers asking her uncomfortable questions about her dead mother.

“Yeah. Linda's my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it.” She fumes, eyebrows scrunched together in fury, “I think you should leave.”

“Now Donna, just listen.” Dean reaches a hand up, as if to motion ‘calm down.’ But it doesn't work. Teary eyed and a little red in the face she yells, “Get out of my house!” Swiftly she runs up the stairs, not giving us another option.

“Oh my God. Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?” Charlie asks, finally picking up on our theory.

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs.

“I think I should stick around” Charlie announces, referring to staying with Donna, which is probably a good idea.

“All right. Whatever you do, don't—“ Dean tries to warn getting cut off, “Believe me, I won't say it.”

The crisp smell of old books and, oddly, cinnamon fill my nose as I take a deep breath, flexing my hand as I work out the cramping from writing a little too intensely in my small journal.

Dean sits next to me on the cold metal chairs in the library we decided to research in (different to the original one we were at), he’s typing away on the clunky computer the library has. Sam’s staring off at a bulletin board behind us with all sorts of things on it.

“Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?” He asks Dean, alerting us of him coming back to his seat on the other side of his brother.

“Yep. The NCIC, the FBI database—at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.” Dean answers.

“But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town.” Sam points out.

“I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. So unless you got a better idea—“ Dean explains and as much as I love him I cut him off.

“Well, Mary’s victims have a pattern, which I know you guys already know so I'll just cut to the good part. Both victims had secrets relating to where people died and, here’s the good part, there’s a lot of folklore on mirrors, specifically that mirrors are a reflection of your soul. And with that your secrets and lies are revealed to the mirror.

Fun Fact! It was the Romans who believed that the soul would regenerate every seven years, so if you broke a mirror then you’d have to wait seven years until your soul was cleansed of the bad luck and misfortune.

And while I have more fun facts about mirrors I will end it there.” I smiled, satisfied with my information vomit as well as my fun fact because fun facts are wonderful.

Both boys look at me strangely, a mix of confusion and what I think is amazement (they should be amazed cause that was a really great fun fact). Dean seems to shake it off, “Right. So if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it, and punishes you for it.”

Sam adding, “Whether you're the one that summoned her or not.”

“Correcto!” I answer, and by correct I mean that’s what I was thinking for our working theory.

“Then take a look at this.” Dean announces, clicking a few buttons on the computer before leaning over to the nearby printer, pulling out and handing us the paper. It’s a picture of a woman lying by a mirror in a puddle of blood. He prints out another picture, this time of a handprint and the letters “Tre.”

“Looks like the same handprint.” Sam points out and I nod in agreement.

“Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana.”

“I was on the job for 35 years-detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder—that one still gets me.” The detective states, unfortunately I immediately forgot his name. It's not the nicest thing to happen but I was also really focused on his country accent that’s just a little too funny.

“What exactly happened?” Dean asked, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You boys and girl said you were reporters?” Mr. Detective questioned.

“We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife.” Sam recalls the gruesome story.

“That's right.” He confirms.

“See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened.” Sam clarifies for him, somewhere between a curious and condescending tone.

Mr. Detective eyes us over as if he’s contemplating something. He spins his wheely chair around swiftly getting up and going to a large file cabinet. “Technically I'm not supposed to have a copy of this” He huffs, pulling out a file and then a picture, the same picture Dean had already found on the computer. “Now see that there? T-R-E?” Detective reads out, even though unbeknownst to him it’s old news to us.

“Yeah” Dean answers.

“I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer.” He theorizes.

“Do you know who it was, or any theories?” I ask, trying to get any sort of new answers.

“Not for sure. But there was a local man, a surgeon-Trevor Sampson.” He pulls out another photo, this time of this Trevor guy, he has an oval face with curly short hair definitely on the darker side but I can’t say exactly what color due to the black and white photo. He’s also wearing some sunglasses.

“And I think he cut her up good.” He finishes, his accent thick.

“Why do you think it’s him?” I question further.

“Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, ‘T’. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell ‘T’'s wife about their affair.” He answers, and for a detective that truly means nothing.

“No offense but how does that directly correlate to Sampson… I mean there’s other people with the initial ‘T’ right?” I question him again, hoping it doesn't offend the man.

“It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...it was almost professional.” He explains.

“But you could never prove it?” Dean asks, chiming in.

“No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous.” Mr. Detective nods.

“Is he still alive?” Dean follows up.

“Nope.” He sighs, sitting down. “If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret. But she never could.”

“Where's she buried?” Sam asks this time.

“She wasn't. She was cremated” He answers. No digging up bodies for us today.

“What about that mirror”, Dean nods towards the one in the photo, “It's not in some evidence lockup somewhere is it?”

“Ah, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago.” He explains, leaning back in his chair.

“You have the names of her family by any chance?”

We drive down the roads, the sun setting behind us. Sam’s call dictates where we go, either to whatever location he gives us or back to the motel.

“Oh really? Ah that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks.” Sam hangs up, pocketing his phone.

“So?” Dean asks.

“So that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.” Sam stated.

“So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?” Dean raises.

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow.” Sam simply puts it.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” Dean asks.

“Yeah! People would cover up the mirror when someone died so that their spirit/ soul wouldn’t get trapped.” I explain, happy to spew some more of my fun facts.

“So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit” Dean works through the facts.

“Yes! But I don’t know how she’s working through various mirrors” I admit.

“I don't know either, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.” Dean proposes.

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe.” Sam gets cut off by his own phone, “ Hello.” A look of concern washes over his face, becoming pale “Charlie?”

The motel room is colder, the rain outside causing that meek fact. Charlie’s sitting on Sam’s bed, her head on her knees, after we picked her up from school all terrified. All the curtains are drawn shut, all the mirrors and reflective surfaces are covered with sheets or turned aquas towards a wall or the floor there will be no bloody mary getting in here.

Sam sits next to Charlie, “Hey, hey it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, all right?” She looks up reluctantly and slowly, “Now listen. You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Her voice wobbled, fresh tears running down her cheeks.

“No. No. Not anytime soon.” Sam comforts, but I don’t think it helps.

Dean sits on the bed too, “All right Charlie. We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom. Donna said it.” She answers simply, rocking herself slightly.

“That's not what we're talking about. Something happened, didn't it? In your life...a secret...where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?” Dean pushes.

She looks around uncomfortably, swallowing she begins, “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know?” She looks over at me for confirmation knowing without any previous conversation about it that I would understand. And she was right. It was as if bad boyfriends were sewed into the fabrics of being a woman, it would be a little strange if you hadn’t had one.

I nod and she continues, “And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She cries harder, going back to her previous position.

I move towards her, Sam getting up to allow me to sit close to her. I hug her, holding her close despite her awkward position. “That’s not your fault” I told her simply, and I meant it too. She uncurls herself, quickly wrapping her arms around me and stuffing her face into my neck. I hold her tighter. “You did the right thing, leaving him” I mutter.

Dean huffs, gripping the steering wheel slightly tighter, “You were right back there Y/N, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.”

“You guys should know as well as I do that spirits don't exactly see shades of gray. Charlie had a secret, someone died, that's good enough for Mary.” Sam reasons.

“I guess” Dean sighs.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.” Sam suggests.

“Oh, what do you mean?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.” Sam explains.

“Well how do you know that's going to work?” Dean questions.

“I don't, not for sure.” Sam shrugs.

“Well who's gonna summon her?” Dean follows up.

“I will. She'll come after me.” Sam states as if it’s the most obvious answer and with no care for himself.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean nearly shouts, pulling the car over quickly and roughly making my body shift nearly knocking into the door.

“This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night—it's gonna kill you.” Dean fumes, not quite yelling but also not quite talking.

“Now listen to me—It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam answers plainly, almost in defeat

“Well you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done.” Dean adds.

“I could've warned her.” Sam sighs, and the pain in his voice makes me want to cry.

“Sam…you couldn’t have known that would happen.” I chime in, though it doesn't quite feel like my place.

“And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean we know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway.” Dean exclaims.

“No you don't.” Sam states, no further explanation given.

“I don't what?” Dean asks.

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.” Sam shrugs.

“What are you talking about?” Dean questions, face full of confusion.

“Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?” He replied sassily.

Dean looks surprised, “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.” But Sam doesn't get any answers, with a roll of his eyes Dean drives off. Conversation over.

Sam is trying to pick the lock on the shop's door, somehow without any word he became the designated lock picker. The dark oak door opens and all around the store are mirrors, mirrors of all shapes and sizes and varieties. Truly the worst place to be in this situation.

“Well...that's just great, '' Dean sighs, pulling out the photo of Mary’s corpse to look at the mirror, the one we’re looking for being a wooden frame. Not very helpful considering our location where there are countless mirrors that look exactly the same. “All right let's start looking.”

I nod in agreement handing both boys their crowbars. I shifted my baseball bat in my hand, there wasn’t a third crowbar and there was no reason for it anyways, a baseball bat is just as good at smashing.

We enter the dark store, flashlights on, splitting up we look for our specific mirror.

“Maybe they've already sold it.” Dean suggests, from some part of the store.

“I don't think so.” Sam says, stopping in his tracks. Dean and I walk over on either side of the taller man, Dean pulls out the picture again comparing the two. It’s our mirror.

“That's it.” Dean sighs, “You sure about this?”

Sam hands over his flashlight and sighs, “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” He looks between the both of us, “Bloody Mary.”

A light shines through the store windows, illuminating the room.

“I'll go check that out. You guys stay here, be careful. Smash anything that moves.” Dean shuffles away.

I grip my bat tighter as a breath that isn’t mine nor Sam’s surrounds us. He turns around quickly but I keep my back towards him, “Nothing?” I ask and he hums in confirmation.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mary in one of the mirrors, I step forward swinging my bat back and then forward hard. The glass shatters falling to the floor around my feet. Then Sam hits a mirror behind me, before swiftly turning back to her mirror.

“Come on. Come into this one.” He mutters underneath his breath.

He tilts his head watching his regeneration weirdly when suddenly he starts breathing heavily grabbing at his chest.

“Sam!” I shout, grabbing his arm. His eyes begin to bleed, blood trickling down his cheeks. He drops his crowbar, the metal clinking against the floor loudly.

“It's your fault. You killed her. You killed Jessica.” A voice rings out, one that sounds like Sam’s though I know it’s not him speaking. I help him to the floor carefully as he grabs his chest harder.

“You never told her the truth—who you really were. But it's more than that, isn't it?” The voice fumes.

I get up leaving Sam to the floor, “That’s enough of you” I mutter, gripping my baseball bat tight. I hit her mirror, the glass shatters around me.

I hear Sam take a deep breath in, when I look down at him he’s no longer holding his chest. He holds a thumb up to me, weakly.

But for some reason the voice didn’t stop, Mary was no longer hurting Sam but her accusations wouldn’t stop.

“Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying, screaming, burning—You had them for days before she died. Didn't you!?! You were so desperate to ignore them, to believe they were just dreams. How could you ignore them like that? How could you leave her alone to die!?! You dreamt it would happen!!!”

I smash three more mirrors, anything to get it to stop by it doesn't.

“SAM, SAMMY!” Dean shouts, rushing into the room and crouching down to his brother.

“It's Sam” He answers meekly.

Dean holds onto his brother's face gently, eyeing his face and the blood on it, “God, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam replies, a little unsure though considering the circumstances I get it.

“Come on, come on.” He pulls Sam up, bringing his arm around his neck with a nod of his head towards the door. I follow the boys towards the exit.

A sudden crunching noise forces us to turn around. Mary crawls out of the frame of her mirror, her long black hair covering her face, she walks over the broken glass with no care, her head tilting to the side as she crawls towards us. Her dark nearly black eyes bore into us, somehow she forces us to the floor.

My chest feels tight as if someone was squeezing my heart, I try to crawl backwards on my hands like a crab walk when a sharp pain surges through my hand followed by my eyes. I bring my hand in front of me, a large slash runs through my palm, a piece of glass sticking out of it. The ache in my eyes I know is not caused by glass but by Mary, I reach my gold hand up to my cheek blood trickling down my face. I suck in a breath, the pain not helping the already pain I was feeling. I look over to the boys on the left of me nearly on top of each other as blood runs down both their cheeks.

Mary stands approaching us with a head tilt and a limp. I grumble holding up a shaky hand, waving my hand once, slowly, making long mirrors form in a line in front of Mary acting as a wall between us.

“You killed them! All those people! You killed them!” A female voice cried out, Mary’s voice.

She looks at her reflections scared, when she begins to choke. She grabs on to her throat and her chest, crumbling down to the ground she shrieks, turning to a puddle of blood

With another wave of my hand the wall of mirrors shatters, glass falling to the floor loudly.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?” I hum feeling a little defeated.

“This has got to be like...what? 600 years of bad luck?” He asks me and I can’t help the big smile that falls on my face.

“Mmm I can’t wait” I laugh, the sarcastic comment coming to me with ease.

The sun rises in front of us, gleaming on the Impala. Our faves are cleaned up, ridden of blood and the event that unfolded. The only proof of it happening being my hand that’s carefully wrapped in white gauze, the glass now out and the cut cleaned.

Charlie sits next to me in the back seat as we pull up to her house, it's odd having someone else back here with me.

“So this is really over?” She asks us, her eyes puffy from her night of crying.

Dean looks at her through the rearview mirror, nodding, “Yeah, it's over.”

“Thank you.” She says, Dean reaching back to shake her hand. She turns to me next, arms open in a hug. I close the gap between us and give her a good squeeze.

She smiles a little sadly at me, getting out of the car.

“Charlie?” Sam calls out, stopping the woman in her tracks. She turns around, “Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen.”

She smiles faintly, turning back around to go into her house.

Dean hits his brother's arm gently, “That's good advice.”

We drive off the car falling silent for a beat before Dean talks again, “Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?” He answers.

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.” Dean tells him, looking between him and the road.

“Look...you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.” He admits with a sigh, looking out the window.

The car falls silent again.

Healing isn’t easy. It's not something you can put a bandaid on and expect to be fine, and maybe all that Sam shared will be enough for now but that’s not something we can gauge.

That is times doing, and time isn’t something we can control.

God knows i’ve tried.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #fanfiction #sam winchester #supernatural #john winchester #slow burn #witch #witch reader #witch craft #sunshine x grumpy #romance #fantasy #bloody mary #urban legends #mystery #mirror #fun facts #the hunter and the witch

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 5 months ago

Note

hellooo again!! i loved what you did with the dun!reader x tyler fic, it was exactly what i had imagined thank you!!:3 i’ll definitely be a regular here, you’re writing is TEWWW good not to be one 😁 id also love to be 🦝 anon if that works??

anyways id love to see an angsty fic, where reader & tyler are at an party or some sort of event and reader is spending a lot of time talking to her old childhood friend. and while tyler knows the reader would never hurt him, and that there was nothing going between reader and this guy. blurryface gets the best of him. so when they leave the party early because tyler has a “headache” and when the car ride home is nothing but silent, reader speaks up about it. and blurryface tries to argue with reader, paint her out to be this villain. but reader knows how to help tyler, she knows exactly how to save him from himself. i even if blurryface’s words hurt at first.

i hope i explained that correctly ☝️ but yeah just a angsty argument moment & once reader realizes she just has to save tyler from blurryface, she just reassures him until he’s safe.

again thank you so much for writing my request!!:) i have sooo many random ideas that id love to share with you, i truly enjoy your work soo much <3

- 🦝

Jealous - Tyler Joseph x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph × Reader

Warnings: Blurryface, strong language (I did use swears lol), and Tyler being jealous - angst

Word Count: 2734

A/N: Hello 🦝! I'm glad you enjoyed the Dun!reader fic and thanks for coming back and requesting :) This was super fun to write bc I have an event with my guy best friend this weekend and lots of people that are going to be there haven't met him so I was able to take inspiration – hopefully it doesn't end up like this! Hope you enjoy!

We’d been planning this festival for months, 17 youth bands from Columbus, Ohio were set to play in a medium sized local venue over Saturday and I couldn’t have been more excited. Tyler had promised to come as a guest and watch the bands. I’d asked him to have a chat with a few of the kids who I knew were fans and genuinely interested in taking their music further and into a professional sphere.

“How’s this?” Tyler stepped out of our closet wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, and a baseball cap, doing a little spin.

“Perfect,” I smiled, finishing my makeup in the mirror with my favorite music blasting from the speaker Tyler had installed in the ensuite bathroom for us. He fell back onto our bed, spreading out into a starfish position and staring up at the ceiling. “You look tired,” I laughed, looking at him through the mirror.

“I am,” he responded, pulling down one of his pillows from the top of the bed. I grabbed my bag and slipped in my phone, keys, lip balm, and a comb.

“Well you’re gonna need to wake up if you’re going to be speaking to these kids,” I said. Tyler sat up, letting out a loud groan that echoed through the bedroom. He opened his arms out to me, welcoming my presence between his knees. Resting his head against my chest, he pulled me in close enough that he was practically breathing me in. “I’m excited,” I smiled, knowing my hard work was finally paying off and that all of the kids I’d gotten to know over the last few months were getting the opportunity to showcase their art in front of people who truly understood them.

“I’m excited for you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled through my shirt. His body heat felt comforting and the last thing I wanted was to step away. It was going to be a stressful day and any minute away from him would just make me more stressed, he was my own personal stress reliever. “We should get going,” I pulled away from his embrace and helped him onto his feet. Normally Tyler drove us places because I took control of the aux to play our shared playlist. We got into the car and almost immediately music started to flow around the car, the two of us singing as loud as we could and shimmying back and forth with the bass. The venue was about half an hour from our house and I’d gotten a couple text messages from the crew to let me know they were loading things in including camera equipment and the shared drum kit each band was going to use. We turned the corner and drove in through the back entrance, parking just to the side of the loading bay. Everywhere I looked there were people running back and forth carrying equipment and talking to the bands. It felt like just yesterday that Tyler and I were setting up for twenty one pilots’ shows together while Mark filmed everything. I missed it, I missed having a camera shoved in my face by one of my best friends–it was fun. Tyler jumped out of the car and ran over to my side, offering a hand for me and not letting go once I was down. We walked into the venue, music playing over the radio to keep everyone entertained during the long waiting hours. That was when I saw him–Luke. I stopped right there in the middle of the walkway, my breath caught in my throat.

“Y/N?” he paused, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since high school. My heart was beating in my ribcage, the feeling vibrating throughout my body and straight into my hand, which Tyler gripped tightly. His brows furrowed as he looked at me with concern.

“Luke?” Tyler tilted his head slightly. I let go of his hand and ran straight into Luke’s arms. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?” I gasped.

“I thought I’d fly in and surprise you! I’ve been helping a bit behind the scenes with promotional stuff,” he looked down at me with a grin.

“How long has it been?” Tears of joy started to well in my eyes. Luke was my best friend in elementary school, middle school, and even high school–our friendship lasting longer than 10 years.

“Eight years Tink,” he said, ruffling my hair. ‘Tinkerbell,’ the nickname I’d adopted in middle school. I remember it like it was yesterday, the summer when our families went to Disney World together. Luke and I grew up on Disney movies and when we finally saved enough money to go to the parks we were so excited. Like the amazing friend I was, I forced Luke to stand in an hour-long line with me to meet Tinkerbell only to get heat stroke and have to step out of line. I cried and cried about how bad I felt about wasting his time but the whole time he sat by my side waiting for me to feel better before dragging me off to Walt Disney’s Haunted Mansion and forever cementing my name as ‘Tinkerbell’.

“Sorry, Tink?” Tyler interrupted. I stepped back from Luke who chuckled.

“Short for Tinkerbell. It’s a long story. You must be Tyler, I’ve heard so much about you,” Luke beamed, reaching a hand out to Tyler who shook it firmly.

“Interesting, because I haven’t heard anything about you,” he mimicked sarcastically. Luke’s face dropped looking at me with confusion. He’d never come up in conversation, Luke moved out of state after high school, going to New York for business school.

“We were friends at school,” Luke explained before looking back at me. “The kids are already here if you want to come say hi, they’re all super excited to meet Tyler.” I nodded, following him as he walked ahead. Tyler reached down and grabbed my hand strongly. Something was off, he was standing taller and felt more serious than he normally was.

“Are you okay?” I whispered into his ear–he had to lean down to properly hear me.

“Yep. Fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Tyler if you feel sick or something you can go home, I can stay here with Luke,” I began, rubbing the pad of my thumb against the back of his hand.

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted. As we entered the backstage area where all the kids were he turned on a smile and went to greet everyone. The room instantly filled with cheers and squeals as he was quickly swarmed and disappeared from sight, leaving Luke and I alone.

“Do you need any help with setting stuff up?” I asked, turning away from Tyler and trying to make myself useful.

“Actually yeah, you could help me put together the gift baskets for the bands,” he nodded, leading me further down the hall into a dressing room full of brightly coloured baskets, bags of candy, drum sticks, guitar picks, and more gifty things. I jumped over the covered floor to a small square of carpet which was clear enough for me to stand. “So, what’s up with this Tyler guy? You told me he was chill but he was anything but that,” Luke spoke, kneeling down and grabbing a basket. He was right, Tyler was generally relaxed with the exception of a few work things with the band when he really locked in.

“I don’t know Lou,” I ran a hand through my hair, “he normally is.”

He shrugged and let out a sigh. “Maybe he’s jealous of my amazingness,” he bragged, fitting a pack of guitar strings next to the box of chocolates in his basket.

“As if,” I scoffed, throwing the ring of ribbon to him. “I’m dating the frontman of one of the biggest bands on the planet and you’re… you,” I laughed as Luke placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. As Luke and I continued to fit each gift into the baskets we began to talk about the past. We reminisced on the make believe games we used to play, the popular girls in middle school who thought they were ‘all that’–who apparently these days were working at gas stations and malls–and that one time our math teacher talked about his couples therapy in class. I could barely breathe as Luke mimicked the teacher’s voice, clenching my stomach and gasping for air.

“Oh my god, remember when he got on his knees in front of Kate and started praying for her to pass the exam?” I laughed as Luke gasped, continuing his perspective of the story. I could hear the thumping and humming of the bands playing as they started to roll out on stage–I couldn’t have been more proud.

“What about Dylan, do you remember him?” Luke asked. We’d moved closer together as the empty baskets became perfectly full and were placed on the table I’d decided needed to be covered in pink paper.

“Shit that breakup was the worst. I was the a fucking mess,” I scoffed. Dylan was my high school boyfriend and for most of our relationship I was deeply in love with him–except for the day I caught him making out with Kathy from biology. It took me months to get over it, months of watching Disney movies and scoffing ice cream on Luke’s couch. It was so bad that our parents actually let us stay at each other’s houses.

“I know, I was there,” Luke laughed, cutting the end of the ribbon he was tying. “I’m glad you’ve found your person though, he’s lucky to have you Tink.” Finishing another basket, I placed it on the table, finally able to move around the room as we’d finished about half of the job already. Just as I was about to go back to my spot I saw Tyler standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” I smiled, opening my arms to him as he weaved his way around the baskets towards me. “How were the kids?” I looked up at him noticing he was picking at his hands–an anxious habit he’d formed.

“Good,” he responded.

“Are you okay man?” Luke asked, looking up from the bow he was tying. Tyler’s fists clenched.

“I’ve got a headache, you know?” he gestured to his head. “I think we should head home Y/N.” I didn’t want to go home, I wanted to watch my hard work pay off and hear the music.

“Oh I can give her a ride home after is she wan–”

“No. I–I–no,” Tyler interrupted. I stood up and interlocked my arm with his but he shrugged me off. I mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ at Luke who flashed me a sympathetic look. I hated having to leave him, I’d missed his company more than I thought I had–all of the memories flooding back in a manner of hours.

“Okay,” I nodded, placing the basket I had just finished on the table and smiling sheepishly at Luke. Tyler walked stiffly to the door and out to the car without a word.

“See ya Tink,” Luke waved, “I’ll text you.”

I ran out after Tyler towards the car seeing him already sitting in the driver’s seat with the engine running. His posture was perfectly straight and expression blank. I climbed into my seat and turned to him, placing a hand on his thigh.

“Are you okay to drive?” I asked, genuinely concerned about what was happening to him. Either he was telling the truth and had a headache or something much worse was about to happen.

“It’s fine,” he snapped, driving out of the lot. I reached for the aux cable to plug my phone in, hoping some music would help him feel better–it usually did. “Don’t. Please,” he spoke, his hands gripping hard onto the wheel. I nodded and sat in silence the rest of the way home, staring out the window. As each building passed us I felt worse and worse, an ever expanding pit of anxiety forming in my throat. Tyler didn’t say a word but as we got closer and closer to home he would occasionally let out a groan or wince of pain. We wheeled into the driveway and came to a stop, Tyler jumping out of the car and running into the house. Immediately I chased after him, catching the front door as he attempted to slam it.

“Tyler!” I shouted, causing him to stop and look at me. His eyes were red–bright red. Fuck.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he snapped, raising his arms to cover his head. He was trying to hide Blurryface from me.

“Blurry come on. Talk to me,” I said.

“I don’t need to hear you talk about him. I don’t want to hear you talk about him. You ditched me the whole day to hang out with him,” he started a path of no return, we were going to have that conversation.

“Tyl–We–He’s…We’re not…” I tried to explain it but couldn’t get my words out.

“Save it Y/N. I saw the way he looked at you, the way you hugged him. God you’re such a slut,” he seethed. My jaw dropped. The same words high school bullies spat at me were coming from the mouth of the person I love the most–the person who I’d decided to spend my life with.

“You’re awful,” I sniffled.

“And you’re not?” he continued to push, his eyes glowing brighter than before. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to unleash hell on him but it wasn’t Tyler speaking and I knew anything I did to Blurryface would just hurt Tyler more than he already was hurting.

“He’s gay,” I blurted. “He’s gay, there is nothing going on between us and there never has.” I wiped the tears falling from my face. It wasn’t my thing to tell him, Luke was out and everyone who knew him knew he was gay–in fact even those who didn’t know him could seem to tell. Almost instantly Tyler’s eyes turned from the flaring fiery red to a bloodshot brown, his shoulders falling.

“What?” I could tell he felt awful, the buildup of guilt obvious on his face.

“I said, he’s gay, and there isn’t and never has been anything going on between us. He’s my friend Tyler.” He held his hand in front of his mouth, shaking violently.

“Oh my god. I’m awful, I–I called you a–” he started to bawl and I pulled him in close.

“It wasn’t you Ty. It’s okay, it’s okay,” I hummed, rubbing my hand up and down his back and tears streamed down his face. Tyler buried his face into my shoulder, his body trembling with every sob.

“I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it,” he choked out, his voice cracking.

“I know, baby. I know,” I whispered softly, keeping my arms wrapped tightly around him. My heart ached seeing him like this, so consumed by Blurryface’s anger and his own self-hatred.

“I can’t believe I let him do that… I can’t believe I said that to you. I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating, guilt lacing every word. I pulled back just enough to see his face, placing my hands gently on either side of his cheeks.

“Tyler, listen to me. That wasn’t you. I know you, and you would never say those things. I’m not angry at you. I just want to help you through this.” His eyes, still red and puffy, searched mine, like he was desperately trying to believe my words but couldn’t let go of his shame.

“But I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. I shook my head gently.

“I’m okay. I’m here, aren’t I? I love you, Tyler. Nothing he says, nothing Blurryface does, can change that.” He let out another shaky breath, his forehead resting against mine. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that. You deserve all the love in the world, and I’m going to keep reminding you of that until you believe it,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. For a moment, we stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of everything starting to lift, even if just a little. Tyler’s breathing slowly steadied, his tears drying as he leaned into my touch.

“We’ll get through this, Ty. Together.”

He nodded, his voice still raw. “Together.”

Requests open!

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paracosmenthusiast · 6 months ago

Text

Sundays

Just a quick Keanu x Reader fluff <3

WC: 700

The smell of earth after rain.

You were strolling across the tennis court, shoes wet from running across the wet grass in the dark. The face of your watch reflected the time—a quarter past midnight—as you passed by one of the brilliant overhead lights.

It was well-lit, like any place on a college campus should be. But somehow you still felt encapsulated by darkness, a sheath of night slipping over your shoulders and down your spine all the way to your toes.

Arriving at your destination, you shrugged your bag to the ground and unzipped your racket. Ordinarily you wouldn’t be out here by yourself. You would be accompanied by at least three or four of your friends, bored after dark in Columbus, Ohio, with absolutely nothing better to do on a Friday night than hit the asphalt and kill some time.

Yet, here you were.

Thwack.

A bright green ball shot off into the darkness, turning oblong for a moment when it rebounded.

You adjusted your wrist, sent another one off. Watching the motion of your feet more than the motion of your racket was screwing with your grip, but you were more concerned by your still-healing knee.

“Hey.”

You whirled around, heart beat on the high line, the sudden motion straining your knee and nearly bringing you down.

“Oh—I’m sorry!” The newcomer rushed to help you, resulting in you awkwardly clasping his forearm but successfully avoiding eating asphalt. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

Trying to restore your heart to something below cardiac arrest, you looked up at the stranger. He was tall, lean but not skinny, with the most magical brown eyes you’d ever met and thick, dark hair falling into his eyes. Already flashing his teeth in a wide smile, half-sheepish.

“You’re fine,” you said, waving him off, righting yourself and smoothing a hand down your leg until it met your weak knee. Squinting up at him in the bright lights of the tennis court. “You’re so fine! I’m just—thank you. I have a bad knee, that’s all, so when I turned, I must’ve put too much weight on it...”

You were still distractedly pressing down on your knee, even though it didn’t particularly hurt. Trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to look. Because you were feeling a heat in your cheeks that wasn’t from your solo tennis session.

“Hope I’m not interrupting. Nobody’s usually out here this late, it gets lonely. I was on a walk when I saw you over here.” He was grinning again. You heard it in his voice, deep, husky, but still quiet. Your eyes made contact with his shoes—he was wearing black motorcycle boots, laces lazily knotted, a vivid green stem caught and snarled in the mess.

Now you were smiling, staring at a brightly colored flower stuck in his shoe, and then you were staring at his well-fitting pants, and then you were taking in how his black t-shirt hung off his very nice shoulders...

Oops. You redirected your gaze at once, meeting his eyes.

“Wanted to say hi,” he said, not that he needed to explain anything. “Uh—my name’s Johnny.”

“Johnny,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face. Rocking back and forth on your heels, smiling at him smiling at you, squashing down some odd, warm feeling in your chest.

He cleared his throat and looked around the court. “D’you come here a lot?”

You nodded, folding your racket under your arm so you could cross your arms, warming your chilly fingers. “Yeah, sure do. Normally some friends and I—I mean, we just play doubles. No real score. Just for fun.”

“Just for fun,” he repeated. “Maybe I haven’t been coming around often enough.”

“Yeah,” you nodded enthusiastically, “you sure haven’t.”

Grinning. Wow, you loved that grin. You might do anything to see that grin again. You swallowed, mouth almost uncomfortably dry, and gestured with your head back at your bag. “Wanna play?”

Surprise flit over his face. Then he was smiling, and nodding, tilting his head back so you could see the column of his throat as he laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

#keanu reeves #keanu x reader #keanu reeves x reader #johnny utah x reader #johnny utah au #fluff #paracosmenthusiast

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imariscoconuts · 9 days ago

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Like Sunshine & Honey: 01

A/N: AHHHHHH it has literally been a decade since I've written anything but it was my birthday last week and I just got this sudden urge to write! I am a long time tumblr reader but first time writing on here so I'm still getting used to it all - sorry in advance! I love punishing myself so this is (hopefully) a slow burn. Lots of angst along the way because I like when it hurts...

I did proofread this but I am a little excited so there may be errors!

Joel Miller (HBO) x female!OC

OC is 29 in this so age gap fyi

[01: Yay! It's You!]

4.5k words

It was a cool September morning when the twins were set upon by six of Jackson's men, out on a patrol on the Northern side of the town. By the time they heard the group it was too late, they were too close. That's what we get for taking a shortcut through the open valley, Marcus thought.

"On your knees, now!" one of the men, Troy, barked. Next thing they knew, Troy whistled while a low growl followed from behind his dark mare.

"We're safe! And we're alone! We promise! " Marcus exclaimed confidently, despite the multiple weapons now staring at him right in the eyes.

Daisy, Jackson's toughest critic - and certified 'infected' inspector - creeped towards the pair, Cece's nerves heightening ever so slightly as the black and white cattle dog approached them. She was an animal lover for sure but she couldn't ignore the severity of the situation.

"Let her decide if you're safe," David, another Jackson native spoke, pointing his nose to Daisy. The canine stared at Cece, as if zeroing in on her specifically. Her and Marcus, now on their knees looked intensely at each other then back at Daisy.

Marcus inhaled sharply as Daisy took another step closer and with one last whistle from Troy Daisy's legs were off, closing the remaining 30ft distance between her and the twins.

Cece closed her eyes momentarily then looked to her right, staring into Marcus's eyes. The siblings were confident to say the least but even the most courageous would lose a little composure in a situation like this. It had been almost 2 months since the pair had ran into their last lot of raiders - a sloppy trio - that left the altercation with less supplies but more cuts and bruises courtesy of the twins. They could hold their own, heck, a 2 v 4 hand to hand combat wouldn't even phase them that much these days but they both sensed something odd about this group. They seemed clean, well fed and… very well equipped. Guns, bows, axes, you name it.

Daisy sniffed Marcus first, from his feet, to his hips up to his neck and face. Daisy dropped onto her belly neatly, a command the men instantly nodded at. Now it was Cece's turn. Daisy moved to the woman, repeating the same sniff pattern but without warning allowed her cold nose to graze Cece's cheeck, causing the woman to laugh lowly without warning. Instantly, Daisy imitated the low position but this time with her tail wagging in the air.

The Jackson men looked at each other warily, only having seen Daisy like this with a handful of people. A quick but friendly bark left her as she looked up at Cece.

"Oh, hello" she whispered, slowly extending her hand to the dog as if a peace offering.

As Daisy approached, Cece smiled. She loved dogs, she loved cats, she loved toads, caterpillars and every animal in between. And you know what they say, dogs can sense if you're a bad person.

Cece was anything but bad even despite all that her - and Marcus - had been through. Marcus always described his sister, younger by only 9 minutes, as "the light of my life and those whose she is lucky to grace". She was caring, sometimes too much to a fault, the strongest person he knew and always knew how to make him smile. She loved her brother with every bone in her body and then some, even if he was a bit too sceptical of things at times. The two had been orphaned, like many, 20 years ago at the ripe age of 10 years old. Scared out of their minds in the middle of Columbus, Ohio (their parents had interesting ideas of what a 'holiday' was…) and with their mother's final words being "run, just run as far away from the city as you can" the pair did exactly that. The twins were known by many in their lives as adventurous and smart, so to some miracle the pair lasted 2 and a half weeks in the Ohio wilderness until they met Gary.

5'6 and still in his Blockbuster uniform, Gary somehow made it out into the forest and snuck up on the kids, attacking them from behind as they tried to start a fire and cook the can of alphabet spaghetti they had found a week back at an abandoned gas station. With painfully pale skin, bloodshot eyes and emitting the most horrendous moan, Gary was definitely nightmare material for the two youngsters. Within an instant Marcus was on the ground, the pair screaming as Gary's teeth nipped close to the boy's face. As quick as he had attacked Gary went limp, falling onto Marcus with his teeth digging straight into the bark above Marcus' shoulder. The pair screamed as Cece tried to pull her brother out from under the corpse. They had seen a few infected during the first two days of the outbreak, before their parents died, but it had been their first encounter with one out in the forest.

"Stop screaming!" a voice whisper-yelled from nearby. The siblings looked forward, spotting a man not more than 20ft away, pointing a gun right where Marcus had just been.

"Where are your parents?" The man questioned, approaching them slowly.

The twins looked at each other, then at Gary, then at the man and back at each other.

Should we tell him? Cece tried to ask without speaking, communicating only through her eyes.

Hell no! Marcus replied, his brows now furrowed. It was something the two loved about being twins - seemingly always knowing what the other was saying without a single word.

"I said, where are your parents?" The man barked a little louder, cocking his gun back up but at the children this time.

"Umm… they're dead…" Cece whispered, a single tear escaping her eye. After weeks of crying it was all her body could muster up right now.

"Bill, what the hell are you doing! They're just kids!" Suddenly another man came into view, running from behind Bill.

"I-I just" Bill stammered and sighed, knowing his interrogation was definitely not happening how he wanted it to now that Frank was here.

"Oh my goodness you're like 5 years old!" Frank exclaimed, slinging his arrow over his shoulder and approaching the pair slowly.

Marcus pushed Cece behind him, wary of the strangers.

"Don't come any closer!" he yelled, holding onto Cece's hands behind him, his heart beating out of his little chest.

Marcus was so, so brave. Cece wouldn't even know what to do without him. He was strong, determined and never let anyone walk over him or Cece.

"We- we won't hurt you, I promise" Frank said, taking painfully slow steps towards the children, offering them a half smile as he did.

"And how do I know you're not lying?" Marcus questioned, his voice quivering slightly. Cece peeked out from behind her brother, only looking at the men for a second before hiding back behind Marcus.

"My name's Frank and that guy" he said, looking over his shoulder at the grumpy brunette, "is Bill."

"We live about an hour West from here and were scouting the forest for some deer or turkey when Bill said he heard something. That 'something' evidently being that guy" Frank said, pointing to Gary - who was now definitely dead. For the second time.

"Now you know who we are, can you tell us your names?" he asked quietly, now crouching down just a few feet from the pair. Bill swayed impatiently from behind, knowing exactly where this was going.

Marcus hesitated, squeezing Cece's hands behind him. The young girl hesitated but let go of Marcus' hands, appearing from behind her brother.

"My name is Cece." she spoke.

"Cece, stop!" Marcus tried to reason with her but she shook away his hand, taking a step closer to Frank.

"And- and this is Marcus, my brother". Frank smiled at the pair and looked back at Bill quickly giving him a look, a look that said "how on Earth can we leave them here?"

"Well," Frank started, "it's a pleasure to meet you Cece and Marcus. Would you like to come with us?"

"Safe!" Troy exclaimed to the group, the interaction between Cece and Daisy heavy on his mind.

"My name is Troy" he spoke, dismounting from his horse and slinging his gun over his shoulder.

"We're from a compound somewhat nearby. We offer people a safe community inside guarded and patrolled walls in exchange for being a useful member of our society. As you have been deemed safe by Daisy and thus are not currently infected I am obligated by our council to offer you two entry into our community if you wish to accept?"

The siblings looked at each other cautiously.

Should we go? Cece tried to ask without speaking, communicating only through her eyes.

I'm not sure. Marcus replied, his brows now furrowed. It was something the two loved about being twins - seemingly always knowing what the other was saying without a single word.

"Y-yes" Cece spoke quickly. Surely this won't blow up in our faces… right? She thought to herself. The pair had been on their own for the last year, dodging infected, raiders and the like left, right and centre as they tried to cross the country and find a slither of solace somewhere, anywhere but the QZ they were in in Indiana.

"We have strict rules and it is vital you are able to prove you can benefit our society in return for sanctuary. If you disobey these rules we have no problem and are bound by our council to discipline those who do not follow through with their part in this exchange. Do you understand?"

"Yes." she said more confidently this time, swallowing hard. She looked to Marcus and he sighed, wondering to himself, Surely this won't blow up in our faces… right?

Troy clamped his hands together and retreated to his horse, pulling two black cloths from his saddle bag. "You will need to wear these on the journey there for security reasons."

"No." Marcus whispered to Cece, panic now growing inside of him.

"Marcus, come on." Cece pleaded, rising from her knees. She looked back at him, holding out her hand for him to take. After arguing with himself internally, Marcus sighed and took her offer, now standing next to her. She always knows best. He thought.

After a rather rough pat down from the other men and removal of their weapons, the two were popped onto different horses and blindfolded. Although the pair have done some questionable things to survive in this crazy world, this was definitely in their top 5, maybe 3. Riding blindfolded on a random guy's horse in the middle of Wyoming.

It had been exactly twelve days since the twins arrived in Jackson.

The first few days were definitely… something. Upon arrival, the two were greeted by Tommy Miller, one of the top men in Jackson.

"Well look what we have here! Haven't had anybody new come around here in a couple months." Tommy explained, waltzing up to the pair with a firm grin on his face.

"Now, I want you to know that a good life here is easy but it ain't cheap. You give to Jackson, Jackson will give to you." Tommy said rather earnestly. "Let's head on over to the hall for a chat and then we'll really get this party started" he smiled, walking off without hesitation. The group that brought the pair back had now dispersed, only Troy following behind Tommy.

"Well, he sure is something." Cece announced, shaking her head and following the men, "come on Marcus" she smiled, looking back at her brother.

He sighed softly, trudging behind her and only now noticing the dozen or so people on the compound's street, eyeing them both intensely.

Cece looked back at her brother and met his eyeline, noticing two men nearby seemingly whispering about them.

Cece looked down at herself, noting her rugged appearance and sighed, "yeah, we've seen better days".

With a soft chuckle to herself she picked up her speed, pulling Marcus along.

"Look at how everyone's looking at us" he whispered.

"Can you blame them? No one knows us from a bar of soap" she said, rolling her eyes. Cece was a very understanding person, empathetic when people didn't even deserve it so she didn't look too much into the hard stares they were receiving from the people of Jackson.

After a brief walk the group had made it to the mess hall when a single bark halted everyone.

Daisy approached the group, zigzagging straight for Cece before stopping at her feet and sitting, offering her a paw.

"It's you again!" she laughed, kneeling down.

Tommy looked between Troy and Marcus, raising an eyebrow at the woman. Odd, he thought.

After a rather longwinded breakdown of Jackson, Tommy alongside his wife Maria and a few of Jackson's council decided the siblings would start on lighter duties for their first few weeks - Marcus behind the bar at the Tipsy Bison and Cece a library assistant. Marcus insisted he could be on patrols "first thing in the morning" but Maria assured him patrol work would come with time, and trust.

As for Cece, she had quite a thorough understanding of basic medical procedures thanks to Bill and Frank as well as a love for learning, hoping she could make her way to the school or infirmary at some point.

Slow dawn, lady! She thought to herself, trying to remind herself that they were newcomers, strangers to Jackson still.

It was a lot for them, being among a new group of people, ones that didn't seem to want to kill them or sabotage them like those in the QZ. But they had only been here just over an hour, so nothing was certain. Maria insisted on putting the two up at "the little green house near Joel's". Whoever that was.

"My brother." Tommy explained, "he's out on a city patrol right now. Probably be back around the 2nd".

Walking past the Tipsy Bison, left at the school and straight down past the apple trees sat the little green house.

A quaint two story home with a sage green exterior, grey roof and white trimmings. Although it was chipping and severely faded, the home still stood out amongst the rest of the houses on the row. Most adorning brick work or a dark colour palette.

"Well, this'll be yours for the little while." Tommy gestured, walking up the steps and opening the front door.

"Just turn right at the corner and you'll see the red mailbox about 3 houses down" he said, pointing his arm straight down the street. Cece smiled wide, looking around at the houses, the trees and the few people on the street, taking it all in.

Security felt good, but weird. After fighting and surviving for years she was unsure how to feel. How long would they be here? Would they make friends? Friends. It's just been her and Marcus most of the time. Only relying on each other in the QZ. The thought of security made her excited. But what if it ends up like the QZ? She thought to herself.

Not wanting to dwell on the 'what ifs' for too long, she decided to stick with what was in front of her, her reality, right now.

"Thank you, Tommy. I- we really appreciate it. And we are ready to contribute to Jackson and get to know everyone here." Cece explained, genuinely feeling thankful for the situation.

Although she loved spending time with Marcus, it had been a long time since she had had a positive experience with another human and Tommy, as well as Maria, and basically everyone they had met so far in Jackson seemed nice, or decent at the least.

"Just swing on by if you need anything. If we're not there, Maria is usually at the hall or down by the stables and I'm, well, I'm a bit all over the place so you'll see me around." Tommy said, smiling back at the two.

"Thank you, really." Marcus spoke from behind Cece, reaching out to shake Tommy's hand before he set off towards his own house, waving at the two as he jogged away.

"You promised it was our turn to host." Cece complained, trudging alongside Tommy as they headed to the mess hall.

"Yes, that is true but my brother just got back and Maria really wants to cook a stew for everyone." he shrugged, smirking as the two walked side by side.

"Fine," Cece replied, "but I'm bringing an apple pie". She nudged Tommy's shoulder with her own, knowing him and Maria were already head over heels for her baking skills because the pie she bought over to their house last week was devoured before they even left the 'welcome dinner' Tommy and Maria had put on for the siblings. Cece had been in Jackson just shy of two weeks and had already cooked 8 pies for those of Jackson, including her neighbours, except Joel, who apparently lives across the street and one house down, the head librarian Betty and Ellie, who she met in a rather absurd way. On the Monday just gone as Ellie left her and Joel's home she became overwhelmed with the very pleasant smell coming from the little green house. Five minutes, two beady eyes watching Cece through the kitchen window and one ear-piercing yelp from Cece later, the two were sharing an apple pie and two glasses of milk on Cece's front porch. The two spent an hour talking about baking, tacky jokes and someone named Dina, who Cece was yet to meet.

"Deal." Tommy confirmed, tipping his hat to the woman, before entering the hall. "See you and Marcus tonight." he called over his shoulder.

Marcus. Cece had never seen Marcus so locked in. He had worked almost every day at the Tipsy Bison while spending most of his free time with Troy and a few of the other men of Jackson. Although still his very reserved and sceptical self, it was nice for Cece to see her brother taking a real liking to Jackson, its people and its system. This morning he told Cece he had met with Maria and would begin training for patrols as early as next week.

Meanwhile Cece had been spending the past week getting to know as many people of Jackson as she could including Betty and her daughter Lucy who was the same age as her. That's one thing Cece definitely hated about the QZ - most people didn't want to or couldn't just have a conversation with one another. It was too hostile. In the first few years they were there it wasn't too bad, she had Finn and Joey, but once they were gone it was only a few people that were civil with her. Cece didn't take it to heart though, she had been in this crazy world long enough to know it was survival over everything and she respected those that just got up to do what they had to do. That didn’t stop her from taking any opportunity to talk to people when she could though. Even as a child, she was always the first to talk to strangers, much to her parents' dismay, and always tried to include everyone and make others happy.

Whether at school, the local park and even in the QZ. She would often do favours for people to get extra juice rations for her neighbour's son, Carl because the joy he got out of a cup of apple juice was enough. That's just who Cece was, even in the messed up, depressing world she had been left in.

Not wanting to waste any more time, she began making a list in her head of all that she needed to pick up for this evening's pie when her thoughts were quickly interrupted by a whistle from behind.

"Cece, how's it going?" Troy asked, approaching with Daisy trotting closely behind.

Cece smiled genuinely at the two, finding Daisy just the cutest (and most hardworking) dog she'd ever met. Although she hadn't asked yet, she put Troy in his late 40's, judging from the few lines that adorned his face. Despite the brashness of their first encounter, Troy had been exceptionally welcoming to Cece and Marcus, something not ignored by Cece. Not in a weird way, he just seemed genuinely friendly to the woman.

She crouched down, meeting Daisy's eyes when the dog suddenly offered her a paw. "Pretty good, I think. Most people have been really welcoming to Marcus and I. It's… it's nice." she smiled shyly, patting under the dog's chin.

"Well that's probably because you're nice" he said, patting her shoulder as she returned to her own height. "Or it could be because you keep baking for people" Cece laughed, pointing at Troy, "and that's just apple pie! I also do a spectacular pecan one too."

Troy chuckled at the woman, patting her shoulder, "I'll be waiting for one!" he said before heading off with Daisy.

Joel was sick of his city patrol about twelve days ago… the day he left Jackson. His partners, Jenny and Brad were slow and incompetent according to him so to say he was glad to be only minutes away from the gates was an understatement. Despite his personal problems with the two, the trip was somewhat of a success - besides the run in with a group of raiders just a few days in. They had found medical tools, some weapons, winter coats and a '1001 Dad Jokes' book, for Ellie.

"Open!" they heard as the three of them approached the front gates. Joel sighed, wanting nothing more than to sleep. In his bed. As the horses trudged through the gates Joel was met by Tommy and a few others.

Dismounting his horse, Joel unclipped his bags and met Tommy, "nice to see you brother," Tommy smiled, pulling Joel in for a hug. Joel was not a toucher, but for Tommy he would tolerate a hug… on certain occasions.

"How does stew and an apple pie sound tonight?" Tommy asked his brother, walking with Joel and Beardy, his horse, while Jenny and Brad led the way to the stables.

Apple pie? Joel thought. Maria has never baked that before. Sensing his confusion Tommy turned to Joel and smiled deviously, "you have new neighbours in the little green house".

Joel rolled his eyes, really not in the mood to meet new people.

"Oh come on Joel, they're really nice. Well, Marcus is a little quiet, like you, but Cece, she's great!" he exclaimed, kicking a rock in front of him as the two walked on.

Oh great, another couple. Joel thought.

"Brother and sister." Tommy said, reading Joel's mind.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I'll unload, go see Ellie and see y'all later then." Joel said, allowing his furrowed brows to tell Tommy how he felt about this 'dinner party'.

After taking all of the trip's finds to the infirmary and mess hall Joel finally arrived to his street. Passing by the little green house he noticed a few new flower pots on the front porch as well as two new chairs. A stark difference to what it looked like before he left - dirt all over the porch, with a broken rocking chair and surely at least twenty spiderwebs. No one had lived in that house the whole time Joel had been in Jackson. A family of three apparently used to live there for a few months when Jackson was first established but ultimately they decided to leave Jackson for some QZ in Salt Lake City that was apparently 'promising'. And they were never heard from or seen again. It's just been sitting there, fading away ever since.

Not giving any more time to the little house, Joel trudged down to his own house that he shared with Ellie. Well, she was often at Tommy's or Dina's so his house that he shared with Ellie sometimes. After yelling out, hoping to hear Ellie he was instead met with silence. Taking off his coat, Joel groaned, his shoulders feeling as stiff as a brick wall from sleeping rough for almost two weeks. He had a sleeping bag, of course, but that wasn't much on top of a forest or concrete floor. Rubbing his shoulders he sighed and laid down on their couch, not wanting to trek up the stairs. Joel laid there, looking up at the peeling roof for about twenty minutes, wanting nothing more than to sleep but it just never came. Sick of laying there he stood up and gathered his coat, deciding to go find Ellie and visit the Tipsy Bison for a whiskey or two.

As he walked back past the little green house he then noticed the doormat he hadn't seen before. Walking up to the porch, hoping no one was home to see him snooping around he snickered and rolled his eyes.

Yay! It's You! The brown doormat said.

"Where do you even get something like that these days?" he asked himself, shaking his head at the mat, the house and whoever lived in it.

Guess I'll see which idiot owns that mat soon, Joel thought, trudging back down the street.

One thing about Joel, he was a realist. He knew fun and happiness was far and few these days, at least for him. Maybe Ellie, Dina, heck even Betty the librarian knew how to have a little fun these days but Joel took everything in Jackson pretty seriously. He did what needed to be done and stuck to his business. Most of Jackson just let Joel be, knowing he was a 'grump' - to be frank.

As he rounded the corner near the mess hall his eyes set upon Troy and a woman with long, light brown hair. He couldn't tell who it was from behind but he watched as she laughed at Troy, her shoulders shaking from her laugh.

Yeah, he think's he's funny. Joel thought, rolling his eyes. He wasn't the fondest of Troy. Not that he did anything particularly wrong, he was just too loud. Especially once whiskey had hit his lips.

The woman said something back to Troy, now his turn to laugh. Joel didn't see much purpose in all of the thrills of Jackson - the socialising, the movie nights, the holidays - at least for the adults. He would much rather everyone just do their work and leave it at that. Less likely to meet new people, new women that way, he thought. Joel had flirted and entertained a few women in Jackson but never anything serious, and never when he was sober.

Before he looked away he noticed the woman bend down to Daisy, patting her on the head before Troy and Daisy walked away, leaving the woman to walk the opposite direction. He watched as she passed two of the councilmen, smiles immediately filling their faces. The biggest smiles he had seen on them, probably ever.

Who the hell is that? He thought.

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lukesvangelista · 2 months ago

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— 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍

— 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍

— 𝒏𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒉 𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒂�� 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓

— 𝒅𝒊𝒃𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒅!

— “𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍? 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅?”

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cwritesforfun · 1 year ago

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Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader: One Bed One Heart

Prompts: "Person A cannot believe Person B is actually scared after watching a horror movie." & "Reader/Character can't sleep, but heard that cuddling with a loved one makes it easier to fall asleep"

prompts from @imagining-in-the-margins - thx!

Y/N - Your Name & I Do NOT Own the Criminal Minds characters**

Spencer's POV

To say I have a crush on Y/N is an understatement. I genuinely think I am in love with her. She's like the perfect girl - the perfect balance of talkative, passionate, quiet, understanding, intelligent, driven, beautiful, and witty. She's drawn me into her life and made me want to learn every possible thing about her. Penelope and Derek know about my crush, so basically everyone on the team, but Y/N knows.

I spent the plane reading next to Y/N who napped on my shoulder, and then we were squished in the back seat of the SUV together. She joined the team one year ago and because she’s only 1 year older than me, we tend to gravitate toward each other and have a lot in common. I spend time with her in most cases because she’s great with other authority figures and piecing things together with the police or victims. I don’t mind spending time together one bit especially because JJ is usually occupied and it gets lonely at the station.

We just arrived at the hotel because we all needed to change before heading out to the police station and the homicide site. We were recommended to be ready to run and blend in. Hotch passed out the keys and told me that I was sharing with Y/N because Derek is slightly contagious with some sort of flu. My opinion is that Derek shouldn’t be on the case, but he’s at the end of his flu. He will be masked up for the first day or until Hotch approves it.

As I tie my shoes in the room with ONE BED, I almost combust from nervous energy. 1, I have to share a room with Y/N. 2, I have to share a bed with Y/N. This trip is shaking my world up too much right now.

Y/N exclaims, "So, are you excited to be in Columbus, Ohio?" I answer, "Not really since it’s for work, I wish we were here for fun. Did you know the Columbus Museum of Art has The Mediterranean by Monet and Picasso's Still Life with Compote and Glass?" She answers, "I did not know that. Did you know that the Columbus Aquarium can fit 90,000 gallons of water?" I answer, "I did and they have a 76-year-old Aldabra tortoise there." She replies, "That's amazing."

We continue to talk to the cars.

Y/N's POV... 1st Night in Ohio

We just got back from working on the case and I'm so tired. I just got out of the shower and Spencer is standing near his suitcase.

I exclaim, "You know I don't mind you sleeping in the same bed as me, right? I don't know how you and Morgan decided who got the bed, but we can share. We're both pretty small and can fit." He laughs and says, "Morgan always put me on the couch, so I appreciate this." I laugh and say, "Imagine sharing with Prentiss and JJ. It was the ultimate sleepover every night, but it simultaneously made me crave my own bed even more. I want and need alone time sometimes.” He lays down, laughs, and says, "That is completely understandable."

We talk for a bit and we go to bed when we both yawn.

Next morning...

I stand next to Morgan and sip the coffee that Spencer just handed me before he went off with Prentiss to cross-check their notes. Morgan asks, "So you and Reid, eh?" I ask, "What about it?" He answers, "He's been watching you a lot this morning like more than usual. He made you coffee the way you like it. You two seem happy and we're on a case, so something has to be off." I ask, "So people aren't allowed to be happy?" He answers, "Yeah they are, but not on a homicide case." I wait for him to put his cup of water to his lips before I say, "We slept together." That causes Morgan to choke on his water and start coughing. Hotch asks, "Everything okay, Morgan?" Morgan answers, "Yes. Water just went down the wrong pipe." Hotch replies, "Morgan and Y/N, behave and get ready to check out the first site. You head out in 5." I'm never picked for checking out the sites. According to Hotch after a month of working with the BAU, my skills lie in working with authority figures or victims' families because I seem in charge and also empathetic. Hotch either trusts me a lot today or just needs to get rid of me. THAT NIGHT

We just got back to the hotel and I'm so damn tired. I hear my name and see Hotch. I walk over and say, "Yes sir? You called my name." He exclaims, "I just wanted to talk with you about today before you went to bed." I nod and he continues talking, "I don't know what you did with Reid and Morgan today. But, they were on top of everything whenever they were with you and we made huge progress on this case, so thank you. I have no idea what gave you that productive push today, but it was great to see… When you joined the team and throughout this year, I know you’ve asked me a lot about how you can get closer to the team and how you can be the best agent you can. I know being a part of this team, you feel like you have to make sure everyone is okay and that they are okay at all times. But it’s okay to not solve other’s issues for them. I also don't want you to neglect how you feel to try to fix them. I see you downing coffee in the mornings and holding back in conversations with us recently. Everyone on the team likes having you on the team, so it’s okay to just be yourself and to open up to someone you are comfortable with. I know it can be hard to open up to others and to be your authentic self, but I just want you to be okay. I also have to ask, are you okay?" I answer, "I am okay. Frankly, sir, I thought you were going to reprimand me for how I acted today. I got Reid talkative and filled with coffee, and then I caused chaos at the police station with Morgan. I felt horrible with how I acted today." He replies, "You and Morgan were loud, but it was not chaotic. Reid was talkative, but I've seen him talk a lot more. It was manageable. Neither acted unprofessionally, so no I don’t mind how they acted. You acted professionally and were a hard worker today. I have nothing about your work ethic to complain about.” I reply, “Okay. Well then thank you for checking on me and I will try opening up to someone on the team.” He half smiles and says, “Good then that’s where I’ll leave you for tonight. It looks like Reid is waiting for you by the elevator.” I nod and tell him good night.

I make my way to Reid and say, “Thanks for waiting for me.” Reid says, “Yeah of course. I didn’t want you to have to walk to the room alone, especially after an intense conversation. I know conversations with Hotch can make me feel overwhelmed, I don't know about you. There is also a serial killer on the loose targeting young women. Enough about that, is everything okay?”

We get in the elevator and I answer, “Yeah Hotch was just worried about me. He said that for me to be the best I can be and improve my job, I should trust the team more and be myself. I know I should, I just get scared sometimes. He also said that today was very productive and I was on top of my work." He replies, "You were... if you ever need to talk to anyone, feel free to talk to me. I'm here for you, if you ever need anything." I reply, "Thank you, Spencer."

TIME SKIP... END OF THE CASE - Spencer's POV

Team Dinner has been something that I either dread or love. We've been out all together for 2 hours and I'm tired. Morgan, Emily, and JJ are going out after this. They're trying to convince everyone else to go out too. Another reason that Y/N is my dream girl. She does not want to go out tonight with the rest of the team to drink.

After dinner, we decided to come back to the hotel and watch a movie. She said there were Halloween movies on Freeform every night until Halloween this October. We both shower, change into pajamas and turn on the hotel tv. The first movie is Hocus Pocus, which is very fun. We switch around station to find another movie and we find some horror movie.

As we watch the horror movie, Y/N cuddles into my side, which I don't mind. I actually really like it. I feel like I'm keeping her safe. I exclaim, "I'm personally shocked you find this movie scary." She jokingly hits my arm and says "Well I am. I don't like the reality of it. I prefer horror movies that feel like they wouldn't happen. We see real-life horrors during work and it makes you look at movies differently." I nod, and reply "I can turn it off, you know?" She answers, "But I know you love Halloween and I don't want you to miss out on the movie. I can tell how into it you are, so we can watch until the end." I smile and say, "Okay, only if you keep cuddling with me." She smiles and I pull her closer.

When the movie finishes, I see that Y/N fell asleep. I flick off the lights and lie there thinking. Honestly, the ending of that was a little sad. The main character's love interest survived the whole movie only to die by natural causes a week after the story was resolved. I know I haven't told Y/N about my feelings for her, but what if she were to die? What if I never tell her? I have to now.

I feel her move on my chest and she moves off my chest to her pillow. I whisper, "Could we cuddle tonight?" She whispers, "Oh I thought you would get too uncomfortable." I whisper, "No I was fine. Besides, Did you know that the heart rhythms of co-sleeping individuals not only do independent heart rhythms appear in the same relative phase for prolonged periods, but also that their occurrence has a bidirectional causal relationship?" She moves off of me and asks, "Spencer, it's way too late. I have no idea what any of that means. What are you trying to say? I answer, "I ... uh I was trying to say that when people sleep in the same bed, their heart beats sync up. So... kind of like this one bed has one heartbeat... The end of the movie kind of made me sad and I feel safe around you. So I thought if we cuddled, I would feel safe and my heart would feel as calm as yours to sleep." She replies, "I see. Then before I lay down to cuddle, are you in a comfortable position?" I answer, "Yeah I am." She then lays down and I wrap my arm around her. We soon both fall asleep.

Sources (it's a Spencer fic... yeah there are sources):

https://www.columbuszoo.org/animals/aldabra-tortoise

#mentioningmargins #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff

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fizzing-imagines · 2 years ago

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Carrie Part 2 | Gareth Emerson x Girly! Cheerleader! Reader

Notes: Did I loosely make reader like Elle Woods? Yes.

Warnings: Pregnancy

Words: 877

Gareth and you have been together for nine years now and married for five. The two of you remained high school sweethearts, you even convinced him to go to prom with him, and ended up moving to Indianapolis first where the two of you did your bachelors. While you got your bachelor in law, Gareth did his bachelor in teaching. He aspired to be a elementary school teacher, something even you were surprised by when he told you. But you supported him regardless, just how he supported you in becoming a lawyer. When the two of you finished, you moved up to Massachusetts to go to university. Gareth went to Lesley University for teaching, while you actually got accepted into Harvard law. You could believe how you got into Harvard, but Gareth reassured you that he knew. How could they not? Before moving to Massachusetts, the two of you eloped in a courthouse on your way. He didn't want a big, fancy wedding - just you and him.

You finished after three years and started your career as a lawyer, while Gareth had another year to go. But now that you earned money, at least neither of you didn't have to work nightshifts at a shitty diner anymore. A year later, Gareth graduated as well and the two of you moved to Columbus, Ohio to settle down.

And that's where the two of you were. Gareth just got back from work at his elementary school while you had a day off and were relaxing on the couch. To be fair, you had some big news to tell your husband and were still thinking of how to tell him. Today, you found out that you were four months pregnant - and no, you didn't suspect it. You didn't suspect a thing, actually. Of course, you knew how it happened, but you still got your period, had cramps, all the good stuff. It was a sheer accident that you found out during your routine checkup at your gynecologists. Gareth and you have talked about kids in the past, both of you wanted them, but haven't planned anything yet. And that's what terrified you. "Hey baby, how was work?", you said to him while looking up from the TV. He walked over to you, gave you a quick kiss and then sat down next to you. You lifted up your legs so he could scoot closer and you could put your legs on his lap. That's just what he did, and he started caressing your leg up-and-down. "Nothing spectacular, really. Although one of the kids said he'd like to meet my wife." You giggled at that and smiled at him. His face showed a big grin, it always did when he addressed you as his wife. Up until now, even after five years, he grinned like a lovestruck teenager. "Maybe I can pick you up some day, yeah?", you suggested with a smile. Happily, he nodded. "Oh, and another student asked why I don't have a child of my own yet.", he added. Now that struck a nerve with you; you didn't know which one though. "Did they have a theory about that?", you asked. Sometimes, the kids in his class came up with the funniest things. "Nope, just asked straight up. Honestly, I didn't know what to say." Nothing that he just told you made it any easier. Maybe you could just tell him tomorrow? No, you can't do that. "Well, maybe we could change that.", you mumbled, so quickly that Gareth almost didn't hear. "Are you serious?", he asked. All this made you so nervous that you couldn't even look him in the eyes. "We can get started right now, hm?" His hands travelled up your legs, but stopped abruptly at your following words: "We don't have to, it's already done...like, 4 months ago." Your husband looked at you in disbelief. "(Y/N), don't joke about this.", he said, trying to grasp what you just said. "I'm not joking, Gareth.", you replied. He was fumbling for his words before getting out a "How?". It made you laugh. "You know, when a Gareth and a (Y/N) get really frustrated about work, they let it out by-" He interrupted you. "No, I mean...shit, (Y/N), why didn't you tell me?" You started chewing on your bottom lip. "I found out today. Look, I understand if you don't want it, or want a divorce-" Once again, you were interrupted by him. "A divorce? Are you mental?" He pulled you up by your shoulders and placed you on his lap. "This is the best fucking day of my life, (Y/N). I'm just surprised. But I'm gonna be a fucking dad! How awesome is that?" You giggled before kissing him on the lips, a deep, passionate kiss. Once your lips separated, he was grinning at you like an idiot. "Shit, (Y/N), I'm gonna be a dad.", he said again. His eyes got watery, clearly close to crying. "Do we know what's it gonna be?" You shook your head No. "We can find out next month.", you said with a smile. "Great, I already got an idea for a girls name." You raised an eyebrow at him in disbelieve. "Already? Which one?"

"Carrie."

#gareth emerson #gareth emerson x reader #gareth stranger things

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lydiaahowell07 · 1 month ago

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The Blood Prison

I rewatched Sam and Colby’s video at the Ohio State Reformatory and this idea kinda popped into my head.

Once again, this does not follow the video, but I will use some scenes from that video. This can be read as a second part to the other post I made.

Dylan Stevens x fem!reader

This week you would be heading down to the Ohio State Reformatory, nicknamed the Blood Prison. You made your way up the long drive, followed by Sam, Colby, and Nate. “Did you know that this place was nicknamed Dracula’s Castle because of how spooky it looked,” Nate says casually. Leave it to him to blurt out random facts about a location.

“I wonder who the architect of this place was,” Colby says. “The said let’s make a prison, and make it BEAUTIFUL.” “Did you know Shawshank Redemption was shot here,” you say. “Yes. I haven’t seen that movie, but now I can picture it,” Sam says. “How can you picture it if you’ve never seen it?” Nate questions.

As you make your way into the building to start the tour, you notice how the air feels extremely heavy. You continue on with the tour, not making any comments.

Your tour eventually ends up in the west attic. “This is where they house murders, child molesters, and felons while they rebuilt the Ohio Penitentiary in Columbus,” your tour guide says. “This is one of the most active areas in the entire prison. This is also an area where you have to watch what you say and do. Many people have been physically attacked by the spirits up here.” Just as your tour guide told you that, you start to feel a burning sensation on the side of your neck, causing you to reach up and touch it, making the pain worse.

Dylan watched as your hand quickly flew up to your neck. “Woah, are you okay?” he asked worriedly. “Yeah, my neck just started burning,” you say, pulling your hand away. His face dropped as he saw a long scratch across the side of your neck. “What? What is it?” you asked concerned, mirroring the look on his face. “Did you scratch yourself? There’s a mark on your neck,” he responds. “Holy shit, it drew blood,” Colby adds shocked.

Your tour guide pulled up the pictures from other guests that got attacked by the spirits in the attic, and all of their scratches looked exactly like yours, which didn’t lessen Dylan’s worry. “We do have a challenge you could do if you like,” your guide says. “I personally don’t feel comfortable doing it.” “Well that’s reassuring,” your dad says, making everyone laugh. “What does this challenge entail?” Sam asked. “So basically you sit up here for thirty minutes by yourself in total darkness.” Everybody looked at each other, and yelled ‘nose-goes.’ Everyone except for Nate, that is.

You finished up the rest of your tour, ending in solitary confinement. You started to feel extremely nauseous, and it must have been obvious. “Hey, do you feel okay?” Colby asked quietly as to not alert the others. “Yeah, I just feel nauseous as fuck, dude.”

To start the night, you all split up to do your challenges. Colby in the guards room, Dylan and Steve in solitary, Sam walking the cellblock, Nate in the attic, and you in James Lockhart’s cell. The longer the night went on, the more nauseous you started feeling. You made contact with someone, and they told you to get out on numerous occasions.

“I’m going to be here for a little bit longer. I just want to talk to you,” you tell the spirit. That’s when you heard a cell door slamming, causing your stomach to drop. There shouldn’t be anyone near you right now, your thirty minutes weren’t complete, right? Wrong.

Dylan and Steve went and collected all the guys their solos, and they devised a plan to scare you. The tiptoed down the cellblock toward James’s cell. They slammed one of the cell doors closed, trying not to snicker. The eventually made their way into James’s cell, and gave you a slight heart attack.

“Jesus, I thought I was going to die,” you gasp erecting a laugh from them. You all made your way back down to solitary confinement as your nausea worsened. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look really pale,” Colby says. “Yeah, we can take a break if you need,” Sam adds. “You guys can go ahead and start, I’m just going to pop outside for a second,” you say.

The guys decided to wait for you to come back before continuing, but when you didn’t come back for nearly 10 minutes, Dylan started to worry something happened. “I’m going to go check on her,” he said quickly, making his way outside to you.

You leaned against the building shivering, when you heard movement behind you. Your heart raced as you turned around, but you sighed seeing as it was only Dylan.

“We were getting worried,” he said softly. “Sorry, I kind of zoned out.” “Are you still nauseous?” he asked. “No, not really. My body just feels extremely stiff,” you say shivering. “Come here.” He holds his arms out to you in an offering. You make your way over to a nearby bench, where you sit as he holds you tightly in his arms, burying his face in your hair. “You realize if something’s wrong, you can tell, right?” Dylan blurts.

The guys all started to get worried when neither of you came back for a while, so they all decided to check on you. “They’re probably out there sucking each other’s faces off,” Steve says so confidently. “50 bucks says they are,” Sam says. “Deal.”

The guys all emerge from inside the building. “Damn it,” you hear your dad say. “We thought you guys would be out here making out,” Sam said, causing everyone to laugh.

I actually hate this part, but I’m hoping once more parts get made, things will flow more smoothly.

XO Lydia

#dylan stevens x reader #dylan stevens

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astars-things · 2 years ago

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Hi bestie! In my Nick feels as always. Imagine being Quinn's twin sister and meeting Nick when you and Quinn go to Mich. You and Nick have feelings for each other but never act on them until Nick's about to go pro and Nick's like come with me to Columbus even though we've only been together a few months.

Hope this is okay?

Pairing Nick Blankenburg x Hughes!sister reader

Growing up as Quinn's twin sister, I've always been in his shadow. It was never intentional, but he was always the center of attention. Quinn was the star athlete, the one everyone looked up to. But when we were both accepted into the University of Michigan, I saw it as an opportunity to finally break free from his shadow and make a name for myself.

It was during our sophomore year when Quinn introduced me to Nick. He was on the hockey team and was instantly charming. We hit it off right away, and I found myself looking forward to seeing him every time I tagged along with Quinn to his games.

But I knew I couldn't pursue anything with Nick. After all, he was Quinn's teammate, and I didn't want to risk causing any drama. So, I kept my feelings to myself and enjoyed his company as a friend.

It wasn't until our senior year when Nick approached me after a game and asked if I wanted to grab a drink with him. I hesitated at first, but something inside me told me to take the chance.

That night, we talked for hours and laughed until our sides hurt. It felt like we had known each other for years, not just a few months. And as I walked back to my dorm that night, I knew I was in trouble. I had developed feelings for Nick, and I didn't know what to do about it.

Over the next few weeks, we started spending more time together. We went on dates, watched movies, and explored Ann Arbor together. I felt like I was on top of the world, but I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that I was dating Quinn's teammate.

It wasn't until the end of our senior year when Nick dropped a bombshell on me. He had been offered a contract to play for the Columbus Blue Jackets, and he wanted me to come with him.

"Dude, you're dating my sister," Quinn said when Nick told him his plans. "I love her," Nick replied simply, as if that explained everything.

I was torn. I had just graduated from Michigan and had no idea what I wanted to do next. But the thought of going to Columbus with Nick was tempting. We had only been dating for a few months, but it felt like we had been together forever.

I remember sitting down with Quinn and talking to him about it. He was surprisingly supportive, and I could tell he saw how happy Nick made me. He even joked that I was finally escaping his shadow and making a name for myself.

In the end, I decided to take the chance and go to Columbus with Nick. It was a huge risk, but I knew I couldn't let my feelings for him go to waste. And as we settled into our new life in Ohio, I knew I had made the right choice.

Nick and I have now been together for three years. He's still playing for the Blue Jackets, and I'm working as a journalist for a local news station. We've talked about the future and what we want for ourselves, and I couldn't be happier.

Looking back, I realize that taking a chance on Nick was the best decision I ever made. I could have let my fear and guilt hold me back, but instead, I chose to follow my heart. And I'm so grateful for that.

#nick blankenburg x reader #nick blankenburg #my friends #send in requests #Gracie🤎

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jburrgf · 4 days ago

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Friends II, The Love Trope Series.

Part II: Are We Still Friends?

◦pairing: ¡bestfriend! joe burrow x ¡bestfriend! reader

◦summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship. slow burn, soulmates.

◦description: it’s the first year of college, you and joe go together to OSU like you planned, since you found out he was going to columbus. things are okay, until you felt they’re not. joe is distant, so as you, and the feeling of undone feeling still tight both of you together.

◦ playlist: Friends, Ed Sheeran From Eden, Hoozier 21, Gracie Abramns You Belong With Me, Taylor Swift I Couldn't Be More In Love, The 1975

part I / part III / part IV

FALL 2015, OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY.

Y/N

The late summer sun hung low in the Ohio sky as I hoisted another box out of the trunk of my car. Sweat trickled down my temple as I set it on the curb beside the others, letting out a soft sigh. Moving day was chaotic—cars packed the dorm parking lot, and students scrambled back and forth with suitcases, lamps, and laundry baskets. But for me, the chaos was exciting.

College. It was finally happening.

I scanned the sea of faces, watching as everyone moved with a kind of nervous energy. For most of us, this was the start of something completely new, and the air seemed to buzz with possibility. I’d lucked out with a single dorm room—not many freshmen got one—and it felt like a small victory as I grabbed the last box and started making my way toward the building.

“Need a hand with that?”

I turned to see a girl about my age with curly auburn hair and bright green eyes, standing in the doorway of the room next to mine. She was holding a clipboard, looking like she’d been organizing her own unpacking. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and I couldn’t help but grin back.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it. Last one,” I said, hoisting the box higher.

She stepped aside as I squeezed past her and into my room, setting the box down on my bare mattress. When I turned back around, she was leaning casually against the doorframe.

“I’m Lauren,” she said. “Your neighbor. I figured I’d introduce myself before the semester gets crazy.”

“Y/N,” I replied, brushing my hands on my jeans. “Nice to meet you.”

She stepped into the room, looking around at the neatly labeled boxes and the bare white walls. “Single room, huh? Lucky. They really hooked you up.”

I laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m not complaining.”

Lauren gave me a teasing smile. “So, are you here on a mission to focus completely on school, or are you going to let loose a little?”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Let loose, huh? I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You know what I mean. Parties, meeting people, the whole college experience. Do you have a boyfriend back home, or are you starting fresh?”

The question caught me off guard, and for a second, I hesitated. A boyfriend? No, not officially. But the moment she asked, my thoughts immediately went to Joey.

Joe Burrow. My best friend.

I shook my head quickly. “No boyfriend,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

Lauren tilted her head, studying me curiously. “But you hesitated. There’s someone, isn’t there?”

I felt my cheeks warm and let out a soft laugh, brushing off the question. “Not exactly. Just… my best friend. We’ve known each other forever.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Is he cute?”

“Lauren!” I exclaimed, laughing again.

“What? It’s a valid question!” she said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, okay? He’s… objectively attractive, I guess.”

She gave me a knowing look, crossing her arms. “Uh-huh. And you’re telling me you two have never—?”

“Nope,” I cut her off quickly, shaking my head. “We’re just friends. Always have been.”

Lauren looked skeptical but didn’t press further. Instead, she smiled again and gestured toward the hallway. “Well, if you ever need anything—or if you want to hang out—you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Lauren,” I said genuinely.

As she left, I sat down on my bed, staring at the boxes scattered around the room. The start of college felt like a fresh chapter, but the thought of Joe still lingered at the back of my mind. I couldn’t help wondering how he was settling in on his end.

JOE BURROW.

The frat house was already buzzing with activity when I pulled up. A group of guys was lounging on the porch, beers in hand, as they laughed and shouted over each other. I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement as I walked up the steps.

“Yo, new guy!” one of them called out, a tall guy with dark hair and an easygoing grin. “You lost?”

I shook my head, smirking. “Nah. Just moving in.”

The guy hopped down from the porch, extending a hand. “I’m Ryan. You must be the quarterback they’ve been talking about.”

I shook his hand firmly. “Joe. Nice to meet you.”

Ryan gave me a once-over, nodding approvingly. “Welcome to the house, man. You’re gonna love it here.”

I followed him inside, where a few other guys were lounging on mismatched couches, watching a game on the massive flat-screen TV. Ryan introduced me to a couple of them, and I could already tell this was going to be a good group to hang out with.

“So, Joe,” one of the guys said, leaning back in his seat. “Quarterback, huh? You must have no trouble with the ladies.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Not really my focus right now.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryan said, grinning. “Come on, man. There’s gotta be someone back home, right?”

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the notification.

Y/N: Hope you’re settling in okay! <3

The heart emoji next to her name made me smile, and for a moment, I forgot where I was.

“Who’s that?” Ryan asked, leaning over to peek at my screen.

I quickly locked the phone, tucking it back into my pocket. “Just my best friend.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Best friend, huh? Does she know you’re calling her that?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that. We’ve known each other forever. She’s basically family.”

Ryan and the others exchanged a look, and I could tell they weren’t buying it.

“Whatever you say, man,” Ryan said, clapping me on the shoulder. “But if you ever need advice on how to make your move, we’ve got you covered.”

I shook my head, laughing as I grabbed my duffel bag and headed toward the stairs. These guys didn’t get it. Y/N wasn’t just some girl. She was Y/N—my best friend, the person who’d been by my side through everything.

But as I set my bag down in my room and pulled out my phone to text her back, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they were right. Maybe I wasn’t being honest with myself about how I really felt.

Y/N

The buzz of the first week of college was still settling, and my nerves hadn’t completely gone away. Armed with my notebook and an iced coffee, I walked into my Introduction to Literature class, scanning the room for an empty seat. It was a large lecture hall, and most of the seats were already filled with students chatting or scrolling on their phones.

The air inside the lecture hall felt a little too cold as I walked in, my backpack slung over one shoulder. The room was packed with students, all busy sorting through notes or tapping away at their laptops. I found an empty seat toward the middle and slid into it, pulling out my notebook. The class was introductory psychology, and I’d been looking forward to it.

A few minutes passed, and the professor started setting up at the front, but I wasn’t fully focused. My mind kept drifting to the people I’d met so far. I’d been here for only a few days, but I already felt like I was starting to find my place.

As I scanned the room, I noticed a guy walking in, just a few seats away from mine. He had tousled brown hair, sharp green eyes, and a relaxed smile that made him seem friendly. He caught my gaze and smiled back before sitting down next to me.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asked.

“Not at all,” I replied, his voice warm and inviting.

Sliding into the seat, I glanced at him briefly. He was tall, with slightly messy brown hair and striking green eyes. There was something inherently kind about the way he smiled—a smile that reached his eyes—and it put me at ease almost instantly.

"Hey, you’re in this class too?" he asked, pulling out a notebook and a pen.

"Yeah, I am," I replied, offering a smile of my own. "It’s nice to meet someone else who's excited for the semester."

He chuckled lightly, his eyes warm. "I wouldn’t say excited, but I’m definitely here to learn."

As we started talking about the class, I realized he was genuinely intelligent. The way he answered the professor's questions—thoughtful and concise—made me feel a little more at ease.

“Did you get what he said just now about postmodernism?” I whispered.

He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Yeah, here.” He slid his notebook closer so I could read his notes, which were perfectly legible and far better than my own.

“Wow,” I said softly, impressed. “You’ve got great handwriting.”

“Thanks,” he said, chuckling. “Years of practice. I’m Ryan, by the way.”

“Y/N,” I replied, smiling. “So, you’re a football player, right?” I asked, casually glancing at his team jacket that he had draped over the chair.

He nodded, smiling with a hint of pride. “Yeah, I play for the team.”

“Oh, cool,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual, though my heart was beating a little faster.

We exchanged a few more small details about the class, and soon, I found myself laughing at his dry sense of humor. It was effortless, and I felt comfortable around him in a way that surprised me.

At the end of the lecture, we walked out together, chatting about the material.

“You’re pretty smart,” he said, glancing over at me with a grin.

I laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

As we neared the door, he turned to me, his expression slightly more serious now. “So, what are you doing after class? Maybe we could grab coffee or something—study together?”

My heart fluttered. "Yeah, that sounds great."

We exchanged numbers quickly, and before I knew it, we were texting back and forth, making plans for later in the week. I couldn’t help but feel bubbly and happy. There was just something about him. Ryan wasn’t just nice—he was smart, thoughtful, and easy to talk to. It felt good to meet someone new, someone who made the whole overwhelming college experience seem a little less intimidating.

JOE BURROW.

The sound of rapid gunfire and explosions filled the living room of the frat house as I leaned forward, my thumbs flying over the controller. After the first practice of the year, I always take time to relax a little bit. I was deep in a match of Call of Duty, my focus unshakable, when the front door opened, and a group of guys walked in.

“Yo, Joe,” Ryan called out as he crossed the room toward me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” I said, pausing the game and sitting up. “What’s up?”

Ryan leaned back against the arm of the couch, looking unusually pleased with himself. “Met someone today in class. Sweet girl, really smart. Made the whole class way more tolerable.”

I shrugged, not thinking much of it. “Nice. Good for you.”

“Her name’s Y/N,” Ryan said casually, taking a sip of his water.

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. Y/N. My best friend. She’d been texting me here and there, and I had this nagging feeling that something was different about this year—about us. But hearing Ryan talk about her like this made my stomach turn.

“You met her? Where?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual but failing.

“We’re in the same psych class. She’s cool—smart too. We’re actually going to study together later in the week.” Ryan’s smile was wide, a little smug.

For a second, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to sound like a jealous idiot, but the thought of someone else hanging out with her—it bothered me more than I cared to admit.

“She’s smart?” I said, my voice a little too sharp.

Ryan glanced at me, catching the edge in my tone. “Yeah. We talked a lot during class. She’s definitely got her head on straight. You know her, right?”

I nodded, though my mind was racing. “Yeah. We’ve known each other forever. She’s… my best friend.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing his face. “Your best friend, huh? That’s crazy. She didn’t mention you, though.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Probably didn’t come up. She’s not one to talk about herself much.”

Ryan studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Huh. Well, she’s great. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so down-to-earth on the first day.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, she’s awesome.” I scratched the back of my neck. “She’s like family to me.”

Ryan gave me a skeptical glance, leaning back in the chair with a small chuckle. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”

For a brief second, jealousy flared in my chest. Ryan was a good guy—kind, funny, and ridiculously good-looking. And Y/N seemed to like him, which shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

But I pushed the feeling down as quickly as it had come. If Y/N was happy, that was all that mattered.

“You’ve got my blessing, man,” I said, my tone light and teasing.

Ryan grinned. “Thanks, dude. I’ll let you know if she’s into me.”

He looked at his phone for a second, then turned back to me with a more serious expression. “By the way, I gave your number to this girl from my class. She was asking about you, and I thought it might be good.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. A girl had asked about me?

I blinked, trying to keep my cool. “Yeah. That’s fine. I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

“She was asking if you were single,” he said with a shrug. “Figured I’d help you out. Don’t worry, she’s hot.”

Normally, I’d brush something like that off, but this time, I didn’t mind. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get to know someone new, especially if Y/N was starting to connect with Ryan.

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, shaking my head.

Ryan smiles, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, no pressure. Just thought you might like to know.”

My stomach twisted as I grabbed my phone, checking for any messages. There were a couple from Y/N, but my thoughts kept drifting to Ryan’s words. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to move on. It was just... the thought of her with someone else felt strange. Almost wrong.

But I couldn’t exactly say that, could I? She was my best friend. Nothing more.

Right?

Y/N

The restaurant was a cozy little place just off campus, tucked away from the bustling streets. The kind of spot you’d walk past a hundred times and never notice until someone pointed it out. Inside, the hum of conversation mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling garlic. I’d already claimed a booth by the window, sipping on my iced tea and staring out at the world beyond, trying not to overthink.

It was our first week of college, and while everything was new and exciting, it was also overwhelming. Having Joey around was like having a piece of home with me, something familiar to keep me grounded. When I saw him walk through the door, his messy hair falling into his eyes and his Ohio State hoodie looking soft and worn, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, trouble,” he greeted as he slid into the seat across from me, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, Joey,” I replied, my voice soft but happy.

He grabbed a menu, glancing over it before looking up at me. “Alright, first week of college. Give me the rundown. How’s it been?”

I leaned forward, resting my chin on my hand as I thought about it. “Honestly? It’s been... good. Busy, but good. My professors seem nice enough, and the classes are interesting so far. And I’ve met some cool people.”

Joey’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing across his face. “Cool people, huh? Like who?”

“Well, Lauren from down the hall is awesome. She’s fun and, like, effortlessly cool. She invited me to this festival thing during spring break,” I said, my excitement building as I described it. “It’s kind of like a pool party, but there’s powder paint, soap, and bubbles. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

He leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms and smirking. “You’re telling me you want to get covered in paint and soap, and you think that’s amazing?”

“Joey,” I whined, giving him my best puppy-dog eyes. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Please, will you come with me? I don’t want to go alone.”

He held my gaze for a moment, like he was deciding whether to give in or let me squirm a little longer. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Fine. I’ll go. But if I get paint in my hair, you’re on cleanup duty.”

“Deal!” I said, grinning triumphantly.

As our food arrived and we started eating, the conversation drifted to other things—classes, our dorms, and little anecdotes about our first week. But eventually, I found myself talking about Ryan.

“He’s in my Intro to Physcology class,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “He’s really nice, Joey. Like, genuinely nice. And smart, too.”

Joey paused mid-bite, glancing at me with an unreadable expression. “Ryan, huh? What’s his deal?”

“He’s on the football team, and I know you know him by now. I mean, I don’t know him that well yet, but we’re going out tomorrow,” I admitted, shrugging. “It’s not, like, a date or anything. Just... you know, hanging out.”

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “That’s... great. He seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “It’s just nice to talk to someone new, you know? Not that you’re not great, Joey. You’re the best, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said with a mock-serious expression, making me laugh.

The rest of lunch was easy, comfortable. Joey had a way of making me forget about everything else, even just for a little while.

JOE BURROW

After lunch, I walked back to the frat house, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. On the one hand, I was happy for Y/N. She deserved to meet new people, have new experiences. But on the other hand, the way she talked about Ryan—it was like a punch to the gut.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away as I stepped into the shower. The hot water was a relief, washing away the tension in my muscles, but it did nothing to clear my mind. By the time I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist, I still felt... off.

Sitting at my bed, I grabbed my phone to check for any messages.

Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Emily! Ryan said I could text you—hope that’s okay?

I stared at the screen, trying to place the name. Emily... oh, right. She was the girl who’d asked Ryan for my number. I hesitated for a second before typing back.

Me: Hey, no problem. What's up?

Her reply came almost instantly, and before I knew it, we were chatting. Emily was funny, confident in a way that caught me off guard, and easy to talk to. She mentioned being a football fan, which was a nice surprise. Most people only pretended to care about it once they found out who I was.

Emily: So, what are you doing tonight? Wanna grab a drink?

I glanced at the time, weighing my options. I didn’t really have plans, and honestly, it might be nice to get out for a bit.

Me: Yeah, sure. Where should we meet?

She sent me the name of a bar just off campus, and I quickly replied, confirming. Tossing my phone onto the bed, I stood up and pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. My hair was still damp as I ran a hand through it, trying to make it look presentable.

Just as I grabbed my keys, my phone buzzed again. It was a text from Y/N.

Y/N: Thanks for lunch, Joey. I already miss you :(

You’re the best!

I stared at the message, a strange warmth settling in my chest. For a moment, I thought about texting her back, but instead, I slipped the phone into my pocket and headed out the door.

Tonight wasn’t about Y/N. It couldn’t be. I had to stop letting my feelings for her dictate everything I did. Emily was nice, and this was my chance to start fresh.

[…]

The bar was alive with energy. The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional cheer from the pool tables blended into the beat of the music playing over the speakers. As I pushed through the heavy doors, I scanned the room, quickly spotting Emily sitting at the bar. She was hard to miss—blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a fitted shirt that seemed to shimmer under the dim neon lights, and little high waisted jeans. And, of course, a confidence in her posture that immediately caught my attention.

“Hey,” I said, stepping up beside her.

She turned, flashing a bright smile. “Hey, Joe. Glad you made it.”

I nodded, taking the seat next to her. “You’re hard to say no to.”

Her laugh was light, easy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The bartender approached, and I ordered a beer, Emily opting for a vodka soda. We chatted for a bit, keeping it casual at first. She asked about football, and I asked about her classes, but as the drinks started to flow, the conversation shifted.

“So,” she said, leaning closer, her lips quivering into a playful smile. “How good are you at the pool?”

“Decent,” I replied, matching her grin. “Why? You wanna find out?”

“Obviously,” she teased, grabbing her drink and sliding off the barstool. “Come on, QB. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

We made our way to the pool table, the low overhead light casting a golden glow on the felt. She grabbed a cue, expertly chalking the tip while I racked the balls. Her confidence was magnetic, and I couldn’t help but feel drawn to it.

“Ladies first,” I said, gesturing to the table.

“Chivalry isn’t dead after all,” she quipped, taking her shot. The balls scattered, and she sank one into the corner pocket with ease.

I raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I see how it is. You’ve played before.”

“Maybe a few times,” she said, her tone coy as she lined up her next shot.

We went back and forth, trading playful banter as we played. She was good, I’ll admit, but I wasn’t about to let her win without a fight. Eventually, she scored a tricky shot that had me shaking my head in disbelief.

“That was pure luck,” I said, leaning on my cue as she straightened up, a victorious smile on her face.

“Luck?” she echoed, tilting her head. “I’d call it skill.”

She stepped closer, her confidence radiating. Her eyes sparkled under the dim lights, and for a moment, I forgot about the game entirely. Acting on impulse, I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers. It wasn’t a deep kiss, more of a testing-the-waters kind of thing, but she responded instantly, her hand sliding to my arm.

When we pulled back, she was grinning. “I’ll take that as you admitting I won.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, smirking despite myself.

Y/N

The soft strumming of Hozier’s Like Real People Do filled my room, wrapping around me like a blanket as I sat cross-legged on my bed, a book resting on my lap. The evening was quiet, the kind of night that felt perfect for losing myself in another world. I turned a page, my fingers brushing the worn edges of the paper, when a sudden knock on my door pulled me from my little cocoon.

“Coming,” I called, setting the book aside and slipping off the bed.

When I opened the door, Lauren stood there, her energy practically buzzing.

“Why are you here?” she asked, pushing past me into the room. “It’s Friday night, Y/N. You’re supposed to be out, not... reading.”

“I like reading,” I said defensively, closing the door behind her.

“Yeah, but there’s a whole party happening at the bar right now,” she said, plopping onto my bed. “You should come. Everyone’s there.”

“Everyone?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lauren grinned. “Ryan’s there.”

That caught my attention. My heart did a little flip, and I tried to play it cool, but Lauren saw right through me.

“Don’t even try to pretend you’re not interested,” she said, standing up and pulling me toward my closet. “Come on, get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

I sighed, but a part of me was already excited. The thought of seeing Ryan again—and maybe getting to know him a little better—was enough to convince me. I let Lauren rummage through my clothes, eventually settling on a casual but cute outfit: high-waisted jeans, a fitted crop top, and my favorite sneakers.

“You look amazing,” Lauren said, stepping back to admire her work.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The bar was packed when we arrived, the energy infectious. Music thumped through the speakers, and laughter echoed from every corner. I scanned the room, looking for Ryan, when my gaze landed on someone else entirely.

Joe.

He was by the pool table, leaning against it with that easy confidence he always seemed to carry. But it wasn’t just him. A blonde girl stood next to him, laughing at something he said. And then—like a punch to the stomach—I saw it.

He kissed her.

I froze, my heart sinking. The world around me seemed to blur, the noise of the bar fading into the background. For a moment, all I could do was stand there, staring at them.

We were wearing the same clothes. Me and her, matching.

And she was kissing him.

“Y/N?” Lauren’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Let’s... let’s find Ryan.”

But as we moved deeper into the bar, my chest felt tight. I couldn’t shake the image of Joe and that girl, their kiss replaying in my mind like a cruel reminder of something I didn’t even fully understand.

And yet, I smiled. For Ryan. For myself. Like it didn’t matter. Like Joe kissing someone else didn’t feel like losing something I never had.

[…]

Spring break was finally here, and I was feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The festival was just around the corner, and my friends from high school had made the trip to Columbus to join us for it. They were all staying in my best friend’s sister’s apartment, which was conveniently just a few minutes away from the Ohio State campus. It felt strange to have everyone in one place again, especially since I hadn’t seen most of them since high school graduation.

I was sitting on the couch, scrolling through my phone while my friend, Lauren, was getting ready in the bathroom. The apartment was filled with the buzz of preparation, the sound of blow dryers and laughter echoing through the rooms. I felt a sense of nostalgia, but there was something else lurking behind it. The nagging, aching feeling of the distance that had grown between Joe and me. It had been weeks since I last saw him, and the silence between us was becoming deafening. We had both been so caught up in our own lives, so wrapped up in our new routines at college.

“Y/N!” Lauren called from the bathroom, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You’re not listening. What’s going on? You’re so quiet.”

I glanced up, trying to mask the sadness that had crept up inside me. “Sorry. I’m just... thinking.”

Lauren stepped out of the bathroom, adjusting the straps of her dress. “You’re thinking about Ryan, aren’t you?” she asked, a teasing grin on her face.

I blinked, startled by the directness of her question. “What? No... well, kind of. We’ve been hanging out more. It’s nice.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to explain it. “Yeah, I mean, he’s cool. We’ve been having a good time.”

She smiled, but there was a curious glint in her eyes. “And what about Joe?”

I stiffened, the mention of his name immediately triggering the ache in my chest. “Joe?” I repeated, trying to keep my tone casual. “I haven’t seen him in a while. It’s... been a couple of weeks, actually.”

Lauren watched me carefully, her expression softening. “You miss him, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond at first, staring at the floor. The truth hung heavy in the air, and I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud. Instead, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Things got weird after a while, and we just... haven’t talked.”

“Maybe you should reach out to him,” Lauren suggested, her voice gentle but insistent.

I smiled weakly, though the thought of reaching out made me feel even more unsure. “Maybe.”

But deep down, I knew that part of me was hoping that he would reach out first, that Joe would come back and say something—anything—to break the silence that had stretched between us.

JOE BURROW

The faint sound of a knock on my door pulled me out of the haze of half-consciousness. I groggily opened my eyes, only to find Emily lying beside me in bed, her body still warm next to mine.

“Joe,” she murmured, tracing a finger along my chest. “I’m not ready to get up yet.”

I glanced at the clock. I had an hour before I had to leave for the festival. A part of me wanted to just stay in bed, to ignore everything else and enjoy the moment. But there was something about Emily that didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t know what it was exactly, but it bothered me. The way she always seemed so... nonchalant about everything.

I pulled away slightly, rubbing my eyes. “I have that festival today, babe. The one you didn’t want to go to,” I said, my voice hoarse from sleep.

She barely reacted, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know. You have to get ready.”

Her tone was flat, as if she didn’t really care. The lack of enthusiasm, the indifference—something about it made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t used to this type of relationship, where everything seemed to float on the surface without any depth.

I sighed, standing up and reaching for my clothes. “I’m going. I’ll see you later.”

Emily gave me a quick nod, not even bothering to sit up. “Sure. Have fun.”

I gave her a kiss, and went to get ready.

As I pulled on my t-shirt and jeans, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to this whole thing. I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t care, not really. But maybe that’s what this was—a distraction, something to fill the space while I tried to figure out where I stood with Y/N.

The thought of her hit me harder than I expected. It had been weeks, and the silence between us was suffocating. I had told myself that it was fine, that maybe it was better this way. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. I missed her.

After getting dressed, I grabbed my keys and headed out of the room. The guys were waiting for me downstairs. I forced myself to smile, to get into the mood of the festival, but something about the way the day was shaping up felt off.

Y/N

The festival was alive with energy, an explosion of colors, music, and laughter. People were dancing, some already covered in the vivid hues of colored powders that filled the air. The sun was warm, the beats of the music pulsing through my chest as I stood with my friends, our excitement contagious. I couldn’t help but smile, the festival atmosphere reminding me of simpler times.

Lauren nudged me playfully, a mischievous grin on her face. “Careful, Y/N. You might end up looking like a walking rainbow,” she teased, pointing to the vibrant splashes of color that now covered her shirt.

I chuckled, brushing the loose strands of hair away from my face. “It’s half the fun,” I said, shrugging. “Just don’t get it on my shoes!”

We were surrounded by laughter and people chatting, but a part of me couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in my chest. It had been weeks since I’d last seen Joe, and even though I had tried to push it aside, I couldn’t help but wonder where he was—what he was doing. The thought of him, with Emily, made me feel unsettled, even though I had no right to feel that way. We weren’t together, and I hadn’t even talked to him in days. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“Hey, you made it!” Ryan’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to see him standing in front of me, his signature grin plastered on his face. His green eyes sparkled with excitement as he stood there, dressed in a white t-shirt that was quickly becoming a canvas of color.

“Of course I did,” I replied with a smile, my voice almost a little too eager. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Ryan laughed, running a hand through his hair. “You seem pretty pumped about this. You’ve done this before, right?”

I shook my head, my excitement making my voice lighter. “No, first time. But it’s a good start.” I motioned to the crowd. “This is insane, though. Everyone’s already covered in paint.”

He shrugged, his smile still warm. “Yeah, that’s the fun part. You’ll get used to it.” His tone was casual, but there was a spark in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore.

We spent the next few minutes chatting and laughing, getting completely covered in the neon powders. As much as I was enjoying his company, my mind kept drifting back to Joe. It wasn’t like me to get caught up in thoughts of him, especially when there was so much fun happening around me. But every now and then, I found myself scanning the crowd, looking for a familiar face.

I tried to push it away, but my heart skipped a beat when I finally spotted him.

Joe.

He was standing near the edge of the crowd, looking relaxed, laughing with his friends. But it was something in the way he stood that caught my attention—something that made my chest tighten. His hair was messier than usual, and his eyes sparkled with laughter. There was a magnetic pull toward him, an undeniable connection that seemed to draw me in.

But just as I started to walk toward him, something caught my eye. Emily. She was standing next to him, a flirtatious grin plastered on her face, her hand casually resting on his arm. They looked... good together, and it made something in my chest clench painfully.

For a moment, I stood frozen, my feet glued to the ground as I watched them interact. Joe was laughing, his hand resting on the small of Emily’s back as they shared a quiet joke. The warmth that had bloomed inside me earlier began to dissipate, replaced by an unexpected rush of jealousy and hurt.

I quickly turned away, feeling a knot form in my stomach. Why did it bother me so much to see him with her? Was it because I wanted it to be me? The thought of Joe and Emily together made my heart ache, and I couldn’t quite place why.

“Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to see him looking at me with concern.

I forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil swirling inside me. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched. “Just... I wasn’t expecting to see him here.”

Ryan frowned but didn’t press me further. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “I’m good. Really.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy that shot through me. Why did it hurt so much to see him with her?

JOE BURROW.

I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me. I should’ve been having fun, should’ve been caught up in the excitement of the festival, but all I could think about was Y/N. It wasn’t like me to obsess over her like this, but ever since the whole thing with Emily started, it was like my mind couldn’t stop wandering back to her.

Emily and I had spent most of the day together, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Something about her felt distant, and the more time we spent together, the more I realized that I wasn’t really into her like I thought I was.

We were walking through the crowd when I caught a glimpse of Y/N from across the field. My heart nearly stopped. She looked stunning—her hair a mess of curls, her face bright with excitement, and her eyes sparkling even from a distance. I couldn’t help but stare, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emily standing next to me.

“Joe,” she said, tugging at my sleeve. “You’ve been spacing out all day. What’s up with you?”

I glanced at her, my mind still on Y/N. “Nothing,” I muttered, forcing a smile.

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. But before she could say anything, I turned to see Y/N’s eyes on me. For a brief second, our gazes locked, and I felt that familiar connection, the one I’d been trying to ignore for weeks now. But then, just as quickly, Y/N looked away, turning toward Ryan.

Something in me twisted.

“Let’s go drink something,” Emily suggested, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, trying to shake the lingering thoughts of Y/N. But as we walked toward the bar area, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder, my eyes searching for her in the crowd. She was laughing, talking to Ryan, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Something inside me clenched.

I needed to talk to her. But I didn’t know how.

Y/N

The music was deafening, the kind that pulsed through your veins and made the ground tremble beneath your feet. The air was thick with color, clouds of neon powder mixing with the humid evening air, clinging to our sweaty skin. I didn’t care. Not tonight.

Lauren grabbed my hand, pulling me further into the crowd as "Wake Me Up" by Avicii blared from the speakers. Everyone around us was jumping, laughing, and singing along at the top of their lungs, their energy infectious. I let out a laugh, throwing my arms in the air and spinning in a circle as Lauren cheered me on.

“You look like a walking rainbow!” she shouted over the music, pointing to the streaks of blue, pink, and green that covered my face and clothes.

“You too!” I shot back, laughing as I reached for another drink. The plastic cup in my hand was cold, the liquid a too-sweet mix of something fruity and alcohol that I couldn’t quite place. It didn’t matter. I needed this—needed to feel free, to let go of the weight that had been sitting on my chest ever since I saw Joe at the festival earlier.

It was stupid to care so much. He had Emily now. They were happy, or at least it seemed that way. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about him—about the way he had looked at me earlier, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Y/N!” Ryan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see him weaving through the crowd, his white t-shirt smeared with streaks of color. He looked happy, carefree, his green eyes sparkling under the festival lights.

“Hey!” I said, forcing a smile as he reached me.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, grinning as he leaned in closer, his voice warm and inviting.

“I am,” I replied, taking another sip of my drink. “This is crazy, though. I don’t think I’ve ever been this covered in paint.”

He laughed, his hand brushing against mine as he gestured to the crowd. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To let loose, have fun?”

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Ryan was sweet—funny, easy to talk to. He didn’t make my heart race the way Joe did, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe I needed someone who didn’t complicate things, someone who wasn’t tied to years of messy emotions and unspoken feelings.

So when Ryan leaned in, his hand resting gently on my waist as he tilted his head, I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let myself close the gap, pressing my lips to his.

And like that, I was kissing him.

JOE BURROW.

I spotted her the second it happened.

It was like the world had slowed down for a moment, everything else fading into the background as I stood there, frozen in place, watching Y/N kiss Ryan.

My chest tightened, an uncomfortable heat spreading through me as I clenched my fists at my sides. I told myself I had no right to feel this way—no right to be angry or jealous. She wasn’t mine. She never had been.

And yet, the sight of her with him made my stomach churn.

Avicii was still playing, on the back of my head. I could hear them, and my skin was burning.

“Joe?” Emily’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see her looking up at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been acting weird all night, man. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, glancing back toward Y/N.

Emily followed my gaze, her expression darkening when she saw what I was looking at. “Oh,” she said flatly. “It’s her.”

I didn’t respond, my jaw tightening as I watched Ryan pull Y/N closer, his hands resting on her waist.

Emily let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, finally turning to face her.

“You’re obsessed with her,” she said, her voice laced with frustration. “It’s like she’s all you think about.”

“I’m not—” I started, but Emily cut me off.

“Save it, Joe,” she said, stepping back. “If you’re so worried about her, maybe you should just go talk to her.”

“Where are you going?” I snapped.

“I know my way home.”

For a moment, I just stood there, watching as Emily walked away. She was right. I couldn’t stand here and pretend like I didn’t care.

I found Y/N near the edge of the crowd, her cheeks flushed and her hair a mess of curls streaked with neon colors. She was laughing with her friends, her cup half-empty in her hand, and Ryan stood beside her, his hand casually brushing against her arm as he leaned in to say something. My chest tightened at the sight.

“Y/N,” I called out, my voice louder than I intended.

She turned to look at me, her smile fading when she saw the look on my face. “Joe?”

“We need to talk,” I said firmly, ignoring the curious looks from her friends.

“Now?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes, now,” I insisted.

She sighed, handing her cup to Lauren before following me a few steps away from the crowd. “What’s so important that you had to interrupt my night? I was having fun!” she asked, her tone a little sharp.

I hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words, but the frustration bubbling inside me wouldn’t let me stay quiet. “I don’t trust him, Y/N,” I said finally, my voice low.

“Who?” she asked, crossing her arms defensively. But when she looked behind her, her mind got brighter.

“Yes, Ryan,” I said, my frustration boiling over. “I don’t think he’s good for you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You barely know him, Joe. How can you say that? He’s a nice guy, and he’s on your football team.”

“I know enough,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “I see the way he looks at you. He doesn’t care about you, Y/N. He just wants—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” I said, my tone softening as I stepped closer.

“Protect me?” she repeated, her voice rising in anger. “Joe, I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. You don’t get to decide who’s good enough for me.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off, her voice trembling now. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re so caught up in this idea that you have to ‘protect me’ that you don’t even realize how controlling you’re being. It’s exhausting, Joe. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” I said, my voice quieter now.

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” she said, her expression softening with sadness. “You’ve always done this. You act like I can’t make my own decisions, like I don’t know what’s best for me.”

I stood there, speechless, the weight of her words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

“And if you think Ryan isn’t good enough,” she continued, her voice breaking, “then who is, Joe? Tell me, who’s the perfect person for me in your eyes?”

I froze, the answer sitting on the tip of my tongue but refusing to come out.

It 's me, Y/N. I’m the perfect guy.

It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one that kissed you. It's been you since we were kids.

But I said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” she said bitterly, tears welling in her eyes as she shook her head. “You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you?” She took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes before looking up at me with a sad smile. “I can’t keep doing this, Joe. I can’t keep pretending that this… whatever this is between us, isn’t tearing me apart.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying I need space,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tears running down her cheeks. “I need to figure out who I am without you constantly hovering over me, questioning my choices.”

“Y/N, you don’t mean that, we are best friends.” I said, panic rising in my chest.

“I do,” she said, stepping back.

Her words felt like a knife to the chest, and I could only stand there, helpless, as she turned away.

“Don’t look for me, please. Just… just leave me alone.” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the noise of the festival.

And just like that, she walked back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there alone, the neon lights casting long shadows on the ground between us.

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